Noah's Wife Read Online Free Page B

notice. She is gazing instead at the town that lies below her, the buildings battered and weary. She knows that many of the town’s former inhabitants—indeed, even many of those malcontented souls still living here today—would tell her that it would be wiser to give up on this place, to pack her bags and try her hand at life in a place that isn’t forever haunted by its own past, that needn’t live within the shadow of its former glory. But who among us is not haunted by her past? Mrs. McGinn would like to know. Who among us is as bright or as full or as strong as she was, or as she could be?

three
    I n the town where Mauro grew up, the showers were brief and radiant.
    When he remembers Italy now, he remembers the sun beaming through sheets of rain that slid in colored panes from the clouds to the ground. He remembers indigo skies and salty gusts of wind and the crisp, clean air at the end of thunderstorms, when standing water shimmered in piazzas like small and shallow wishing wells. He has been to Rome many, many times, and he has heard the legend the tour guides feed the tourists between slices of street pizza and cups of handmade gelato, so he is well aware of the connection between water and wishes.
    What he wouldn’t give right now for two scoops of pistachio!
    The legend goes like this: By throwing one coin in thefountain, the tourist is guaranteed to return someday to Rome. The second coin promises marriage; the third is for charity.
    When he was a child, so cynical of superstition, it was easy to scoff at the foreigners and dismiss the legend. As he has aged, however, and as his return trip to Italy has become more and more unlikely, he has found himself wishing that he, too, had the assurance of knowing that he would one day set foot again on Italian soil. When he thinks about the untossed coin, he realizes that this simple act of faith, the flinging of the token, would have been of great comfort to him. Perhaps it would not even have mattered whether he returned, as long as he could remain happy in his hope. Now that he is older and, as he would say, wiser in the ways of the world, he tends more toward the superstitious beliefs initially impressed upon him by his grandmothers because it reassures him to feel as though he has some control over his fate, as if he possesses the knowledge necessary to crack the code of an enigmatic and exasperating cosmos.
    How was he to know what fortune had in store for this place? When he arrived here, the future shone like a silver river in the sun—and now all the hope that is left in this town is rotting in the rain. Mauro tries not to think about it, for what good does it do to dwell on these things? He makes wishes on puddles and wards off bad omens. He has been betting on this town for years, and when the situation begins to go from bad to worse, he has little choice but to hold his head high and continue to bet on it still.
    True, he also has a plan that is more concrete. At the end of every month he transfers the remainder of his profits from his cash register into sealed plastic bags, which he then carries down to the river and tucks under the seat of his old fishing craft. He knows this is a senseless place to hide his life savings, but that is what he likes about it. It is illogical, unreasonable. No one would think to look for it there. He has not yet saved enough to buy a ticket to Italy or to reestablish himself at home, but one day he will. He is sure of it.
    In the meantime, he has the general store. Perhaps he shouldn’t have it, but he does, thanks to one of the few lucky hands he’s been dealt in his life. The owner of the store was drunk on Mauro’s wine when he made up his mind to gamble it, and the day after he lost it to Mauro he packed up his wife and his kids and took off. No one has heard from him since. Mauro believes that the man was planning to leave anyway, that there must have been some other, underlying reason