Nonna's Secret Ingredient

Cars were spilling out of the driveway of Rossa and Giancarlo Varricchia's home. Dinner wasn't going to be served for several more hours, but already sons and daughters and grandchildren, distant cousins, and nervous new spouses were filing inside the elderly couple's small two-story home. Men hauled massive jugs of homebrewed wine into the garage to compare notes and serve other guests. Children ran free in the yard, chasing each other around the massive willow out front and disturbing the ducks' peaceful rest in the lake behind the house. Women were helping compose massive plates of antipasti in the kitchen or at the bar, spilling secrets and trading neighborhood gossip. Of particular importance was Gabriella Varricchia's calling off her wedding to Giuseppe Faustini; Gabriella, being the eldest granddaughter of Rosa and Giancarlo, was expected to succeed Rossa as matriarch of the Varricchia family.

Gabriella knew every one of Rossa's recipes by heart. She knew the trick Giancarlo used to to get his pristine Ford Model A started when the temperature dipped below freezing. She knew in detail how to care for Rossa's prized herb and vegetable garden and when to tend to the willow. Speculation and tall-tales swirled around the bar, that one or both of the couple were unfaithful, that one or both of them were incapable of producing children, that Giuseppe had taken to drinking heavily. None of this was true, of course. People like to invent stories. The simple truth was that Gabriella craved more out of life than to settle down in her early twenties.

Despite the cancelled wedding, Gabriella and Giuseppe were both at the Varricchia home. Gabriella was by Rossa's side, smiling and laughing with her relatives. Giuseppe stood in the smoke filled garage, sampling wine and rolling cigarettes for husbands to hurriedly smoke. He paid little mind to the teasing and jabs tossed his way. He merely shrugged and flashed a toothy smirk, "C'est la vie, paisan." No sense in pouring bad blood in good wine.

In the kitchen, a massive pot of water was at a rolling boil, and Isabella Seneca was gradually dropping in bundles of pasta that had been drying in the windowsill since the morning. Nonna Rossa had been toiling away since the early hours of morning. The family always joked that she was the one who dragged the sun out of bed each day. The soft old woman slowly crept up behind Emilia Volpe who was tasked with making the salad dressing. "Attenta, ragazza," she took the whisk from Emilia's hand and deftly spun her tiny wrist and gestured for the olive oil. "Slowly, mia amore." Emilia's twin sister Angelina appeared beside her, "Nonna, how much longer should the chicken cook for?" A thin hand waved in her face, "Altri venti minuti, bambina," the old woman chuckled softly. Everything was coming together for dinner.

The large grandfather clock in the dining room bellowed a somber tune that could be heard from anywhere on the property. Six low, throaty calls followed in quick succession and the children stopped playing, men stopped drinking, all gathering inside to set the large dining room table with their wives and girlfriends and mothers who were not in the kitchen. Giuseppe lingered in the open garage doorway, rolling the butt of his cigarette anxiously against the base of his thumb. He had made an appearance, and truly wished Gabriella no ill will. Would it be so bad if he stayed for dinner?

"Thinking about splitting?" a calm voice sprang up from the driveway. Giuseppe flinched. He turned to see his former fiancé with a small smile on her face. "Did I scare you?" she chuckled softly "Oh man, you are still wound so tightly."

"Nah, it was just the wind." Giuseppe kept his eyes just over Gabriella's shoulder, "This whole, Autumn-turns-to-Winter time always catches me by surprise. I got a little chill, that's all." His eyes flitted to the floor. Gabriella cocked her head, and pushed her smile over to one side of her face.

"Well, guess you're gonna miss out on Nonna's famous chocolate cake," she drew closer. "I'm glad you came anyway, you big dummy. It was really good to see you." She quickly pecked his cheek, and her smile grew to cover her whole face, "But I'm relieved I don't have to share any cake with you."

Rossa was standing in the kitchen, stirring a large bowl of dark, viscous mix. The air was thick with the smell of chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, and coffee. The old woman poured a shot of amber liquid from a tall, thin glass bottle. One shot into the bowl, and then Rosa took one for herself, giggling behind her small closed mouth. Gabriella pranced in from the back door, "Nonna, cos'altro? What else do you need birthday momma?" she bounced on the balls of her feet to a song only she could hear.

Nonna Rossa held up a small finger and waved it mischievously, before drawing it to her pursed, smiling lips. "Mia ingrediente segreto." A small, black ceramic flask appeared in Nonna's hands. The top slid back, and a black, glistening liquid dropped steadily into the bowl. Gabriella's song stopped playing, and her forehead crinkled. "Nonna, che cosa? Cos' e quello?" Rossa giggled softly as the liquid dripped into the mix. "Nonna what are you putting in there? That isn't in any of the recipes you showed me." Gabriella reached a finger into the bowl to try and taste the mixture, but a wooden spoon swatted the back of her hand.

"Ow! Nonna! Che merda?!" The old woman barked and waved her spoon at Gabriella. Her soft face twisted into a menacing scowl, and her jaw quivered with rage. She slid the top of the flask shut, and pointed her wooden armament at a series of lined cake pans. "Cuocere per me," her silky, honey-toned voice sounded coarse and hollow. The spoon rose into the air again and Gabriella winced and shrunk down, "Ora, ragazza!"

At the table, plates were passed and piled high with food, and glasses were being routinely filled by eager amateur vintners. Children laughed and squealed when offered stewed offal or sweetbreads. Ancient jokes were retold to an audience that had heard them a thousand times over, still howling with laughter. The candles that had been lit early in the evening now sprawled milky wax across the tablecloth. Faces were warm with wine and being surrounded by their loved ones. Even newcomers to the family felt the love and closeness and substance of the evening.

Nonna Rossa's arrival was greeted at first with silence. Everyone stood in reverence of the wizened matriarch as she slowly maneuvered to her seat at the head of the table. When everyone else had seated, Gabriella carted in the most luxurious chocolate cake eyes had ever glimpsed. A rich, velvety ganache cascaded over the soft, buttery sponge and silky cream filling. Perfectly curled shavings of chocolate made a dark, tangled forest on top with large, robust boulders of flaky sea salt peppered across the landscape. "Oohs" and "aahs" arose from around the table. Bellies were full to almost bursting, and still growled in anticipation for a slice of such magnificent cake.

"Wait everyone!" A voice arose from the room. "I can't let any of you have any of that cake. Not yet, anyway." Eyes darted over to the source of the intrusion. Who could possibly be foolish enough to deny this crowd what they so voraciously craved? Carlo Volpe stood next to his new bride Emilia. "I know we all can't wait to cut into that masterpiece, but if you'll look, I think you'll see a small glass of my homemade limoncello by your plates." Carlo had very craftily been making the rounds at every seat of the table, discreetly placing a small shot near the plates of all the adults. "Now, I suppose it's high time we give a toast and thanks to our wonderful, gracious molto bellissima hostess!" Nonna Rossa giggled wryly and waved her hand at Carlo. "To Nonna Rossa Maria Ricci Varricchia! Here's to a hundred years blessing this Earth." The guests all gratefully downed the neon-yellow liquid, their gasps and coughs only amplifying Carlo's booming voice as he poured himself another shot, "And here's to a hundred more! Salute! Now, Gabs, how's about we start slicing that cake?"

The sound of car doors slamming and drunk party goers filled the night air. Children and adults sprawled in the backseat of cars, couches, and guest beds. Carlo Volpe was tucked behind and underneath the bar, clutching two empty, sticky bottles of his homebrewed hooch. All of dishes had been cleared away and were being washed by the slightly older children. Their labor was not wholly unrewarded; what remained of the chocolate ganache laid in an unguarded bowl in the kitchen. It quickly wound up staining the dishwashers' lips.

Gabriella shivered in the night air. She was walking around the back of the house to the garage to see if Giuseppe was still there. It was empty, but his car was still parked on the street. He had left his cigarette case on a small counter near the garage door. Gabriella opened it and helped herself to one. The flame from her lighter bathed her face in a brief warming respite. When she took that first drag, the fire was sucked into her lungs and warmth radiated to her fingertips. She blew a sickly pale stream of smoke out of one corner of her mouth, and cleared her throat afterward. A slight motion in the distance had caught her eye. It was a man, traveling from the willow to the lake.

"Giuseppe? Is that you?" Gabriella called softly, "I hope you don't mind I took a smoke." The man stopped, and turned to face Gabriella. The moon too had a helping of cake, it was swollen and round. Its light filled the small lake behind the house, and shone on the dewy grass. Gabriella could make out Giuseppe's thin face and shaggy hair in the light dancing around him. And she could see his feet were not touching the ground.

Giuseppe's body shuddered, his toes pointed and his arms flew out to his sides. Shaking, his head reeled backwards and his mouth pried open, but no scream came from his throat. He resumed his slow procession to the lake, and Gabriella hurried after him. She turned the around the side of the house, and saw another figure on the lake shore. A small shadow swayed and bobbed near the waters edge. The shadow twisted slowly sideways, extending along the beach. It stopped just before Giuseppe's shuddering, floating body. Gabriella pushed downward into the grass, preparing to launch herself toward Giuseppe and the shadow. Her muscles tensed, but would not release, her momentum dissipated into the earth, and her arms became locked in the air. Her Nonna's furious scowl flashed into her mind.

"Nonna, per favore!" Gabriella pleaded. Her chest heaved to push air up her throat and out into the air, but there was no sound. A pounding began growing in her stomach. The shadow reached Giuseppe and rose to meet him in the air. The small orb of blackness rippled and expanded into the small, frail shape of Nonna Rossa. The pounding was in Gabriella's chest now. Nonna Rossa had no look of malice, or anger, she did not look warm or kindly. Her eyes studied Giuseppe carefully, and as her eyes moved from his head to his feet, he descended slowly to the ground. Staring at Giuseppe now kneeling on the wet grass, Gabriella felt the pounding move to her throat. She began quietly choking, her cheeks white hot and her eyes being stung shut.

Rossa looked up to Gabriella, and offered the faintest smile at her granddaughter. "Bambina," her voice was warm syrup floating through the cold air, "Everything will be fine. Please don't worry." Her syrupy words began to coagulate. The pounding had moved to Gabriella's ears, and her eyes burned more than ever, but something was keeping them pried open. "The ingredient," Rossa pressed her fingers together to make a point, "makes them blind and deaf to what will happen here." A low, resonant chuckle gurgled from deep within Nonna Rossa. Her fingernails grew together, long and black. Her right hand moved closer to Giuseppe's mouth. He stuggled and shook for a time, but a look from Rossa held him still as Gabriella. Rossa delicately threaded her nails down Giuseppe's throat, and she began humming a low note.

A faint pink light slowly emerged from Giuseppe's gaping mouth. His body quickly fell limp onto the coarse sand. "Ahhh," Rossa mused, "He still loved you. What a pity your heart is as cold as mine." She flashed a toothy grin to Gabriella, before sliding the light from her long fingernails into her mouth and gulping mightily. The water near Giuseppe began to toss and boil restlessly. Rossa produced the small flask from earlier, and slowly drooled more of the same shimmering black liquid into it. The water tossed and crashed wave after wave onto the shore, eventually reaching Giuseppe's body. As the waves pulled back into the lake, he was dragged with them, disappearing into the blackness.

Nonna Rossa spat the last few drops into the flask, before showing off her stained-black fangs to Gabriella. "Look at you, face dripping with tears and snot." Rossa scoffed and shook her head. "It won't do at all." She produced a small handkerchief and wiped Gabriella's face clean. Gabriella's eyes still burned and her throat ached from the effort of trying to scream. All she could muster was to mouth "Why?" Rossa guffawed, "Silly girl. Good lambs don't ask questions before they are slaughtered." Rossa crossed the lawn to the willow, making Gabriella slide silently behind her. The long, swaying branches created a canopy of total darkness, hiding Rossa and Gabriella from the moon. The willow's bark felt hot, thin beams of red light were escaping from inside the trunk. With her nails still fused into a terrible claw, Rossa pried a section of bark away from the trunk. Gabriella's eyes grew wider, and she shook her head feverishly from side to side. The pounding was louder than ever. Nodding, Rossa took the back of Gabriella's head into the palm of her hand, and with the might of a thousand dead men threw her into the trunk of the willow. The crimson light began to fade, and Rossa shrunk down into a shadow and slipped into the crack in the bark.

Gabriella sat next to Rossa's urn, placed atop the fireplace in her home. Rossa left nearly everything to her, the house, Giancarlo's car, his stake in all the local businesses he had financed. No one in the family was bitter, Gabriella was Rossa's favorite, and it was a heavy burden to lead the family affairs at such a young age. "I'm terribly sorry, Gabs." Carlo held her hands in his, "And I want you to know, if that creep Giuseppe shows up again, me and the boys will 'talk' to him for you." Gabriella smiled softly, "I'm just so lucky to have a family as supportive as this one. Thank you, Carlo. And I want you to know, Nonna always thought your limoncello was perfect. Molto buono!" she laughed bittersweetly, her eyes drifting away. Gabriella felt a slight tickle in her throat, and coughed into her palm. Someone offered to bring her water, but she politely declined. Pulling her hand from her mouth, a small drop of black, shimmering liquid rested on the heel of her palm. She quickly rubbed her hands together, and wiped them on her dress, a small smile growing on her face. She would miss Nonna Rossa.