Word of the illness spread quickly among the denizens of the dog park who could only come to one conclusion: the Contessa was at death’s door.
Speculation ran rampant as to the exact nature of the illness. Cancer, whispered a woman in a brown beret to a man in a feathered fedora as their dogs wrestled under the boughs of the cypress tree. It started in the stomach, but they say it’s been spreading. She’s been visiting the hospital at regular intervals in recent months, no doubt for radiation therapy. In the last few weeks, her visits have been more frequent. She’s not even that old, noted a blonde in blue boots. Ah, but cancer doesn’t discriminate, said the brown beret.
It’s not cancer, but a deadly intestinal bacterium, said the fedora. Certain strains cannot be killed with antibiotics. His brother’s neighbor’s aunt was a nurse in the adjoining clinic, and she had reported on the Contessa’s symptoms: vomiting, severe dehydration, swelling of the ventral cavity, and relentless pain in the lower abdomen, hips, and back. Supposedly, the pain intensifies as the illness progresses.
It does seem to be getting worse now, said the blonde, kicking a ball for her terrier to chase. The Contessa was admitted again last night, according to the blonde’s postman, and ever since then, her screams of agony had grown louder with each passing hour. Whatever the cause, they all agreed, it seemed certain that the Contessa had days, at most, left to live.
A short redhead entered the park and unleashed the husky at her heel. The group welcomed her, and conjecture turned to the Contessa’s estate. The Contessa was the only living descendant of the Monti family, Florentine nobility dating back to the 14th century. Among the many Monti possessions, all belonging to the Contessa, none was so highly prized as the Palazzo Principio, a magnificent Renaissance building that sat along the Arno, a stone’s throw from the Ponte Vecchio. Beautifully restored and as large as an entire city block, the Principio was said to be the most valuable privately-owned building in all of Florence.
Chatter centered on this real estate jewel—to whom would it pass? Only the Contessa’s lawyer knew the details of her will, said a black-bearded man to the brown beret, whose poodle sniffed her pockets for a treat. The black beard’s sister-in-law was friends with the Contessa’s lawyer’s secretary, who claimed to know the contents of the will, although she had not seen it directly. She swore that the property would be left to the Contessa’s goddaughter. Although not technically a part of the Monti family, the goddaughter was, at least, a Florentine of traceable lineage.
Ah, said the brown beret, but I heard that there is a distant cousin who is coming in from Austria this very night. Undoubtedly the cousin is the heir, and she is visiting in order to lay claim to the property. Impossible, said the fedora, whose Pomeranians were playing hide-and-seek behind a bench. The Contessa is as Florentine as the red lily. She would never allow the Principio to pass into foreign hands.
The Monti family are renowned philanthropists, said the blue-booted blonde. A rumor had reached her that the Contessa would donate the Principio to the University of Florence. Earlier generations of Monti had bequeathed a number of paintings and manuscripts to the University’s museums, and the Contessa was said to have hand-picked the current University president. If she left the Principio to the University, she would be enshrined as one of the most prestigious and influential Florentines ever to have supported the cause of higher learning.
Don’t count out the Church, said the feathered fedora. The Monti are devout Catholics. In the absence of an heir, the Contessa might have decided to leave the Principio to the Church, guaranteeing her a spot in Heaven. Such an act was common in earlier times.
The Catholic Church is in decline, responded the black beard. The monasteries are running out of monks. The pews sit empty except on Easter. It would be a monumental loss to leave such a gem to the Church.
In Florence, such follies have been committed before, said the feathered fedora.
Energized by the waning daylight, the happy hounds chased one another in large loops around the park. A golden retriever, fixated on a stick, implored his owner to throw it once more. A leathery dachshund waddled from one shrub to the next, sniffing the low-hanging leaves for the scent of what had taken place. The owners smoked their hand-rolled cigarettes and buttoned up their overcoats, as the day’s warmth yielded to an early evening chill.
The Florentines wondered how long it would be until they knew the fate of the Principio. Sometimes the contents of a will are revealed within days. Other times, it could take months. Surely the journalists would satisfy the public’s curiosity soon.
It’s a shame, really, said the redhead, shoveling the left-behinds of the dogs who had been there.
That we don’t know the fate of the Principio? asked the black beard.
That the Contessa is about to die, said the redhead. She emptied the shovel into the trash can.
As darkness began to overtake the sky and the lamplights were lit, the owners stamped out their cigarettes and leashed their dogs. Arrivederci. Buona serata. A domani.
In the late-night hours, the Contessa’s screams finally came to a halt.
This morning, the news spread like wildfire: the Contessa had not died. The Principio’s fate was no longer in question. For the Contessa would soon be heading home from the hospital, her new baby girl cuddled tightly in her arms
Jill left behind startups to dust off her English major and finally write a novel. Her work has been published in Atlas & Alice, Catapult, and New Flash Fiction Review, among others. After living in Italy for the past two years, she currently writes from Richmond, Virginia. Find her online. Twitter: @jwitty Instagram: @the_calitalians
Photo by Olivier Darny from Pexels