The Best American Travel Writing 2012 - Plot & Excerpts
Except for the book, she fit the popular image of the young Siciliana: black hair, black dress, black shoes. She looked as if she’d come from Mass. I took a seat at the other end of the bench, from where I could make out the title of her book: The Portrait of a Lady. “That’s a good book,” I said. “Scusi?” she asked, startled by my intrusion. “Henry James is a wonderful writer.” She smiled without looking at me. “I’m trying to improve my English,” she explained. Her name was Rosalina. She had recently returned from Milan to look after her ailing mother in Palermo. “A lot of young people leave Sicily,” she said. Her brother lived in Milan. “We are not good citizens,” she said bluntly. “Do you know what I mean?” I mentioned the litter, which, after only two days, had made an impression. “Yes. We live in a kind of paradise. We have the sun and the sea. We think everything will take care of itself.” I told her I had come to write about the anti-Mafia organization Addiopizzo.
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