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"A bird called in the darkness, a weak plaintive call. A moth fluttered near the lamp and a bat flitted near her head making her jump with fright. Here on the terrace, within the cloak of darkness, she felt a great yearning, felt herself reaching out over the sea. If only she could transform herself into a moth or a bat and travel across the waves to her loved one. She sighed, and turned, and entered her house"
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
Evening; Erice, Sicily
After a hot day, a drifting evening mist envelops the mountain citadel of Erice with its small town of narrow cobbled streets.
As night approaches, lights begin to appear in the little windows of the squat grey stone houses. In the Street of the Merchants stands a larger house, built into the slope; you enter from the street, straight onto the first floor, above a basement kitchen.
Exquisitely tiled floors and archways lead you into small rooms, majles the Arabs call them; rooms with sofas, small stuffed leather pouffes, low mosaic tables.
These were the public rooms where guests were received, revived with dark black coffee after the climb up the pinnacle.
In the centre of the house is an open tiled courtyard with trees and shrubs in terracotta pots.
If you climb the marble staircase you come to other small rooms, one slightly larger than the others - these were the family rooms.
Another level again and you come to the bedrooms, one of which has a roof terrace looking down over the port of Trapani.
This was the house of Lalla Rocca. Luxurious, refined, complex.
It speaks of wealth, and of mystery.