tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24489882614346155762024-03-13T19:13:55.683-07:00When I Was Your Age--A memoirPieces,fragments,lapses of intention. All writing and photos are the property of Rosaria D'Ambrosio Williams.Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-37413724845335598442014-12-22T10:27:00.000-08:002015-03-08T11:10:11.695-07:00Postscript One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Except for the weather, and its aftermath, life seems to have slowed down to a crawl for us, my husband and me, until last Thanksgiving. Thanks to the Internet, a grand-nephew of mine, Jacopo D'Ambrosio,grandson of my brother Toni, Antonio D'Ambrosio, found me and began emailing me. For a week, I got to meet him, his family and the family of his aunt, my brother's daughter, Laura D'Ambrosio. I shall pass his email information to my granddaughter Jasmine Tintut Williams who is the same age as Jacopo.<br />
<br />
These were the connections I hoped to make when I started writing online. One day, I thought, the young generations will become curious and will come searching for us, for the rest of the family in America.<br />
<br />
My journey has come full circle.<br />
What better way to celebrate Thanksgiving?<br />
What better way to embrace the future than making these connections?<br />
<br /></div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-75198578334698724642010-11-26T13:30:00.000-08:002014-05-11T09:02:39.374-07:00Closed Down.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear Reader:<br />
This blog is officially closed. <br />
Thank you for following along, encouraging and inspiring me on this journey. I appreciated every one of your comments.<br />
Rosaria<br />
rosariainpo@gmail.com</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-70296862159122410472010-07-15T07:10:00.000-07:002013-01-24T14:59:58.875-08:00You Never Know Who is Watching!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
You never know who is watching! <br />
Italy Magazine gave me a shout-out this week.<br />
<br />
Read the interview below. Thanks Pat and Italy Magazine for this opportunity. <br />
Here is the link: <br />
<br />
<br />
http://www.italymag.co.uk/italy-featured/basilicata/blog-week-when-i-was-your-age<br />
Blog of the Week - When I was your age<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Published: Jul 13th, 2010<br />
Location: Basilicata<br />
<br />
<b>Topic: Blog of the week </b><br />
<br />
Words by Pat Eggleton - Pictures courtesy of Rosaria D’Ambrosio Williams<br />
<br />
Today our blog of the week is a bit different and we think you’ll find it interesting. In “When I Was Your Age – A Memoir” Rosaria D’Ambrosio Williams, who now lives in Oregon, tells the story of a young Italian woman’s journey to America and of the people she left behind.<br />
<br />
Rosaria, you wrote the blog “When I was your age” as a memoir for your children. When did you decide to do it and what inspired you?<br />
<br />
Right after I retired, when I moved away from my children and missed them terribly. Somehow, writing about my childhood helped me connect all the pieces.<br />
<br />
For those who have not followed your blog, can you tell us where you were born in Italy and something about your childhood there?<br />
<br />
I was born in the region of Basilicata, in a small town called Venosa, during WWII. My earliest memories were all about the war, the occupation, the poverty. I downplayed that part, actually.<br />
<br />
There has been so much written about the war that I could not add to the literature. Instead, I concentrated on my family’s focus to emigrate, to find a way out of the poverty. The memoir is both about me and about my family’s tragic situation - how they survived, what they went through to keep on living with hope and faith.<br />
<br />
When did you go to America and why?<br />
<br />
I was seventeen when an uncle sponsored me to study in America. My town had schooling up to the fifth grade. To go beyond that was very difficult. It took all of our extra resources to continue my education past the fifth grade. I jumped at the opportunity to go to university.<br />
<br />
Were you very lonely at first?<br />
<br />
Very! Lonely for everything and everyone. What kept me focused was the desire to finish my degree.<br />
<br />
Where did you live and what did you do?<br />
<br />
I lived with my uncle and his family, serving as a babysitter and housekeeper, helping out any way I could, in exchange for room, board and tuition.<br />
<br />
What helped you settle and what, apart from your family, did you miss the most?<br />
<br />
Settle is a process still going on! I missed the food the most. Products were not the same and were hard to obtain at that time. Later, I fell in love with a wonderful man a few months before I was scheduled to return to Italy. Falling in love changes everything. Still, to this day, I don’t think I am settled. I’m content with my choices; I’m happy to be alive and have all the opportunities I have; I’m glad my children are well. But, if I had any choice at all, I would live half a year in Italy, and half a year in America. I miss so many things! At the beginning, it was my family. Later, even little things - a food I craved, a smell. I am still homesick.<br />
<br />
Did any of your family follow you to America?<br />
<br />
No! It’s one of the tragic strands of the story. They never did. They kept hoping all the time that somehow, one or all of them could join me. They visited me for short bursts.<br />
<br />
Did you ever think about going back to Italy to live?<br />
<br />
Right after we retired, we contemplated the idea. Italy is just too expensive. Besides, my children are here and I would miss them.<br />
<br />
Do you ever visit Italy?<br />
<br />
I’ve visited Italy a couple of times, for brief periods.<br />
<br />
Do you ever think about contacting members of your family with whom you have lost touch?<br />
<br />
Yes. We attempt to stay in touch; but, it is not easy. I am hoping that through the internet we can reach each other, or that our children can. I have many nieces and nephews whom I have never met.<br />
<br />
If you could give the girl you were when you emigrated some advice, what would it be?<br />
<br />
This is a good question, but most difficult to answer. I was so naïve and I knew nothing of the challenges waiting for me. I’d say, visit for a little while, say a year, as an exchange student. Enjoy each country and what it can offer before you make such a life-changing decision.<br />
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What do you hope your children and, perhaps, their children, will gain from reading your memoir?<br />
<br />
I hope they understand how difficult my choices were. I hope they learn that every one of us is on a journey, peppered with choices, both moral and financial. That our journey defines us and gives us both strength and character.<br />
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What aspects of your Italian heritage would you like to pass on to your children?<br />
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A love of life! An appreciation for art and music and education. A sense of wonder and exploration and joy! An appreciation of the classics.<br />
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You have two other blogs, don’t you? Can you tell us a little about these?<br />
<br />
Sixtyfivewhatnow is about living in a small town, growing old, being involved with the community. I also have an Italian language blog, Italian for Beginners. I started it for my grandchild, who has shown interest in learning Italian. She is Asian/American, speaks Mandarin, Burmese, Spanish, and now is dabbling in Italian. Who knows where she’ll go on her journey?!<br />
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Thank you for talking to Italy Magazine and happy blogging.<br />
<br />
Thank you for your interest. I appreciated the opportunity.<br />
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<br />
ITALY Magazine - the n.1 magazine for lovers of all things italian <br />
<br />
istos srl - web development and social media / +39 0932 950222 / Via Benedetto Spadaro 109, 97014 Ispica (RG), Italia</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-38651242040576883242010-06-22T09:11:00.000-07:002013-01-24T15:28:02.878-08:00Epilogue<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Update:<br />
(5/ 18, 2012. This picture of my son Brian was taken in July 2011, a few weeks before he died.)<br />
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<br />
<br />
The purpose of this project was to leave some shards of the past for future generations. It became a pilgrimage into the past, to the person I was, the family we were.<br />
<br />
About the people in this memoir:<br />
Teodoro Rapolla (Ted, Tiudo), married Marie Dugan, and died in Los Angeles, California. He had three children, Anne Marie, Georgeanne and Paul. Paul died before his father. His daughters still live in the house he built/designed in Burbank, California.<br />
<br />
Adelina Rapolla, Lina, settled in Fresno, California, where Uncle Jo, Giuseppe Rapolla had lived. She had three children, JoAnn Scordino, Don Scordino and Carla Scordino. Don still lives in Fresno.<br />
<br />
Addolorata Rapolla D’Ambrosio, Dolora’, my mother, moved to Monza after our family home was transformed into a parking area for the elementary school nearby. This occurred after I left for America. She and my father retired back in Venosa. Father died in 1973, she in 1986. She visited me in California and was present at the birth of my third child, Brian.<br />
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Antonio D’Ambrosio, Toni’, my eldest brother, moved to Torino, then Milano, all over the North of Italy, worked as a taylor, a costume designer, and a fashion designer. He married, and moved his family to Monza. He ended up working for The Piccolo Teatro di Milano as a fashion designer. Later, he worked for the fashion house of Valentino in Rome. His two two children, Mario and Laura still live in Milano or its vicinity. Toni' is 78, retired and living back in Venosa with his second wife, Rosetta. He bought land and built himself a retirement cottage on a vineyard, in the same style as our family home.<br />
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Luigi D’Ambrosio, my baby brother, was five when I left for California. He lives with his wife Debra in Invorio, Piemonte.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I, (Rosaria, Ninetta,) emigrated in 1959 at seventeen. Attended college and graduate school, became a teacher, and later a specialist and an administrator. I settled in Los Angeles, married Kendrick Williams, a scientist and researcher. Our children, Jon Scott Williams, Pia Nicole Williams-Robbins, Brian Christian Williams. We retired on the beautiful Southern Oregon Coast where we are presently residing. Our youngest, Brian Christian Williams, became a victim of homicide in Fullerton, California, on July 17, 2011.<br />
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Donna Maria Rosaria, Mingu’s mother, lived way into her eighties.<br />
<br />
All other relatives, Mingu’s brothers, Addolorata's aunts and cousings are scattered in Italy. There are Rapolla's cousins living in New Jersey and New York. I met Helena Rapolla Farrell via Facebook-courtesy of JoAnn Scordino who had met her in person years before. That part of the family is doing well.<br />
<br />
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The family house I grew up in was torn down. Even the church I was baptized in, The Church of Purgatory, was declared unsafe and shut down. Ironically, the college I attended, Immaculate Heart College is now The American Film Institute. The church we were married in, a small Russian wooden church, St. Basil, burned down, and in its place, a beautiful big cathedral was erected on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles.<br />
<br />
I returned to visit Venosa just twice, in 1970, and in 2002.<br />
<br />
Some names were changed to protect privacy. Historical facts and information reported here are shared memories, and are repeated as heard. Any error was not intentional nor meant to deceive anybody.<br />
<br />
This memoir is dedicated to my family: my children, who are my pride and joy, and my husband who has been my constant supporter. Without them, I would cry my heart out and never tell the whole truth.<br />
To contact me:<br />
rosariainpo@gmail.com<br />
<br />
(this page updated 5/18/2012)</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-58838339729051134452010-06-21T07:55:00.000-07:002013-01-24T15:19:33.855-08:00Coming to America<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong>(This picture was taken in anticipation of our voyage to America. I'm the little girl, six years old. Next to me is my father, Mingu, Domenico, my mother, Dolora', Addolorata, and my big brother Tony, Antonio. My little brother Luigi was not born yet.)</strong><br />
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I was four when I met Zio Tiudo, Uncle Ted, for the first time. He was a skinny man, with a bad leg, back from India where he spent many years as a prisoner of war. I was still sleeping in my crib, and he insisted I was too old to sleep there. He spent time painting, and telling stories of his captivity. <br />
<br />
Mamma said he became corrupted by all those years in a foreign land, in a foreign climate. The year was 1946, and when I started pre-school at the convent where Mamma and Zia Adelina had attended at my age, he walked me there and talked to the sisters at length. They had him talk to our class too. He was funny,warm, handsome,engaging.<br />
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He and my Aunt Adelina left for America in 1947..<br />
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We were all supposed to go together. But, we couldn't obtain the proper visas. Uncle and Aunt traveled to Argentina first, and later emigrated to the United States. At that time, the quota for Italian immigrants was much smaller than for other immigrants from Northern Europe.<br />
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Our house went from being very crowded, people sleeping everywhere, to suddenly eerily empty. My mother cried from the moment we left the house, and through the next day after the departure. I remember Tony saluting the train goodbye by standing at attention, just as a soldier would. <br />
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Packages from America, big pillowcases full of clothes, shoes, food began to arrive as soon as my relatives reached California, about eighteen months later. Cans of strange sausages, salty and gelatinous were stuck in the middle of the pillowcases. Not exactly to our taste; but meat nevertheless. Mother sported a new coat that year, which fit her perfectly after alterations.<br />
<br />
We began to wear American made clothes, and people talked to us as though we were already Americani. My dad, though, refused to wear anything the American relatives sent us. “Why do they bother sending this stuff when we are scheduled to join them? Maybe they have changed their minds. Maybe they want to shut us up.”<br />
<br />
He was counting the days when they would send for us, not send their discards.<br />
<br />
For years, Mother had been trading her sisters' trousseau linens for food or farm supplies. Finally, they were being replaced by the good fortune and generosity that made her sister arrive in America. When I began to write and was put in charge of responding to letters, I would add my own commentaries. Zia, I would say, it’s so good to know you are finding such abundance. It must feel as though you are in Paradise after the scarcity you left behind. Mother would hear the letters and question my round-about ways. “Tell her we need to leave now. Don’t beat around the bushes. Tell her that we sacrificed for her. She can't be selfish!”<br />
<br />
Mother was always looking for ways to improve our lot. She had taken me to line ups at the American War Camps to receive shots of quinine to prevent malaria; a line up to get vitamin pills<br />
or cans of DDT.<br />
<br />
Dad grumbled, not trusting any medicine given out freely. <br />
<br />
Once, she dragged me screaming and fussing to a louse-treatment line up, making sure my hair was deloused whether I liked it or not. A most- foul smell lingered around us for days. At nursery school, the nuns separated those of us with funny smells and made us stand in the back, away from everybody else.<br />
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One of my earliest memory was being held between Zia Adelina’s knees, squeezed so I wouldn’t escape, as she killed the lice and pulled the zits out of my hair with vigor and tenacity, one at a time, a task that tired us both. The pain and indignation, and the fear of being consumed by lice, made me cry the entire time.<br />
<br />
Lice and other infestations were rampant during the war years. Many children died of malnutrition or parasitic infections.<br />
<br />
I had intestinal problems as a child, pin worms, tape worms, and assorted stomach and digestive problems shared by many children in my town. Again, medications and treatments could be had at the American posts. We all depended on these make-shift generous medicinal dispensaries. If there was something that would make me and my brother get an advantage in life, Mother took us to that line-up. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mother had enormous faith that her brother and sister would eventually find a way for all of us to join them in America. Every year, she started a novena on this pursuit, a novena that might go on longer than most, months on end, necessitating many prayers, additional visitations to the patron saint appropriate for such a miracle, and a special diet too. On this particular one, since it was such a big miracle, one that might take years to bring about, she gave up meat entirely. Giving up any food was difficult when one has so little to eat. But, giving up meat when one has meat just once or twice a week, and not enough to feel full and contented, but just enough to resuscitate the meat loving glands in your appetite apparatus, that was a major sacrifice. For this one, she prayed to Saint Christopher, not too well known in our parts.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She had given me the task to find the appropriate saint. Not San Rocco; he had the entire town praying to him; not the Madonna delle Grazie, way too many people occupied those pews every morning. She wanted an important figure, one with power and persuasion, one who would get an immediate audience with God Himself.<br />
<br />
I found Saint Christopher, patron saints of travelers. Great! She had never heard of him, but trusted my reading and researching abilities. We were going to be great travelers if Saint Christopher took us as clients. How do we do the novenas for this saint? I made up the rest, since no book in the archdiocese specified this stage. “A saint for travelers,” I told her, “needs plenty of songs to help pass the time.”<br />
<br />
“Songs?” She inquired, incredulously. The songs we sang in Church were hymns intermixed with recitations.<br />
<br />
“Yeah. Songs like O Sole Mio, Mamma, Santa Lucia. As a matter of fact, there is probably a town dedicated to him; we should visit the town, attend the Feast in his name, and get on his good side. Don’t we attend special feast days and give our thanks to special saints?”<br />
<br />
“You are right!” She said.<br />
<br />
I expected Father to object. What is this? He might say. Where does she get these ideas? We don’t send her to school to come up with these money spending thoughts. We have no business traveling somewhere just to pray.<br />
<br />
But he didn’t. And he would have gone along with the idea until something else happened. He got a job, the first Thank-God job that kept him out of the house for months at a time. He became a guard for the Agrarian Reform Movement, a land redistribution program that occurred after the war, splitting up big land holdings and allowing people to homestead/purchase in time/mortgage in labor kind of program. Farm residences were being built on five acres of land each. Some places were kilometers apart. Father’s job was to travel to each one, unexpectedly, spend the night with the shepherds or whoever camped there, and try to keep a presence in the field.<br />
<br />
When Zia Adelina wrote that roses had thorns, her code phrase for things are complicated and painful, Mother knew in her heart that only a miracle could precipitate the right action. She didn't know what was troubling her sister; but whatever it was, Mother was going to pray for it to dissipate.<br />
<br />
The promise that was America stood on an altar in our house, right next to the Madonna Delle Grazie, Mother’s patroness, and the added Saint Christopher. America was the same as heaven. When I argued with her that we needed to learn English to have a chance at surviving in America, she dismissed my worries. "What? How did my sister manage? She didn't speak English?"<br />
"Mamma, that's one reason she might be having trouble. They speak English, not Italian."<br />
<br />
Mother thought that people all over the world were the same, speaking basically the same, with just a few variations, as in the dialect she heard from people who visited the town on Saint Rocco's Feast Day. Dialects are not different languages, but different inflections, even different expressions. She thought everyone in the world spoke a form of Italian. Didn't the Romans occupy the known world? <br />
<br />
<br />
We took official sets of pictures, and got ready to go at a moment's notice. The town continued to buzz with news of our imminent fortune.<br />
<br />
My family never emigrated.<br />
<br />
Uncle returned to Italy eight years later, in 1955, after Uncle Giuseppe died and the property was divided. My big brother Tony had left for work in Milano, Mother had a new toddler to care for. By now, all our hopes had dried up. America was no longer our destination.,<br />
<br />
I was the only one who emigrated for America in 1959. My experience was not an easy one. But, I completed my studies, obtained a teaching job, and got married.<br />
<br />
My mother, and my younger brother Luigi, visited me, each for an extended amount of time when I lived in Los Angeles. They saw first hand how we lived, how we too struggled to attain the dream. <br />
<br />
Their lives had been enriched because Americans were generous. The Marshall plan had helped Italy recover from the war in many ways. The Land Reform allowed many people the opportunity to work the land and own it after a while. Houses were built, loans were made, opportunities handed out generously. Father’s job provided steady cash income that helped me continue with my studies past the fifth grade.<br />
<br />
My parents always looked to the future, when times would get easier, when their children would break the cycle of poverty. Whatever strength they had, they poured it into making sure each of us had opportunities and education.<br />
<br />
My journey is coming to an end. I will never feel totally at home anywhere. Italy is my first home. Italy is a mother’s hug, and a father’s praise. But Italy feels foreign now. Through sheer willpower, I make my home where I find myself.<br />
<br />
I think of all who emigrated, who left what and whom they loved, what they knew. We can return; but we have changed in a fundamental way. We are saddened by the change; saddened that we lost our connections to our past. Nothing is the same. We are the outsiders now, the Americani. We take comfort in the fact that our children will not have to feel this loss. <br />
<br />
My children will not understand these feelings. I am two-three hours away from each of them, by car or by plane. They get to come back home anytime they wish. We get together anytime we need to be. But their roots are shallow and their branches are not truncated. They only know what is in front of them.<br />
<br />
In my dreams, I’m back home, in the same little house, everyone around me, having a big Sunday meal. Only then, I feel whole.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>The End.</strong></div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-61811193141357142452010-06-20T07:32:00.000-07:002013-01-24T15:25:34.455-08:00War Path<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><em>Imperial War Museum photo number: E 6064</em></strong><br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
<strong><em>28 September 1941. Men of the (British) King's African Rifles (KAR) collecting surrendered arms at Wolchefit Pass, after the last Italians had finally ceased resistance in Ethiopia.</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Photographer: Clements H J (Lt), No 1 Army Film & Photographic Unit (UK)</em></strong><br />
<strong><em>Collection No.: 4700-32</em></strong><br />
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<br />
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<br />
When a fifteen year old Tiudo presented himself at the home of his grandparents, in Naples, he was dirty, hungry and bloodied. He waited on the doorstep for hours before his grandmother returned home.<br />
<br />
She saw that he was fed, cleaned and bandaged before her husband returned. He noticed for the first time how old and fragile she was. In her presence, he broke down and cried for the first time since his father died. Her home smelled so much like his old home, the same roses on the credenza, the same drapes in the dining room. Everything he had felt in the last year returned to pain him with a vengeance. His father’s death, his sister’s death, the loss of their house.<br />
<br />
“This is not how I am.” He told her, ashamed of his tears, of his condition.<br />
<br />
“Yes, dear. It’s all right.”<br />
<br />
“I came to say goodbye.”<br />
<br />
“Oh? ”<br />
<br />
" I’m joining the military.” He knew that she would not remember their ages; she always mixed his birthday with Lina’s. But he also knew that she would be the only one he could talk to now. His sisters were burdened already with their own problems.<br />
<br />
“You could wait another year. No?” She tried to find out what else this boy could do.<br />
<br />
“Nonna, there is no need to wait.” He wanted to be talked out; but he also wanted to be done with waiting, done with being bossed around.<br />
<br />
“Well, I suppose. It would so please your nonno if you remained a while with us. Seeing you children does us good. We are so sorry about your father, your sister! My goodness, I can still see her here with us. If only she waited….” And she too began sobbing, shedding tears she had already shed when she let Graziella return home.<br />
<br />
At dinner time, Doctor Fabrizi asked him straight out: “So, young man, Don Teodoro Rapolla, how do you plan on making your fortune at your age?” The boy was shocked to hear his full name. Sometimes, his father had used the name to emphasize some precept or other, usually when the youth needed punishment.<br />
<br />
“I’m a pretty good artist, actually.” He responded, straightening up, aware he was wearing his grandfather’s shirt and coat. He had nothing. Not even a change of clothing. <br />
<br />
“You think anyone will part with their few lire for a portrait? There are strikes, famines and pick-pockets everywhere. Everyone is worried about having enough to eat. The government is taking-over industries. Don’t you get any news in that town of yours? If you don’t return back home, you’ll be shanghaied. I’ve seen it happen right down on the waterfront.” Doctor Fabrizi was not sure what would convince the boy to settle down. He needed a dose of good fortune, he thought.<br />
<br />
“Papa was a soldier,” the boy responded, “this was his dream for me too!” <br />
<br />
“This is a different Italy, not the King your father served. We can purchase your passage to America, if you don’t want to go back home. Don’t you have an uncle and aunt there?”<br />
<br />
“We have not heard from them.”<br />
<br />
“You need to plan ahead a little bit. How did you just show up here without a plan? We can house you while you go to school?”<br />
<br />
Tiudo made no plans that night. He ate, slept soundly, and the next day he joined the army. They asked him how old he was; he told them he was eighteen.<br />
<br />
Three years later, the grandparents received a letter from India. Tiudo had been captured in Africa, three months in his service, by the British, and taken as a war prisoner.<br />
<br />
“It is hot here, hotter than anything I ever experienced,” he wrote. “I’m treated well, with plenty of food, and opportunities to paint. I’m learning to speak English and plan on going to America when all this is over. Tell my sisters I’m doing fine.”</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-50327092070256015182010-06-17T10:15:00.000-07:002013-02-10T14:41:33.600-08:00Under One Roof<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<em>(The picture is called "case vecchie", part of a museum show called Case di Contadini. Contadini means farmers. The picture came with a blog from Decomondo. Thank you Me for the source.)</em><br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
Mingu’s cavalry unit was never called to serve. He remained on standby as Italy and Germany joined forces, as German troops arrived to occupy the southern end of Italy to fight the Allies about to land in Sicily. <br />
<br />
His mother arranged his marriage to the next sister while the Loggia was being auctioned off and the surrounding land was sold a plot at a time to pay off creditors. The old life was quickly dissipating.<br />
<br />
Don Matteo, the parish priest, was not surprised by the age difference between Dolora and Mingu. These things were unavoidable, he counseled both, as life must go on and the family must be kept together. He married the couple at a private ceremony. Dolora mostly dazed, not understanding the significance or the weight of God and Church in these matters. Mingu understood that the union was unavoidable.<br />
<br />
Dolora felt an enormous disquietude. Her opportunities to be courted, to have suitors at her door, the way her mother or Graziella had, these opportunities had passed her by. She knew nothing of life outside of the Loggia. Becoming Mingu's bride meant that she and her siblings would not end up at an orphanage the way many orphans did.<br />
<br />
After the ceremony, his mother told her that she didn't have to share the matrimonial bed until she was ready, after a proper amount of time for her son to have forgotten his Graziella. Dolora had no intention of taking Graziella's role in bed with Mingu, and was assured that it was up to her when the time was right.<br />
<br />
There was nothing else to do but to take care of the house, and be a mother to her siblings. Their relatives had offered to take one of them, Tiudo, so that could have someone help out in the fields. Tiudo had understood the change that would occur in his life regardless of where he went to live, and he was not happy with the options.<br />
<br />
A month into the new arrangement,Tiudo left after an argument at the house, and Dolora feared Mingu's anger at the end of the day. She heard him mumble and curse for hours before he went to bed. She began having nightmares herself, always about being at an orphanage, she and her baby sister assigned to the cleaning crew; her little brother sent away, to another location she couldn't possible find.<br />
<br />
With half loaf of bread, and a chunk of cheese, Mingu left every morning before the rooster crowed, before anybody else stirred, determined to go on as though nothing had happened. He had been a happy fellow, breaking into songs at the slightest opportunity; girls and women lined up to praise and take him in, making him feel wanted and appreciated and special. He could have had any woman he chose. The town was full of beauties, rich widows asking for nothing more than a handsome smile and a strong back.<br />
<br />
He was deep with anger over inconsequential things, as though a big lump of food was stuck in his throat, a piece of hard bread swallowed whole, chocking him if he tried to swallow it.<br />
<br />
He pounded his fists at anything and anyone, scaring the sisters who cowered in fear and huddled together behind the table. The night he heard Tiudo had run away, he grabbed Dolora by her hair and hurled her across the room, then he returned to slap and kick her.<br />
<br />
‘Mannaggia, Mannaggia, Mannaggia’ he yelled at the top of his voice, to all points of the compass, to nothing in particular, and everything in general. <br />
<br />
Dolora retreated in the shadows of church niches from that day on, trying to find refuge in prayers and novenas. She began to feel responsible for anything that went wrong in the household. I must try harder; I must pray with more fervor, she told herself.<br />
<br />
Their house was small, one room for people and one for animals, with a cellar to hold harvests and preserved food. The matrimonial bed took up half a room. The other half served for everything else, an eating/food prep area with table and chairs, a fireplace for heating and cooking. Pots and pans hung on the wall. Hooks and ropes held clothing and tools. A big armoire kept their possessions, and one single light in the middle of the room illuminated the space.<br />
<br />
Tiudo slept in a corner of the barn, on a bedroll over hay. Bed bugs or the cold kept him alert. If he didn’t clean up the stalls, he would be smelling more than he wanted to. Unless he dumped the hay and set it on fire, the lice propagated rapidly. During hot summers, he slept outside by the fig tree his Mother had planted when he was born. His cat followed him everywhere. <br />
<br />
Lina slept on the landing, an elevated area reached by a ladder and draped for privacy, situated at the top of the stairway to the cellar.<br />
<br />
The city had erected a new school in the back of the house, and from the time the first shovel hit the ground, the family was put on notice to vacate their residence as the area had been rezoned. The war and the occupational forces of the Germans and later the Americans delayed any formal action on this notice. Mingu was willing to fight it. He was not going to let anybody sell or take this house the way the Loggia had been taken from his wife’s family.<br />
<br />
During harvest time, everyone pitched in, every child, every adult who could walk and stand worked from sun-up to sun-down picking olives and grapes. <br />
<br />
When food was plentiful, the sisters prepared jams and conserves; tomato paste dried on big sheets in the sun under loose cotton towels preventing flies and insects from landing. By the time the first frost sent people indoors, the cellar was full of provisions, vats of olives curing; barrels of wine aging, jugs of olive oil perfuming the place, a wheat granary towering in the middle; strings of apricots, grapes, peaches, apples; garlic and herbs drying around the ceiling, out of cat’s reach. <br />
<br />
In November, a pig was bought and slaughtered, and sausages and salumi were made in various sizes, specific ingredients for taste and spiciness dictacted by tradition; some were left to air dry; some were packed in oil. Jars of peppers and eggplants in oil and herbed vinegars lined the shelves of the cellar, organized by sizes and by specialty. A jar of tomato sauce, one of prepared eggplant would become pasta condiments on most days. <br />
<br />
In the same cellar, Mingu fermented grapes in a big barrel, acidity and sweetness corrected and monitored daily. He knew just at what time to distill the liquid. The house had a musty smell all winter long. Bottles of wine were exchanged for everything they needed. <br />
<br />
On days too wet or too treacherous Mingu repaired cane chairs, built reed baskets, organized the cellar. He spent evenings discussing politics, singing at weddings and feast days, looking for opportunities and friendships.<br />
<br />
When the Germans occupied the school behind the house, Mingu forbid the girls to go outdoors, or doing daily shopping, even hanging laundry outside. He dug an extension to the cellar, behind the granary,to hide provisions. Between bad weather and bad luck, the hiding place was never utilized. These were lean years. Everyone went hungry. The cellar emptied in no time, and bread and fried peppers were eaten at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Wine was all sold, until nothing remained to eat or drink in the cellar. <br />
<br />
There were those who sympathized with the Germans, and those who worked against them. Those who gave willingly were protected and allowed to move without restrictions. Mingu forbid his family from visiting people, fearing and mistrusting everyone.<br />
<br />
The sisters read serial romances on long winter evenings, Lina doing the reading aloud, stopping only to fantasize about the man she would marry. Mingu had prohibited her from showing any interest to any boy. Secretly, she prayed to the Madonna to provide a miracle, just one possibility, like the boy next door who had eyed her beauty and managed to send messages to her.<br />
<br />
On Sundays, Donna Maria Rosaria came to visit , and an elaborate pasta meal made with a ragu of rabbit stuffed with herbs, breadcrumbs and olive oil would stew for hours in its rich tomato sauce until they all sat at the table after Mass and were satisfied. The old woman thought the girls were doing well; the house was always spotless, the food plentiful. The family had to barter for the rabbit and anything else they served with pieces of Graziella’s trousseau, elaborate laces, beautiful pillow cases.<br />
<br />
“Son, “she asked , “is anything wrong with you or Dolora? Why aren’t there any children in this family?”<br />
“I may be called to serve any day. This is the worst possible time to start a family. Besides, she’s still too young.”<br />
“People are beginning to talk.”<br />
<br />
“People have nothing better to do.”<br />
<br />
“I’ll pray you have boys as strong as your brothers.”<br />
<br />
“I am not so sure God is listening.”<br />
<br />
“Now son, trust, trust.”<br />
<br />
“The way this country is breaking up?”<br />
<br />
“Things have a way of working themselves out.”<br />
<br />
“They are getting worse.”<br />
<br />
“Pray that it doesn’t happen, son.”</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-86602048494875169172010-06-14T07:33:00.000-07:002013-02-10T14:34:10.955-08:00Broken Hearts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Don Paolo passed away before spring, before his daughter Graziella's house was finished and furnished, before he knew about her pregnancy.The town doctor pronounced him dead, and the funeral was held the next day. Nobody asked how he died, what killed him. A strong man had been reduced to such a puny size in no time, blind and weak in a matter of months.<br />
<br />
<br />
The children spoke about the supper they had together the previous Sunday. Graziella returned to those words many times, feeling in her heart that he was blessing her and her unborn child.<br />
<br />
“Forget tradition,” he had shouted amidst coughing fits, “What’s important is to give the child a strong name he can wear proudly. ”<br />
<br />
“But Papa’ it would be blasphemous to dishonor our ancestors. If I have a girl, she’ll be called Marianna, like Mamma. And our boy, Natalino, like Mingu’s father.”<br />
<br />
“Your poor papa’, God bless his soul, has been named already a half a dozen times, no?” He addressed Mingu with this question.<br />
<br />
“There are four nephews named after my father, and two nieces, after my mother.” Mingu acknowledged.<br />
<br />
“See? What are those boys going to think when your mother mixes them up? She won’t remember who is who?”<br />
<br />
Within weeks after the funeral, neighbors and townspeople began to arrive at the house to talk about money owed them. Mingu tried to handle most of these with Donna Maria Rosaria, but in the end, it was Dolora who had to make sense of all the business affairs their father had left behind.<br />
<br />
“ You’ll be paid in due time, can’t you see this is not the proper time? Don Paolo will keep his word even after death, you’ll see. Go on, go home. We'll find the money.”<br />
<br />
After six months, a judge in Potenza passed judgment on the estate and the family’s future without meeting with anyone or understanding the pain he would cause.<br />
<br />
Graziella went first into a deep depression and then one morning, while she was tending the garden, she doubled over with pain. Lina found her on the ground, amidst a pool of blood. She had no strength to move. The baby arrived twenty hours later, stillborn. She died from hemorrhaging.<br />
<br />
“Did Graziella’s baby kill her?” Tiudo wanted to know.<br />
<br />
Each child had an explanation for what happened. Tiudo thought his father got sicker as more and more people cheated him. If he had been older, his father wouldn’t have died, wouldn’t have been aggravated by the cheaters.<br />
<br />
Lina thought Graziella’s baby must have kicked her too hard, to cause so much blood to spill. <br />
The two of them made a pact: they were going to keep awake every night, somehow, to make sure nobody poisoned them, or caused them further harm.<br />
<br />
“When I grow up, Lina, I’ll take care of you." Tiudo spoke with certitude. I’ll never let anything happen to you. We’ll go to America, and start new. You’ll see, nobody dies in America. Nobody suffers. Nobody can get away with cheating the way they get away here. I will find a way. I promise.”<br />
<br />
Mussolini was expanding Italy’s military, and every able man was being called to active duty. Widowers and bachelors were taxed more and were obliged to get married or join the army. Their prostitutes were chased off the back streets and were forced to register properly and be controlled by the state police. Every single man was put on notice: stay home and have babies with your wife, your country needs strong men to compete in the world.<br />
<br />
“With over forty million people, you’d think he’d want us to have fewer children!” Donna Maria Rosaria commented one night when she heard about Mussolini’s plan to enlarge families. “He’s putting more burdens on young families. Why he’s gallivanting with a mistress, while his wife is raising his children ! And he calls himself a just man.”<br />
<br />
Mingu was twenty-seven years old. The love of his life had died, and he had nothing else to live for. His mother didn’t know where he slept or what he was doing in town. He had lost a wife, a son, and a fortune in a matter of months. She was not surprised when he told her his plans to re-join the calvary.</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-2628724887937261222010-06-11T09:02:00.000-07:002013-02-12T09:22:32.746-08:00Waiting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Her little boy is bouncing on his father’s knees and reaching out for the platter of pasta-fagioli she set down in the middle of the table. <br />
<br />
“He’s going to get burned!” She shouts<br />
<br />
The scream wakes her; though, in this post-dream moment she continues to savor the thought, taking her Natalino onto her lap to nurse, protecting him, watching him turn this way and that, as he reacts to his father’s laughter. “Now, stay put little one, eat and be done with it. I have things to do.” Her arms cajoling him, lulling him to nurse a little longer, waiting for him to finish nursing and join his father's lap again. His father will take him back, and rock him to sleep, with a few notes of a favorite song, a few swings of his strong arms.<br />
<br />
She can't help adding pieces to this dream.<br />
<br />
They moved in his mother’s house, in the room Mingu had shared with his two brothers; strings and wires, leather belts and shaving vessels, old shirts, boots and work clothes strewn in every corner. She lived out of her one suitcase, counting the days when she could move to the house her father was getting built for them, the house that will have her smells; flowers and sprigs of basil growing on window sills; baby powder in the air; scents of olives and grapes after each harvest.<br />
<br />
This is temporary, she told herself every morning as she made the bed.<br />
<br />
Expectations were simple and understood: take care of your husband; keep the house clean; don’t complain, daily recitations stamped into every movement, every utterance, as predictable as the rosary, a quiet and numb ending of each day.<br />
<br />
Days had their own rhythms. Wake at six, carry on the daily chores, and go to bed at the end of daylight. Electricity had just arrived to their part of town, and everyone had one or two light bulbs in their houses. But days still started with daylight, and ended when night arrived.<br />
<br />
Mingu started his day at the wash basin filled with water warming on the fire. In the evening, before supper, she watched him scrub his hands and neck of musty -ripe grapes, the smell of their land. She had liked that smell. Now, she had strange sensations, couldn’t even stand with the hot towel to help him dry up.<br />
<br />
“Your family needs to settle things.” He said on the night he returned from talking to her father.<br />
<br />
“What do you mean?” She tried to focus.<br />
<br />
“I told your father that I need to be paid for the last couple of seasons. I talked to him at length, hoping he’d just say, Mingu, you are now in charge. It’s about the future of the place. We can start by bottling our own, you know.” He turned to her. She was crying. He continued, trying to reassure her.<br />
<br />
“ I could go to work at the cooperative. I wouldn’t be far from here. I wouldn’t even need a horse. I could do that work.”<br />
<br />
“What did Father say?”<br />
<br />
“He didn't. He has been too tired to think ahead." He looked at her and noticed that she had dozed off, before he had finished explaining his family's finances. Her fists were tightly crossed in front of her.<br />
<br />
Donna Maria Rosaria’s rattled out of the house to attend early mass every morning before any body was awake. Lina then woke Graziella up. They all ate bread and grape jam most mornings, unless a vendor stopped by with goat milk for sale, and then Lina would have hot milk and sugar for her toasted bread. She looked like an infant, savoring the richness of the panna, the hard crust formed on top of the hot milk, full of sugar, and savored like ice cream. <br />
<br />
Graziella packed fried peppers and tomatoes for her husband's lunch, with a loaf of bread and a chunk of salami, the same dish almost every day. For supper, she put a pot of beans by the ambers in the fireplace, to cook all day, a base for a minestra or a pasta dish. Twice a week, she visited the butcher. On Fridays, she waited for the fishmonger to arrive at the piazza with the night catch all the way from Bari or Naples.<br />
<br />
She wished she could chat freely, about Naples, about life by the sea, about the shops and the museums she enjoyed so much as a girl. But she was a married woman now, wearing a head covering for modesty, keeping her blonde hair in a bun under the covering, and didn’t do idle chatter. The only money she had was what Mingu gave her weekly to purchase groceries. She felt guilty over these thoughts, knowing full well that those fancy things were not in her life any more.<br />
<br />
At the Loggia, Gemma had planned the cooking and general help for the family. Things were delivered to them, from various people in town. She could charge her purchases to her family account, she was told by the merchants. But Mingu had insisted she paid cash for everything she needed. Often, she had to settle for less than she needed. Donna Maria Rosaria went with her everywhere, insisting on what cuts of meat to purchase.<br />
<br />
At home, she had enjoyed her biscotto and coffee, or eggs and toast. Don Paolo had his coffee first thing, then returned to eat a proper meal around ten. The young ones had Panini with a variety of meats, one to eat on the way to school, and one to eat during their break. Gemma had managed this for years, a different breakfast for everyone. Nobody had any idea of how much things cost, how important it was not to be cheated by merchants who could smell someone who didn’t know one veal cut from another.<br />
<br />
Graziella was getting an education living under Donna Maria Rosaria’s roof, an education that her departed mother never had a chance to give her. She ought to be grateful for the constant advice she was getting, but she became less and less cheerful each time they went shopping.<br />
<br />
“When it’s time for you to have a baby, you’ll be in good hands!” Her mother-in law hinted, guessing from Graziella’s behavior, that she was having morning sickness. <br />
<br />
Graziella told nobody. She didn’t want to chance anything. Especially, chance a flurry of envy from who knows where. <br />
<br />
One evening, Graziella heard mumbling and noises, and thinking something was wrong, she walked in her mother-in-law’s room to find her in tears. Lina was awake, sobbing quietly.<br />
<br />
“Are you feeling all right?” She inquired.<br />
<br />
“Be careful, be careful!” Donna Maria Rosaria mumbled, in a trance.<br />
<br />
“What? ”<br />
<br />
“People are watching. They can see everything.”<br />
<br />
“No need to worry. ”<br />
<br />
“Through the walls. People can see. I tell you ,nobody is safe. They can see everything you do, everything you wear. There are spies all over the place.”<br />
<br />
Graziella had not seen anything like this, this strange and worried look on the woman's face. She went back to bed, and woke Mingu.<br />
<br />
“Your mother is worrying about people spying.”<br />
<br />
“She’s talking about imaginary waves .”<br />
<br />
“I told her about the German doctor that took the picture of his wife’s bones, through her skin, the story we heard from Dr. Fabrizi?”<br />
<br />
“Is this what she is worried about?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah. She thinks this occurs everywhere. She is confusing spies with machines. She thinks Mussolini had spies when the boys were inducted in the army.”<br />
<br />
“An how do you know that?”<br />
"The Cooperative got notice that people could only work eight hours; everyone can only work eight hours or we get shut down. There are spies that report you, people you thought you could trust.”<br />
<br />
“Mingu, I want to move to our new place. I don’t care about not being finished. I need to be in my own house.” <br />
<br />
He reassured her it would not be long.<br />
<br />
On Sunday, after Mass, they went to the Loggia for dinner. When Dolora noticed Graziella not eating, she confronted her.<br />
<br />
“Are you sick or pregnant?”<br />
<br />
“Don’t say anything now. I want to wait until I can be sure.”<br />
<br />
“You can’t keep any food down. I’m worried.”<br />
<br />
“Don’t. It won’t last long. I talked to Donna Maria Rosaria about this.”<br />
<br />
“What? ”<br />
<br />
“In general. I wanted to know the symptoms. Fortunately, she goes to church every morning when I start throwing up. By the time she returns, I’m much better.”<br />
<br />
“Move back to the Loggia. You need someone to look after you.”<br />
<br />
“It won’t do. I want my own place. " She said with a sigh; then, "Could I have some dishes?”<br />
<br />
“Just go and choose.” Dolora snarled at her, adding, “Keep the good dishes here. You can borrow when you have a special occasion.”<br />
<br />
“Now, promise not to tell anybody about the baby. Promise you’ll come to town and visit me when I’ve moved.” Graziella said.<br />
<br />
“Sure. When do you think that’s going to happen?”<br />
<br />
“Soon. Soon.”</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-58408829427548777012010-06-03T08:34:00.000-07:002013-02-17T04:23:54.442-08:00Man-to-Man<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Man Talk<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
After her wedding, Graziella moved in with Mingu, at his mother’s house. Lina spent her school days there too. Tiudo and Dolora remained at home, in the ghostly place still known as the Loggia.<br />
<br />
Don Paolo was happy that with Graziella's marriage, his children were now connected firmly to a family that would support and protect them as he got closer to his end.<br />
<br />
When Mingu came to talk to him, Dolora saw a chance to plead her case again. The men spent hours behind locked doors, as she waited patiently in the kitchen, helping Gemma, keeping an ear and an eye on the goings on in the salotto. They could only afford paying Gemma to come in once a week to help with the laundry, but she would stay overnight and helped Dolora with some heavy tasks. Winter was the time for families to butcher hogs and make sausages. Not this winter. Every minute was spent cleaning and tending to Don Paolo.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On this day Mingu brought a couple of people from town to help with routine tasks of pruning and spraying vines. Dolora was miffed, knowing that these people had to be paid, and be fed, all additional expenses. He knew what difficulties they were having this year.<br />
<br />
Mingu and Don Paolo talked for a while, the conversation moving in many directions.<br />
<br />
“The new house in town and la vigna vicina are your wedding presents. I will need to sell the wheat fields to pay my doctor’s bills; so, I can’t hire but one person to help you with the vineyards and olive groves from now on. Tiudo can help in a year or two. It’s been tough meeting our obligations right now.”<br />
<br />
“I didn’t want to bother you when you were so sick.”<br />
<br />
“We need to remedy the fact that you haven't been paid for a while either. But the next harvest should be better...”<br />
<br />
“I don’t need much. But, with a new wife, we will need to furnish the house, get feed for the horses. I want Graziella to return to her studies but she has made up her mind.”<br />
<br />
“She hasn’t talked to me!”<br />
<br />
“With due respect, Don Paolo, I’m the man she needs to talk to now.”<br />
<br />
“Yes, yes. Of course!”<br />
<br />
“I plan on taking care of her. If she wants to continue her studies, I’ll arrange it.”<br />
<br />
“How are you going to do that, Mingu, without an income, without a dowry? I don’t mean to insult you, but you have no trade, no skills. Except as a contadino, a man used to working with the land. These lands used to feed all of us; now, it’s not so easy. I hear Mussolini is planning a land reform. Who knows how that will break us even more. We used to have means to send our children to school, and marry them to suitable suitors. No offense, Mingu. She wanted to marry you. I didn’t object. Her mother, God bless her soul, stepped down to marry me. She made me most happy and never brought up our class difference.”<br />
<br />
“Not the same, Don Paolo. You were, still are, high class in these parts.”<br />
<br />
“Well, in a way. Marianna’s family was full of professionals, people with intellectual skills. I couldn’t hold a decent conversation in that house, though I went past elementary school myself before I joined the military. I almost wish we had settled in Naples. Our children would be educated and exposed to a better group of people. No offense, Mingu. I don’t mean your family at all. I knew your father and mother before you were born; buona gente, the Ambros. Loyal and honest. I wouldn’t have anybody else marry one of my daughters. Now, promise me something…”<br />
<br />
“Yes. Anything…”<br />
<br />
“Losing a mother is hard enough. Now, with my bad health,…”<br />
<br />
“No need to ask. She is …”<br />
<br />
“And another thing…”<br />
<br />
“Yes?”<br />
<br />
“I’m …” Don Paolo couldn’t continue as a harsh coughing fit stopped him mid sentence. Mingu got him a glass of water and waited for the cough to stop. Dolora walked in and Mingu turned to her: <br />
<br />
“Your father gave us la vigna vicina, the one on the way to Melfi. Who has been working that piece?”<br />
<br />
“It’s been leased.” She said. She must get a detailed list of all the holdings before things get worse, she thought. Why did her father split the land so? That piece was their Mother’s dowry, meant for the daughters, all of them. Graziella is already getting a new house, and now the vigna vicina. How is that fair? What’s left for her, for Lina?<br />
<br />
“I’m running that for Graziella and me, exclusively.” Mingu told her.<br />
<br />
“I have to stop the lease, then.” She said, not really sure what that entailed. She was learning about finances one problem at a time. First thing to do, was to make a detailed list of holdings. She tried to stay focused on that thought, as things were quite fluid around the place.<br />
<br />
“All we need now are the furnishings. Usually, that’s what my side of the family provides. But I haven’t gotten paid for the last year.” Mingu had been rattling on and on before she understood.<br />
<br />
She noticed how different she felt for him now that he was part and parcel of every discussion they would be having. This feels strange, too strange, she thought.<br />
<br />
“A year?” She was trying to remember when was the last time she had handed him money. She had taken over the finances in the last few months. Maybe Don Paolo’s health is confusing everything.<br />
<br />
“Two, last harvest and this harvest.” He emphasized.<br />
<br />
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” She asked him with a tinge of anger in her voice.<br />
<br />
“I didn’t want to bring more concerns up. Anyway, if you are doing the books now, you need to know all these things.” He had caught her mood swing and attributed it to all the confusion in the house.<br />
<br />
“Fine. I’ll check into this.” She mumbled. <br />
<br />
“We’ll be gone for a week on our honeymoon. My mother will come and stay with you guys.”<br />
<br />
“That’s kind of her; but we are doing fine.”<br />
<br />
“I want to convince Graziella to stay in school. She thinks I would object; but I would be so proud of her if she became a doctor.”<br />
<br />
“This is a bad time…” Dolora was growing more and more anxious. How does he make all these decisions without consulting us, she thought. Now, he is deciding for Graziella too.<br />
<br />
“You know that nobody can help Don Paolo. We need to accept his fate. But, your sister had this opportunity of a lifetime. Why do you stand in her way? What can she do that you or I can’t do for your father?” And with this last statement, he left the Loggia. There was no money for his labors and no dowry either. He better think of some other way to provide for his new family. <br />
<br />
Dolora didn’t bother her father with her concerns. She went looking for Tiudo instead.</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-34271210858651254992010-05-30T08:17:00.000-07:002013-02-18T17:44:42.104-08:00The Nuptials<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cNK5jFD1kaM/TAJ8NaqtukI/AAAAAAAABFU/GIrdC0Eqv-w/s1600/france2008+066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cNK5jFD1kaM/TAJ8NaqtukI/AAAAAAAABFU/GIrdC0Eqv-w/s400/france2008+066.jpg" gu="true" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Graziella planned to talk to Mingu about the dowry, but something always managed to distract her. Her life felt fragile, fleeting. She knew one thing: she wanted to marry and be with Mingu.<br />
<br />
“What about your father?” He reminded her.<br />
<br />
“I want him to give me away while he still can!” <br />
<br />
He didn’t argue with her. This might be the only bright thing in their lives right now. He told her not to worry about anything; he’d take care of the details and took her hand as they walked up the hill to the family cemetery where her mother and grandparents were buried. These tombs were the only thing that were certain; the only things that didn't change. <br />
<br />
"Mamma, watch over us. Give us strength. I'm marrying a good man. You liked him as a child, Mamma. He'll be a good husband. Watch over us. Watch over Papa'. I wish you could be here. I miss you, Mamma. I miss you so."<br />
<br />
A couple of months after a betrothal that was rushed and unexpected, Graziella decorated the library with ribbons and snippets of rosemary everywhere. At this time, a week before Christmas, the place would have a Presepio, a holiday tradition all over Italy, to celebrate the birth of Christ. The miniature village would have been constructed weeks before, with little houses and trees, and little statues portraying ordinary people like shepherds, butchers, bread-makers, all making their way to the manger where Mary and Joseph and animals waited for Baby Jesus to be born.<br />
<br />
Every year, the grandparents sent the newest figurines from Naples where the Capodimonte factory produced new editions. The family had part ownership in this endeavor, and their house at Christmas held an open invitation for people to view the Presepio and to partake of refreshments. Marianna had brought the tradition to the Loggia. Christmas had always been an enchanted season.<br />
<br />
This year, the figurines were still bagged. Don Paolo was too sick to haul dirt and moss to build hills and valleys and paths leading to the stable. This year, Tiudo and Lina were kept home from school, so they didn’t have their school projects ready, the special letter that each child composed for Christmas and read out loud to their father on such a day. The two of them had been busy watching people come in and out of the salotto, caring for their father day and night. The two of them were allowed to sleep, eat and play in the same salotto where Don Paolo might expire at any minute.<br />
<br />
Graziella went looking for her mother’s gown in old trunks stacked in dusty attics . A strong smell of nafta stopped her mid-way. She had not tried this gown since she was twelve, when her mother had put away Lina’s christening clothes and Graziella had seen the gown wrapped tightly in its own trunk. Back then, the gown smelled of roses and lavender. Her mother aired the gown every spring and repacked carefully.<br />
<br />
On this cold December day, in her eighteenth year, her Mother’s wedding gown fit her beautifully. It smelled slightly of Marianna’s olive oil soaps. This was not going to be the wedding at the Madonna delle Grazie that her mother had. None of her childhood friends had been invited, or knew about this date. <br />
<br />
This entire day felt furtive, as though a crime or a mortal sin was being committed.<br />
<br />
Mingu was expected to return at noon, with the priest, his mother, two rings and a wedding cake. It was two o’ clock in the afternoon, a light dusting of snow whitened the road Mingu would take. <br />
<br />
By four o’clock, the snow was beginning to pile, and Graziella was disheartened. This day needed too many miracles, she thought. She had been ready since noon, looking out every hour. Don Paolo stopped her reverie with the order to sit down and eat. Just as she began nibbling on a sandwich her father pulled himself off the bed and declared: “God the child will be born tonight. Everyone will be going to the Midnight Mass in town. I’m not going to cheat you out of a church wedding. We could still have the ceremony if we get ourselves to town.”<br />
<br />
“Mingu is not here for a reason, Papa’!” She said anxiously. Don Paolo could barely breathe and now he was talking about making a trip over slippery roads, as the sun began setting.<br />
<br />
"You are going to be married today!” He said confidently. Then, he barked his desires that everyone get ready to travel while there was still some light in the sky. <br />
<br />
The family arrived in town around six. Don Paolo, Graziella and Lina set up their seats in the front row, as was customary for their status. There were no priests or altar boys around. <br />
<br />
Dolora and Tiudo went to find Mingu. Graziella remained with her father and baby sister, reciting her rosary, inserting special requests to the Blessed Mother, feeling ashamed to be dressed in a wedding garb without a groom around. I must look like a fool, she thought. <br />
<br />
Lina cried too, and soiled her pretty dress with her tears, insisting on sitting on her father’s lap, though she had her own chair, confused to be in an empty church, whispering something or other the entire time.<br />
<br />
“Papa’ we are the only ones here, except for those old ladies huddled in the dark. It’s too cold here. Let’s go home.”<br />
<br />
“Hush now. There will be a big surprise in a few minutes. A miracle. You’ll see.”<br />
<br />
“Will I see Angels?”<br />
<br />
“Angels and Saints will collect right in front of us. Pray, my sweet one, pray. God will listen to the voice of the innocent. Pray.” <br />
<br />
“What am I praying for?”<br />
<br />
But no answer was necessary, as a group of people walked in and lights were turned on, Don Matteo, accompanied by Mingu and his brothers, stood at the front of the altar and faced them. Dolora and Tiudo and Donna Maria Rosaria had arrived simultaneously and had taken their seats right next to Don Paolo. <br />
<br />
Don Paolo walked his daughter to the altar with tears in his eyes, sad that he had not remembered to bring grain. Lina trailed on his other side holding his other hand. Without knowing, she was helping him navigate in the dark, back to his chair after depositing Graziella at the altar.<br />
<br />
Wows were exchanged. Mingu slipped a ring on her finger and had another one for her to slip on his finger. <br />
<br />
The place was quiet except for the voices of the bride and bridegroom, declaring their committment to each other. No organ sounds, no chorus voices.<br />
<br />
"Papa' can I sing a song for Graziella?'<br />
"What do you want to sing, doll-face?"<br />
"I want to sing the Ave Maria!"<br />
"How do you know the Ave Maria?"<br />
"Graziella sings it all the time!"<br />
"Well, go ahead."<br />
<br />
Mingu and Graziella walked down the aisle holding hands, and everyone followed right behind. There was no wedding march, but the sounds of a small child were heard trailing her, singing The Ave Maria. Graziella looked back to smile at Lina just as she reached the door and a cold wind reminded her that December can be cruel.<br />
<br />
“Don Paolo, we’re so sorry to hear about your poor health.” Don Matteo approached the old man on the way out the door.<br />
<br />
“ Oh Graziella, you are starting something new with this ceremony.”An old lady who had appeared out of nowhere came to kiss the bride.<br />
<br />
“Congratulations, Mingu, Graziella! Did you come from Naples to get married here? The church attendants who were putting up chairs wanted to know.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
People looked confused as Donna Maria Rosaria handed them grains to scatter and invited them to her house for a reception. Her boys and their families would be waiting there, bringing simple gifts from their homes, wine, olives, sausages and dried fruit, the bounty they had stashed in the cellars for those cold winter days ahead. The night will turn to music and song, she thought. This is our family night to celebrate and to count our blessings. <br />
<br />
The Ambros family consisted of seven brothers and one sister, all but two older than Mingu, all married and with children in tow. They all came to celebrate. His two younger brothers were away from home, serving in the army. His only sister, pregnant with her second child, and her husband and mother in law had helped with the preparations. Dolora counted over forty people in Mingu’s family, and only five in hers. Thank God we are reaching out to people like these, people with good fortune and good health.<br />
<br />
The celebration brought additional neighbors and friends. They too brought food and wine. Around Midnight, everyone left with the excuse of Midnight Mass. <br />
<br />
Don Paolo was given Mingu’s bed, where he collapsed soon after the first toast. Tiudo slept at the bottom of the same bed when he finally collapsed, hours later. Lina and Dolora ended up sharing Donna Maria Rosaria’s large matrimonial bed. <br />
<br />
The streets were quiet, except for church bells calling the town to the spectacle. Snow had fallen all evening, hushing the place, turning a bright light from east to west. Graziella wanted to attend Midnight Mass, a tradition she had never missed. She and Mingu sat as man and wife, among the Ambros family pews. After Mass, everyone came to congratulate them. <br />
<br />
By morning, the entire town knew about the couple. <br />
<br />
He took his new bride to the convent, where he hoped they could get a room for the night, since her father was occupying his bed at his house. There were no rooms. They returned to his mother’s house, and spent the night on the hay loft, warm enough and peaceful enough to catch a couple of winks before morning and the trip back to the Loggia.<br />
<br />
"We'll tell our child he was conceived on Christmas Day in a stable!" Graziella teased, as Mingu stood up and held a blanket so she could take off her wedding gown and slip into his mother's night clothes. No, he thought, I'll see that you never sleep like this again. You'll never have to smell animals and hear rats scampering around again. I'm going to take good care of you.<br />
<br />
"Ella?" He wanted to talk and reassure her. "Ella? Graziella? Are you..." She was asleep, a little too tired to hear the horses whinnying, too tired to hear her new husband's soft serenade.<br />
<br />
"Sul mare luccica...." He sang, and dreamt of their future. <br />
<br />
Sul mare luccica (Santa Lucia)<br />
<br />
<br />
Sul mare luccica<br />
<br />
l'astro d'argento.<br />
<br />
Placida è l'onda;<br />
<br />
prospero è il vento.<br />
<br />
Venite all'agile<br />
<br />
Barchetta mia!<br />
<br />
Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Con questo zeffiro<br />
<br />
così soave,<br />
<br />
oh! com'è bello<br />
<br />
star sulla nave!<br />
<br />
Su passeggeri<br />
<br />
venite via!<br />
<br />
Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In' fra le tende<br />
<br />
bandir la cena,<br />
<br />
in una sera<br />
<br />
così serena.<br />
<br />
Chi non dimanda,<br />
<br />
chi non desia;<br />
<br />
Santa Lucia! Santa Lucia!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mare sì placido,<br />
<br />
vento sì caro,<br />
<br />
scordar fa i triboli<br />
<br />
al marinaro.<br />
<br />
E va gridando<br />
<br />
con allegria:<br />
<br />
Santa Lucia! Santa Lucia!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
O dolce Napoli,<br />
<br />
O suol beato,<br />
<br />
Ove sorridere,<br />
<br />
Dove il creato,<br />
<br />
Tu sei l'impero<br />
<br />
Del armonia,<br />
<br />
Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Or che tardate,<br />
<br />
bella è la sera.<br />
<br />
Spira un auretta<br />
<br />
fresca e leggiera.<br />
<br />
Venite all'agile<br />
<br />
barchetta mia!<br />
<br />
Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia.<br />
<br />
<br />
(Source for the song: italianissima.net)</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-61638841369608280442010-05-27T12:56:00.000-07:002013-02-28T10:46:11.114-08:00Don Paolo's Health<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cNK5jFD1kaM/S_2nDP70ByI/AAAAAAAABFA/X1ZLhc4R5Wk/s1600/france2008+029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cNK5jFD1kaM/S_2nDP70ByI/AAAAAAAABFA/X1ZLhc4R5Wk/s320/france2008+029.jpg" gu="true" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
When Don Paolo’s health seemed worse, Mingu traveled to Naples to bring Graziella home. The grandparents remembered him as a youngster participating in hunting parties, helping his father who managed the Masseria before him.<br />
<br />
“Mingu, congratulations! I hear you are going to name that first born after me.” Doctor Fabrizi joked.<br />
<br />
“It’s Graziella’s choice on the first one. I promised my mother that if we have a girl she will have her name.” Mingu responded.<br />
<br />
“It’s been done this way, the first one is always on the father’s side, the second on the mother, and so on like that, keeping the names rolling so no one is hurt. Marianna was named after both my mother and Amedeo’s mother, whose full name was Adrianna. We shortened it so it could fit. So, some things have to fit the circumstances. Anyway, with Paolo's poor health, I don’t suppose you know when you’ll return Graziella to us?” Nonna Fabrizi said.<br />
<br />
'I just wish..” Graziella was going to talk about her father, when she turned to Mingu and exploded:<br />
<br />
“Why didn’t you send a letter? I could have gotten there a few weeks ago.”<br />
<br />
“We didn’t know it was so bad.” <br />
<br />
The return trip took longer than the four hours, delayed by roads full of debris and military checkpoints. Mingu had none of his military papers discharge in his possession, and the two of them pretended they were already married to skip through the interrogation.<br />
<br />
Only Tiudo made a point to tease them after this encounter: "I'm telling Papa'!" <br />
<br />
"Well, it's practically true. We are engaged; that's as good as being married in my book." Graziella said forcefully, staring the boy down. She was going to talk to her father about the impertinence of her brother. It was not fit that he took that tone with her. Yes, she said, I shall have to take charge again.<br />
<br />
Within hours of her arrival, the household was buzzing with activity. The old iron bed was moved downstairs in the salotto, where Father had his favorite books, and a roaring fire was maintained day and night. No matter how many days or hours, she was going to make her father's life very comfortable. She talked to Lina and Tiudo, explaining that everything had to be kept precisely in the same place, so that Father could move around in a familiar place and not encounter any hindrance. She kept praying that his eyesight would improve soon.<br />
<br />
That evening, the family joined him for evening prayers and everyone recited the rosary together, adding a prayer to the Madonna, for the health and welfare of each of them. When it was over, Don Paolo added:<br />
<br />
“The dowry, my daughters, the dowry is not…” He couldn’t finish his thoughts.<br />
<br />
Just thinking about the economic situation he was leaving behind made the conversation he needed to have with them more difficult. Graziella jumped in to stop this painful conversation. What she wanted to broach, before this came up, was the subject of Tiudo acting up. Instead, she knew to soothe the dying man.<br />
<br />
“Papa, Mingu and I do not need a dowry. We don’t need anything.” She looked at Dolora to obtain her support. <br />
<br />
“There are bills to doctors and various merchants. Last harvest didn’t pay off the bills.” Dolora interrupted, wanting this entire situation to be understood, adding: “ Graziella, you have been away from all these worries. You don’t know what we are going through.”<br />
<br />
Graziella gave her a stern look. No, don’t inflame the conversation, she wanted to yell out. <br />
<br />
“Papa’ these things will work themselves out. Everything will work out.” Graziella adjusted his pillows and helped him under the covers. <br />
<br />
She dispatched Tiudo to stoke the wood, and to close the curtains just by pointing at things. Lina had curled up next to her father, with the new doll in her arms. Don Paolo kept talking, stroking his youngest daughter's hair:<br />
<br />
“Mannaggia! Quei cugini!” He was swearing, naming his cousins accusingly. <br />
<br />
“Papa, nobody did anything wrong!” Dolora added, “ we just didn’t get a good price on the olives.”<br />
<br />
“Take Mingu and talk with the directors.” He whispered. Then, he waved them out without words. They walked out, silently.<br />
<br />
Graziella could not believe how thin and sick her father had become. She let Lina fall asleep next to her father,curled up like a second pillow, holding his arm, sensing his distress. She remembered that she had not had time to get presents for anybody. This is not good, she thought. <br />
<br />
Dolora wanted the conversation to continue the minute they were out of hearshot.<br />
<br />
“This is not Mingu’s business!” She declared, "he hasn’t been part of these talks. Nor does he need to know about our affairs.”<br />
<br />
“He’s practically my husband. Whatever is ours will be his too.” Graziella was now angry at how insensitive her sister was.<br />
<br />
Dolora went on ignoring her sister's anger. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Tiudo will inherit the property that belongs to Father. You, Lina and I will get whatever is left of Mother's dowry. If I remember right , she left a will with an equal share of the property that was her dowry. So far, those vinyards have not been been used for collateral.<br />
<br />
“Are you saying that all this land and the Loggia will go to Tiudo?”<br />
<br />
Tiudo had followed them out, and when he heard his name, he came closer so he could get in the conversation.<br />
<br />
“I get the Loggia? Everything will be mine?”<br />
<br />
“If I’m right," Dolora continued, " the Ambros have some land coming to them because of the water rights they gave us. I saw the paperwork that Papa’ signed.” Dolora was stating the obvious, but both Graziella and Tiudo were now questioning how she knew so much.<br />
<br />
All Dolora said was, "The property would be contested for years. Don't count on anything."<br />
<br />
Graziella changed the subject, turning to Tiudo who kept asking questions.<br />
<br />
“Don’t you start! Go do your chores and don't bother Papa'.” She told him in anger. She wanted this boy to know his place; this talk about who gets what was premature. She turned to Dolora'.<br />
<br />
“I can become a teacher. It’s easier and faster than becoming a doctor. I’m not sure I want to stay in school that long. ” Graziella was thinking out loud.<br />
<br />
Dolora yelled back: “I need to tell you that it’s hard. I’ve already sent the young ones to live with Donna Maria Rosaria in town during school days. They’ve gotten into difficulties. I don’t know how to manage here.”<br />
“I won’t think of leaving you with Papa in his condition. I’m staying.”<br />
"Good. "<br />
"Lina will be good for Papa'."<br />
"She gets up in the middle of the night and goes to him anyhow."<br />
"What does she know about his condition?"<br />
"I explained that he is going blind and we will all need to help him. She accepted that. Now that he has become weak and fragile, she doesn't know what to think. We thought he had years to adjust to blindness, a bit worse each day. Instead, it's happened all at once."<br />
<br />
The sisters remained talking, trying to console each other, until the early hours of the day, when they heard noise from the salotto and they sprung to action together.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-84313677417929206662010-05-24T17:52:00.000-07:002013-02-28T10:50:32.580-08:00Tiudo's New Role<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Don Paolo took Tiudo aside: “Son, you are a man now. Your sisters will depend on you.” <br />
<br />
“You mean they have to obey me?” The boy responded.<br />
<br />
“It’s your responsibility to protect their reputation. Young men will start coming around, and you need to be the protector.” Don Paolo added.<br />
<br />
“You mean, I have to be with her all the time? ” He said whining, all the time thinking that if he had to accompany Dolora and later Lina all the time, he’d miss building snowmen and bonfires.<br />
“Are we hunting this year?” Tiudo had hoped that he was now old enough to have his own rifle.<br />
<br />
Don Paolo wanted his boy to understand his responsibilities.<br />
<br />
“You’ll be in the military when you are older, but for now, you need to be useful and carry yourself with pride in this new manly role. When your mother died, Dolora had to quit school and pitch in around here. You were left carefree for a long time because your family supported you, took you and Lina to school every day. But things are changing, with my health, Dolora's age, even how the business is doing. You need to carry your weight."<br />
<br />
“Do I have to continue going to school? I just want to do my art!”<br />
<br />
<br />
“Tiudo, you have a military career waiting for you, like your grandparent, like every man in our family. You can pursue art anywhere after you retire. It’ll be a good hobby for a man with farms and vineyards and long winters.” <br />
<br />
“ I already am better than Michelangelo!”<br />
<br />
“Now, now, a little humility, Signor Buonarroti. A genius needs teachers. I can get some one to give you extra lessons. But, you have to promise me that you will be acting more mature from now on. No more running off to play with whomever. Next year, when Graziella is married and living in the house in town, you can stay with them during the school week, and take an art class. What’s the name of the teacher that teaches art?”<br />
<br />
“Brother Sebastiano?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah! If you obey Mingu and Graziella they can let you take classes from him, extra classes. They will need you to be an angel, and do exactly what needs to be done.”<br />
<br />
“What about you?”<br />
<br />
“What about me?”<br />
<br />
“Where are you going to live?”<br />
<br />
“I’m going to live and die right here, be buried right next to Mother, right on that hill of ours. If we still own that hill, that is!”<br />
<br />
“Nothing but dead people on that hill.”<br />
<br />
“A couple of generations of Rapolla men and women, cut in their prime, or in old age. I wouldn’t be surprised if Giuseppe and Elena from America returned to be buried next to their mother and father. There are spaces for all of us. We'll be together up on that hill, shaded by Monticchio."<br />
<br />
“You had a brother and sister?”<br />
<br />
“Elena, my sister, was seventeen when she left for America, Graziella’s age. Giuseppe, my little brother, about your age. He was her escort. I had just entered the military, missed their departure completely. I never saw them again.”<br />
<br />
“Papa’, am I going to get a racing bike at graduation?”<br />
<br />
“God willing!”<br />
<br />
“But Papa’, you promised!”<br />
"Yes, I promised. And God willing, I will keep those promises. Now, you promise."<br />
"I promise!"<br />
"Say what it is that you promise."<br />
"I promise I'll look out and protect my sisters."<br />
"That's it! That's the promise I want to hear. God willing, we'll both keep our promises."<br />
"Papa'?"<br />
"Yes?"<br />
"The rifle?"<br />
"Ask me about that another day, son. I need to rest now."</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-83965877441412696552010-05-19T08:38:00.000-07:002013-02-28T11:10:45.559-08:00Lina's World<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
“Blessed Mother, turn my hair blond like Mother’s and Graziella’s. Make me tall and strong. Bless Tiudo. Dolora, Graziella and Papa.” Nightly prayers and handing out kisses were Lina’s favorite things to do before she went to bed. Usually, her sister Graziella would lie down with her. In the morning, Graziella would be the first person she'd see. The three girls all shared a big bed. She clutched her mother’s photograph tightly until her father placed it back on the nightstand.<br />
<br />
<br />
“Close your eyes now. Good Night.” Don Paolo began to walk out when Lina popped another question.<br />
<br />
“Was she pretty? ” She was trying hard, every night, to remember her mother’s face.<br />
<br />
“The most beautiful woman in all the land.” Don Paolo kissed her again and this time he took the lamp away. <br />
<br />
“Was she taller than you?” Lina asked.<br />
<br />
“Just this much.” Don Paolo said absently, holding his finger to show a couple of centimeters, already regretting this conversation. There was no need to bring up the past; it only hurt. And this seven year old needed her sleep. He returned to sit down next to her. Dolora was doing his accounting; it was up to him to get Lina down for the night.<br />
<br />
“Why did she die, Papa’?” <br />
<br />
“Women, even strong women wear out after each child. Now, she's an angel.” <br />
<br />
“I don’t want her to be an angel.” Lina broke into tears. <br />
<br />
“Now. Wipe those tears and go to sleep. I have a present for you in my satchel. It was going to be for your birthday next week. I can give it to you now, if you promise you'd go to sleep right away.” He blurted it out to calm her down. Only Graziella knew how to get this child settled. <br />
<br />
Lina ran barefoot to find her present.<br />
<br />
Her father always scattered small surprises all over the house, tokens after each trip he took to meet with merchants, associates, cooperatives, to dispatch olives or grapes at a good price. He enjoyed the joy he saw in the young faces of his children. Goodies appeared at the right time, in tiny boxes locked in his desk, away from easy hands, or in plain sight. On the day of her first communion, Lina spent hours looking on each shelf, in each book that might have been transformed into a hiding place, soiling her white dress before she found the special gift in a pencil box. Her father showed her how this medal of the Madonna of the Graces was the same one Graziella and Dolora had received for their first communion. <br />
<br />
Today had been an unusual day for his young children, Don Paolo thought. Giving Lina an early present wasn't going to harm her. She is having trouble with all these changes, all happening one after the other. Life is changing right in front of us. We are lucky we are still together. Everyone was adjusting well, he thought. Everything will be fine; he only had to worry for three more years. In three years, Graziella would be a doctor and married; Dolora could run the business on her own; Tiudo would be in officer's school, and Lina could go live with Graziella in town and continue her studies without all this confusion. Three years. He only had to worry for a little while; then, he could relax and let destiny take its course.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On her first day of school, Lina prepared to go off to the Poverelle Sisters’ Convent for the first time without Graziella accompanying her. Her father promised her a new surprise if she could get herself to Donna Maria Rosaria’s at noon, where she and her brother would be fed and kept occupied until Dolora picked them up. <br />
<br />
“By myself?” <br />
<br />
“Wait at the portone after school. Tiudo will walk with you.” Dolora had come in with a sweater and ribbons for her hair.<br />
<br />
“He doesn’t like me.” Lina whined, looking at both of them. <br />
<br />
“You’ll do fine. You mind him, now. Besides, now that you’re seven, you can walk all by yourself to and from.” Father’s last words.<br />
<br />
“I want Graziella to take me like before.” Lina and Dolora walked out to the kitchen to fetch Tiudo and they made their way to the barn.<br />
<br />
“Don’t be a baby!” Tiudo scolded her.<br />
<br />
Lina had been unhappy, and had cried every night for her big sister. Tiudo’, on the other hand, was enjoying this new freedom, especially now that he could go to school by himself and stop and play soccer in the piazza. By the time they returned home, it would be too late to do chores. He hoped that Dolora’ would be too busy to pick them up at noon. When Graziella took them, she dropped him off a few minutes before she and Lina went to the convent together. At noon, Tiudo better be ready to get on the buggy and back to the Loggia. No time to dilly-dally.<br />
<br />
The routine was simple. Dolora drove them to school. At noon, when they were dismissed, they walked to the house of Donna Maria Rosaria and wait there to be picked up, sometimes in the afternoon, after Dolora had time to run errands or return to the Loggia to see after some thing or other. In the afternoon, they would receive a snack or a full meal, and then kept occupied with simple chores or homework.<br />
<br />
One day, after the two of them had been dropped off at school, their teachers declared a holiday since the school was practically empty, with everyone out working with the harvest. It was still morning, and Tiudo didn’t want to show up at Donna Maria Rosaria’s and be assigned countless chores. They walked to Cousin Luciano’s .<br />
<br />
When she heard the noon bell, Lina walked toward Donna Maria Rosaria’s house by herself, not bothering to alert Tiudo, who didn’t notice her absence for a long time, and then, figured she had walked to Donna Maria Rosaria anyhow, and he didn’t have to worry about her any more.<br />
<br />
At Cousin Luciano's Tiudo and his cousin ate olives and hard bread until the rest of the family returned from the field.<br />
<br />
“What happened Tiudo? Did they forget you?” Luciano’s father asked.<br />
<br />
“Yeah! ” He said with a smirk. He figured they picked up his sister and left him behind on purpose, to teach him a lesson. He was afraid of what would happen at home and could use some support in this house.<br />
<br />
“You must be starved. Come sit.” Luciano’s mother gave him a fork to dig into the communal platter of macaroni she had cooked for the family. Luciano’s four big brothers were passing the wine jug around and he had his turn too. Soon it was late, everyone was hinting some thing or other. Tiudo hoped that he could spend the night there.<br />
<br />
When Dolora stopped at Donna Maria Rosaria’s at the end of the day to pick up her brother and sister, and didn't find the children, she panicked. Donna Rosaria wasn't home either, but a neighbor showed up when she saw the buggy at the door, and told Dolora that Donna Maria Rosaria had left before noon to attend to a child-birth, filling in for another lady, warning her neighbor about the children who would arrive at noon. No, the children had not showed up.<br />
<br />
Dolora drove her buggy to the school first, then up and down streets and back alleys looking for Lina and Tiudo. A couple of hours later, she found Lina. Her story was that she had meant to go over to Donna Maria Rosaria’s house; but, on the way, she met a couple of friends and they played jump rope all afternoon. The other kids had shared their snacks with her, and that’s how she lost track of time. Between tears, she told Dolora that Tiudo was at a cousin's house. Dolora guessed it was Luciano's house.<br />
<br />
Don Paolo was especially upset that Tiudo had been at Luciano's house. <br />
For the past few summers, the area had suffered a continuous drought; city water was turned off regularly for repairs or inspection. The aqueduct was thought to have been sabotaged by people who wanted Mussolini to look bad. People thought it was some kind of trick. Don Paolo began to transport containers of water filled from his river to half the town that could afford the service, going door to door with Dolora’ measuring out the water at each stop. People wondered why he became a water vendor in his poor health condition. He joked about it; work is work, he kept saying, work will keep him young.<br />
<br />
Manuele, Luciano’s father, and husband to Beatrice, his wife’s distant cousin, had yelled out at him in the middle of the street: “Hey Don Paolo, is this what you have been reduced to? What happened to all your wife’s money?”<br />
<br />
“Everyone needs fresh water!” Paolo said jokingly. He didn’t want to get into an argument.<br />
<br />
“How do we know if this water is good? Maybe it was this water that killed your wife.”<br />
<br />
“My water is fresher than anything you guys are getting down here.” He yelled back, though he felt like snapping his whip at him rather than at the horse.<br />
<br />
Don Paolo warned his boy: “Stay away from Manuele’s house, Tiudo’. They are not to be trusted.”<br />
<br />
“Luciano is my best friend !”Tiudo’ replied.<br />
<br />
“Well, I’m telling you they are up to no good. If you don’t watch your back, they will take your shirt, those crooks. They are not buona gente!”<br />
<br />
“We are cousin, right?”<br />
<br />
“Only in name. They have spread all kinds of rumors in town. I tell you, stay away from them.”<br />
<br />
“But Luciano is nice to me!" He was in tears now, looking at how his life was being controlled by everyone, his father, his sisters, even Lina the blabber mouth.<br />
<br />
“You got to choose your friends carefully. After next year, you’ll be enrolled in the military academy and then your future will open up for you. You’ll make a lot of friends.” Don Paolo tried to remain calm with his boy. It must not be easy to be a boy without a mother.<br />
<br />
“Do I get a present at graduation?”<br />
<br />
“God willing! What would you like?”<br />
<br />
“A racing bike! Like in The Giro d’Italia!”<br />
<br />
“Are you going to train to be in The Giro?”<br />
<br />
“That’s my dream, Papa’.”<br />
<br />
“You will do me great honors, son, if you look at the military as your goal. Your great-grandfather, your grandfather, and I all served our King with honor. Italy needs the loyalty and strength of a committed military. This summer will be a good time for you to help around the stables, to learn from Mingu about being a good soldier, a good cavalry man.<br />
<br />
Don Paolo gave Tiudo a lashing with the belt he used to sharpen his razor. It was not the first time that Tiudo received this punishment, and Don Paolo had more in store for him if something else happened. He prayed he would live long enough to see his son grown and settled.<br />
<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
<br />
Lina was asleep in seconds when she unwrapped her surprise. A beautiful doll, with rich cinnamon red hair reminding Lina of her Mother and Graziella and a little bit of her own hair too. “I’ll name her Ella!” She said, “For Graziella!”<br />
<br />
“Great. That’s her name then! She’ll be your companion from now on. Good night, Princess.”<br />
<br />
“Good Night Papa’ Thanks for Ella.”<br />
"Good Night, my little angel."</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-10172484472430027682010-05-13T08:25:00.000-07:002013-02-28T11:17:52.575-08:00Under Vesuvius<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
City Life<br />
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<br />
Graziella waited until she was hungry, and then opened the package wrapped in plain butcher paper that Mingu' had handed her at the station. There was the gold locket and chain that Donna Maria Rosaria had always worn. My Lord, she thought, I can’t thank her enough. She read the note stuck in a corner:<br />
<br />
“Cuore del mio cuore….<br />
<br />
Hart of my heart,<br />
<br />
I miss you already, <br />
<br />
Mingu.” <br />
<br />
She looked at those words for a long time, and before she realized, she was at the station in Naples.<br />
<br />
Naples in 1930 was hot, blustery, smelly, noisy, a mixture of high and low society. The city had been the seat of the royal family commanding the Two Sicilies way before Italy became unified under the House of Savoy. It had beautiful museums, castles, palaces and Roman and Greek antiquities.<br />
<br />
Briny smells of sea life and food cooked outdoors slapped the city from the boardwalks to the top of Vesuvius. The town clamored for attention at every corner; noise and laughter following her everywhere. It felt like a holiday spilling out from church pews, coffee houses, parks, houses and boats, forcing you to stop and participate. There were things to do, places to go, schedules and expectations, people coming and going. Breakfast at eight, dinner at two, supper at nine, long and elaborate meals punctuating each day, like the tick-tock sound of the clock in grandfather’s library.<br />
<br />
The town was trying to erase all memories of a past life. When you are here, it screamed, live with all your senses.<br />
<br />
She attended classes in the morning, uncomfortable walking to and from, skirting people and animals, trying to ignore the yelling and calling out of street merchants, sing-song lilts that reminded her of the songs Mingu would sing. The town spewed joy, anger, irritability and gentility at the end of each street. <br />
<br />
She felt inadequate, conspicuous in her old fashioned clothes. . When her grandmother insisted Graziella be fitted for proper attire and took her to a special shop where fashionable clothes for women were produced on demand, she was stunned and pleased too. She had sewn her own ever since she was ten. In fact, she and Dolora’ had sewn everyone’s outfits at home, even her father’s. These shops had special patterns, special fabrics and professional seamstresses who could measure and produce an outfit in less than a week.<br />
<br />
She noticed her grandparents changed clothes often, and she was expected to do the same. There were more people around the house, doing different jobs for you, including freshening your clothes after each wearing, before you had a chance to agree to that. There were more people in service here than back home, though the vineyards required lots of hands.<br />
<br />
Graziella bathed in a warm room, and let the water be thrown out, instead of using it to wash clothes. When she first arrived, she had washed her own delicates and had tried to find a place to hang them on the terrace when the maid laughed and told her everything was hung out in the basement; in fact, there was a special drawer in each room for dirty clothes. From that spot, the laundry dropped in the basement where a team of laundresses had tubs of hot water and finished in a few hours. The following day someone else’s job was to iron and mend and put clothes away in each owner’s bureau.<br />
<br />
At home, water was a precious commodity, especially in the summer when the creek was low and animals and vineyards needed assistance through dry spells. Everyone had chores, cleaning fireplaces, transporting wood and oil for lamps, changing linens, helping in the kitchen, sewing. There were always things to be done and everyone pitching in to do them. <br />
<br />
Right now, she thought, every man, woman and child over five will be helping with the olive harvest. The sick and very old would prepare food and mind infants. For the next month, while she was being shown the sights and purchasing luxurious linens for her trousseau, at her grandmother’s insistence, her brother and sisters were spending twelve hours in the fields, alongside the workers, climbing tall trees, plucking olives from each branch without dropping any, sorting and packaging. There were people for each task; and children were especially adept at climbing branches hard to reach. The entire town was doing the same task in different lands. <br />
<br />
The wind smelled of olives and grapes, harvests taking place one after the other in all the surrounding vineyards. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
At home, they all did the laundry, sharing tidbits of each other’s dreams and miseries. The children knew not to dirty any more than was absolutely necessary. They wore their apron-like over-dress and over -shirt around the house to prevent spills and marks. <br />
<br />
I must adapt, but not be carried away with this practice, thought Graziella.<br />
<br />
At dinner, Doctor Fabrizi directed the conversation as he sat at the head of the table. He was interested in what Graziella was learning, interrupting often to spout out his philosophy on the need for universal public education, or the latest news bit.<br />
<br />
“Don’t believe the propaganda,” he told her when she shared the latest edict from Mussolini that teachers had to sign allegiance pacts.<br />
<br />
He marched her to the library, at the end of the meal to show her something or other that she should have read by now. Every waking moment was filled with books, conversations, classes, outings. She had forgotten to write back home twice in one month.<br />
<br />
Two weeks into her classes and she had lost track of time. Studying furiously until all hours at night, Graziella noticed that her grandparents read newspapers or wrote letters, and inevitably ended up taking a nap for an hour or so, not realizing that they still had the book opened at the same page.<br />
<br />
She would help them get comfortable, add a pillow here, a shawl there, loving how they insisted they wanted to stay there, to remain in her presence until she went to bed. When she could no longer keep her own eyes open, she woke each of them, one at a time, and guided them to their bed.<br />
<br />
She was not prepared for her classes. And she could not admit this to anyone. She needed to absorb and catch up before someone found out. If her grandmother knew, she would get her a tutor. And then what? What can a tutor do? <br />
<br />
I don’t need a tutor, what I need is time, she thought, time to catch up.<br />
<br />
She excused herself from accompanying them to events. Grandma’s face was always disappointed. “Just like your mother!” She’d say, “Your mother had the pick of the crop, young men courting her everywhere we went. She began to retreat to her studies, telling us that she was going to be a doctor too. Who heard of women doctor? But she was tenacious, that one. You got that from her, and your hair color. I think I see her every time your blond hair catches the light! You’re a looker, too, just like your mother!” <br />
<br />
“Oh? Thank you Nonna. Why didn’t she become a doctor?” Graziella didn’t know this part.<br />
<br />
“She met your father, and the rest is history.”<br />
<br />
“Well, I’m engaged, and still…” <br />
<br />
“Here, you ought to have this book at your disposal…” Doctor Fabrizi had changed the conversation, got a book off the shelf and passed it on to her. It was the anatomy book that she needed to purchase at the bookstore. Her mother must have known these books, must have dreamed just as this daughter is now dreaming. <br />
<br />
“It won’t happen to me,” she said, “ I will finish my studies. Mingu will wait for me and Papa’ will get better and see me graduate. I hope I can keep up with my classes… ” She said this last statement before she realized that she was being premature, worrying them at this point.<br />
<br />
“I am worried …” She started to expain.<br />
<br />
“Studies are supposed to be hard. Schools are geared for those special top minds who can take a challenge. They resemble the challenges in life, only more so. Medicine, especially.” Her grandfather had put his arms around her and understood. He believed girls could do anything they want. But, he knew that many of them were intimidated easily. Not his Marianna, he thought. And tears showed up at the thought of his only daughter dead in her prime. If only there were more doctors, female doctors for females, he thought.<br />
<br />
“I want the practical part.” Graziella said.<br />
<br />
“The more we know of how things work, the more we can figure out when something goes wrong. I’m still learning things, understanding things that I studied in my first year. Imagine that, still learning in my eighties.” He had to get through to her that learning is a continuous process. Even when we think we know everything, there are always new things to learn.<br />
<br />
“Nonno, did Mother have the same difficulties?”<br />
<br />
“I don’t know! She had just started when she met Paolo. He swept her off her feet so fast, we had nothing to say about the matter. We went to meet his parents and that was that.”<br />
<br />
“I feel so unprepared for my classes.”<br />
<br />
“I’d love to help you. You just have to keep me awake long enough!” He had a chance with this child, he thought.<br />
<br />
Grandmother jumped in suggesting that Graziella could take fewer classes, enjoy what the city had to offer, go out with the rest of the students instead of studying every night.<br />
<br />
The following day, Doctor Fabrizi lined up his books of anatomy and asked her to fire off questions. She did, reading one paragraph, and forming a question for him. He went to a corner of the room and pushed a button to reveal a big schematic, a study aid he had forgotten he had. Good grief, that’s just what I need, she thought. They fired away at each other, one question at a time, in a game set kept up with scores that Grandmother shouted out loud.<br />
<br />
The interchange invigorated everyone. <br />
<br />
Before they knew it, the clock struck midnight. <br />
<br />
Buoyed by the experience, Graziella shouted, “ I can do it!”</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-90291403345121648242010-05-04T07:36:00.000-07:002013-02-28T11:22:52.393-08:00New Horizons<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
The year was 1930, and Graziella at seventeen, and engaged, would have chosen her trousseau, her wedding gown and every detail of her nuptials. She would have had romance and marriage on her mind, as she took long walks up and down main street with her girlfriends, all divining who their future husband would be. <br />
<br />
Graziella had shared confidences with her convent friends and had received lots of advice on whom she should marry. Yet, she knew from the time she was ten, that her true love was the young man who worked for them. She was sure of this, as sure as farmers are of spring arriving after a harsh winter. <br />
<br />
Now that she was officially promised to Mingu', and both sides of the family blessed this union, marriage could wait. She knew two things: a woman’s life is no longer her own when she marries, and women do not live long enough to enjoy their children. She was going to change at least one of these. She was going to fulfill her mother’s dream to become a doctor, and help other women care for infections that went untreated. She saw how women put their health last, behind their children's, their husbands', even the livestock's. <br />
<br />
Her mother was in her late thirty when she died, leaving four children under twelve. Graziella made a vow at that deathbed. Whatever it took, however long it took, she was going to become a doctor. Nobody was ever going to die this young.<br />
<br />
<br />
In three years, she will be joined in marriage. Their new house in town would be finished and furnished, and everything would be ready for her next phase of life. She packed her luggage with a clear mind and a cheerful heart. Her new adventure was going to change the course of many lives. <br />
<br />
“Do we have time to stop in town and visit with my mother?” Mingu’ asked on the way to the railroad station. His mother would blame him if Graziella didn’t stop and say her goodbyes. <br />
<br />
“I’m worried about the train connection in Foggia. I hate being stranded at that station. Tell your mother that I regret this situation and send my greetings.” <br />
<br />
“You won’t be stranded. Trains run on time now. A good thing too. I remember when I returned from the service, before Mussolini had enforced military rules all over. I spent the night in that terrible place, with my eyes open the entire time.” He said, loading the buggy and worrying about losing her. A woman alone was a target, with or without the help of schedules and military rules. He worried. He contemplated joining her on this trip, but the grapes were not going to wait another hour. Rain clouds had been gathering all week.<br />
<br />
“With grapes and olives, it will take a couple of months before our harvests are completed and…” He wanted her to need him, to say, ‘come, I can’t go all the way without you’, but she looked calm and assured and understanding.<br />
<br />
“I’m sorry to put so much pressure on the family.” She said.<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry about anything.” He continued to reassure her: “What you haven’t had, since your poor mother passed away, was time to be a girl. You have been a mother to your sisters, to your brother, and a comfort to your Dad all these years.”<br />
<br />
She should be feeling better, she told herself. <br />
<br />
"Three years is a slip of ribbon compared to a life time." His father’s face appeared to him when he said these words, the number of years his father had been dead. The town needed doctors; and he had a chance to support his girl become one. Life will be so much better in just a few years, he thought. <br />
<br />
“You stop worrying; I’ll do the worrying for all of us.” He smiled the whole time, imagining his family in a few years, a boy with blond hair like his; a girl with reddish hair like Graziella's. What beautiful couple they made. No, three years is nothing. He had things to do before he married, settling the deeded land, his mother's household. Yes, everything will be ready for us, he thought.<br />
<br />
“How cruel of me to disappear right after we’re engaged, Mingu’. Now that we could see each other and take passegiate together, now we’ll actually be tied and apart. What an irony. Maybe I shouldn’t go quite yet. Maybe we should get married first.”<br />
<br />
“And give up on your dream? It’s bad enough that I had to give up on mine. Knowing you’re building a dream for our families will be enough to keep us happy right now.”<br />
<br />
He waited at the station with her, the only single woman there. She looked so small and fragile, he thought. My, he was going to miss her immensely. A man has to be the strong one, he told himself, as he hugged her and waved goodbye, keeping his tears in check. He handed her a package as she stepped up on the platform.<br />
<br />
Graziella had not thought about life waiting for her in Naples until she was alone. She remembered her mother’s stories about museums, the Opera House, markets, parties, swimming and moonlight expeditions on the Island of Capri. The few times the entire family visited at the grandparents it was always in a hurry, just a few days. The children had occasion to spend summer vacations here, but not all of them together. Each child had had his/her own time with the grandparents; and then, these memories would be shared and compared, who got to do what, who visited where?<br />
<br />
“Think, Graziella, you will be just like mother when she was your age.” Dolora’ had told her to do all the things they had talked about. Graziella sensed a bit of jealousy in her sister’s tone. Graziella had been the lucky one, prettier, smarter, getting everything in life, including a handsome fiancée.<br />
<br />
Now, she was leaving and dumped all responsibilities on her sister. <br />
<br />
Dolora’ had stopped attending school around the time their mother took ill, when she was barely nine and in fourth grade. Their father had insisted Graziella continue going to town, to the convent school. The rest of the children were too young. Graziella spent a few nights in town during bad storms, but kept up her studies through it all.<br />
<br />
“I’ll be having parties and visits to Museums just like Mother.” Graziella told her sister.<br />
<br />
“No. You’re not going for parties!” Dolora’ s tone was harsh and resentful. How could she be thinking of parties when her sister was taking care of everything at home? How could she?<br />
<br />
“Papa’ will be all right!” Graziella retorted, thinking those were her sister’s thoughts.<br />
<br />
“Why did you get engaged before you finished school?” Dolora’ asked. Graziella had not revealed much of the back story to her sister, and Dolora’ was feeling left out.<br />
<br />
“I don’t know. Donna Maria Rosaria convinced me to open up. And before he decided to do any thing stupid like re-enlist and leave us, I forced him to make up his mind.”<br />
<br />
“You forced him? I thought a man asks.”<br />
<br />
“It’s complicated. I don’t even know how it happened. I just wanted to know that I was correct to interpret his attention. I got carried away. Enough of this.” Graziella was suddenly feeling guilty and having second thoughts. How selfish of her to run off to the city when her sister had never returned to school. Her sister did more around the house than anybody.<br />
<br />
“You’ll need your winter coat and boots.” Dolora’ said, matter of fact.<br />
<br />
“Not in Naples! It’s always springtime there. No snow, no cold winds. I will so enjoy passeggiate on the boardwalk.”<br />
<br />
“Are you going to write us every week?”<br />
<br />
“I will. I will.”<br />
<br />
And before she arrived in Naples, as she waited for her connection, telling herself that the military presence was a good thing at these stations at night, she jotted down a few lines for Mingu and mailed them from Foggia.<br />
<br />
<em><strong>“Tesoro Mio, my treasured one, </strong></em><br />
<em><strong>I already miss you. But, then, I knew that was going to happen. You’ll be very busy in the next few months. So will I. My heart, though, will beat with yours. Every moment of every day we will think of each other; we will breathe air for two. At night, we will walk together under the stars and dream together. I love you more than I can count. </strong></em><br />
<em><strong>Your beloved, Graziella.”</strong></em></div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-61996575121286537282010-04-29T12:29:00.000-07:002013-02-28T11:30:28.700-08:00Promised<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I Promessi Sposi<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cNK5jFD1kaM/S9m1trWRuNI/AAAAAAAABBY/-Sjk8Od9sxI/s1600/france2008+040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cNK5jFD1kaM/S9m1trWRuNI/AAAAAAAABBY/-Sjk8Od9sxI/s400/france2008+040.jpg" height="300" tt="true" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Donna Maria Rosaria came to the Festa with ribbons for the girls, candy for the boy, and a Cassata cake from the town's bakery. This was Don Paolo's favorite dessert, and she meant it for him almost exclusively. She was going to talk to him. Their families went back as far as they remembered; their grandparents owned adjacent lands, shared holidays together, were padrini to each others’ children.<br />
They were practically family.<br />
<br />
Her father had dug the main channel that allowed water to come over to the Loggia from the little creek on their land; the Rapolla family were able to install pipes and pull water to use for household use. The four of them, Paoluccio. his younger brother and sister, all played in the mud for days while the channel was being laid out, making sail boats out of newspapers, singing songs about going to America like Columbus. Don Teodoro, the patriarch, deeded land in exchange for those water rights, land that will belong to Mingu when his mother dies.<br />
<br />
Before Natalino came along and swept her off her feet, she had been interested in Paoluccio's innocent courting gestures, reading The Promessi Sposi book under the very arbor his mother and her mother had cultivated, the same one the two of them would be sitting under for the Festa of San Rocco on this hot August afternoon.<br />
<br />
How easy life had been for his family, with the help of the men in her life, her grandfather, her father, her husband, and now her son. <br />
<br />
The Rapollas survived on the backs of others, she thought. It's about time they realized that.<br />
<br />
She would find the right words to soften Don Paoluccio’s heart. Didn’t she help him find the woman of his dreams? It was she who had been in the same convent in Naples with Marianna. It was she who told Paoluccio about such a beautiful woman from such a wonderful family. If it hadn’t been for her, Paoluccio wouldn’t have met her and her family. The Fabrizi took him in because they trusted the smart Maria Rosaria, their daughter’s best friend, the one that Marianna followed to the small town of Venosa for summer vacations. Doctor Fabrizi would not have allowed his only daughter to follow him into the wilderness of Lucania if he hadn't trusted Maria Rosaria's judgement.<br />
<br />
It was all her doing. <br />
<br />
He owed her.<br />
<br />
The arbor overlooking the vineyards was set up with long tables, plates of salamis, olives, figs, grapes, almonds scattered around; pitchers of Vino Santo and Moscato at one end; selected tablecloths identifying special seating for some important guests. People arrived on horseback, in buggies, or on a four wheel cart pulled by oxen. Neighbors, workers and their families, Don Paolo’s boyhood friends, associates from his military days, almost a hundred souls showed up on this Festa.<br />
<br />
Gemma's entire family had been hired to help with cooking, cleaning and making men and beasts confortable. This kind of feeding happened on feast days and on harvest days.<br />
<br />
The main meal arrived on rolling carts, Timbale, baked pasta with varieties of meat and cheeses, all baked in molds like giant timbles, rich meat sauce and formaggio on the side. The second course was grilled capretto and agnello, young goat and lamb skewered and basted with garlic, rosemary and wine, aromas spreading for miles. Bowls of salads and fresh greens accompanied the capretto. <br />
<br />
Families and neighbors took turns toasting and singing.<br />
<br />
At the head of the table, Don Paolo toasted to everyone's good health and good harvest and passed the wine jugs around. A couple of people played harmonica and mandolin, and people broke into songs. Mingu would have been the first one leading the singing, but he was busy somewhere. <br />
<br />
Graziella noticed her father and Donna Maria Rosaria sitting together. Good sign, she thought. <br />
<br />
She hoped her life would come to a rest soon, in Naples, among her sweet grandparents. If only she could settle the situation between herself and Mingu! She needed certainty in her life, one way or another. Her sisters and little brother would be fine for a while. Yes. She needed space to find her life's destiny. She wondered if Mingu would follow her. Or, if he too would leave the Loggia in protest, and join the army and the cavalry he so missed.<br />
<br />
It was late afternoon when the meal came to an end; cool breezes and the sound of birds and insects down by the river brought a lazy solace to all. Some people felt like taking short walks around the garden, or down in the vineyards glistening with ripe grapes as far as the eyes could see. Horses grazing leisurely in the pasture would have distracted them, and they would have felt an invitation to sit by the river and feel blessed on this hot afternoon.<br />
<br />
Mingu noticed his mother talking non-stop. Graziella noticed her father nodding and agreeing. They each wondered what would come of all that talking.<br />
<br />
Don Paolo was contemplating his time on earth and the people he cared about.<br />
<br />
Mingu was getting nervous, needed to speak to Graziella, to reassure her that things would work out. <br />
<br />
Going around the arbor, he heard Don Paolo's voice,“And now, before we go any further, Donna Maria Rosaria and I have an announcement. Where are those two? Has anybody seen the love birds?”<br />
<br />
Everybody looked around, noticing Mingu at one end of the arbor and Graziella coming from the opposite side.<br />
<br />
“As I was saying, Donna Maria Rosaria and I would like to announce the engagement of our children Mingu and Graziella. This union is blessed by our two families and our dear departed spouses in Heaven. These children have a lifetime of blessings bestowed upon them.Congratulations, you two!”<br />
<br />
The harmonica player started playing Mingu’s favorite song. Everyone clapped. Everyone started singing, “Te voglio bene, te voglio bene assai..."<br />
<br />
Donna Maria Rosaria’s eyes welled thinking of all the generations of Rapollas and D'Ambrosios chained together, going through life making and breaking promises to each other. The souls of her father, her husband and San Rocco will blessed the new couple, she thought, and joined her son in song, providing a soprano sound. Her past and her future blurred for a second. This land will be united after all, she thought. <br />
<br />
“This land will be blessed by many generations,” Don Paoluccio whispered to her, as he stood up to make another toast.<br />
<br />
Mingu and Graziella stood side by side with a glass of wine in their hands, smiling incredulously.<br />
<br />
Soon, they were surrounded, ladies pulling Graziella aside, asking questions; Don Paolo shaking Mingu's hand; children dancing around everyone.<br />
<br />
It was dark when people headed back home with a full stomach and a story to tell about the new couple.<br />
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Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-74364106163241639982010-04-27T08:31:00.000-07:002013-03-04T17:15:31.993-08:00Making Plans<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Making Plans<br />
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<br />
“Mingu, is anything wrong?” Don Paolo didn’t expect to find anybody awake at his return from the city. As Mingu helped him down from his horse.<br />
“Good evening, Don Paolo. ” Mingu took the horse to the stable and later returned to see what Don Paolo's had to say after a long day.<br />
“Come, join me for a drink.” It was late and everyone was asleep, but Don Paolo found a snack of bread, salami and a glass of wine, and set another plate for Mingu who joined him in the kitchen after feeding and watering the horse,<br />
<br />
The kitchen was warm, a fire still burning, anticipating his arrival. Gemma heard the men from the back room where she slept and came to see what was needed. She offered to fry some eggs and assemble a proper meal for the padrone.<br />
<br />
She saw Mingu's long face.<br />
<br />
“Sorry, Gemma, didn’t mean to wake you. Mingu and I are just having a glass of wine, something to relax me before I get to bed.” Don Paolo’s tone was calm, but she couldn’t help noticing his visage wincing in pain as he dropped in a chair. <br />
<br />
“Go back to bed, Gemma. Morning is just a few hours away.” He was commanding her, and it was no use arguing at this point. If Mingu wasn't around, Don Paolo would allow a salt bath for his feet, even a massage of that throbbing leg. She went back to her room without protesting.<br />
<br />
If they needed her, they knew where she was.<br />
<br />
Mingu dropped down to help the padrone with the removal of the boots. <br />
<br />
“Get the good wine, will you? I could use company. You look like you have something on your mind. What is it?” Don Paolo didn't like much fussing. At these times, he missed his wife more than ever. Marianna always waited up for him, insisted on treating that leg of his with rubbings of alcohol, with special pomates of oil or this, or oil of that. Marianna would have had a hot meal waiting for him too.<br />
<br />
“You’ve had a long day.”<br />
<br />
“We’re awake. Might as well get it off your chest.”<br />
<br />
“Graziella and I. Just today.” Mingu moved around the place and cut himself a slice of bread. He found it easier to talk as he moved to gather things. He was afraid Don Paolo was going to erupt any minute at the ideas discussed.<br />
<br />
“You and Graziella?” Don Paolo’s tone was warm and gentle. “ My young man, my daughter is always finding ways to be around you. I thought you noticed.”<br />
<br />
“I thought….” Mingu stopped in mid-sentence. What did he hear?<br />
<br />
“She’s been fond of you for a long time. 'Mingu this; Mingu that'. She's still very young, no?”<br />
<br />
“Graziella wanted us to speak to you together, Don Paolo. ”<br />
<br />
“A long day! I’m glad we talked.”<br />
<br />
“Yes.”<br />
<br />
“How is your mother going to take the news? Have you thought about that? She’s the one you need to worry about.”<br />
<br />
“I’m picking her up for the Festa tomorrow.”<br />
<br />
“Yes. Tomorrow, we’ll talk tomorrow. Good night, Mingu.”<br />
<br />
“Good night, Don Paolo.”<br />
<br />
It was almost dawn when Don Paolo went to bed. Mingu then, saddled up and rode to town. The Festa was going to bring them all back together in a few hours.<br />
<br />
When Mingu arrived at his mother's, she fixed him a hearty breakfast and before he opened his mouth about anything, she brought up the topic of Graziella. <br />
<br />
“So, you two have feelings for each other.” She started.<br />
<br />
“Yes, Mamma’. I wasn’t sure myself until just the other day, right after she came down to talk to you. What did she say exactly?”<br />
<br />
“Never mind that. I want to know how you plan to support her. She is used to the life at the Loggia. What can you give her? Your father left us those few acres by the forest and they don’t produce much these days. Even the hunt has come to a stop. We made extra money when we had dozens of people at the time spend time at the Loggia during hunting season. I almost had the dowry for your sister after one season. I’m quite sure Don Paoluccio, in his condition misses his old lifestyle. Soon, he’ll be telling you to get rid of the horses, and then, where will you be?”<br />
<br />
“I’m running the place, Mamma. Not just the stables. Besides, I can always re-enlist in the military. I always loved the Cavalry.”<br />
<br />
“You haven’t been paying attention! There is a lot of talk with Mussolini changing things. Cavalry or no Cavalry, I’m a widow and if you leave us what will happen? Who’ll help your poor Mamma and the young ones? Rodolfo and Nicola need your guidance. Your sister will need a trousseau. We have nothing. Four mouths and no steady income. Don Paoluccio romised your dad two acres by the river. I bet he forgot that. I bet now that his daughter is coming of age he’d rather not look back.”<br />
<br />
“Mamma, I’m asking Graziella’s hand if Don Paoluccio doesn’t object. Now, it doesn’t affect our family at all. I’ll still watch out for my brothers and sister.”<br />
<br />
“We’re about to see the dismantling of things. No, son. No. The military is the last place you’ll be happy in. I think we better get you to America. Yes. I’ll talk to Paoluccio. His brother and sister are there, in New York. You and Graziella can make a new life there. You can send for the rest of the children, and your brothers and your sister. Paoluccio and I do not have a lot of time on this earth.”<br />
<br />
“Mamma, you’re worrying for nothing. You’ll both live to be a hundred. I can still run the Masseria for the family, and in a few years, I can buy some land, build our own place.”<br />
<br />
“I wouldn’t set my hopes too high, figlio mio. Paoluccio is not like Marianna, his dear wife.You are still the stable boy. You better make other plans. I’d hate for you to be disappointed. What you want is impossible.”</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-24259045883867641292010-04-20T09:09:00.000-07:002013-03-04T17:18:14.331-08:00Among Vines and Flowers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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“We’ll have to stop and see Donna Maria Rosaria.” Graziella told Lina as they got into the buggy. <br />
<br />
Their day was going to be long and tiring, and Graziella knew her little sister needed to know all the rules for this long day. She would not be running around the gardens, playing marbles or hide and seek with her brother Tiu`do. The older sisters were splitting responsibilities to get everything done. <br />
<br />
“Do we have to?” Lina was excited, looking forward to the street vending and lots of new merchandise laid out on the streets. The celebration of the town patron, La Festa di San Rocco, brought dozens of vendors to town, with merchandise, rides and music from one end of town to the other. This occurred at the end of August, when many things had been harvested, and the town folks had extra cash to spend.<br />
<br />
“It wouldn’t be right not to pay our respects. Besides, if you want those new shoes, you need to be polite and pleasant the entire time. Yes?"<br />
<br />
“I hate her house; it smells funny.” Lina was not at all interested in spending time in a quiet dark corner as the two women talked about stuff. She wanted to shop, try new toys, eat new candies.<br />
<br />
“We don’t choose where we’ re born or what our luck is. We ought to be thankful.”<br />
<br />
“That’s not what Papa’ says.”<br />
<br />
“We owe the Pepe family a great deal. Who do you think has been in charge of the Masseria? First, Signor Natale, Mingu’s father; now Mingu. Our families have been connected for generations. God chose to make us human to help each other. Different from animals, but not much better. I know chickens I trust more than humans.”<br />
<br />
Graziella realized that it was best to make Lina happy before the visit. That way, she'd be content and full and ready for a short nap before heading back home. <br />
<br />
They arrived at Donna Maria Rosaria’s house late afternoon, after the shopping. <br />
<br />
“We had to wait until now; had we arrived close to the midmorning meal, we would be imposing, assuming that a meal prepared for the family could feed uninvited guests as well. If we arrived after the meal, people would be taking an afternoon rest. We have to be careful of these things, or we are not welcome into people’s houses. What’s more, people will think we have no manners.” <br />
<br />
“You always take too long!” Lina knew that it was of no use to complain, but she hoped Graziella would forget about visiting anybody and take her home where she would be telling Tiudo all he had missed. <br />
<br />
“Che bella sopresa! Angels at my door! Come, sit with me.” The old woman was surprised to see them.<br />
<br />
“Donna Maria Rosaria, we’ve come to invite you to the Festa.” Graziella handed her freshly baked pastries from a local bakery, and a bouquet of white roses from her garden. White roses were Graziella's favorites.<br />
<br />
“I remember when your Mamma Mariana, bless her soul, wanted different roses for each of you. I planted fruit trees on the south side of the Masseria, for each boy. Terradonna has all of our memories. Thank you, girls; this makes me miss the Masseria a little less.” <br />
<br />
“Dad asked that we get you up to Loggia for my farewell party. I want you there. I wouldn’t think of leaving without saying my goodbyes.” <br />
<br />
Graziella referred to her house as the Loggia. But, the whole compound had always been called Terradonna, and it included the Loggia, the compound where all the farming and stables were, called the Masseria, the vineyards, the olive groves, the woods that had provided hunting expeditions for decades, spreading for a thousand acres or so, part of which had at one point been owned by the Pepe and D'Ambrosio families before the Rapollas came on the scene.<br />
<br />
The name Terradonna was the name for that entire place.<br />
<br />
“When are you leaving?”<br />
<br />
“In a week, in time for the beginning of school. I need some independence, meet new people…”<br />
<br />
“Oh? Is there someone special?”<br />
<br />
“No. I just want to have a little life away from the Loggia. Papa’ is in good hands with Mingu’ around. And Dolo`ra seems to handle things around the house.”<br />
<br />
“Figlia mia, che bella idea (my daughter, what a good idea); to go to school, to enrich your mind. You have been gifted with beauty and brain. God loves you.”<br />
<br />
“Thank you. We must head on back. We don’t want to be on the road too late. Besides, look at her, she is so tired!" She picked up Lina, half asleep and transported her to the buggy. Donna Maria Rosaria accompanied her.<br />
<br />
“Ciao, cara, my respects to your dad.”<br />
<br />
Graziella moved away from Lina and walked Donna Maria Rosaria to her door. <br />
<br />
“Donna Maria Rosaria, I cannot leave town until I know for sure how I stand. I came to ask for advice."<br />
"What's wrong?"<br />
"I am in love with Mingu, but I don’t know how everything will turn out with us. He seems to avoid me. You can help me understand what's wrong here."<br />
<br />
The old woman was speechless. She was fond of the girl, but she didn’t see this coming. This was not what she anticipated. This can’t work out, she thought. Paoluccio would never allow it. <br />
<br />
“Child, you are too young. Nowadays girls pursue more interests. I wish I had your opportunities. I wanted to become an Opera singer. I took lessons. But, I just stopped dreaming for myself after I got married.”<br />
<br />
"I feel like a flower that will wither in a few hours; I am missing air.”<br />
<br />
“Child, there is nothing more important in our lives that love. Have you prayed for guidance? Have you told your father? ”<br />
<br />
“How can I talk to Papa? I’m not supposed bother him.”<br />
<br />
“You must talk to him. You must tell him how you feel. It’s no use putting it off.”<br />
<br />
Graziella returned to the Loggia with a lighter heart. She knew what she must do. Her whole future depended on the next few days. <br />
<br />
Tiudo met her at the door and after she handed him a pastry, she sent him to bring Mingu to the garden. She gathered a carafe of cold water and the rest of the pastries and went out to the rose garden to wait for Mingu’. The arbor outside the kitchen provided enough privacy without being compromising. Everyone can see them, and her brother and sisters will be nearby. Soon everything will be ok, she thought. <br />
<br />
Lina had taken her stuff to her room, and had reappeared with her Sunday dress and her new shoes.<br />
<br />
“Lina, you look stunning! Now, go change back; we don’t want to mess this lovely dress. You’ll be the best looking child at the Festa. Go tell Dad I’ll be up in a while. Wait for me up in his room. Go.” <br />
<br />
Graziella was making sure that none of her siblings would spoil the conversation she had planned to have with Mingu’.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Mingu heard the girls' carriage as they passed on the way to the Loggia. Usually, Graziella would have stopped at the Masseria to have Mingu take care of the carriage and the animals. But today, she was in a hurry. She wanted Lina back at home, and she wanted time to figure out how to approach Mingu'.<br />
<br />
A few minutes later, when young Tiu`do came around with an enormous piece of pastry in his hand and tried to tell him he was needed at the Loggia, it took him a while to figure out what the boy was trying to say with his full mouth. Mingu took him out to the water basin and both of them washed up before leaving for the Loggia. Something told him to wear a clean shirt.<br />
<br />
Mingu arrived at the arbor and noticing some errant vine, pulled out his clippers from his back pocket and began pruning. Then, he saw her move toward him, illuminated by a setting red sun behind her, with a halo similar to the one of the very Madonna she was named after. <br />
<br />
<em><strong>Madonna mia, this heart of mine is going to burst right here and now. </strong></em><br />
<br />
He waited for her to speak, not wanting to break the spell.<br />
<br />
“Mingu, I saw your mother today.” Graziella started.<br />
<br />
“How is she?”<br />
<br />
“She gave me some advice.”<br />
<br />
“Oh?”<br />
<br />
“Yes, I asked her if I should go to Naples to run away from my feelings. And do you know what she said? She said I should stay here and confront them. Only then, I can decide what to do next.”<br />
<br />
“Oh?”<br />
<br />
“So, I will talk to Papa' and get everything out in the open.”<br />
<br />
“Oh?”<br />
<br />
“Mingu, what’s happening to you? You just keep saying Oh?”<br />
<br />
“I don’t know what this is about, between you and my mom”<br />
<br />
“Yes, you know! Don’t pretend! I have seen you looking at me, pleading with your eyes. I have guessed how you feel.”<br />
<br />
“Oh?”<br />
<br />
“Oh? Oh? That’s all you are going to say? You sweet talk everybody around here. Now it’s your turn to sweet talk me, and you just say ‘Oh’?”<br />
<br />
“You want me to sweet talk you? Why? You are promised to the lawyer in Barletta.”<br />
<br />
“There you go again. Assuming something you know nothing about. How do you feel? That’s all I am interested.”<br />
<br />
“How do I feel? About you or what?”<br />
<br />
“Don’t play dumb. Yes, about me, truthfully!”<br />
<br />
“Madonna mia, I never thought it was going to be this hard!”<br />
<br />
“What’s hard? What’s hard?”<br />
<br />
“Now, Graziella, just be quiet for a minute. I need to catch my wits. Everything has changed and I have to adjust. You took me by surprise, that’s all. By surprise.”<br />
<br />
“Mingu, how…”<br />
<br />
“No, let me finish. Just wait and I will get to it. O.K. now. Well, all my life, you have been the one and only girl I have been attracted to. But since I work here, I did not want to make it awkward for either one of us. I have been waiting for the right moment.”<br />
<br />
“Mingu, I…”<br />
<br />
“Now, let me finish.”<br />
<br />
“Wait, before you finish…”<br />
<br />
“Let’s do this right, Graziella. It’s the man that says the words first. So, Graziella, I am in love with you. God has chosen you for me. I hope you feel the …”<br />
<br />
“I do. I do. Mingu, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. I am sick in love thinking of you all the time. I told your mom, I told the maids. Everybody knows.”<br />
<br />
“Everybody? Does your father know?”<br />
<br />
“No, he is the only one. But my grandparents know.”<br />
<br />
“And what do they know? That a Padronessa, is in love with a stable boy? I don’t have anything to offer you like those other men. I don’t have any land or houses, or an education.”<br />
<br />
“You are offering your heart, the heart of a good, decent man, who loves his mom and is good to animals. That’s enough for me.”<br />
<br />
“Let me talk to your father when he returns.”<br />
<br />
“Mingu, I know how things are done around here. Men talking to men about women! But that’s not how I like it. We are going to talk to him together. ”<br />
<br />
“When?”<br />
<br />
“Tonight.”<br />
<br />
“Ok, tonight.”<br />
<br />
Mingu left Graziella with the world weighing him down. He thought revealing his love was going to lighten his load. That’s what the songs say. <br />
<br />
This felt like his breathing was going to stop any minute.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-42189194455284247732010-04-17T08:26:00.000-07:002010-06-26T18:48:21.807-07:00Mingu's Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cNK5jFD1kaM/S8nRLRP9vvI/AAAAAAAAA7o/FxK3Jg0WxLg/s1600/france2008+036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cNK5jFD1kaM/S8nRLRP9vvI/AAAAAAAAA7o/FxK3Jg0WxLg/s640/france2008+036.jpg" width="640" wt="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
He stepped in the smoky kitchen of the Loggia not expecting to see anyone. It was too late for breakfast, and too early for lunch. The cook must be out in the garden gathering greens, or feeding pigs. He found her by the back door, butchering chickens. <br />
<br />
“Gemma Bella, what can hungry men eat this morning?” Mingu spun her around before she had a chance to put down the bloody knife she was using. <br />
<br />
“And why do you think that I saved you anything? We didn’t expect you back so soon.” She stopped to wash up as Mingu took her place and finished the butchering.<br />
<br />
“Because you are crazy about me, just can’t help yourself.” He teased her as usual. “Mother sent you something.” He pointed to a package he brought her.<br />
<br />
“Ma va ( go on..) stop teasing an old woman. What? What is this? Donna Maria Rosaria’s favorite shawl! It’s too much!”<br />
<br />
“Mother wants you to have it.” He had finished the cutting and boning, and he too walked out of the smoky place to wash up.<br />
<br />
Breaking into a song, he rubbed his hands in dirt before throwing hot water on them from the tub waiting for the morning dishes. He noticed how Gemma had stacked the dishes and would be washing them right after the chickens had been processed. When he came back, she had cut huge slices of bread and had scrambled some eggs to add to the peppers she had cooked for everybody else. <br />
<br />
“Sit, sit down. Tell me about your trip.”<br />
<br />
He told her the town was full of merchants displaying fancy wares up and down the piazza. This feast brought new products and excitements to town. <br />
<br />
He thanked her for the meal and whistled out to make his rounds, letting men and beasts know that he was back on the job.<br />
<br />
Gemma watched him go, happy, that young man, polite and sweet to everyone. He was the only one who could put in a good word with the Padrone. In the last couple of years, since he returned from the military, Mingu had been interceding with the Padrone, getting half days off here and there and on Sundays, as God himself took Sundays off. <br />
<br />
“Sometimes, we treat beasts better than we treat men!” He had confessed to himself, finding courage to stand up to a Padrone that was mostly absent these days, glad to turn things over to his trusty foreman. <br />
<br />
Mingu appreciated that trust. <br />
<br />
He hoped to get a glimpse of Graziella. He saw Tiu`do playing around with his food and arguing with Lina. Mingu took the boy aside and talked to him, promising to take him on a ride if he behaved. Graziella was nowhere around. He left word that if the Padrone wanted him, he’d be at the stables.<br />
<br />
The morning chores did nothing to ease his anxiousness. All those songs that spoke of love didn’t even begin to explain this feeling. He could eat a big meal, but the minute he thought about her, he would be hungry again, and thirsty, and nervous, and distracted. Having other girls chase him just made the situation worse. They increased his distress. They made him angry. How could he be so desirable to others, when the one he desired pretended he didn’t exist? <br />
<br />
Maybe Graziella was just shy, waiting for him to take the first step.<br />
<br />
Mid-day, Don Paoluccio found him. <br />
<br />
“Mingu, I heard you came by earlier. How is your mother?”<br />
<br />
“She sends her best. Her rheumatisms are bothering her.”<br />
<br />
“Be sure she’s here for the Festa. Graziella won’t leave without saying goodbye.” <br />
<br />
“Graziella is leaving?”<br />
<br />
“She starts school in a week. She has been accepted to study medicine in Naples. Doctor Fabrizi arranged the whole thing. Actually, Mingu, you have a lot to do with that decision. It’s all your fault.”<br />
<br />
“My fault?”<br />
<br />
“Yes, all your fault, and her mother’s, bless her soul. You convinced her she could do anything she wanted, and her mother when she was alive, convinced her that she needed knowledge, especially medical and scientific knowledge. Mariana was not happy with the girls stuck out here, so far from civilization. She wanted them educated, exposed to culture. Our plan was to spend winters in Naples, and return at the Loggia just for hunting, the way this residence was originally designed for.”<br />
<br />
“A doctor! A good thing, for sure.”<br />
<br />
“Did you know that I had planned to be a doctor before I entered the military? I thought about returning to it after the leg problem. Graziella will do very well, match any man at any thing. And why not? Women are always right, Mingu.”<br />
<br />
“Yes, I suppose so. The workers want to know if they can spend an extra day in town on account of the Feast.”<br />
<br />
“I leave you in charge of these things. I will need to be away, but I’ll be back for the Feast. I trust you will keep an extra eye around here. ”<br />
<br />
“Certainly.”<br />
<br />
“I KNOW. I have always been able to depend on you and your family.”<br />
<br />
When Don Paoluccio left, Mingu could not stop his heart from pounding. How could he hear her name and stay calm? She was leaving, and so his dream will leave too.<br />
<br />
Before Don Paoluccio was out of sight, Graziella came looking for him.<br />
<br />
“Mingu, I want to go to town to pick up a few things for the Festa. Can you prepare the buggy? I was going to stop and pay my respects at your mother’s.”<br />
<br />
“She will appreciate that.”<br />
<br />
“We’ll leave in an hour.”<br />
<br />
He would have loved to talk to her. But things were changing right in front of his eyes. She was going away, as she should. She was stretching her wings and finding things out for herself. He had no chance now. Now he needed to accept his lot in life. He could stay here, as his father did, or he could rejoin the cavalry and return to his first love. He could make a life for himself in the army. With Italy changing, with war talks in all the papers, life was about to change. <br />
<br />
It was time to move on.<br />
<br />
His dream lay elsewhere.<br />
<br />
He hitched the horses and got lost in his own thoughts. His first love is already coming to an end before it was allowed to breathe, he thought. He needs to stay away from her, away from ever meeting her face to face again.Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-19497881986380329542010-04-14T11:27:00.000-07:002010-06-26T18:37:58.872-07:00A trip to the Loggia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cNK5jFD1kaM/S8YEKp1gbuI/AAAAAAAAA7A/9okGBRX4N_8/s1600/france2008+040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cNK5jFD1kaM/S8YEKp1gbuI/AAAAAAAAA7A/9okGBRX4N_8/s640/france2008+040.jpg" width="640" wt="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
Dolo`ra placed the coverlet on the bed as Mingu's mother had instructed, and climbed up into the big matrimonial bed for the first time. She crossed herself, closed her eyes and began talking to her dead sister Graziella, whose place she was taking. <br />
<br />
“<strong>Non era il mio desiderio, sorella mia!</strong> It was not my desire, sister! I wish this had never happened."<br />
<br />
With her arms crossed over her chest, in the dark, she recited every prayer she knew.<br />
What happened next she never talked about. Never. For years, she didn’t remember whether she was alone all night, whether she cried all night. Her wedding night was just like any other night, she thought.<br />
<br />
Mingu dreamed of his Graziella, and of the child he would never see. He lost his dream of raising horses, owning his own stables and ranch, of bringing up strapping young boys like his brothers.<br />
<br />
In the morning, Dolo`ra woke her sister Lina early..<br />
<br />
"Get dressed. We're going to the Loggia."<br />
<br />
“Am I going to get my own bed?”<br />
<br />
“Didn’t you notice? You already have your own bed; I sleep in the matrimonial bed.” <br />
<br />
“Am I going to be sent to an orphanage? Am I going to be sent away?”<br />
<br />
“We are family. Nothing will separate us. Nothing!”<br />
<br />
“Tiu`do ran away.”<br />
<br />
“Boys have to do that, leave their home, all the rules of growing up they had at home; then, when they miss home-cooking, when they miss their families, they’ll be coming back. You’ll see, he’ll return this summer or next, all grown up, all ready to go to work and act like a man.”<br />
<br />
“I am scared he’s never coming back.”<br />
<br />
“I remember when Mingu did the same thing, when he joined the army before he proposed to Graziella.”<br />
<br />
“I don’t care about Tiu`do becoming a man. I want him back home.”<br />
<br />
“He missed his old life, was stubborn. I guess he had to. We all do what we feel is best. But, remember, we are Rapolla! It means something! It will mean something when you are ready to get married. If you are virtuous, and act right, you can have the pick of any young man. You’ll see!”<br />
<br />
“Sister Anna Maria told me I have a calling.”<br />
<br />
“Nobody can tell what your destiny will bring. At your age, I wanted to be like Pa`pa, learning about the business.”<br />
<br />
“What did he Papa do?”<br />
<br />
“We owned lots of land. Pa`pa managed them, overseeing the planting, the harvest, the production of wine, the sales.”<br />
<br />
“He couldn’t see!”<br />
<br />
“That happened later.”<br />
<br />
"I wish that Mamma and Papa were still alive. And Graziella too! And that Tiu`do hadn’t run away.”<br />
<br />
“Yes! I know!”<br />
<br />
Dolo`ra was hoping to meet the new owners of the Loggia, and share the secrets of the gardens with them. Secretly, she came to see the place one more time before it changed forever.<br />
<br />
"Are we staying?" Lina asked, confused. The trip took a good hour on the buggy, and they needed to find water for the horse before they could return. But nobody was there to meet them. The Loggia was deserted.<br />
"We can't stay long. Go on, take a good look. Remember this is where you came from. This is where your roots are. "<br />
<br />
Everything was overgrown. The girls took cuttings of roses and snips of herbs before they returned home.Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-21260117756006787942010-04-09T08:12:00.000-07:002010-04-09T08:18:25.349-07:00Dolo`ra's Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The second wife <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cNK5jFD1kaM/S78-YwKsoZI/AAAAAAAAA5I/55BWfoxHhN8/s1600/france2008+046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cNK5jFD1kaM/S78-YwKsoZI/AAAAAAAAA5I/55BWfoxHhN8/s640/france2008+046.jpg" width="640" wt="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
This house was Graziella's, her deceased sister house; every piece of linen had her initials; every piece of furniture had been purchased for her. When Graziella had started her trousseau she added Mingu’s initials on the linens, G and D, for Graziella and Domenico, his full name. This house was their wedding present. They had chosen the spot, the place where they could still see the Loggia, her home, on a direct axis with Monticchio, the mountain that guided their horses home at the end of each day working the fields.<br />
<br />
Dolo`ra remembered how her sister tried to keep her pregnancy a secret, to keep the Malocchio at bay. The evil eye can come from anywhere, at any time, envious of your happiness. Even Mingu didn’t know. <br />
<br />
Their father had been suffering with failing eyesight for years. Paoluccio Rapolla had been bossing men and beasts with equal bark even when reduced to a puny size and was barely visible on the large matrimonial bed where he spent his last months battling pneumonia. <br />
<br />
When Graziella took sick and lost her baby, Mingu did not expect to bury his infant and wife in the same grave. He was going to mourn them the rest of his life. <br />
<br />
Donna Maria Rosaria talked to Dolo`ra about marriage; as a Mother-in-law, it fell upon her to decide how to handle things. Dolo`ra was still a girl herself.<br />
<br />
“You have all gone through a lot. And nobody is going to split up the family or the property. This family has been on this land for generation. It’s important that you all stay together.” She said, as a preamble.<br />
<br />
Dolo`ra answer surprised her:<br />
<br />
“Mingu can take his horse and leave. We’ll survive here."<br />
<br />
<em><strong>“Figlia mia!</strong></em>” Donna Maria Rosaria could not believe this meek fifteen year old speak out so freely. How did this woman-child insist on getting her way? Was there more willfulness she was going to see? She continued, “Figlia mia, just take your time, but you won't have much leisure left. As soon as the judge is finished with his decision, you and your siblings will be homeless!"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Donna Maria Rosaria had the same trouble convincing Mingu to face the situation with dignity.<br />
<br />
“Mingu, if we leave these children alone their relatives will fight over the land and they will not rest until each one gets a piece. They have no one to protect them. They will all be sent to an orphanage; the land will be sold; and all will be lost. You can’t even get your first wife’s inheritance seeing how everything will need to be straightened out and the lawyers will eat up everything.”<br />
<br />
“But, Mamma, this is not an easy matter.” <br />
<br />
“It’s not easy, for either one of you.”<br />
<br />
“Marrying my sister in law must be a sin!”<br />
<br />
“We will check with the parish priest. They have seen everything those people.”<br />
<br />
Donna Maria Rosaria tended to the funeral announcements, and six months later, when the girl turned sixteen and a sufficient time had elapsed with mourning and dark shadows all over the place, she took action.<br />
<br />
They were married at the Loggia, with just two witnesses. Instead of a honeymoon, Mingu left to help distant relatives, to give everyone a chance to get used to the idea, and Dolo`ra and her siblings remained with Donna Maria Rosaria acting as the house supervisor, ordering clean-ups and a new coverlet made with the names of the newlyweds. She gave this to Dolo`ra, telling her that when she was ready to be a wife, she was to lay the coverlet over her marriage bed, at her sister’s house, and take charge of her life. No rush, she had said.<br />
<br />
The Rapolla’s had accumulated a lot of debts during the years when the father was ill; the residence, the Loggia was mortgaged to pay the doctor’s bills and finance the house in town for the newlyweds. When Graziella died, the house was still being constructed. When a judge ordered the Loggia sold to pay the many creditors, the girls and their brother scrambled to collect a few things before they were moved permanently in the unfinished house meant for Mingu and Graziella. <br />
<br />
“No, it’s not right, I don’t want to leave,” Lina wailed.<br />
<br />
Dolo`ra convinced her sister and brother to be practical, choose their favorite things. All animals and equipment was sold with the house, all furniture, all books, all dishes and utensils. People came from other towns to view the place and covet one of the many beautiful things laid out on tables all over the Loggia. The cash transactions went on for days.<br />
<br />
Nobody sat down and explained to Dolo`ra her new role. She remembered how her sister Graziella had gone on and on about Mingu’s virtues. He is kind and smart, she had said. He is loyal and conscientious, she had said. I love him with all my heart, she had said. Dolo`ra did not understand this love, but she understood duties.<br />
<br />
She asked about getting two extra beds in the house, one for her and Lina, one for Tiu`do. <br />
<br />
Donna Maria Rosaria pulled her aside and spoke to her gently:<br />
<br />
“<em><strong>Madonna mia, non sai che non c’e’ piu niente</strong></em>! My goodness, you don’t know that there is nothing left! <em><strong>Ora, Figlia mia, devi dormire con tuo marito!</strong></em> Now, My daughter; you must sleep with your husband! When your husband returns you must lay your coverlet down and sleep in that bed. He knows to wait for your signal. Whatever is in that house belongs to you two. What’s left of the land are just a couple of split plots nobody wanted. Mingu can show them to you when he returns. Now, make the best of this; God is testing all of us. Remember Mingu has lost the love of his life.”<br />
<br />
Dolo`ra realized she should have listened to girls’ talk about men. What was it that Graziella was trying to tell her, trying to get her to focus as they were embroidering the trousseau?<br />
<br />
“I do not understand why you need all these fancy things. Can’t you just live here at home when you get married?” <br />
<br />
She wanted to run the business, travel with her dad. She loved being around him. And she hadn’t minded when she had to be his eyes too, when she had to run errands for him, drive the buggy for him when he had to show up at meetings.<br />
<br />
She had to plan tasks that her dad could still do without feeling like a burden. She had to keep those thoughts alive all the time in front of her. Her dad was losing his will to live, the household was falling apart, and his medical bills were staggering. She figured he should not be bothered with finances. Besides, they were rich, they were land owners. Those folks that sent bills could wait to be paid. In town those who delivered goods also waited. When he feels better he will tackle these inconveniences. Her job was to keep things smooth and serene for him.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t obvious to anybody else. Her dad had given up doing the payroll, dismissed lots of people, and Dolo`ra finally thought of alerting her older sister about the circumstances. She assumed that Mingu, her brother in law, who was running the ranch for the family, must have been told some things, but had not complained when ranch hands were let go and the work rested all on his shoulders. He had been spending a lot more time in town, with his Graziella.<br />
<br />
When her father’s fever couldn’t break, Dolo`ra left the Loggia and her younger siblings, hitched the horses and rushed her father to town. With a sick man in the wagon, she hurried through, pushing the animals to make the trip while there was light in the sky. Her father stopped wailing around the time that they reached the Pineta, a dark forest full of shadowy figures. She knew about the lovers gathered in whispery moments in that place, and the many crimes committed in the shadows, but she hurried the animals and prayed to the Madonna to protect them. Her father’s last words were spoken in that Pineta:<br />
<br />
<em><strong>"Dolo`ra, figlio`la, mi vuoi morto?</strong></em> Child, are you trying to kill me?<br />
<br />
Stop, let me rest here.”<br />
<br />
She did not trust the place, lovers or brigands, she couldn’t tell them apart. She needed to get to town to her sister’s house and get a doctor to see him, before it got any darker. <br />
<br />
Paolo Rapolla expired in that Pineta. <br />
<br />
Dolo`ra blamed herself for her father's death. <br />
She blamed herself for her sister's and infant's untimely deaths too.<br />
<br />
Dolo`ra was going to live the rest of her life doing penance and asking God for forgiveness.<br />
The night her brother Tiu`do ran away from home, Dolo`ra decided to lay in her sister's matrimonial bed with Mingu'. It was her duty, she told herself, her duty to save what could be saved, to hold her family together, to hold on to memories with dignity and honor.Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-35834572514030138032010-04-04T11:12:00.000-07:002010-06-20T20:13:53.886-07:00Leaving HomeLeaving Home: Tiudo<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Tiu`do left home right after his birthday, his father’s coat barely missing the ground, carrying a cardboard box full of bread and hot sausages his sisters assembled for the long trip. They told him to return if things didn’t work out. They didn’t mention that hunger and loneliness would be papering every new place he slept in. They knew that life was better elsewhere, even if elsewhere proved worst than home. <br />
<br />
He was following in the footsteps of every other boy from Venosa whose father didn’t have an extra room for him, or a trade to pass on. He was making his way wherever people hired, be it ten kilometers away, or at the top of the Italian boot. <br />
<br />
Anywhere was bound to be better, he thought. <br />
<br />
<br />
It happened earlier than he had anticipated. Before his father died, Tiu`do had been promised a shiny new bike, like the one that the winner of the Giro d’Italia had. Tiudo saw a similar one at the local hardware store and showed it off to his friends every time they passed the place. <br />
<br />
On the morning of his birthday, when he mentioned the bike at breakfast, his sister Dolora' reminded him that things were tough. She scolded him for having such thoughts.<br />
<br />
Tiu`do became angry, and decided to skip school, and convinced his cousin Luciano to join him on a scouting adventure, like the one they both had at that summer camp that Mussolini had built for the youth of the land. Luciano followed him, and they ventured past the usual swimming hole, deciding to squander this early summer day by pushing their skinny bodies as far as they could in the wild river that ran at the bottom of the knoll, challenging each other to go further than they had gone the previous time they came here to fish. They were sure nobody had worried about the boys having missed school. Teachers were used to children going off with their relatives on family reunions this time of the year when families left for days at a time.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Luciano stopped first, to catch his breath. Tiu`do teased him and continued for another minute until he too felt the burn of his lungs, and went ashore, planning to hide, making Luciano panic. On a path that snaked into a ravine, he saw a shining object, a glint in the brambles, and his plan to hide changed. He yelled for Luciano to catch up with him.<br />
<br />
The boys hid the newfound bike planning to return for it another day. The two cousins were just a few months apart, raised in each other’s houses, knowing every secret there is to know about the other.<br />
Their combined family, six in Luciano's house, and four in Tiu`do's house went on the customary Little Easter picnic, to the Chiesa della Madonna delle Grazie, an old musty church opened only for this day's picnic and pilgrimage. The boys would have played soccer with their friends. <br />
<br />
Their teacher stopped at both houses after school, on the day they went swimming and inquired about the absent boys. The sisters had been embarrassed and angry. Everybody knew that the boys had ditched school; and everybody blamed the sisters for not offering better supervision. From now on, both boys were under house supervision. They were allowed to go with the family to the Pasquetta, the picnic and pilgrimage up the hill to the Church of St Mary of the Graces, the same Madonna for whom Tiudo's deceased sister had been named after. <br />
<br />
The trail to the church was treacherous:bugs and stickers lodged in socks and underwear, sore feet and hungry stomachs were the only sensations until a thunderstorm changed their concentration. Now everybody's attention went to the weather. God of weather must be the same God that took his mother, his father and his sister, Tiu`do's thought. Everyone prayed out-loud, except the boys. They were sore about all this supervision, all this fuss about missing one day of school. Even God took a day off. Besides. God was not paying attention to anybody's prayer right now.<br />
<br />
Before they could even set their things down, they were all scrambling for cover. A storm began dumping huge hail stones on the mountain top. These storms bumped into mountains, with thunder and lightening sparking speculations. Will the harvest be ruined? God of weather decided everything in your life. Only the Madonna, especially this Madonna, could intercede on your behalf.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Boys learned to be men working alongside their fathers from the time they could walk the distance to the fields without being carried. Luciano’s older brothers pushed him away every time he followed them out of the house. “Go play with your cousin, go keep Tiu`do company. Go to school! When we were your age we were already working in the fields. You have it good, my little one. Stay in school!” The boys had been enrolled in secondary school with the Salesian Brothers, among the lucky boys whose family could afford tuition.<br />
<br />
A boy like Luciano could wait before he broke his back on the farm. Tiu`do future was in the vineyards working for his brother in law any day now. His sisters had insisted that he finish school, that he continue his studies as his father had planned for him.<br />
<br />
He had always wanted to run away and join the circus around harvest time when it came to town with the big tent and merry-go-round, setting up right behind their house. For three weeks, loud music and the roar of the crowd kept everybody awake past their usual bed time. He helped with the set up, and was rewarded with a free ticket to opening night when contortionists and fire eaters hushed the place.<br />
<br />
The smell of saw dust and motor oil lingered for weeks after the circus left, way into December when rain and snow erased all footprints of fun and excitement. The high wire artists, suspended in the shadows of the big tent, lived in a blurry world. The boy, his heart suspended up there with those artists, became “Tiu`do il Magnifico”, king of the high wire, cotton candy stuck on his fingers and peanut shells crackling by his feet. He sat in admiration sucking nougat into thin strings, lick after lick, savoring every daring act with sweet joy until the final trapeze drop sucked his breath away. The boy managed to be at the show every night. He spent afternoons earning his ticket. His horse stalls were neglected, but circus horses and their stalls were well cared for.<br />
<br />
He fixed the found bike, and kept it at the old barn connected to his old house, a few kilometers out of town. Every Sunday, after church, he sneaked out after lunch and returned to the Loggia, the family home they had to abandon. He lingered around the vineyards that had belonged to his father, slipped through broken boards in the barn to collect his drawings from all the hidden places, feeling he belonged there; he was home. Nobody was guarding the place; the past blurred with the present.<br />
<br />
He did not understand how they lost the house, why they had to live in town with the ranch hand that became his brother in law, in a small house, sharing a bedroom with his sisters, taking care of the horses and the barn that had never before been his job.<br />
<br />
Something was not right. <br />
<br />
At the end of this school year, his future lay before him. He could follow his brother in law and work in the vineyyards, or go apprentice with some local artisan. He was actually too old to apprentice, having spent three additional years in school, wasting his time, but he had not complained about it. His father's death had numbed him. He had a couple of months to decide what to do. Meanwhile, he cleaned the horse stalls, and managed to disappear most days before his sisters piled chores for him to do. There was always wood to chop or carry, water to fetch, bread to transport back and forth to the community ovens. His sisters were still in mourning, all dressed in black, leaving only to go to church.<br />
<br />
They all looked like Mingu's Mother, Donna Maria Rosaria who had moved in to look after them until Dolora ' got married. She had been there a year already, and was really the one telling everyone what to do. Even Mingu' listened to her.<br />
<br />
One morning, his little sister Lina caught him sneaking out before breakfast.<br />
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“Tiu`do, what’s gotten into you? You are never around.”<br />
<br />
“I hate it here. I want things like before. I don’t want to live with that man.”<br />
<br />
“Min`gu is taking care of us all.”<br />
<br />
“I don’t care.”<br />
<br />
“Don’t let him hear you talk like that.” She feared her brother was bringing tension in the family. <br />
<br />
“ He can’t boss me. He is not my father.” Tiu`do was annoyed at her for delaying him.<br />
<br />
“ Dolo`ra made pizza, your favorite, anchovies and onions. Come.”<br />
<br />
He followed his sister to the kitchen, grabbed a pizza slice and a clean brown shirt from the pile of things to be ironed and ran off before any body else saw him. At Luciano's every one noticed the wrinkled shirt.<br />
“You are no son of the Lupa” Luciano told him, adding, “Sons of the Lupa clean up before they put the uniform on!”<br />
<br />
Their job was to grow up to be leaders, Sister Teresa, their fifth grade teacher had told them when the scout leader had shown up to sign them up for summer camp. Every student had memorized the motto of the Sons of the Lupa: “The destiny of Italy is in your hands, young sons of the Lupa. Make her proud. Be the Cesars of tomorrow. Be disciplined, be clean and upright. Be ambitious and you will conquer the world.”<br />
<br />
Turning to Luciano Tiu`do snapped: <br />
<br />
“Don’t tell me what to do! If I don’t want to wash, I don’t wash. So, can you come and play, or do you have to ask for permission?”<br />
<br />
He wanted to be far away before they came looking for him again. Besides, his house was spooked, Donna Maria Rosaria, Min`gu mother, was hiding everywhere, a black shawl over her head hiding the red hair that made her look fake. Nobody else in town had red hair. She put a spell on his family, even on his cat.<br />
<br />
He moved his bed covers to the barn where he could draw as long as the moon was bright, and reappear in the day time to eat and to keep his sisters from crying. If they insisted, he would wash. But they had to catch him first. He took a few early morning eggs which he sold for pocket money, and tried to stay out of everybody's way. Only the cat knew if he returned at night.<br />
<br />
He was leaving town, money or no money, and he would become a great artist, or a great bike rider. His name would be changed too. He would be called by his baptismal name as soon he reached the big city.<br />
<br />
Min`gu had way too much to do to worry about a boy who had to sleep with his cat. He himself was still numb from all that had happened. His job, he told himself, was to keep going, take a piece of hard bread, a piece of cheese and a jug of wine to last him all day in the hot sun and go work in the vineyards. Everybody was relying on him to keep the rest together.<br />
<br />
The girls could help, but then, they were needed at home, for the cooking and the washing.<br />
<br />
“Take the boy!" His Mother barked her orders to everyone, " He needs exercise and discipline. He can help you. ” She was insisting and demanding. <br />
<br />
She made the rules of the house, including how long was going to be the period of mourning for the girls..<br />
<br />
Min`gu preferred that the boy joined him willingly, obediently. He couldn’t really force all these children to follow in line. Besides, what about how he felt? Didn’t he lose the love of his life when Graziella died? How could he go on like nothing had happened? Everyone has had time to mourn. What about him? When does he mourn?<br />
<br />
He left every morning praying for a miracle. Not a specific miracle. A total life-changing, make everything go back to what it used to be miracle. And he knew these sorts of miracles didn’t exist. And if they did, they didn’t happen in poor Italy. How could God take his young wife right after her father died? How could a twenty-seven year old man take all this responsibility on his shoulders? What did he do to deserve this?<br />
<br />
Tiu`do stayed out at night too, visiting with his friends and relatives who began to sympathize with him, probed him for gossip, offered him food and lodging. Soon, the town began to talk.<br />
<br />
“Hey, Min`gu, how come you kicked your wife’s little brother out of the house? He has been telling everybody that he has no place to call home.” Min`gu heard this type of gossip everywhere he went.<br />
<br />
“What? Who told you that? The boy likes sleeping in the barn with his cat. He comes in to wash and eat, the women tell me. He needs time to settle in. He had it tough with all those tragedies. Poor soul.”<br />
<br />
“Min`gu, the boy is talking about you, how cruel you are to his sisters and to him. He says you act like the ‘padrone’ bossing everybody around. He calls you ‘sfruttatore’, someone who’s taking advantage of them; he tells everyone that you stole his inheritance.”<br />
<br />
Min`gu was growing angry with each conversation, night after night, as he walked on his daily passegiata. He tried to stay calm and positive. How could he explain himself? Didn’t he marry the girl to help the children, to keep them from an orphanage? Wasn’t it evident? <br />
<br />
“The boy is still young and misses his dad. Why, I understand it. I would do the same thing, and say the same things. He has to mind me, that’s all. He is not used to that. His blind father was hardly able to discipline him. He ran wild. Those girls had their hands full with that blind man. My own sweet departed wife, God rest her soul, I don’t want to think about this, felt awful leaving her household to her younger siblings and a blind man. Tiu’do will come around.”<br />
<br />
Min`gu might be invited to take a drink, to continue the conversation in somebody's house. Everyone wanted to know more. On night, as he was finishing his wine and trying to maintain a friendly composure, he bid his companions goodnight and made up his mind.<br />
<br />
Tonight, he and the boy were going to settle things. Tonight, the boy will know who the boss is, he thought, getting angrier and angrier with each step toward home.<br />
<br />
The news that Min`gu was on the way home reached the boy in seconds. Without saying goodbye, he grabbed his things and left that house for good. On the way to his relatives’ he passed the Pineta where somebody bigger than him kicked him and left him bruised and bloody to find his way around. <br />
<br />
The cousins took him in.“Madonna mia. Che bestia, quello (My goodness, what a beast, that one). Beatrice, Luciano's mother, was constructing the scene without listening. Min`gu must have beaten this poor frightened boy.<br />
<br />
“Come in. Go wash up and borrow some clothes.” She said. <br />
<br />
“That Min`gu is taking advantage of you children. Your poor mom and dad must be turning in their graves. Tomorrow, we are going down to the tile factory and see if we can’t straighten out your future. You can sleep with Luciano.” <br />
<br />
Min`gu was looking to hit something when he arrived home and confronted the sisters.<br />
<br />
“Do you know what he's been up to? Know what he’s saying about me?”<br />
<br />
The girls hesitated.<br />
<br />
“I break my back to put food on this table, and the bastard badmouths me? You think that’s fair, eh?” <br />
<br />
“Min`gu, he’s just a child, that’s all. Doesn’t know better. People just talk. He’ll find out where he belongs.”<br />
<br />
Min`gu pulled his belt off and hit a chair nearby. Lina began sobbing, wishing that she too had run away like her brother. Dolo`ra, looking straight at him, stood up unflinchingly and addressed him:<br />
<br />
“What do you want from us? We all need time to adjust.” <br />
<br />
“Who is providing for you? Since when does a man take this garbage in his house?” He responded, <br />
<br />
pounding the table and moving around to keep from hitting someone. He saw food being set in front of him, and he sat down. <br />
<br />
That night Dolo`ra heard the cat wail and her sister sob. <br />
<br />
She got up and crept silently in bed next to her husband for the first time. She lay her coverlet on the foot of the bed and clutched her crucifix.<br />
<br />
<br />
Tiu`do went to bed exhausted. He dreamed himself tall and strong, with enough stamina, skill and endurance to beat anybody. His teacher kept telling him to stare his future in the face.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The next morning, Tiu`do sisters came calling at Luciano's house, with a cardboard box of bread and sausages, and cash for a rail ticket. Luciano wished he too could leave home.<br />
<br />
“I’ll send for you, Luciano. I’ll send for you the minute I win the Giro!” Tiu`do said, looking bigger and taller.Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-55526551096108863692010-04-04T10:45:00.000-07:002013-04-07T10:05:52.089-07:00Part Two: Interlude and Prologue<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
This is Part Two of my memoir. This part retells the lives of my relatives and the spark of hope that going to America became for them all.<br />
It contains stories told to me by my relatives. They have become my family's shared legacy. <br />
<br />
As I attempted to recall these stories and situations that could have happened, I thought about the adult personalities of these people, how circumstances molded who they became, I relied on few artifacts, few documents that still exist, one or two photos, a handful of recipes, names and events permanently etched in our family's legends.<br />
<br />
The story starts in 1933, a good eleven years before I was born, at a time when Italy was changing into a totalitarian state under Benito Mussolini . when my mother and father were still very young.<br />
The names are those used at the time of their youth, spelled to sound just the way they were pronounced back in those times when Venosino was the language spoken in my town.<br />
<br />
<br />
The place is Venosa, a town in the province of Potenza. Most of the people in our family were born here, except for my father. The story starts after my mother and father had married and the family, consisting of the newlyweds and a younger sister and brother are all trying to adjust to their circumstances.<br />
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Tiu`do, Uncle Ted in America, is just a boy of fourteen, the third born of four children of Marianna Fabbrizi and Paolo Rapolla, my grandparents. Luciano is his cousin.Lina, is his younger sister, eleven, the youngest.<br />
Dolo`ra, my mother has just turned seventeen,and has become the second wife of Min`gu, my father, just widowed with his first wife, Graziella, eldest sister in this family. My father is 27 years old.<br />
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Donna Maria Rosaria is his mother. <br />
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The Loggia was the the family's residence, historically used as a hunting lodge, before it became the family home of the Rapolla's, situated five kilometers out of the town of Venosa, in Southern Italy.<br />
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The story starts with Tiudo's trying to adjust to living in Mingu's house in town.<br />
<br />
Each chapter goes back in time, and is told through the experience of another character.</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2448988261434615576.post-21742039231340711822010-03-28T10:51:00.000-07:002013-04-18T09:03:15.439-07:00Chapter Twentynine: The Miracle Mile<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
My world consisted of four square miles, living and breathing in a beautiful part of Los Angeles where classy businesses and residences had the latest and most beautiful things in the world: Wilshire Boulevard's Miracle Mile.<br />
<br />
To the south, the world changed. The school I taught in was on Pico, a dividing line between the have and the have not. To the north, Immaculate Heart College on Los Feliz Boulevard, where I was finishing up my graduate work, adjacent to Griffith Park and the Observatory was the school for privileged ladies from rich families; to the west, beaches and the communities of Santa Monica, Westwood, Palisades.<br />
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It was a world of home and school almost exclusively.<br />
<br />
With Neil's arrival, my world expanded, with each drive we took, each neighborhood, he spoke of his dreams becoming a scientist at Cal Tech and JPL, living up in the hills, raising a family. His work at IBM was temporary, he said.<br />
<br />
We took long rides exploring the city and our past, with each mile going further and further out of Los Angeles. I learned that America was diverse, enormously beautiful in its natural state.<br />
He spoke of trees, rivers, unspoiled mountains and lakes of the Northwest. I told him of churches, statues, fountains, piazzas and long history of Italy.<br />
<br />
He missed forests and mountain trails, solitude and sounds of streams.<br />
I missed walks on the piazzas, eating great food, laughter and chatter with family and friends. <br />
We read poetry to each other. We danced, till the wee hours of the morning as our fingertips found each other.<br />
<br />
Neal was resolved to get me to pass the driving test and had a foolproof method. His instructions went something like this: “Drive up to the car parked in front and line up; back into your spot by turning sharply with a ¼ turn; begin to straighten up as your front is close to the back of the car in front of you. Voila’ you are now parked!” Every evening after dinner, we jumped in the car and went for a ride starting on Wilshire’s Miracle Mile.<br />
<br />
Driving was becoming a testing ground for our new relationship. The only way I could pass that test was to exchange cars with someone, I thought. A big car like my Olds didn’t like being squeezed between two other cars.<br />
<br />
On an weekend visit to the Observatory, at the end of March, we parked down at the foot of the place, and hiked up. Half-way, sitting for a break, he looked into my eyes and said: “I want you to have this.” He slipped a ring on my finger, a diamond ring that must have cost him a couple of months’ salary. <br />
<br />
We never made it to the Observatory.<br />
<br />
By the end of March, I had a driving license and an engagement ring.<br />
The Immaculate Heart College’s brochure was right: Most girls marry within two years of graduation. Those nuns knew something I didn’t.<br />
<br />
We married in July, after four long months of engagement and a series of lectures by Father Peachea. At the ceremony, a High Mass courtesy of the priests that taught at Conaty and a full chorus courtesy of the nuns at the same school, all my friends occupied one side of the church. On the other side, just his father, step mother and half sister who received an oral invitation a few weeks before the event and managed to drive down from Washington State in time for the ceremony.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Uncle Ted and his family did not attend. Aunt Adelina, her family, friends and in-laws all attended. Uncle Nick, Adelina’s husband, gave me away. Theresa and her cousin Brahim were our Maid of honor and Best Man. She had arranged for my dress and for a photographer to show up and take pictures of the event. I was dazed and in a dream through the entire ceremony.<br />
<br />
We had the reception at the apartment. Simple fare, sandwiches and cake from Sarno.<br />
<br />
Many people had contributed to our day, flowers, transportation. Michelle and Pilar had moved back to their families at the end of June, but had returned for the wedding. Everyone blessed the union.<br />
<br />
The non-refundable ticket was never used.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
End of Part One</div>
Rosaria Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03133147851332084180noreply@blogger.com17