We arrived in Rome on a sunny June morning (June mornings are always sunny in Rome, it seems). A friend of the family picked us up and drove us to Fossacesia, and the ride over was spectacular as always: majestic mountains, lush valleys, tiny towns teetering atop craggy cliffs, fields of golden wheat interspersed with crimson poppies, composing a patchwork quilt where every square of land produces different types of vegetables and fruit. The beauty of Italy is indescribable…even today, everywhere I turn, my heart quickens at the splendor that has been bestowed on this corner of the world.
Za Mingucc brought along a couple of assistants and after observing Mario very closely, they determined that he suffered from “St. Anthony’s fire”, in other words, shingles – which he most certainly did not have! Za Mingucc pulled her wares out of her little black bag: a small bottle of holy water, a candle, and a crooked silver crucifix (the horizontal part was actually diagonal). She began mumbling unintelligible prayers, a mix of Italian and Latin, drawing imaginary crosses in the air over him and touching him from time to time with the crucifix, gestures that caused him to yell out in pain or fear, or a bit of both, until she completed the formula. All the while Al, Rosanne and I tried our best, but failed miserably, to keep from laughing. When it was all over, she stated solemnly: “There, now you’ll get better right away” and descended to the kitchen where Nonna Rosaria offered her and her assistants soft drinks and cookies. My brother was fascinated by this experience, and kept saying, did you see that crooked cross? What language was she speaking? Was that an exorcism?, while we finally liberated the laughter we had tried to stifle.
A little while later, someone rang the doorbell. “Pia, would you get the door?”“Ugh, Ok ”….(oh gosh, we haven’t even been here a day yet, and people are already coming to visit! You can’t have a minute to yourself in this place!…) My mumblings accompanied me all the way down the steps and to the door, and then…gasp..! There he was! “I laughed and said “O Dio! Ciao!” as he took my hand and we kissed – the traditional two cheek kiss, not the other kind…Look at those eyes…what color are they? hazel? golden? …ohmygod, his hair, it looks so soft. I didn’t remember him being so blond, he must be spending a lot of time in the sun… what’s he doing here? isn’t he supposed to be working in Milan?…) All these thoughts flashed in my mind in a millionth of a second, during which time I admit I actually gawked, but then I gathered my wits about me and took him in to the heart of the house, the kitchen, where he spent a few minutes talking to my mom. She told him Mario was upstairs, and then exclaimed“Pia, don’t just stand there, take him upstairs to see Mario!”, breaking the trance I was in. “Oh, Mario, right…ok!” I replied, my mind coming back down to earth. I think right then she got her first inkling it was going to be a long summer.
He followed me up the stairs, and I could tell he was thinking more or less the same things I’d thought a few minutes before. I was wearing a cute outfit I’d bought at the last minute before leaving: lilac capri pants and a white shirt with a beautifully embroidered parrot on the pocket. Once we’d reached the first landing he wasted no time and asked me if I’d go out with him some time, to which I naturally replied “si!”…. I thought I’d float the rest of the way up those stairs!
While visiting with Mario, he told us he was a railroad worker and had just come home from Foligno, the beautiful Umbrian town near Assisi, where he’d been stationed for a couple of years after previously working in Milan. He explained that he’d been transferred to Fossacesia for the summer so he could help his parents with the farm work in the busy season. In a couple days he’d start working at the local train station, so it turned out that we would actually spend the entire summer together, a totally unexpected turn of events.
One day at the beach, he shattered the idyll, saying: “In a few days I’m going to Canada on vacation to visit my uncles. I can see our relationship is getting very serious and I don’t want to ruin your life. You have to finish college and I know you’re practically engaged to your boyfriend at home. Your future is in the States. I have a good job and have no intention of coming to the US to live, and I wouldn’t dream of asking you to give up your future and your family to come and live here. So let’s enjoy the rest our time together and then we’ll each take our own paths.”
I don’t know why, but although I was surprised, I wasn’t overly upset. What he said made perfect sense, except for the Tim part. I had no intention of getting back together with him, especially after my experience of the last few weeks. I knew Giannino was right, there was no way I could live in Italy; I had school to finish and a decision to make about how I wanted to move on from that: grad school, moving away from my family, probably going out to the west coast or something. I didn’t see a clear future in front of me in Norristown, but I didn’t really want to think about any of that. I just wanted to savor the moment as long as I could, grateful for this sweet love story. He told me he’d be returning on July 28th, the day after my departure, and that proved to me that this was simply how it was supposed to go. I agreed that we could continue to see each other until he left, and then we’d probably never meet again.
For the 3 weeks while he was away, although I felt empty inside, I still went out and tried to have a good time. Al and Mario had returned to the States, but Lucy and Vince were back. Rosanne and I had made lots of other friends, as well, so there was always something fun to do.
But that was when everything started getting complicated, and even today when I think about it, I get the chills. There were just too many coincidences for us not to see that something much bigger than us was working behind the scenes. During that time, my mom came down with a really bad case of bronchitis and ended up in bed for quite a few days. Maria, the needle lady and future mother in law came by twice a day to give her antibiotic shots; this time there was a different victim to torment. It was during that very week that mom was supposed to go to the travel agent to confirm our return tickets. She ended up going a week later, as soon as she was up and about. She walked into the local agency and was informed that our seats for the planned departure date were gone. She asked what her options were and the travel agent informed her that the first flight we could take was on August 10th. At this point I started to get a strange feeling inside, kind of like an excited tingling, or the soft beating of butterfly wings. I would still be here when Giannino got back!
On July 28th it took all my best effort to patiently wait for him to come by. I knew he’d come straight over, and this he did. He gave me an impish grin and told me he’d heard from his parents that I was still around before he even left Toronto. We spent the evening together, so happy to have more time…it seemed as if we’d found a precious, long lost gem. Speaking of which, just before I got out of his car that evening, he handed me a little box, “a symbol of our love”, he said. It was a gold charm with two hearts engraved on it.
There we were, grateful for a few more days together, not thinking about much beyond that. But again, fate had other mysterious plans for us. That evening when I got home, I got a call from Tim. His grandmother had died that day and he was distraught. I spent an hour on the phone with him but I had very little to say, I felt so awkward and distant. He, on the other hand, told me he missed me desperately and that he’d bought me lots of presents for my birthday coming up on July 30th. He was saddened by the fact that, if we’d gone back when planned, I’d have been there with him at that difficult time. All of this did not bode well, because he had no idea I had no intention of getting back together with him, no matter what.
The third coincidence…in those days, my grandmother wasn’t feeling very well, either. She’d been in bed for a couple of days, feeling very weak. That night, the 28th, just before midnight, I heard someone open the front door. I went downstairs to see what was going on, and saw nonna standing in the doorway, with her long, wavy white hair down to her waist, about to step out in her nightgown. At dinner that evening she’d gotten up to eat with us and finished all her soup. We all laughed when she actually drank the final drops directly from the bowl, a highly unusual thing for her to do. We didn’t know what to think about these peculiarities, but, nothing could have prepared us for what was going to happen next.
The following day, July 29th, at around noon, I decided to go with Rosanne to the post office to send a telegram to Tim’s parents. Before we left, I peeked in to check on Nonna, who waved to me. My mom told us to hurry and get back home right away, because she was about to throw in the pasta. Everything was ok, and it took me no more than three minutes to walk to the post office. Five minutes more and it was my turn at the window. I’d just finished writing the telegram when our uncle Vincenzo came to call us: “Go right home, because something happened to nonna Rosaria! When I got there, I found my mom in tears, calling her mother. Nonna was lying dead in her bed, still warm, with a peaceful expression on her face. She had gone without a sound, as reserved as ever. My aunt had been draining the pasta with a plastic hand-held strainer and mom had gone to the bedroom to see if nonna wanted to get up to eat and instead found her dead. When we walked in, the pasta was still cooking on the open flame, with the strainer poised on the rim, melting onto the stovetop. Time seemed to have stood still, and everyone seemed to move in slow motion.
The next morning, my birthday, we accompanied Nonna Rosaria out of the home she rarely ever left, for the last time. Burials in Italy must take place as soon as possible after a 24 hours vigil. This is especially the case in summer, because bodies are not embalmed here, and decomposition sets in very quickly. The body is kept in the home of the deceased, as there are no funeral homes to this day (or rather, they are very rare). When the time came for the funeral mass, the church bells struck with the sharp, doleful cadence of mourning bells that ring every time there is a funeral procession. There was quite a large crowd even though nonna had been a very private person. They say in Italy that there is never a wedding without a tear or a funeral without a smile. I shall never forget that I was the reason for embarrassed smiles that day, because I mistakenly leaned on the doorbell as I was walking out just ahead of the casket. Everyone in that little crowd turned to stare at me and I felt like I was going to die. We walked down to the church nearby, but I don’t recall if they put the casket in a hearse or if it was carried down on the shoulders of the funeral attendants. Then, after Mass, there was a funeral procession on foot that stopped traffic until we reached the cemetery. Our pastor only just recently stopped this practice, encouraging mourners to have their cars ready to go at the end of Mass. I must say it’s sad that certain traditions are being cast aside and forgotten.
That was a difficult trial for us all, but in hindsight we could see it was another sign of God’s delicate touch. My grandparents had lost all three daughters to “l’America”, but thankfully, nonna was not alone when she died. My mom was grateful to have the opportunity to wash and dress her mother as the compassionate ritual calls for when death visits a family. She was not familiar with all the customs, and had no idea what to do, but our neighbor, Maria, again, my future mother in law, helped her through it. She helped all of us in the days to follow, even after my mother’s sisters flew in from Canada. Nonno Ernesto was desperate to lose his life companion after more than 60 years of marriage, but it was a comfort for him to have all three daughters home at the same time for the first time since the early 50’s. My mom decided to extend our stay a little longer so she could work out a plan with her sisters on what to do about nonno. We ended up re-scheduling to leave on August 14th. The three daughters ultimately decided that my grandfather would move to Canada a couple of months later, even though he was 89 and very frail.
At this point, Giannino and I really believed that powerful forces were conspiring to bring us together. This serendipitous change in plans meant we would have two full weeks to be together, and that’s when things really started getting serious, although, I was still oblivious to the possibilities at that point; he is the one who started actually piecing together a plan. Finally, one August evening…August 6th to be exact, yes, San Donato’s Eve again, we were crossing the Piazza in front of the school and he unexpectedly stopped me and just started talking in the middle of the crowd. Through the buzzing in my ears, heightened by the lights and music, I could barely make out what he was saying. It went something like:“I’ve had several girlfriends, but I’ve never felt this way before, I’m in love with you and I can’t just let you leave like this.” I couldn’t help a little chuckle when he said “I feel like I’m on a train ride and I never want to get off”…go figure, a railroad worker would say something like that. “Do you think you could consider coming to live in Italy? Do you think you could get used to life here? I just can’t come to America, I really do have a secure job that would help us build a life together. Will you marry me?”
I was in awe that this was happening, I just let him go on and didn’t say a word. Myriad thoughts had me reeling: I had no doubt in my heart that this was meant to be, so many signs made me sure of this. My one, marvelous and impossible dream was coming true, and all I could think was that I had to be careful, because the stakes were very high. I swallowed hard and took a moment and finally replied “I love you, too, and I think I could be happy living here, and I accept, but I need to go home and put my feet back on the ground. I have to break up with Tim and finish school, I have student loans to pay off! There were a zillion reasons why this idea was absurd, but in the end I accepted his proposal with the understanding that my yes was conditioned by many things that had to go right in the following weeks. We continued walking, away from the crowd and down towards the familiar cypresses that had witnessed our first kiss. We snuck into the soccer stadium and made a promise of eternal love under the stars, those same stars that had already shone a bit more brightly that exact night, seven years before. This time we both sensed that it reverberated with pure joy. There was no ring to seal the promise. We decided the gold charm would do for the time being, and we hoped that by the next summer we would be husband and wife.
The following week was a whirlwind of ideas and plans and gradual revealing of our intentions to a few friends. We told Rosanne our secret, and she was not happy. She cried thinking of Tim and of our family, and me all alone in Italy. It took her a few days, but in the end she came around. Giannino kept saying “Rosy, Am Sorete”, a play on words between I’m sorry and I love your sister in dialect. On August 14th we again left Fossacesia, this time with a quivering heart, a gold charm, and several pictures in my handbag that Giannino’s friend Bruno had taken of us. My mother was distressed about leaving her father and her sisters, but she couldn’t postpone our departure any longer. We didn’t talk much on the way to the airport, but at the terminal gate, she turned to me and asked point blank if I was involved with Giannino. “Yes, I am, I replied, and I’m going to marry him”, just like that.
Now take a minute to comprehend what that meant to my mom. Her mother had just died, and all of a sudden I was talking about getting married and living in Italy?? Was I crazy? She reminded me I didn’t know how to cook…I could barely speak the language…I knew nothing about life in a small town, a town she’d grown up in and knew only too well. She warned me it was not as idyllic as I thought! And besides, I knew nothing about life in general! My parents had spent a lot of money on my education. Was that going to be thrown out the window? Was I going to become a farmer and pick tomatoes and watermelons? All three of us burst out in tears at that point. I realized that it really did sound crazy, but still, I was not to be swayed, certain deep down to my bones that this was my destiny.
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