Page 26 of The Girl from Sicily

26

LUCIA, OCTOBER 1947

Lucia’s heart filled with love as she sat by her daughter Carula’s bed, while the child took an afternoon nap. It had been the little girl’s birthday yesterday – she’d just turned three – and she’d been so over excited from celebrating that she’d barely slept the night before.

A smile warmed Lucia’s lips. There was more excitement to come. Gero’s parents were arriving at the baglio for a visit, and then they would take her and Carula back to America with them. They’d disembarked in Palermo from a steamship last week and had been staying in a hotel. Tomorrow morning, they’d pay for a taxi to bring them all the way to Villaurora.

Lucia felt her anticipation tinge with sadness and not a little worry. It would be a wrench leaving her family, but it was what Gero would have wanted. And she did as well – of course she wanted a better life for herself and her daughter. There were far more opportunities for them both in New York. And she needed to get away from Villaurora, where don Nofriu ruled the roost and Giulianu Cardona had been sniffing around again, hinting that he’d like to become Lucia’s second husband. But, and it was a big ‘but’, she would be leaving Dinu without her steadying influence. He’d refused point blank to go to New York with her, saying he was doing well enough in Sicily and saw a brilliant future on the island. That this future would be with Cosa Nostra caused Lucia’s chest to constrict with concern.

She thought about how life had changed since the war. The Separatists had agitated so much that, last year, Sicily had been granted autonomous region status, with its own Statute, under the new Italian constitution, as well as its own parliament and elected president. Lucia hadn’t been part of the movement since Gero’s death. But he’d have been so overjoyed to know that, in the elections, women had been given the right to vote for the first time. It was something that he’d maintained should have happened years ago.

Next on the agenda would be agrarian reform to abolish the large feudal agricultural estates and divide them into smaller farms like hers. Lucia was grateful Pa was now farming her land for her – she had plenty to cope with, looking after her child and managing her widowhood.

She missed Gero terribly, and it had been a godsend having her father, Ma and Annita live with her. Pa still went to work on his campagna , and the produce from both properties kept them well fed, with more than enough left over to take to market. Added to the rent they were paid from their old house, Lucia and her family lived far more comfortably these days.

She would never forget the first letter she’d received from Alberto and Filomena Bonanno soon after the war had ended. Their words described their heartbreak at Gero’s death and they said he’d written to inform them of his marriage not long before he was killed. Military personnel could write home, of course. Lucia had to wait until normal lines of communication were restored until she could tell them about Carula’s birth – not that she’d gone into the gory details, the interminable labour, the intense pain. It had all been worth it when she’d held her baby in her arms. That moment had been bitter-sweet, and she’d cried hot tears of grief that Gero hadn’t been with her – they’d mingled with her tears of happiness at the birth of her child.

Parcels from the Bonannos began arriving then. There were things Lucia had no idea existed: biscuits that tasted of mint, tinned spaghetti, tinned herring and tinned orange juice; and clothes for her and Carula, packets of chewing gum hidden up the sleeves. There were even pens, pencils and safety pins. Filomena Bonanno had thought of everything. She wrote all the time, sending long letters with dollars folded in their thin leaves, always repeating the same words: the good Lord, the Sacred Heart, the Holy Virgin, her promise to the Madonna, her daughters, her husband’s film importing business, the wonderful people of New York.

Dinu had laughed out loud when Lucia had offered him some of the money she’d received, saying he was making more than enough working for don Nofriu. Lucia asked him about his job with the godfather at that point, and her twin explained he was being trained as an accountant. If only his boss wasn’t the village godfather, then she’d be pleased he was doing so well and not so concerned about leaving him.

She reached into her pocket and retrieved the letter she’d received from Filomena last year, and reread it for the umpteenth time.

Dear Lucia,

I want to come over and bring you and Carula back with me to America. I think about it every moment. First of all my husband, Alberto, was ill. Now, thank God, he’s better. But my eldest daughter, Lina, is expecting a baby in the first days of the New Year. If it’s Our Lady’s will that everything goes well, I’ll be in Italy before the end of 1947…

A yawn came from Carula’s cot, alerting Lucia that her child was awake. She went to lift her out and place her on her hip.

‘Mamma. I’m thirsty,’ Carula said.

‘Let’s get you a glass of water, sweetie.’

‘ Grazie .’ The little girl dimpled a smile.

Lucia’s breathing slowed as she thought about Gero. Carula had his dark hair and chocolate-brown eyes, as well as his trusting nature. She was as bright as a button and would do well in America, Lucia was certain.

As for herself, she was looking forward to getting a job as soon as Carula started school. Alberto and Filomena had already said she could work for them in their film importing business. They had an empty apartment, among the many they owned and rented out, where Lucia and their granddaughter would live. In the meantime, they’d sorted out the necessary paperwork with the immigration authorities. Lucia was a war bride, had been born in the States, and had the right to a US passport on which Carula could travel. Last month, Lucia had gone to the American consulate in Palermo – a hot, dusty bus ride there and back – to pick up the document. Apparently, Charles Rinelli had been most helpful in expediting the bureaucratic red tape.

* * *

The next day, after spending the morning dusting and cleaning and helping Ma prepare a welcome lunch for the Bonannos, Lucia was waiting with Carula in the courtyard, her chest tingling with nerves.

Lucia had tied and retied the bow in Carula’s hair so many times it had frayed. The child fidgeted, begging to be allowed to go play with the puppies their dog had recently produced.

‘You’ll get dirty if you do that, tisoru ,’ Lucia said. ‘You don’t want your American nonno and nonna to think badly of you, do you?’

‘Why do I have an American nonno and nonna? I’ve already got a nonno and nonna here.’

‘They are your daddy’s parents. Remember I told you? Italian nonno and nonna are my parents.’

‘My daddy in heaven?’ Carula’s sweet little face clouded with a frown. ‘I wish he didn’t have to be there?—’

‘Me too, amuri . But you’ll meet him one day when you go to heaven, I’m sure.’

‘When will that be?’ The question was wistful.

‘Not for a long time, I hope.’

The rumble of a car engine coming up the hill made Lucia get to her feet. She lifted Carula onto her hip and, with her heart in her mouth, went to the entrance door.

The Bonannos had aged since she’d last seen them, of course, but they were instantly recognisable as her parents’ friends from the Bronx. Lucia greeted them and introduced Carula, who burrowed her face shyly into her chest.

Ma, Pa, and Annita erupted onto the scene, and there was much kissing of cheeks between the women and back slapping between the men. Pa helped Alberto retrieve the Bonannos’ suitcases from the trunk of the taxi, the driver was paid, and everyone trooped inside to get out of the midday sun.

Alberto and Filomena went to the newly installed bathroom to freshen up, then came into the kitchen carrying gifts – a battery-operated radio for Pa, an electric razor for Dinu (when he decided to grace the company with his presence) and clothes galore for Lucia, Carula, Annita and Ma.

Talk during lunch was filled with reminiscences of when Lucia and her family lived in Brooklyn and tales of Alberto and Filomena’s childhood in Villaurora. The Bonannos asked about Dinu, and Pa told them he was busy working for don Nofriu. Lucia only prayed she’d get the chance to say goodbye to her brother before she left for America. She’d try to persuade him again to leave with her; she wouldn’t give up trying and would keep on at him by letter once she arrived there. There was always hope…

* * *

‘Ugh, what a lot of flies there are!’ Filomena said, waving them away with the back of her hand.

Five days had passed since the Bonannos had arrived, and Filomena had been repeating the complaint non-stop ever since. They’d brought DDT powder with them, but the flies were never ending; you only had to open the window and they entered in droves. It was obvious Gero’s parents were suffering – they hardly touched their food on account of the flies settling on plates, glasses, meat and bread.

Filomena cursed Sicily, saying she’d expected it might have been different, newer and cleaner; instead, it was worse than ever.

There were two sides to Filomena’s disappointment, it occurred to Lucia. She and her family weren’t the starvelings Filomena had imagined them. It made Sicily not having improved as much as she’d hoped even harder to bear. She’d obviously been expecting to find Ma and Pa in dire straits, to be fitted out with her clothes and nourished by her tins of vitaminised food. But, nowadays, there was no shortage of bread, olive oil, milk, meat or eggs. If Lucia and her family had been as destitute as Filomena had thought they’d be, perhaps she’d have borne the primitive state of her birthplace better.

When Filomena ranted, for the umpteenth time, about all the illnesses that came from flies, Lucia’s mother, a little crossly, said, ‘You and I grew up with flies, there were more than there are now, and, thanks be to God, we’re in good health.’

Filomena didn’t mention flies any more, but Lucia could see she was counting the days remaining that she and Alberto had to spend in the country. Long days of flies and dust. Nights so humid that if you left the windows open the sheets stuck together, and if you closed them it was like an oven…

Carula kept the pot of resentment from boiling over, though. She took to her American grandparents like a duck to water, sitting on their laps for cuddles and telling them stories about the puppies.

‘Can I have a puppy in New York?’ she asked Alberto.

‘Of course, sweetie. If your mamma agrees.’

How could Lucia refuse? A dog would be good company for Carula, help her settle into her new life.

‘I think it’s a great idea,’ Lucia said.

* * *

On Lucia’s last full day in the baglio, Dinu finally came to visit. She took him outside so they could sit and talk under the shade of an olive tree – where Pa had built a bench.

‘There’s something I need to say to you, frati .’ She took a quick breath. ‘I’m worried don Nofriu is leading you astray.’

Dinu laughed, took her hand and gripped her fingers.

‘You haven’t changed since we were kids in New York, soru . You always thought of yourself as my guardian angel, made it your business to keep me on the straight and narrow. Remember when you used to stop me from shoplifting and getting involved in playground fights? All it took was one piercing look from you and I’d crumple.’

‘Those days are long gone, I fear,’ she said. ‘You’ve thrown your lot in with a terrible man. I just hope he doesn’t turn you into someone whom I’d wish wasn’t my brother?—’

‘Hey, soru . I would never do anything to hurt you or Carula. You have my word on that. Hand on heart.’ Dinu placed his fingers on his breast. ‘We’re twins and will always have a deep bond. Under no circumstances would we break the code and betray each other.’

She nodded. What else could she do? Of course she’d never be disloyal to Dinu – he was her twin brother, after all.

‘Promise me you’ll take care of Ma, Pa and Annita,’ she said. ‘I’m going to miss them so much. And you, too, of course.’

‘But you’ll come back and visit, won’t you?’

‘Of course. I couldn’t bear it if I never saw my family again.’

‘Good.’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘Let’s go get some breakfast. I’m starving.’

Indoors, Carula ran into Dinu’s arms and he swung her high above his head, unleashing a peal of giggles from her.

Dinu sat at the table like a signorino , a little lord, and Ma and Filomena fussed around him, serving him coffee and homemade cakes.

Even Alberto Bonanno deferred to him, letting him speak without interruption. It was clear he thought Dinu was doing well for himself by working for don Nofriu.

Lucia sighed to herself. Pa had once told her, after she’d expressed her worry for Dinu, that most ambitious young men like her brother sought to be part of the dominant culture of the Friends’ world. Pa maintained Dinu knew if he could worm his way into the Cosa Nostra orbit, he would never lack for anything. Once her twin had made enough money, he would go legitimate, Pa said. Lucia hoped against hope that it would be so.

Dinu left soon afterwards, and Lucia spent the rest of the day packing. A feeling of unreality took hold of her as she placed a dress in her suitcase. Was she really leaving for America? It had been her dream since she was twelve years old. Now, at twenty-four, she was going back at last. She couldn’t wait to take Carula to Coney Island, couldn’t wait to go to the movies and watch Disney cartoons with her, couldn’t wait for her to attend school and get a wonderful education. She could see a bright outlook for her daughter and would make every sacrifice possible for that to happen. If only she didn’t have such a bad feeling about leaving her brother behind…

She slept fitfully that night, her mind abuzz. Then morning came, and it was time to go. Gero’s parents had booked the same taxi that had brought them to Villaurora. They would have breakfast in Palermo before embarking on the liner that would take them to New York.

‘Time to leave, zuccareddu ’ – little sugar – Lucia said, lifting Carula onto her hip. ‘Let’s go say goodbye to Nonno and Nonna.’

‘Italian Nonno and Nonna?’ Carula clarified. ‘And Aunt Annita?’

‘Of course.’ Lucia’s voice trembled as her throat clogged with sudden tears.

Her family were waiting for her out in the courtyard, a forlorn little group.

‘I’ve loaded your luggage into the taxi’s trunk,’ Pa said. ‘Filomena and Alberto have climbed in already.’

Lucia went into his arms, and he enfolded her and Carula in his warm embrace. Then Ma and Annita joined in and they all hugged and wept and made promises they would see each other again as soon as possible.

‘We’ll look after your baglio,’ Pa said. ‘But it will always be yours. Come back and visit, Lucia. It’s what Gero would want.’

Her father was right. The baglio was hers, and then it would be Carula’s and, God willing, it would belong to Carula’s children. When Gero had signed it over to Lucia, he’d done it to protect his legacy through her. It must be kept in the family – Gero’s and her family. The thought consoled her, lessening the sorrow of saying goodbye.

‘ Arrivederci ,’ she said to her parents and sister. Until we meet again. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves.