LEAH arrives in ITALIA!!!!

Leah wakes up wondering where she is. She turns to the wall. Pale blue plaster. Above her head, a soft color print of the Virgin Mary.

She chuckles. Oh my God I'm here, she whispers out loud.

The trip was exhausting. Sitting up straight all night long on the plane, squeezed between two oversized women in super economy class. As soon as her head fell to the side, and she nodded off, one or the other of the women would poke her knee. Or her arm.

"Per piacere," the woman on the right said. "Devi sederti lassu al tuo posto!" The woman had long curly black hair and bright red lipstick. Leah wasn't sure what she was saying but figured it meant "sit up lady!"

Finally, Leah crossed her arms and laid them on her knees. She set her forehead on her arms and  practiced her meditation breathing. She kept waking up but finally she heard the pilot say they were 500 miles from Fiumicino airport in Rome.

The next thing she knew the flight attendant was handing her a plastic breakfast tray. A croissant with butter and jelly. And a watery cup of coffee. She ate the croissant but decided to hold out for a real cup of coffee.

The woman sitting by the window raised the shade and bright yellow rays of sunshine stabbed Leah in the eyes. She smiled. "I'm here," she said, feeling the excitement rise in her arms and legs. "I'm here!" Then she went to her phone and used Google translator to say it in Italian: "Sono arrivato! Sono arrivato!" She said it three or four times, until the woman to her left said, "Per favore silenzio!"

It took another two hours to exit the plane and get through passport control. But as soon as she was free, she hurried through the airport heading straight for the first coffee stand. Seconds later, she had her first cappuccino of the trip.

The coffee tasted heavenly. And it woke her up.

She wheeled her suitcase outside the terminal and hailed down a cab. How fortunate that her relatives in Italy owned a hotel in Rome, a four-star hotel at that.

"Per piacere, Il Giardino delle Rosse a Palazzo," she told the driver. She had been practicing saying The Rose Garden Palace over and over again back home.

When she thinks about it, she would never have come if it hadn't been for Noni's relentless campaign to push her to travel to her ancestor's village. 

"I am an old lady," she told Leah a few nights before Leah left on her trip.  "I don't have much time."

"Oh sure you do Noni," Leah protested. "You are..."

But Noni cut her off. "No, no, Leah, I am old, old, and who knows when I might die. You must go to Italy for me, right away, please." Noni even gave her $300 to help pay for the trip.

The hotel was right across the street from the elegant American Embassy. As Leah entered the posh lobby, with giant palm trees in every corner, and a sumptuous breakfast laid out on a buffet, she thought to herself, "if only I could stay in Rome at this lavish hotel for the whole trip." Oh well, she thought, I'm here on a mission.

She spent two days in Rome, visiting the Forum, the Colosseum, the Jewish Quarter. She sat on the Spanish steps, and threw coins into the Fountain of Trevi. 

"I never want to leave," she texted her friend Peg on the day she was scheduled to travel to Tuscany to the town where her great grandfather was born. "Wish me luck, Peg. I'm overwhelmed thinking about what I have to do."

Leah found her way to the train station and bought a ticket to Firenze on the express train. It took only two hours to make the trip. She wheeled her suitcase through the Florence station and then asked at an information desk, "C'e un autobus per Volpaia?" Miraculously the woman behind the desk understood her. The woman took out a map and circled the train station and then drew a large black line toward the bus station. She spoke so fast Leah hadn't a clue what she was saying.

"Grazie," Leah said, taking the map. She stepped out of the train station onto the cobblestone streets. A blast of heat descended. Leah so much wanted to stay in Florence, but she had promised Noni that she would get to Volpaia as quickly as possible. Florence would have to wait for another day.

The bus was modern, and the seats were plush. It was amazing that this bus could fit on the small roads winding through the soft green hillsides of Tuscany. Leah gazed out the window at the lush rolling landscape, covered in olive trees, and thin cypress trees lining the hills. The bus driver kept sounding the horn every time he came to a blind corner, which was every other minute. 

At one point Leah shook her head. She had actually taken two weeks vacation so that she could do what Noni asked her to do. Or at least, she had crossed the ocean. Leah had a room in an inn waiting for her in Volpaia. 

Before long, Leah started to feel queasy, so she sat back and closed her eyes. She knew the ride was going to be at least another hour, maybe more, because the bus traversed the Chianti region. And there was no opening the windows for fresh air.

As her nausea worsened, Leah said a small prayer. "Please Mary, please help me not to throw up."

At that moment, the bus stopped, and an elderly gentleman got on the bus carrying three or four loaves of bread in a large basket.  He relied on a cane to make his way through the bus. He took a seat kitty-cornered from Leah. She stared at his neatly styled grey hair. He actually carried with him a heavenly smell of bread. "Oh I can just taste that warm bread now," she said, her mouth watering. Oh how she wish she had learned enough Italian to talk to the man. 

Instead, she sat back, gazing out the window. Each vista was prettier than the one before. After a few minutes, Leah fell asleep.

When she woke, the bus had pulled up to a courtyard filled with stone buildings. Her heart started beating a little faster. Was this it? Was this the last stop? Was she really finally in Volpaia.

She stood and approached the driver, a portly man with a finely chiseled face.

"Volpaia?" she asked, pointing out the door.

"Si, si," he said, smiling. As she turned back to retrieve her suitcase, she saw that the bread man was also getting off in Volpaia. He smiled at her. "Buon giorno signorina," he said. She returned the greeting. It pleased her to no end.

Soon she was standing in the courtyard with her suitcase. Everyone else seemed to know where they were going. The bread man disappeared into a nondescript wooden door, right beyond an old stone church.

Leah noticed an outdoor cafe with a few tables. An old couple was sitting at one, sipping wine.

She approached them. "Dove San Giovanni Loconda?" she asked.

The woman smiled. She was missing at least two teeth. She pointed down one small road leading out of the courtyard. She spoke quickly. Leah nodded but once again she didn't have a clue what the woman had said. 

"Grazie," she replied, and headed in the direction the woman had pointed. 

"No, no, no!" the woman called. 

Leah turned around and walked back to the bar. Her suitcase was covered in road dust already.

"Signorina, you need a car!" the woman said.

"A car? But I don't have a car. I didn't realize..."

The woman smiled. "Here, here come inside." The portly woman pushed herself up from the table and led Leah inside the bar. A couple of people were sitting on stools with drinks.  

The woman started talking to the bartender. He nodded and raised his shoulders. "Si, si, ma deve essere paziente," he said.  

"Si, si," the woman said, and she turned back to Leah. "We find you a ride, but you must first drink coffee and wait."

She led Leah back to her table and gestured for her to sit down. Leah settled into the wooden chair.

"Sono la signora Molino," the woman said. "E questo e mio fratello Filippo." Leah looked at the man, who was considerably younger than his sister. He nodded and smiled in a disinterested way.

Leah smiled. "Sono Leah Galietti, sono americana," she said. That too she had practiced before coming.

A waitress came to the table. "Per piacere, un cafe," Leah said. And then it occurred to her that she was starving. "E per piacere un'insalata con tonno e mozzarella e del pane." Noni had taught her how to order the food she most loves in the world: salad!

Soon the waitress was back with a large white bowl of lettuce and tuna and cheese and lush tomatoes, all covered in olive oil. A stack of bread slices was on a white plate.

"Grazie, grazie," Leah said, picking up her fork and knife and diving into the salad.

"Prego," said the waitress.

As she ate, the old man and woman watched her carefully and before long there came the question.

"Who are you visiting?" asked signora Molino.

Leah wiped her mouth with the white cloth napkin. She finished chewing and cleared her throat. She reached into her phone and switched into Google translate. She was about to say "I am here to see about my ancestors," when she stopped, realizing how silly that sounded. "My grandmother and her family are from here." ("Mi nonna e la sua famiglia sono di qui.")

Signora Molino smiled. But she seemed disinterested in Leah's family. "Galietti? Non conosco quel nome." 

Oh gee, Leah thought, of course she doesn't know that name. She cleared her throat again.

"Actually," she said, "my grandmother's last name was Orzo."

The woman looked confused. Had she understood?

Leah whipped out her cell phone again. Oh thank god for Google, she thought.

"Il cognome di mia nonna era Orzo," Leah said. And before she could raise her head from the screen of her iphone, both the signora and her brother were laughing.

Oh God, Leah thought, blushing, this is going to be even more difficult than I thought. Leah bolstered her courage and asked:

"Conosci la famiglia di mia nonna?"

"Oh, si parlava del clan degli Orzo, ma sono passati cosi tanti anni che non risesco a ricordare."

Leah was puzzled. What had the woman said. She quickly typed another line into the translator.

Then she spoke, aware that sweat was gathering in the front of her T shirt.

"Mi dispiace ma non ho capito," she said. (I'm sorry but I don't understand.)

Signora Molino nodded and raised her right hand off the table. "Once upon a time, when I was a little girl, there was a family with the name Orzo. But they all died," she said, waving her hand across the table. "We always laugh at the name, we call it the macaroni family, la famiglia dei maccheroni."

Signora Molino is smiling now, but Leah is not. For the first time, she feels pricked by the shame that her dear Noni talked about. How dare someone make fun of my family, she thought. She decided to leave the conversation as is.

As she finished the last bites of her salad, a young man appeared. Maybe 18 years old, tousled blonde hair. Signora Molino explained to Leah that  Junior would drive her to the inn.  Leah left 10 euros on the table and followed Junior to an old blue mercedes, and she settled in the front seat. He placed her suitcase in the backseat.

Soon they were driving through more dusty roads, winding this way and that through a thick forest.

Leah was sitting there thinking about what Signora Molino had said. She was still riled up about it. 

She wanted to say something to the driver, but nothing came to her so they rode in silence. It seemed like forever, but finally Junior took a sharp left turn that led down a winding driveway and pulled up in front of an old stone building that had small windows on one high wall.

"Ecco," he said. He got out of the car and retrieved her suitcase. 

Leah reached into her purse and took out a few euros. She handed them to him but he refused.

"No, no," he said, smiling shyly. 

She walked up a cobblestone pathway that ran beside between two buildings. When she looked up there was a small wooden sign that read "San Giovanni Loconda." The sign was shifting back and forth in the breeze.

Inside, the innkeeper spoke English. "Buon giorno, I am Giacomo," he said, "and I am happy to help you in any way I can to make your stay a good one."

Leah's eyes widened. Hmmm, she thought, she might decide to take Giacomo up on his offer.

He gave her a key and she wound her way through the old stone inn looking for room 5.  There were two rooms side by side. Giacomo said he had given her the room "with the vista."

And what a vista it was. She could see for miles and miles into the Tuscan landscape. On the hillside opposite to her was Volpaia.

Well, she thought, I ought to unpack and take a walk. Giacomo had explained that a trail from the inn would take her through olive groves and vineyards right into Volpaia.

But first she pulled out her cell phone. She had promised Noni that she would phone as soon as she had arrived. 

"Noni, noni, I'm here," she said. "And it's so very very beautiful!"

"Oh how wonderful -- oh I am crying my darling granddaughter," Noni replied. The connection was crystal clear.

"I will take a photo of the view from my window. I know you don't have a cell phone but can I send it to your computer?"

"Yes, yes, I will have your cousin Jessica find it for me!"

"Well, so, I know what you want me to do, search for great grandfather's story. It will be very very hard I think, but I will do my best Noni."

"I know you will do it honey, and I will pray for you every day."

Leah smiled, ending the call. Then she heaved a sigh. "Yes, Noni, I will need all the prayers I can get," she said out loud standing at the window in the pleasant spring breeze.

Leah, Frozen

The next morning, as Leah lets her dog Poco out, she gazes across the brown lawn.

She is shocked to see a horde of robins bobbing, their rust-colored breasts the brightest color

of the gray day.

But these robins don’t bring her the loving joy of spring.

They are honestly kind of frightening.

"It’s February for God’s sake and there hasn’t been any snow since December," she says.

Where did winter go? Why has the snow -- so soft and gentle--  stopped falling? The only thing they get lately is a "wintry mix," mostly freezing rain that forms a thin white crust on the lawn.

"And while we’re at it," Leah says, "where the hell did the rest of the birds go this year?"

A few minutes later she puts the dog on the leash and walks down to the country store, for eggs. And the day’s mail.

And there, behind the counter making sandwiches, is the wife of the owner. Joanna.

Who used to make meatball grinders and turkey sandwiches daily. 

About a year ago, Joanna disappeared and no one knew why or was brave enough to ask.

Today, Joanna is back. Leah swallows hard.  Joanna has aged twenty years in the one since she disappeared.

Shrunken. Grey. Her once vibrant red hair is now the color of the robin's breast.

Leah is so frightened she isn’t sure what to say so she asks:

“How is your dog?”

And Joanna replies that Blacky is fine. 

They talk about dogs a bit. Leah’s. Joanna’s.

And as soon as she can gracefully get away, Leah exits the store.

Terrified, she walks home holding her breath. Life is so...scary and unpredictable, she thinks.

******

It is still the same morning. Leah has put her pajamas and bathrobe back on, as 

she is working at home today, putting the final touches on a University recruitment brochure.

She reads the content through and then she lifts her gaze up from her laptop and looks out the front window.

Her iPhone says it's 22 degrees.

Here it is, almost noon. And things are still frozzzzzzen. 

And here she is. Thinking again about Noni Natalya and dinner last night and what her grandmother asked her  to do.

Leah is overwhelmed. How can she possibly find out the true story of her great grandfather and his mother?

Impossible, she thinks, just impossible, shaking her head and getting up from her desk.  

No matter that she is wearing her powder blue bathrobe, she decides to go outside without her emerald parka on. Poco barks and follows her out the door.

She scuffs her slippers through the crusty brown lawn.

She wants to rip up the grass

and set fire to the trees.

Please God,  she says, please help me figure out how to tell the story of my ancestors.  

The next thing she knows she is lying down on the ground. She does a spread eagle. A snow angel without the snow. She feels the icy cold on her bare neck and head. She holds that position and stares into the grey clouds. In a moment, she is on her feet hurrying back into the house.

Trembling, she sits back down at her laptop. Her fingers are frozen as she sets them on the laptop keys. She reads the brochure for the final time. Then she emails it to her boss and the office copy editor.

She gets up and fixes herself a cup of turmeric tea with honey and milk. 

Then she returns to her laptop and tries something that she does sometimes when she's feeling like she needs inspiration. Or she needs reassurance that she's still a REAL writer; even though she composes boring drivel for her University job, she can still write short stories.

She pulls up a file at random. It’s called “Silver River.” It gives her chills to sit and read what she wrote exactly three years ago.

Moon.

To start, Gina is lying there, a fallen angel in a foot of fresh snow.  It is deep in the middle of the night.  She has wandered out to the darkest reaches of the backyard, out to the furthest row of white pines.  

Parked as she is in her white parka, in the white snow, she is almost invisible.  She is watching the sky.  Waiting.  There are stars galore, the sky is splattered.  But she is waiting for something more.  

That email she got early this morning was clear: “Tonight will see the first full moon to coincide with the winter solstice in 6000 years.  The last time this happened, Moses went up to Mount Sinai for the Ten Commandment stones.  Don’t miss this once-in-ten-thousand-lifetime event.  The moon will be so gigantic, so bright you won’t even need car headlights tonight.”

She is watching the horizon, just above the pines.  

Her attention is drawn by the soft glow of light gathering above the dark curtain of trees a few feet away.  The top edge of the tallest pine has a halo.

She goes up onto her elbows.  Steadies her gaze.  Suddenly the crisp edge of the moon is sliding up behind the tallest pine, the branches outlined.  Black fingers.  She falls back into the snow.  The flood of silvery moonlight is even more exquisite than she had imagined it would be.  She takes in one slow breath and holds it and suddenly sadness overtakes her and her eyes close.  

Gina’s breath comes blowing out in one long explosion.  She sits up.  Peels the gloves off.  Sets her hands flat in the snow, lets her fingers go numb, squeezes the snow into a freezing mess in each hand.  Warm tears pool and now the moon is almost fully visible and now, holy cow, it is a mighty white disc showering light onto the snow. 

“Gina?  Are you out here honey?”

That’s where Leah stops reading. She doesn't need to read more. 

She puts her hands over her face. She is remembering Jeffrey, and how she lived with him for four years before they talked about getting married and then parted ways. 

She gets up from the desk, goes to her bedroom, undresses and takes a very hot shower.  In a few minutes she is dressed in wool pants, her emerald parka, heavy socks, a hat, mittens and boots.

"Come on Ms. Pokes," she calls to the dog. She leashes her and they are out the door and headed for the dog park.

She's not sure why, but somehow reading the fiction makes Leah feels better.  She's not sure why but she thinks she can see her way forward.

Noni's Confession

Leah thought she was done writing novels until that day in May when she arrived at the remote Tuscan villa at sunset. A vista poured out in front of her like an elegant green language she knew she had to learn. The view was like none she had ever seen.

The very next morning, she sat quietly in meditation, tracing the distant blue hillside with her eyes, moving right to left, the way you read the Torah. As she reached the cluster of soft sand-colored buildings that make up Volpaia, she settled there, pushing her imagination into the small central square of the medieval village. She recalled all the long conversations she had had with Noni, and how desperate her grandmother was that she visit Volpaia.  Leah let her imagination roam to the heart of the square where the cafe known as Bar-ucci's is busy from late morning, with capuccino and croissant (cornetto) seekers, all through the afternoon and long into the evening, when drinks get stronger and owner Paola Barucci turns on a string of lights that make the bar cozy. 

Much later, when she finally learned the truth about the infant, she would return to the village again. She would decide, with Noni's encouragement, that she had no choice but to take up residence in one of the heavy stone buildings that made up Volpaia -- which is Italian for "fox pit." 

Each time she walked across the square and crossed the length of the town, it amazed her to think that the infant survived the backward village in which he had the unfortunate fate to be born.

Leah didn't know it at the time, but the story about the infant -- and the parents who bore him-- would come to occupy the next three years of her life.

******

It all started in Noni's kitchen in February of 2020, exactly a month before the pandemic set in. Leah, who was director of alumni relations for UMass, the college where she earned her undergraduate degree in journalism, had a standing date to come to dinner at Noni's once a week. Noni cooked some of Leah's favorites: pesto with homemade linguini, minestrone with crisp homemade bread, bracciole thick in parsley and garlic, and ravioli with spinach and hamburger that were so tender the pasta fell apart in your plate. 

Leah had taken her trip to Volpaia half a year ago, and ever since she'd come back, Noni had been saying she wanted to talk to Leah "cuore a cuore," heart to heart. Several times, Noni had started to talk to Leah, and then after a few minutes, she got up and said, "No, no, it's not time."

The day Noni finally divulged her secret -- it was Thursday, February 13 -- Leah had to work late getting out a rather foolish press release connected to Valentine's Day. It was so cold that morning Leah wore her quilted long underwear to the office, which was notoriously freezing.  It made for a long tiring day, so Leah was feeling spent by the time she pulled up in front of Noni's apartment -- a charcoal grey duplex in a gritty neighborhood in Holyoke. Noni was 85, but she refused all attempts to be as she called it, "strappato" -- torn away from her familiar two-bedroom flat.

As soon as Leah knocked on the door, Noni was there to open it. "Come queek, queek, no let cold air in," Noni said, and Leah pivoted around the storm door and into the apartment as swiftly as she could.

The routine: Noni would pour Leah a glass of chianti, the same wine that Noni's husband Aldo, Leah's grandfather, once made and stored in barrels in the basement of their home a few blocks away.

"Here, drink," Noni said, setting the wineglass on the kitchen table before Leah had even unwrapped the cashmere scarf from around her neck. She took off her coat and handed it to Noni who squirreled it away in the hall that connected the kitchen and living room.

Leah inhaled. The smell of the "sugo" -- Noni's spaghetti sauce -- filled her with love and comfort. No matter what Leah did making her own sauce, there was something lacking. She went to the old white stove -- the one Noni had cooked on as long as Leah could remember -- and lifted the lid on the sauce, chock full of meatballs. "Ooh, polpette, hmmmm, deliziosa," Leah whispered. Noni smiled, and clasped her hands in front of her old yellowed apron.

The table was already set for two. Leah sat down and immediately sipped from the chianti. "Noni, you don't know what it means to me to be able to come here after the day I had." They had started this routine about two years before, just after Leah broke up with her long-time boyfriend Brandon, a computer expert in UMass' registrar office. The break up was a long time coming, and Leah was better off without him, but still, she was deeply sad after he moved out.

Coming to Noni's house was something to look forward to. For one thing, Noni was so patient, so calm. Nothing ruffled her.

"Tell me, what happened today, why so hard?"  

Noni listened while Leah slowly drank half the glass of chianti. She briefly summarized what she said was a "day's worth of craziness from the President" at the University. After a while, Noni stood up and crossed the kitchen with her rolling stride. She took two plates from the cabinet and set them on the counter. Then she went to the stove where spaghetti was boiling. Taking two pot holders, she lifted the kettle and emptied it into a colander in the sink. Steam rose around her face, flushing her pink.

Leah got up. "I think it's time I helped out, isn't it Noni? Come on, I'll serve."

Noni's eyes widened and she stopped what she was doing. "NO!" she commanded in the way she always did when she meant business. "Seet down I serve!"

So Leah sat down and soon was enjoying the most exquisite Italian meal she had had since the week before.

After dinner, Noni brought out a tray of panna cota, Leah's favorite dessert. Noni set one on a plate and covered it in raspberries and blueberries and a dollop of whipped cream.

"No wonder my pants don't seem to fit like they used to," Leah said.

Armed with dessert, and a cup of mint tea, Leah led the way into the living room, where they always ended their meals.

Leah had drunk a second glass of chianti, so she was feeling very relaxed. But as she dipped into the rich custard she could see there was something on Noni's mind. Her forehead was furrowed.

"What is it Noni? You seem so upset."

Noni closed her eyes, and slowly shook her head yes.

"Something I wanting to tell you for a long long time."

Leah slowed her eating and finally set her spoon down. "Tell me," she said in a low voice. "I'm listening."

Noni set her hands, red and chapped from dishwashing, into her lap.

"It's about my father, Pasquale.  You were a baby when he died. I remember he holding you when you were only this big!" She held her hands up.  

Leah smiled. "I bet he was a wonderful man."

"Yes, oh yes, Leah, he was una gemma -- you say gem! A gentle man always there to help others."

"So tell me, why are you thinking about him Noni?"

She folded her lips into her mouth and sat with them pressed together. Then she inhaled. "Something I never tell anyone not your mother or your aunts, only my dear dear husband knew because he had to and of course all my sisters too." Noni Natalya was the youngest of six sisters.

Leah nodded. "Go ahead Noni, you can tell me."

"But now I tell you: my father your great grandfather he was born ..." She clasped her hands together and whispered, "a bastarda, bastard." She frowned deeply and looked into her lap and her shoulders folded around her.  "He was raised not by his mother, but he knew his mother. The town gave him the name, Orzo, like the macaroni. Such shame. So much shame he felt, all his life, when he married my great grandmother, Caterina, and then when they came to America. And all of my Orzo sisters, we felt the shame all our life!"

Noni is sobbing so Leah gets up and slides a chair next to her grandmother's and puts one arm around her shoulders. Leah is feeling how frail Noni is. How deeply sad.

"We had always to know that we were not so good as other people because of our father's shameful beginning."

Leah squeezed Noni's shoulders. "You know Noni that today there is no shame in having a baby without being married. So many many women today actually choose to do that."

Noni has a small pink hanky in her hand and she is wiping her eyes. "I am too old to know about this modern things," she whispers.

"I know. It's OK." Leah takes one of her grandmother's chafed hands in hers. "So tell me Noni, why do you want me to know this about your father?"

Noni sniffles. "I know how smart you are.  You know how to find things out. I want you...." here she stopped and put her other hand over Leah's. "I want you to go to Volpaia and find out the true story of my dear father."

Leah's eyes widened. She blinked. What was her grandmother thinking? How could Leah possibly find out the story of her great grandfather? He was born sometime about 1870, more than 150 years ago. And Leah's Italian was pitiful.

For a moment Leah looked at her hands clasped by her grandmother's. Then she looked up into Noni's eyes. Her grandmother was smiling. How could she possibly say no?

So she didn't. "I'll go, of course I'll go, Noni," Leah said. "Maybe my friend Nina will come with me, she speaks perfect Italian."

What Leah didn't say, what she didn't promise was that she would find out the story of her great grandfather's life.

"I knew you would do this for me," Noni said, tears erupting once again. "I knew when I told you that you would write the story of my dear father."

The word "write" hit Leah right in the center of the chest. "Oh boy," she thought. "Oh boy."

And for the rest of the evening, she busied herself washing dishes. And asking her grandmother to talk about her childhood.

As she hurried to her car in the brittle cold, Leah shuddered inside. "How could she possibly write Pasquale Orzo's story?"