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?"