OH MAMAMMAMMAMAMA COME TO ME!!!!

 Editor's note: My great grandfather, Pasquale Orzo, was born in November, 1870, in Paola, Italy. He was born out of wedlock. In those days, most babies born out of wedlock died in horrible foundling homes. Miraculously, Pasquale survived. However, his mother, my great great grandmother Filomena Scrivano, was not allowed to raise her son. Because of strict laws reinforced by the Catholic Church, all "illegitimate" infants were taken from their mothers. Pasquale was given the name "Orzo" -- like the pasta -- and he was raised by a foster mother, Annunziatta Sessa, another villager in the small town of Paola, in the southern region of Calabria. My great grandfather did know his mother, however, as she periodically paid him visits. In this chapter, Pasquale is about six or seven years old and he has just had a visit from his mother.

DOWN BELOW THE WINDOW I SEE YOU GO,

sotto la finestra ti vedo andare urlo per te

 I SCREAM FOR YOU

Urlo per te 

MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA

You stop, you pull the black shawl tight around your head and shoulders.

You turn, you raise your hand to wave. 

Your sad eyes stare up at me.

You kiss your fingers and you linger there

MAMA, you stand against the wall of the narrow cobblestone street

STONE THE COLOR OF EGG YOLK

pietra il colore del tuorlo d'uovo

The soft egg you fixed me.

Why can't I go home with you Mama?

Alessandra tells me,

young man, I can't explain this until you are older

Giovanotto, non posso spiergarlo finshe on sarai piu grande

Why does she say this to me?

All she will say is that some day I will understand.

Someday, she says, I will see why many children cannot be with their mamas.

I cannot see you out the window anymore.

I slide to the floor. The tears come easily. I put my face into my hands.

MAMAMAMAMAMA I can smell the lavender

Alessandra tells me to wipe my eyes.

Pulisciti gli occhi! 

She tells me to go with my stepbrother, Salvatore,

Go for a walk by the ocean, but come back for soup,

so we do,

                                    My great grandfather, Pasquale Orzo, as a grown man. 

the two of us must hold hands she says,

him so tall, and me so small,

and we do hold hands until we are out from under her view.

Then Sal leads me through the narrow grey streets

he knows so well. We come to the center of Paola,

the church bells are chiming noontime.

The fountain in front of the church is dry. I stop.

I'm always looking for coins but there are never any to be found.

"Come on Pasquale," Sal calls and I run after him.

Soon we are on the sand and we take off our leather shoes

I am watching huge green waves rise and

crash on the beach. I want to run into the water, I want to splash the way

we do in the summer. I race as fast as I can to the water's edge

and Salvatore is screaming behind me

"Do you want to die you crazy little maccaroni boy?"

Vuoi morire ragazzo pazzo dei maccheroni?

I stop. I kick the sand. The sand gets in between my toes.

The wave crashes and crashes and the clear water snakes up to my feet. Cold!

I have never thought of dying before. I think of Mama, when she is squeezing me,

she is whispering

you are my life little man you are my life!

Sei la mia vita piccolo uomo sei la mia!

I can smell the lavender in her black hair

                                        My great great grandmother, Philomena Scrivano.

caught in a bun at the back of her head.

Suddenly I shout as loud as I can, MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA

I am dead without you!

Sono morto senza di te!

Salvatore is behind me. "What did you say?" he asks.

I turn toward him and he throws sand at me, and some of it lands in my eyes.

I scream, I use the word he always uses for me

BASTARDA BASTARDA!

He laughs. He points at me. He shakes his head and squeezes his nose as if I have a foul smell.

"No no no macaroni boy. Not me. You. You. You will alway be

Il bastardo Orzo!"

I don't know what he means 

but I know how I feel when he says it.

My chest is empty. I scream inside

OH MAMAMAMAMAMA COME TO ME!