ORZO turns ORZA: a brand new Organization of Respectful Loving Aunties

So maybe all that darkness of those preceding chapters never happened at all! Maybe instead of the pain and agony of having to give her baby away, maybe Filomena instead is immersed in immeasurable love, because she is able to remain, for all intents and purposes, Pasquale's mother! Thanks to a little-known organization called

ORZA:

in Italiano

Organizzazione di Rispettose Zie Amorevoli

or in English, the ORGANIZATION OF RESPECTFUL LOVING AUNTIES.

an organization founded by Filomena herself, with the help of her lifelong friend, Annunziata (Nunzi) Sesta. And several others, including the midwife, Clementina Rizolli, and Adelina Trieste and the rest of the women who don't need names as yet.

Consider this, this scene that follows, to be the true telling, hollowing out all darkness, because this is really how it happened:

Filomena is standing here beside a weathered grey fence, in the milky sunlight of a clear November day. Filomena is holding a basket in one hand, and bracing the other hand beneath her bulging belly, cradling herself. She is curtained in a lime green dress that is shaped like a tent, a dress she made herself.

Soon. That's what Clementina, the midwife, said after she examined Filomena two afternoons ago. Filomena was lying on the kitchen table, her lower half bare, the table hardly big enough for her expanded body, her bare feet braced on each edge of the table.

"My dear girl, your baby's head is low, oh so low, and lined up and ready to go!" Clementina, leaning over to face Filomena, whispered to her. "Your baby is coming soon. Maybe this week!"

That's all Nunzi had to hear! Nunzi who was right there in the kitchen, naturally, as she has been right at Filomena's side all along. Without Nunzi, how would Filomena possibly manage?

No matter.

"Let's get you packed," Nunzi said, helping Filomena off the table.

It took them no time at all to pack, as Filomena has only the green dress and a brown skirt and one other that is the dark blue color of the ocean. And a yellow blouse, ironically, that's almost exactly the shape of a priest's surplice.

Full and blousy. Every time the priest passed her in the street, Filomena, wearing the yellow blouse, would bow her head. Father Crudele would stop and stare at her as she walked by, that evil wrinkle in his brow. Filo would hurry along, keeping her head low and her walk steady.

Nunzi and Filo left Paola about 1:00, and rode in the cart led by the bony brown mare. In an hour and a half they were at the farm owned by the lifelong friend of Nunzi's cousin, Giovanna Trieste. Giovanna who has seven children, including a brand new one, a sweet little peanut of an infant girl, named Pia, who is barely two weeks old.

Now, Filomena is standing by the fence. Nunzi, who Clementina has taught the art of midwifery, is inside drinking her espresso with Adelina, whose baby is making slurping noises at her breast. Filomena was inside too, until Adelina sent her outside after she tried unsuccessfully to nap.

Filo slowly approaches the chicken coop to collect the eggs. But she stops here, and is staring into the pen: in one muddy corner is a gigantic sow, lying on her side. A litter of seven pink and muddy piggies are nursing, making noises not unlike those of baby Pia. Filomena smiles, and without thinking, she lifts her hand to her oversized breasts, which have swelled into ripe melons.

On the other side of the pen stand two ancient donkeys and a cow.

Now Adelina's second youngest child, a curly-headed boy they call Rico, joins Filomena.

Dozens of chickens strut through the yard beside the fence.

Filomena lays her hand on Rico's head. "Do you want to show me how to collect the eggs sweetheart?" ("Vuoi mostrarmi come raccogliere le uova, tesoro?")

As the little boy takes her hand and leads her into the chicken coop, Filomena considers the word "uova," eggs, how it feels in her lips to say it. But then the smell of chicken shit takes Filo's attention, giving her stomach a twist.

She has to bend over slightly to get inside the coop. Her stomach presses tightly against her chest.

Rico already has his hand in the stiff straw, pulling out an egg and laying it gently in Filo's basket. Filo does the same. They take turns. The warm eggs feel good in her hand. They move along, transferring eggs into the basket.

"Are there always this many?" Filo asks the boy. He smiles. Two teeth are missing up top.

"Yes, sometimes even more," he says. "We can stop now because the basket is over half full. May I carry it?" She smiles and hands it over.

He pulls open the door of the coop and hurries back to the house. Filo, meanwhile, is walking slowly, and noticing suddenly that her belly is tightening. Not like times before, when the pull was gentle.

But this time it's a dagger slicing across her insides. She catches her breath at the squeeze of pain -- una stretta di dolore. It feels like someone is tightening a burning rope across her gut. She holds her hand beneath her swollen womb, she feels a foot, a heel or an elbow poking into her tented dress.

The next pain takes her breath completely, she tries to massage her belly, she shoves her hand into the fiercely tight wall of agony and she cries out. Now the rope is steel on fire, burning rope, just getting tighter and tighter.

Filo stops, and takes another breath. The pain is tighter still. "Oh my," she thinks, "I must tell..." Before she can say "Nunzi" the pain once again pulls her so tight she can't walk. She wonders: will I be able to get back to the house? She takes a tiny step and leans onto the fence. Holds on with both hands. Her breath is shallow. The pain isn't going away.

"NUNZI!" she cries. But will her voice carry inside? Filo is starting to panic, she cannot bear the scizzor, it feels like nothing she has experienced before, like a hot slice going back and forth, she is being torn below her belly. She cries out again for Nunzi but her voice is weaker.

She decides. "I must...get...back...to..." She lets go of the fence and takes a step, wobbling. But then her body decides. She collapses into the soft grass. On both hands, then her side, fetal position with her fetus. She cries: "Nunzi, Nunzi, Nunzi..."

She lies there, thinking she might die, all alone out here, where is Nunzi, why is she...and then the pain subsides. Filo inhales slowly. She pushes up to her hands and knees and now she is crying, "Someone please, dear Mary, please help me up!" She stays that way, on hands and knees, and then lifts herself so she is kneeling. She clasps her hands in prayer and says the Hail Mary three times.

Slowly, she stands. And takes a step. And another. She is four or five steps from the door, so close, I've got to make it I can I can I can, and she is at the door.

But before she can open it, the hot knife is back, slicing again and when she is collapsing this time, she hits the door with a thump.

With her last bit of energy, she raises her voice to scream "HELLLLLLLP ME PLEASE HELP ME HELP ME PLEASE!" (Aituami, per fravore, aiutami, aiutami, per favore!"

The door opens, and Filo falls, half inside and half outside. Nunzi and Adelina each lift a shoulder, and pull her across the floor, where Filomena is in more pain than she ever knew possible, and now her legs spread, water tinged with blood is oozing from her.

And in no more time than it takes for Adelina to boil a kettle of water, Filo, still in the same place on the floor, her face wet and writhing in pain, her legs spread. Nunzi is kneeling, and reaching and catching the dark hairy head, and soon one red shoulder, and then the other, and finally the whole skinny body is wiggling and slipping onto the green tent of a dress that looks like grass to greet Filo's baby.

Amantea Coming Clear

Finally, sun. Finally the rain is done, at least for today! And finally, I know what day it is. Monday, January 10, 1870. I can breathe again.

I remained at Nunzi's for two days and three nights. After my freezing midnight parade through Paola with my bedsheet, I took ill. I had fever and chills, so badly that Nunzi put me to bed in her son Vicenzo's bed. She kept washing me down in cool water, and then bundling me back up in blankets.

It's all a blur in my mind. It was the kind of illness that empties you clean, and makes you think and feel new again. I guess because you feel yourself dead and gone, when you wake up feeling alive again you are grateful to God just to be.

Once I could sit up, Nunzi fed me whatever she was making for her family. Bread with olive oil. Beans and pasta. And last night, a treat. Anchovies. And an orange.

This morning, I told her I wanted to go home. She agreed it was time.

"But I'm going with you."

"Nunzi, that's not necessary."

"Yes it is Fi because you are wearing my clothes!" She smiled at me. "It's good to see you back among the living."

Her saying that brought back the scissor of pain. I hugged my arms over my chest. My breasts were flat. But that doesn't mean I have forgotten my little squash. My head bowed. I felt tears arise once more. I wiped one arm across my eyes.

"Stop, Filo!" Nunzi took hold of my shoulders and shook my arms up and down. "You can't drop back into the darkness again. I won't allow it."

I looked up at her. I whimpered. "But what is it that will keep me going, knowing that I will never see him again...."

Nunzi reached over and covered one hand over my mouth. I could smell garlic, onions.

"OK, now hear me out," Nunzi said. She pulled a shawl around her shoulders and handed me one. "Come with me." She led me outside. The sun was so bright I had to cover my eyes. "Sit!" she commanded.

We sat down on the wooden bench beside her heavy door. Nunzi wasted no time. She took hold of my chin and looked deep into my eyes.

"No more of this weeping and feeling sorry for yourself, do you hear me? There is nothing in that pity for you Filo, nothing! As I was trying to tell you the other night, we really might have hope now!" She let go of my chin.

In that moment, a ray of light fell across Nunzi's shoulder and landed on me. "See," she said, "we need to stay in the light!" I reached over and hugged her.

"Thank you for taking such good care of me," I said. "And thank you for taking care of my little boy."

We sat together for a few minutes. "So we need to talk about the woman in Amantea," Nunzi said. "She is waiting to hear from me, or should I say, you."

I took in a long breath, and then let it out. I could feel myself getting nervous again, thinking about the baby. I miss him, as if he were one of my arms, one that I lost so very suddenly. "What...what do I have to do?"

"It's simple," Nunzi replied. "All you have to do is say yes. And then we go and retrieve your...the baby and bring him to her."

"But I don't understand," I say. "Aren't the town officials going to have something to say about this?"

"As far as they are concerned, Filo, the baby is with me. He is my responsibility."

"With you, Nunzi, but not with you, I don't under..."

"Shhhh," Nunzi said, covering my hand with hers. "You see, Filo, because I was the one who brought the baby in, my name is registered. But of course, I couldn't nurse him, so I told the official, whose named is Stefano, that I would be bringing the baby to a woman to be nursed. Which I did. On that journey that took me and Matteo nearly three hours."

"And now?"

"And now we will take him to Amantea. The town officials won't know. And Lauretta -- in Amantea -- she is so much closer to us."

"Yes, but what does that mean for me? When will I see him? How often?"

Nunzi sighed. "Filo, this is something we will have to work out. I cannot promise that you will see him as much as you would like."

I started to sniffle.

"Don't start that, Filo! No crying, do you hear me? I have done nothing these past few weeks except attend to you and your baby. My own family I am ignoring so much that Matteo is complaining. Please understand that what I am doing is violating the law, on your behalf! I am crossing not only the town officials but also that dreadful priest, Father Crudele."

Nunzi made the sign of the cross. "Filo, I am so so sorry for your loss. You know I am. But my sweet sister, because you are like a sister to me, you have to be strong and brave. You have to find the courage to accept this situation as it is, Filo. You must!"

I began fussing with the tassels on my shawl. This was all so much to take in. I grasped my hands together as if I was going to pray. But thinking of that devil, Crudele, I felt no urge to say the words of any prayer at all.

Little did I know that Nunzi had more shocking news in store for me.

We sat in silence for a bit longer. When Nunzi next spoke, she lowered her voice a little. "I don't know if you are ready for this Filo, but I know now what your baby's name is."

My hand flew to my chest. I held my breath. Waiting. "Oh Mother Mary, what name is my beloved son going to have?"

Nunzi waited, watching me. Finally she spoke. "Are you sure you are prepared to hear their name for him?"

I shook my head up and down. In reality I wasn't ready, but I knew I would never ever be.

"His first name is Pasquale."

I exhaled. "Oh that makes me so happy," I said, feeling tears bubble up. "He is named for Easter, the Pasqua! The spring holiday. Such a blessing, the resurrection!"

Nunzi cleared her throat. "Yes, it's a lovely first name," she said. "Very hopeful." She cleared her throat again. "But...

"But what?"

"But they gave him a surname as well."

"Yes, I guess they said that would happen. And what is it?" I was excited, because I loved his first name so much.

"I hate to tell you this Filo," she said. She set her hands over her eyes and forehead. "They are calling him, Pasquale....Pasquale Orzo."

My mouth dropped open. At first I was thinking I had heard wrong. "Madonna mia, how could they..." I shook my head back and forth. "How could they name him after a...pasta....a macaroni...and such a SMALL ONE at that!?"

Suddenly I felt a flood of anger. "How dare they!" I fumed. "Such an insult, such a humiliation! And I have such a beautiful last name, Scrivano, I am furious..." I stood up, suddenly I could imagine myself going to the municipal office and screaming at them, "He is a Scrivano, don't you know, a proud name, a proud history, we come from a lineage of scribes!"

Nunzi rose with me. She circled her arms around me. "Oh my dear Filo I know," she said. "It's heartbreaking. They are making a fool of him for life with that name. I saw with my own two eyes the secretary to Stefano...Maria is her name, I saw her laughing, that beast, as she wrote down the name on his birth certificate..."

Her words hit my heart like the sharpest darts. I could actually see that scrawny old woman laughing. I could feel the laughter seep inside my chest. I pushed Nunzi's arms away. "I think I may go to the town office and have it out with them." I could feel my fury ignite me like nothing ever had before. "How dare they insult my son, and me, and his father too. If they only knew who his father is..."

"No, no, no, Filo, please calm down," Nunzi said, laying a hand on my arm. "Please. Don't you dare think about going there! Don't you understand that officially, you are never supposed to have a moment's contact with your son again? Don't you see? We have to be very, very careful about all this, what we do..."

I made fists with both my hands. Of course Nunzi was right. But something in me was coming alive. "Somehow, some day, I promise you, as God is my witness, I will restore dignity to my son."

"We will pray for that Fi," Nunzi said. "But now we have something urgent to do. Please let's not dally any longer. We must hurry to get the baby and bring him up to Amantea today!"

Transported by Light

All I know is that somehow I have to lift myself from this bed. If I don't, someone, Nunzi no doubt, will come in a few days and find me. Dead.

But how do I move? I bow my head to one side and suddenly, I start to whisper. Very slowly, I say a Hail Mary. I picture the Virgin Mary.

I smile. It has been so many months since I allowed myself to pray. It scares me to think back to what the priest kept saying to me on that terrifying night he came to my parent's house so many months ago.

"You no longer are permitted to pray, do you hear me Filomena? You are unworthy of prayer. So don't you dare say a Hail Mary, or the Lord's prayer. Don't ask for forgiveness. Don't ask for mercy or help. You are filthy in the eyes of the church. Do you hear me? You don't deserve to speak to the Virgin. Or our heavenly Father."

Now I say another Hail Mary. Out loud. And another one. This time I shout it out, and even though my throat still hurts from when I was screaming at Nunzi, I feel better.

As if in reply, the lightning once again fills up the window. The thunder is rumbling, but further away, tossing smaller boulders from the sky.

I smell myself and that is enough. I sit up. I hold my breath against the foul odor. I gaze at the door of my "little den." Suddenly I recall the day when JS found it for me so many months ago. He led me here, he had me close my eyes, cover them with both hands, and then he unlocked the door and brought me inside.

One room, half of it for a bed, and the other half for a woodstove. The ceilings so low that he -- being close to six feet tall -- had to bend over slightly.

I remember he smiled and said, "Filo, now you can be a fox in your own little den." ("Ora puoi essere una volpe nella tua piccola tana!"

I cannnot think back without tears bubbling up again, so I put him out of my mind. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and I take hold of the bottom sheet with both my hands. And then I pull myself up along with the sheet. I sway a little, feel light-headed. I steady myself at the table, and spying a piece of panettone that Giulia left me so many days ago, I scarf it down, stale as it is.

Then I wrap myself in the soiled sheet and I head to the door and outside I am standing in the rain. Good thing it isn't too cold because I am barefoot. I lift my face and the rain drenches me. Soon my hair is soaked through.

Another crack of thunder, and I hurry through the village. I pass through the Arch of Saint Francis of Paola and weave my way toward the water. Why I am going there I wonder. All I know is that the rain is soaking through the sheet and into my nightgown and it is waking me up, making me feel alive for the first time since...

No no, I shake my head, I will make myself forget. I will myself to let go let go let go...

Before I know it, I am at the water's edge. I hear waves sloshing and crashing, I can make out the white froth crawling up the pebbled shore. The rocks hurt my feet, so I stop.

I let the ocean wash over my feet, I step in further, the water covers my calves. I sit down. I do, I sit down in the cold water, I force myself to sit there, I stare out into the blackness that is night and then I see that the lightning has moved way off shore, and the thunder is no more.

I breathe in the salty air. How many times I came here when I was pregnant.

NO, I shake my head, I won't think about that, not now.

I force myself to slip deeper into the water. Now the ocean is up to my swollen breasts, they ache so much, they have leaked for so long. My body is cold, my hands and feet are turning numb, I lean back, and let the water come up and wash me and my sheet and now my hair adn into my .

If I lie here long enough, I will see the sunrise.

Suddenly, I feel so hungry, so empty, my stomach gurgles.

That's when I hear footsteps approaching, shoes crushing into the beach stones. Who could be here at this time of night? Frightened, I sit up. I cover my head with the sheet. It's foolish but it makes me feel safe.

The footsteps stop. I wait. For a moment I think, he's come back after all. He couldn't stay away forever. And he knew exactly where to find me.

"Filo I know that's you." The voice is tired. The voice is more familiar to me than my own.

Slowly, I lift the sheet off my head. I turn. Standing there is Nunzi, holding a small flaming torch. I see her face, the dark eyes, the thick eyebrows.

I whisper. "How did you know to find me here?"

"Oh Filo, for heaven's sake, when you weren't in bed, I knew there was only one other place you could be. Just look at you now, drenched to the bone. Please, come home with me. Both of us need some sleep."

I stand and sheets of water fall from me. I take the sheet off my shoulders and try to wring out the water. Hopeless. I drag it behind me as I follow Nunzi off the beach.

By the time we reach her place, I am exhausted. I leave the sheet outside and follow her inside. Her husband has kept the fire going. I stand there while Nunzi undresses me. Then she wraps me in a clean sheet and covers my head in a towel. She settles me in a low chair by the fire. She brings a blanket and covers me up.

"I...I would love something to eat," I say. "I am famished."

She goes to the woodstove where there is a kettle. She scoops something into a large cup and brings it to me with a spoon. Then she brings me a thick piece of her homemade bread.

Soon I am devouring the most delicious minestra I've ever eaten.

And when I've finished, she brings me a second cup. And more bread. And a slice of cheese.

After eating, she doesn't need to instruct me. I lie back, and sleep comes more easily than ever before.

Because of Nunzi's Prayers, a Miracle

A snake of lightning scissors to the ground! It splits into fingers. The crack of thunder floods my chest.

Every time Nunzi visits me, she tells me to get out of bed, "For God's sake, Fi. Do something!" she screams. "Cook, sew, mend, wipe the floor!"

I went back to bed the day after my baby was torn away from me six weeks ago. I had him with me for just over two months, until January 6th, which just happened to be the Epiphany.

Pasquale and I were staying with Lina and her family, and I will be forever grateful for that precious time. For those weeks, I felt like I was living in a nest, protected and filled with unspeakable love. Lina lined the hayloft with warm blankets and the baby and I slept there. I nursed him whenever he whimpered. I cradled him against my heart, especially when he woke in the middle of the night.

This time with my baby was a gift from God, but then, when it was over, and Nunzi said it was time for me to go back to Paola, and leave Pasquale behind with Lina, I was of a completely different mind! It felt like I had descended into some special kind of hell. The morning that Lina came to the barn, in Nunzi's company, and Nunzi said to me in a low voice, "OK Filomena my dear friend, it is time," I felt like someone was taking a knife to me. I was about to be carved -- my heart was being sliced out of my chest, leaving a gaping chasm!

It took both Lina and Nunzi to pry the baby from my arms. I screamed when they finally wrenched him free from the last grasp of my fingers. Lina swept the baby out of the barn and I tried to follow; Nunzi was attempting to steer me toward the cart, but I collapsed into the hay and stayed there on my knees wailing at the top of my lungs. I thought the pain of it would rip me apart. What was left of me without my beloved child? How could I possibly live, minus my beating heart? I cradled my arms around my chest, and lay curled in a fetal position until I fell asleep.

When I woke, Nunzi was there, waiting, keeping me company. I knew we had to leave, but I didn't think I had the strength to stand.

"I will help you Fi," she said finally, and that set me crying again. I sat up and held my wet face in my hands and rocked back and forth saying "voglio mio bambino," over and over again.

Finally Nunzi stood, and grabbed me under one arm and pulled me up. She cradled her arm around my drooping shoulders and moved me slowly outdoors to where the cart waited. As the donkey set off on our way back to Paola, Nunzi set one hand on my back and started to make circles, but I pushed her hand away. I did not want to be consoled, not by her and not in this way.

It was a fiercely windy day, and we were wrapped in scarves and shawls pulled tight to our shoulders and heads. By the time we arrived at my house, three hours later, I was cold, exhausted and numb.

"Fi," Nunzi whispered, "do you want me to come inside?" I stared into my lap. I remained silent. I didn't care what she did. I didn't care what happened to me. Already my breasts were burning, hot and so hard, filled with milk with no infant to feed. After waiting for a reponse for a few minutes, she came around and helped me down from the cart and pushed me toward the house, where Mama was waiting. "Oh Fi," Mama said taking me into her arms. "My poor girl. Thank you Nunzi, for everything." That was six weeks ago. It is now February 17th. I just keep counting and counting. I count the days since he was born on November 3rd. He is 106 days old today. I count the days since I last saw him: 43. I get up every two or three days and I wash myself. I eat whenever Mama brings me a plate.

Every time Nunzi comes to visit, it is the same thing. I lie in bed, punching my pillow and screaming at her over and over again, "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!"

She stands there staring at the floor. She waits patiently until I stop screaming, and then she says it -- the same thing to me, over and over again.

"Filo, be glad that your baby isn't in that abysmal ospizio in Cosenza, where he wouldn't last a year. Yes, he would die just like so many other infants! Please please listen to me, Fi. Please realize how fortunate you are. And please forgive me, but I am trying to help you!"

I sob. I whisper. "But what kind of life is this? Huh Nunzi? What am left with? Nothing, nothing. NIENTE! I have no reason to live anymore. I am done for."

Then Nunzi sits down next to me on the bed, and if I let her, she feeds me soup or pastina. When she leaves, Mama takes over nursing me. Every chance I get, I go back to bed, and sink low under my coverlet.

For weeks this has been going on. I never get up to eat. Why should I? Mama cooks me an egg every few days. Other days she brings me a small block of cheese, some dried anchovies.

"Oh please Fi," she begs, "you are getting so thin. Please for my sake please. Mangia!"

Yesterday morning, she made panettone, which I adore. She brought me a thick slice, while it was still warm. She had slathered it in butter. She sat on the bed beside me while I chewed. Slowly. Slowly, I swallowed. And drank the warm coffee she had prepared.

"Now doesn't that taste good?" Mama asked, her eyes shining brightly.

I managed a smile. I nodded my head. I gazed at my dear mother. I reached out to touch her face. She took my hand in both of hers. And pressed my hands to her face. That's when I collapsed again in tears. I thought about the baby and started crying so hard, I began choking, and soon I felt the panettone might come up my throat.

"Oh Fi, I am so so afraid for you," Mama said, after I had stopped choking. I fear that you will take ill if you don't come alive again. How can you possibly live if you don't eat?" I don't say it, but what I think is, 'If I'm fortunate I WILL get sick, and whatever it is, I pray that it may it kill me, put me quickly out of my misery!"

Now, tonight, Nunzi has let herself in. I am pretending to be asleep. I see that she is shrouded in a huge cape that goes all the way to the floor. The thunder and lightning crack and crack and the light floods my bed. Nunzi drapes her wet cloak on the kitchen chair and comes into the bedroom.

She doesn't speak. She drags a kitchen chair into the bedroom, places it next to my bed, turns it to face me and she sits. She brings her face up close to my head. I am turned toward the wall.

"Filo," she whispers. "Please wake up. This is a miracle I am about to share with you. Please wake up now and look at me."

I don't want to open my eyes. The lightning sails down again. The thunder cracks. I turn my head to face the grey wall. The thunder cracks again and again.

Nunzi rises. "For the sake of the Virgin Mary, and his son, dear Jesus, would you please sit up and listen to me Filo?" Her tone is sharp. She isn't pleading anymore.

I roll over.

"Sit up!" she commands.

I'm slow to do it. She grabs hold of my hand. "Sit up right now because I have the best news of your life!" She pulls me up. She sits down beside me on the bed.

"Fi, I never told you this because I was so afraid it wouldn't happen. But a long time ago, when you first got pregnant, I began praying to the Virgin. I prayed that if the Lord willed it, we would find a way that you might be close to your baby." She paused. "I've been praying all of these months, without stopping, Fi."

I studied her face. What was she telling me?

Nunzi continues. "When it was time for you to have the baby, I went to the priest. I told him that I would happily sponsor your child, and that I would be honest about raising him. He turned me away. I asked him again just before we went up to Lina's. He said he would never change his mind so I was never to ask him again." She smiles widely. "But now...I don't know how, or why but..."

My heart was racing. I was afraid to think... "What...what are you telling me Nunzi?" I whispered. I held my hands in prayer.

"So Filo, it turns out that somebody with a lot of influence, and plenty of money has come forward. And this individual has 'convinced' good old Crudele that it might be wise for Pasquale to grow up near his mother."

There is a moment when I am completely frozen. I know what she is telling me. But I cannot make my body believe it. I just sit there blinking, and shaking my head back and forth. "So why do I know this, Fi? My cousin Lisetta is very close to Agatha, you know, the old woman who launders the altar cloths and Father's surplices? Lisetta came to see me last night, and told me what she knew from Agatha, who overheard the priest talking. So this morning I was at the church. True to form, Crudele made we wait forever before he would see me. But finally I got my 'audience.' Lisetta was right Fi! My prayers were answered!"

She takes hold of my shoulders. I am weak, from hunger, but also because I am so astonished. "And so...he is...he's coming home?" We embrace. I begin sobbing "Oh Nunzi, dear Nunzi, you...worked this miracle. My son is...he is coming home!"

Suddenly I hear myself. And then I stand up and throw my arms to either side and I begin shrieking with the joy that is flooding me. I am shrieking so loud that my throat aches, I am shrieking so hard...that I wet myself. Mama rushes in. I clamp my hands over my mouth, crumpling.

Nunzi explains what has happened. Mama opens her arms wide, and I fall into them.

Now the thunder crashes and outside the window, lightning turns the sky white. And then there is another explosion of thunder right overhead. I know this is God throwing fireworks for me. For us.

"So of course you know he must always live with me, Fi, but that doesn't prevent you from visiting me every day!" "My dear Nunzi I will never be able to thank you enough." "Don't worry about thanking me. What you need to do now is feed yourself! Eat a good dinner, and get a good night's sleep. Because as soon as the sun rises tomorrow morning, we are on our, to fetch... our boy!" When she leaves, I stand at the door watching the sky go white with lightning. And then I sit down at the table and Mama lays out a parade of food. In no time at all she has fixed me chicken broth with pastina, escarole, anchovies and several slices of cheese. The food goes down slowly, but I manage to eat it all. And then I go into the bedroom, and kneel down, and pray to the Virgin, asking her to show me what I can do to repay her for this miracle. I fall into bed, and somehow I sleep until six am. When Nunzi arrives, I am dressed and ready. The painting, "Le Dernier Baiser," (The Last Kiss) is by Charles François Marchal, 1858.

Mallory Square on My Mind

By Dr. Mel Waldman

three

decades gone by



vanishing

in Time’s un-reality



like

wild stallions galloping across the invisible universe



into

a faraway galaxy an orphic vastness I cannot fathom



three

decades gone



since

I discovered Mallory Square where we celebrated

the

gorgeous sunset & I became a lover



of

the vanishing sun an opacarophile so long ago



&

still I crave each glorious moment again



evoked

by Claudia’s paintings

– inserted in The Noctuary



my

poem about a night journal of celestial light



ensconced

in darkness –



beatific

pictures



&

a sweet blessing



the

scent of a sensuous shell-shaped cake



my

Proustian madeleine taking me back to Mallory Square



Mallory Square

on my mind



coming

forth



&

rising

from my mystical maze



the

Jungian Unconscious



of

esoteric wisdom



Mallory Square

eerily



resurrected

embracing &



merging

with the fantastic



flow

of enigmatic paintings



of

majestic beauty



compelling

me to see



a

cornucopia of dazzling sunsets



divine

colors & heaven-bound hues



otherworldly

sunsets in metamorphosis



everchanging

& morphing



into

a glorious Gestalt



of

celestial grandeur



a

gorgeous gallimaufry of Nature’s miracles



sweeping

visions



of

magnificent illusion deliriously divine



flaming

reds & luscious mind-altering



oranges

yellows & crimson gold



&

hypnotic hallucinatory



purple & pink sunsets

glorious

gloaming ever-flowing & sensuously



blossoming

in

celestial efflorescence



as

a multitude of curious humans



gather

on the Mallory Square pier



there

by



the

Key West Harbor & the Gulf of Mexico



waiting

longingly to see an exotic sunset



celebration

a gorgeous



extravaganza

so long ago & now in my mind



where

strangers encounter vendors



artists

singers dancers magicians psychics



&

circus people & merge



with

the fluid sky a sweet phantasmagoria



&

the tropical sun & the seductive air

humans

craving the beyond seeking



otherworldly

transcendence & oneness



with

the universe finding magic



&

even peace in



the

unfathomable moment of



the

vanishing sun adorned



with

glorious colors & celestial grandeur



dying

in the night until



tomorrow’s rebirth

Dr. Mel Waldman is a psychologist, poet, writer, and artist. His stories have appeared in dozens of magazines including HARDBOILED DETECTIVE, ESPIONAGE, THE SAINT, and AUDIENCE. He is a past winner of the literary GRADIVA AWARD in Psychoanalysis and was nominated for a PUSHCART PRIZE in literature. He is the author of 11 books.