I remove my uniform and drop into bed without washing or eating a thing. As I'm falling asleep, it occurs to me that I need to return that uniform -- it lies in a black and white heap on the floor.
"Tomorrow," I think. "I will worry about that tomorrow!"
When I wake up the next morning, the sun is bright in the sky. I blink. My mind is a blank cloud. I struggle to sit up. My arms and my chest and my neck and my back are all so sore that it takes everything out of me.
Then I remember all the lifting and stirring I did, moving that giant iron pole around and around and around in the steamy cauldrons. The whole of yesterday starts to fill my mind like a dark vapor. But then I shake my head no, I won't think about it now.
I listen for Mama. I hear nothing. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I move my head in circles. My neck screams out in every direction.
"No more!" I cry out loud. I will wash the uniform today and meet the carriage tomorrow and send it back to the Villa without me.
And so will end my brief "affair" with Giovanni! I will, if he seeks me out, tell him that I cannot be a guest and a house slave all at once.
I am in the kitchen fixing coffee when Mama enters. "Bongiorno," she says. "You came in so late last night I didn't hear you Fi!"
"Yes, Mama, it was really late when I finally finished with the laundry. What a day it was!"
As I say those five words, something comes over me. Instead of thinking about the long suffering afternoon, I begin to recall the intense pleasure I had in the morning, sitting in the sun on the terrace with the three men, all of us writing and listening to Giovanni read poetry. Suddenly I have a strong urge to go back, just for that blessed experience writing! But how can I possibly manage that?
"So tell me all about it," Mama says, "I'm anxious to hear everything."
I pour a coffee for me, and one for Mama who has taken a seat at the table. I'm trying to decide how to tell her what transpired.
"Before I speak, Mama, I must eat something. I am sfamatta!"
Mama gets up from the table and produces a loaf of her delicious bread, and some provolone and figs. I devour it all!
"I worked so hard yesterday afternoon I thought I would drop!" I proceed to tell her the long hot story of the laundry.
"Ah so you are earning your money!" she says, and I can tell she is pleased. I know she was so afraid that I was not actually going to work as a maid!
"Yes, I am," I say, pouring a second cup of coffee. "I will be very honest Mama. When I left the villa last night I was more tired than I have ever been before. I decided...I couldn't do the job any more."
"Oh," Mama says, a look of surprise on her face. "But I have always known you to be a girl who works extremely hard." "Yes, that's true, Mama, but they asked me to do heavy work I am not used to!"
How odd, I think, now Mama seems to be arguing in favor of me working at the villa! I decide to tell her about the morning. I describe the bliss I felt sitting at the table on the terrace staring at the sea and writing more freely than I ever have before.
"Oh Mama," I say, "they loved what I wrote! I so much want to be a writer like these other people are!"
Mama shakes her head. "Oh my dear Filomena, do I really need to remind you that these people are of the highest class? Their lives involve nothing but leisure activities. They can afford to play all day long and they never have to think about working. Please, Filomena, don't start getting fancy ideas! I guarantee that you will end up a very unhappy girl!"
Something inside me feels like rebelling against what Mama is saying. I took to heart what Giovanni said to me yesterday: that I may work as a maid, or a housecleaner or a laundress, but I have the soul of an artist!
Mama asks me if I will return to the villa and I say I'm not sure.
"Well if this Giovanni is really behaving like a gentleman, and he is willing to keep paying you so well for your work, perhaps you should stay!"
I laugh to myself. If Mama only knew how Giovanni was professing his love for me last night, she would be singing a different tune!
I finish my coffee in silence. I know what I need to do today. I take two pails from the kitchen and walk to the fountain for water. My arms ache carrying them when they are full. I decide to take my time. I walk 20 paces, and set the pails down and stand with my face up to the sunny sky. I close my eyes and once again I am sitting on the terrace staring out at the sea. When I open my eyes, Signore Padilla --with his bushy grey mustache-- is passing me. I smile at him but he -- a big grump -- frowns at me. He must wonder why I am standing in the middle of the cobblestone lane staring up at the sun. I pick up my pails and continue on my way, slowly, and feeling a kind of pleasure in my own company that I have not felt before.
Back home, I pull out the wooden washtub and I begin scrubbing my uniform and apron. Ah but my fingers are sore and the three of my knuckles are threatening to bleed. I wrap a clean rag around my hand so I don't soil the uniform. My navy blue dress is next, and then, the pile of underwear and towels and all the other laundry Mama has left for me. When I finish, I step outside into the sun again. Then I return to the house and sweep and mop the floors. In the afternoon Mama sends me to Signora Spada's house, where I do her laundry too, as she has a young baby.
Late in the afternoon, Signora Strada asks me to hold baby Ernesto, as she is preparing dinner. I sit with the chubby little fellow, bouncing him on my knee, all the while watching his beautiful little face. He has bright eyes, and he smiles a lot and makes the funniest gurgling noises. As I am walking home from the Strada's, it occurs to me that I would like to have a baby at some point in my life. And then I think, "Oh to be wife to Giovanni,! We would write together every day and we would have a nanny, una bambinaia, to help care for our babies!" And then I realize that I have been dreaming, and I force myself to stop thinking such farfetched thoughts!
When I reach home, the sun is pouring into the small window in the kitchen. Mama is out. I bring my new journal into the kitchen and set it on the table. From the shelf I get my precious dip pen, and the bottle of ink Mama got for me for Christmas almost two years ago. I open to a fresh page and sit there. Nothing comes. I turn back to the first page I wrote in the company of Giovanni and his friends. I smile, because I really like what I wrote.
I begin writing. "The sun is pouring through the window into my eyes. I realize that I can write about whatever is happening to me, at any given moment. Yesterday I went to the Villa and I had the most splendid morning writing -- and the worst afternoon working -- all in one day. I thought this morning that I would never return. But now as I sit here writing I think, "I would do anything to be on the terrace again writing with D and his friends!"
Clouds have moved in to block the sun. I sit there, staring into the grey blue sky. I write "How quickly the weather has turned tonight. How quickly I change my mind! I am not certain about anything anymore!"
I am done writing. I walk to the back of the house where we hang clothing. My uniform is dry, and so is my apron. And also, my navy blue dress. What shall I wear tomorrow morning when I meet the carriage? I smile because I never really made a decision to go back. It's as if my heart spoke, and that carried me. And I suppose, it's the writing that got me in touch with my heart.
Before I go to bed, I fold the uniform very carefully. And then the apron. I set them both at the end of my bed, on the left side. Then, on the right side, I lay my navy blue dress. I blow out my candle and slip into bed early, thinking that when I wake up in the morning I will decide what to wear!
*******
The next morning, I wake up early. I feel the excitement I always feel when I am going to see Giovanni. Somehow I am convinced that the job will work out. But God knows how! I kneel on the floor and pray to the Divine Mother, asking her to guide me. When I finish my prayers, I take the two buckets from the kitchen and walk to the fountain. I am going to wash my hair -- which is down to my waist! So there is never enough water to rinse it clean!
But I do a good job this morning. When I sit down for breakfast, Mama asks me if I am going to return to the job. "Yes, I think I will," I say. "I will meet the carriage today at eleven."
And even though I know a hellish afternoon is in store, my heart is full as I think about seeing Giovanni again, and I am so so excited about writing. When I walk into my bedroom, I decide to wear the navy blue dress, so I can sit at the table feeling -- or pretending to feel -- that I am fully equal to D and his friends (even though I know I'm not!) I will change into the uniform in the afternoon!
Soon it is time to meet the carriage so I braid my hair in one long rope. I tie a white ribbon around the end. Then I collect my things, including my new journal, and hurry outside. My boots clatter on the cobbles and my heart pumps with excitement. I walk through the portal and start up the road to San Lucido. And almost immediately there is the carriage! And to my amazement, standing beside the carriage is Giovanni, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His shirt is the most beautiful acqua color -- the same color as the sea! And the same color as his eyes! My heart is racing!
He smiles at me. And without thinking, I walk into his embrace. He takes hold of both my hands and swings me in a circle. And then another. I laugh and pull away.
"Something wild has gotten into you today," I say.
He laughs again. "Well you see my dear Filomena I wasn't at all sure you would appear today. And when I saw you, my heart twirled and danced inside me!"
I step up to the carriage with his help, and he gets in and settles next to me. The carriage starts up. I notice a straw hat with a large brim. He takes my hand in both of his.
"So, I am wondering Giovanni, what would you have done if I hadn't appeared?" I am smiling.
He squeezes my hand hard. "OUCH!" I squeal. He eases up. I lift my hand. "You see what doing the laundry will do!" My knuckles are raw and the skin of my hands is dry and rough.
"Oh cara mia, I am so sorry. No more laundry for you!"
I stare at him. Could it be? Could I be free of laundry duty? Is that possible? Well I guess so, since he is after all the boss!
"So back to your question. If you had not appeared today, I was prepared to go to the church and ask the priest to help me find you!"
"Oh, you're not serious?" I think he is kidding but he looks very solemn.
"I am absolutely serious. But seeing as you are here, let's not dwell on that!"
We ride for a while in silence. "I see you have brought your journal," he says. "I'm very pleased."
"Yes, well, I hope you will include me in your writing circle again today."
"Ah, I'm afraid my friends had to leave," he says and instantly, I feel a wash of disappointment. It must show on my face.
"But do not despair, you and I can sit together and write, Filomena!"
"Well I wrote yesterday, at home." I say proudly and suddenly I feel like a small child reporting to a parent.
"Wonderful! I will look forward to you reading out loud!"
We are almost at San Lucido, when Giovanni leans forward and speaks to the driver. "Don't stop at San Lucido, Mauro," he says. "We are continuing on to Amantea today!"
"Si signore!"
I turn to him in amazement. "What? Where are we going?" For a moment, I panic. Where is this man taking me?
He hands me the straw hat. "Here you will need this for the sun. Please do not worry yourself, Filomena. Amantea is 20 kilometers, and so we won't be traveling too long." He turns to face me. "I wanted a chance to talk to you away from the villa." My heart thumps. I am wondering what he will say.
He lets go of my hand and sets his hands on his knees. He closes his eyes briefly. "So what I have to tell you today is something that maybe I should have talked to you about when we first met. But there wasn't an opportunity. Now I know I have to share with you more about my life and...my passion."
Oh no. His passion? Another woman, of course.
"Filomena, you are familiar I'm sure with the movement to unify our country, yes?"
I stare at him. "I...yes, I guess so. Although I really don't know that much." Before I stopped going to school, we had a class in Italian history, and the teacher spent a few days talking about the Risorgimiento. "I know that there are those who are in favor of having all of the states be united in one league..."
He nodded. "Yes, so the movement has been central to my life for the last few years. I am part of a group of writers and poets and musicians who are dedicated to fighting for a unified Italy, to make all Italians, from the very north to the south, feel pride in our shared history, our great heritage. All Italians deserve to feel equal and connected. We will be one country, Filomena, after centuries of separation. My friends and I are part of a group called the National Society. Some people in the past have labeled us Liberals, or worse. Revolutionaries. Or just troublemakers! This is another issue between my father and me. His head is in the sand and I've long since given up trying to talk to him about politics!"
I sit and listen. I'm still stuck on the word passion. What he is saying doesn't seem very...passionate. And I wonder why exactly he is telling me about it now. But then he explains.
"One of the things we have as our goal in the National Society is the adoption of a national language so that all of us -- no matter where in Italy we live -- will speak the same tongue! My goal in coming here to Calabria is to help to lead the unification in the south. I have studied the dialect of your region and I want so much to speak to people here about the fight for Italian unity, which is the goal of Tullio and Edoardo and all of friends, the artists and writers and musicians you served at dinner. I am hoping you will join me in this crusade!"
I blink. He wants to bring me into the fold. But what does that mean? I am scared to tell him I don't really understand. But then I think, I have no choice.
"What does this mean, Giovanni? Are you asking me to join your cause? What exactly do I have to do?"
"Well Filomena, it's not just my cause, it's the cause for our whole nation. Think about it, a united Italy!"
"Yes. I see. Well. I am quite willing to be a member of the National Society, as long as it doesn't cost too much."
He laughs. "You are priceless, Filomena, just priceless!"
"And I do believe in unification, at least, I think it's a good idea to the extent that I understand it."
Giovanni takes my hand again and leans over and kisses my cheek. "I am thrilled that you are open-minded my dear dear girl. That makes me so happy."
We ride in silence. The sea is glittering in especially beautiful shades of blue and green. I'm still not sure what all this talk of unification means for him and me. I'm far more concerned about us! And about my job at the villa. I decide that now is as good a time as any to broach that subject.
"Giovanni, you said to me before that I would no longer be doing laundry. Are...are you serious?"
"Of course my dear. I don't want you to slave over the wash. If I could, I would have you do no work at all in the villa!"
My eyes widen.
"Yes, Filomena, but I understand that I absolutely cannot bring you into my home without a legitimate reason. One that protects your honor and dignity! Part of the reason that I am telling you all this about my passion for political unity in Italy is so that you begin to understand why I am so deeply attracted to you and to your province."
My head is spinning. No laundry? Politics instead of work? Mama will have a fit because she won't understand a bit of it.
"Giovanni, I am not sure what you are saying. You are paying me. I must work for that money in a way that is honorable."
"Yes. Exactly. So let me ask you: is there any work at the villa that you can do without making your hands bleed?"
I blink. I think about the days I've worked at the villa. A solution pops into my mind.
"Well I always find it enjoyable to work in the kitchen with Giuseppe. He is very very kind..." what I don't say is, "unlike Sofia, who is a slave driver!"
"Fine. It's settled. You will be the assistant chef from now on. You will chop and stir and cook and set tables and yes, serve dinner when guests are visiting. And you may have to wash dishes if that isn't too disagreeable."
I chuckle. I've just gotten a new job. And all I had to do was ask. In all my life I've never had a job like this one!
Suddenly the driver pulls up the horses. Are we already at Amantea? I look up.
And so we do. We walk on the beach out to a sandy point. Standing there, Giovanni tells me a story about when he was a little boy. "It must have been the first time I was at the beach," he says. "My parents had taken a house. And of course I had a nanny, and I remember so clearly that she was fighting with me because I insisted on wearing a jacket, made of a beautiful red wool, to the beach. She finally gave in! So there I was walking in the sand in the heat of summer, wearing my bright red jacket!"
I laugh. I can imagine a little boy with soft blonde curls in a red jacket. Walking the beach.
My heart is full of love for Giovanni. I reach for his hand, and surprising myself, I kiss it and hold it against my cheek.
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