All the Ways to Suffer I Have Known them All!

I know Giovanni tried to see me at least a dozen times. I know because Mama told me. But it wouldn't matter if he tried 150 times, I wasn't going to see him. Never again. Ever ever ever.

How could he have deceived me so completely? How could he have thought that I wasn't going to find out? What possessed him to lie?

Oh but he was so good at lying. When I can't fall asleep at night, I keep seeing him, that smile. That should have tipped me off. That charming smile.

I spent a lot of time at Nunzi's. I slept there off and on for weeks. I slept there because I didn't want to take the chance that Giovanni would find me at the house.

And then of course, I was throwing up.

Yes, there is little question. I have missed my monthly flow twice now.

How could I possibly be so unlucky, to lose my husband, and to gain his baby, all in the same day? the same week? the same month?

Now and then, I would sneak back to see Mama. She was a rock. I was so mortified by what had happened but Mama refused to see it that way. She kept telling me that I was honorable, no matter what anybody said. She told me the same thing over and over again.

"You opened your heart to a man who seemed honest. He does love you Fi. He just wasn't honest."

And of course those words, "He does love you Fi." I recoiled at those words, because when I heard them, they simply scratched open the wound. They found my weak spot, the spot that still feels tender toward him.

I say that and just as soon as I have said it, I shake my head and force myself to feel dead toward him again. It's the only way I can possibly go forward.

So far, Mama doesn't know that I am pregnant. I haven't thrown up in her presence because I go there mostly in the late afternoon. I stay for dinner sometimes. No matter how I feel, I force myself to eat!

I just haven't had the strength to tell her. Because when I do, I am afraid that all hell will break loose.

I will be an unmarried pregnant lady. The worst thing a woman can be. I can just see myself now, walking the streets of Paola with a huge stomach.

Thank the Good Lord, and the Virgin Mary, for my dear Nunzi. She rubs my back when I am vomiting. She sits listening to me while she washes clothes, while she tends to the children, while she makes minestra and spaghetti sauce.

She never tells me to "shut up, I've heard more than I can take!" -- "Stai zitto, ho sentito più di quanto potessi sopportare!"

Quite the contrary. She tells me "there is hope Filomena. You must continue to have hope!"

Nunzi is the sister I never had. The saint I've prayed for.

Through all of this, I haven't written a word in my diary. Somehow when I think about opening it, I freeze. Writing is all tied up with the old life, the very easy life I lived for so many months with Giovanni.

Can I ever begin to write again?

When I do, I will be brutally honest. And more than ever, I will be writing for myself!

******** It is March 15th. We are in the middle of Lent. Easter is in four weeks. Palm Sunday in three.

I haven't had the courage to go to Mass. I haven't stepped foot in the church. Part of me would like to. Part of me needs the solace of the sanctuary.

But the rest of me is so angry at the priest, at the Pope, at all the whole church leaders who can be bought off, that I want to renounce my religion!

When I said that to Nunzi, she stopped chopping onions. She thought for a moment.

"No, I don't think you want to renounce your religion, Fi. I think you simply want to shoot all the lying sons of bitches who are men in and outside of the Church!"

I laughed out loud when she said that. She is absolutely right of course. I still have faith in the Virgin Mary. I know Mother Mary is on my side. I say the rosary daily and sometimes Nunzi says it with me. Sometimes I say it with Mama.

Thank God that I have such a strong mother! One who is so calm.

The day I told her that I was pregnant, she didn't even flinch.

She nodded her head. Then she folded me in her arms. "So you think I didn't guess?" she whispered this as she was holding me. "Mothers have a way of knowing."

After that, I moved back home. That was two weeks ago. The second morning I woke up there, Mama confronted me. We were sitting together at the table. I had pushed away my morning coffee without drinking it. Sometimes it just makes me more queasy.

"Fi, you know I don't often try to tell you what to do. But now I am afraid that it is my duty."

She stopped and I listened. What was she about to say?

"You have a responsibility to tell Giovanni about the baby, Fi. That baby is his child as much as it is yours."

I stood up so fast that I pushed backward onto the floor the chair where I had been sitting. "No, Mama!" I barked. I felt a rush of tears. So often lately I get really emotional, without any warning. "No no no no! It's my baby, Mama. And I'm never going to speak to him again."

Mama is a very smart lady. She didn't say another word. She just let me be. I know she prayed a lot, because she always does.

A little later that morning, when I told Nunzi what Mama had said, she too remained silent. Nunzi was sweeping up sand from the floor in her kitchen. She stopped sweeping. She looked up at me. And then she resumed her task. I wanted so much for her to support me. But I know Nunzi well enough not to ask.

So there I was. Really. Alone. Just me and the baby.

For the first time in more than two months, I took my journal and walked to the beach. I was taking a chance that I might run into Giovanni. But I needed the ocean. It was a glorious early spring morning. The waves were a light greenish turquoise swelling up and down. I walked all the way to the rocks and lowered myself to the sand.

I wanted so badly to write down what I was feeling. I turned the journal upside down and opened it. So now I was staring at the back page. I lifted the pen and when I set it down, instead of writing, I started scratching at the the paper until it ripped. I kept scratching, and then I started ripping the pages of the journal. I tore out a big chunk of pages and ripped them to shreds and they flew everywhere on the beach and then it hit me: I was destroying the only journal I have!

Sadness came over me like a shroud and I shrieked out loud "I HATE YOU GIOVANNI MASIERO YOU ARE A LYING SON OF A BITCH!!!!!" Then I lay back on the sand and let the tears leak out of my eyes and down both sides of my face. Part of me did want to destroy the journal because it was connected to this man who had gutted me with his deception.

But it was MY journal! I was full of confusion.

The journal lay there on my abdomen a few inches above my baby.

The tears kept flowing until they stopped. I sat up. I wiped my face and then I opened the journal again:

"I want to erase you from my life you lying son of a bitch. I want to throw acid in your face! I want to torture you the way I am being tortued. I AM TORTURED DID YOU HEAR ME????? TORTURED AND TORMENTED ENDLESSLY THERE IS NO END TO IT AND...

and then it hit me out of nowhere.

I was carrying a baby -- un bambino -- and I already loved him or her. But this baby was going to be taken from me. Because babies are always taken away from women who are not married.

For some reason, and I know it sounds improbable, I hadn't thought about that yet. Maybe because I was so busy lamenting the loss of my marriage and so very very angry at the man who had so utterly and completely deceived me. Because of that. Because of him, I hadn't focused. I was going on three months pregnant but somehow I hadn't focused on the fact that this baby I already loved so much was going to be ripped out of my arms BECAUSE I AM NOT MARRIED.

I got scared. So so so awfully scared. I sat there and wrote a letter to someone. I wasn't sure who I was writing to, but I knew sitting there that I just had to write it.

"Dear ...

Save me from myself. Save me from pain and sadness. Carry me into something better. Let me be free of all this torture and torment and help me find myself somewhere new.

Find me a place to be, where I can have my baby."

I stopped. Tears sprouted. It was hopeless. Sitting there I knew one thing for certain: there was nowhere that I could have my baby and keep him or her.

And as Nunzi pointed out to me the other day, the way it works, my baby will go to that dreadful foundling home in Cosenza, the ospizio. Where babies go to die. And meanwhile, I will be forced to become a wet nurse to some other poor women's babies.

Oh dear God, save me from this punishment! Save my baby from this certain death!

The ospizios are notorious -- there is so much infection in those places that almost every baby perishes before their first birthday!

I was sobbing into both hands now. Snot and tears were flooding out of my nose.

Then I sat up.

Maybe. With all his money. He could find a place. Maybe. Could he? With all his money?

I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to talk to him. But if there were any possibility that he could help the baby, then I wanted him to do it. To help me keep my...alright. Our baby. Alive.

I would write him a letter today.

So I tore another sheet of paper out of my diary. I began again:

"Of course I will never forgive you for what you have done. For the deception. No, let's call it what it is. For the boldface LYING. You lied to me for so many many months. You lied your way into our marriage. You lied and destroyed my life!

So there is no chance -- EVER EVER -- that I will have anything to do with you.

Except for one thing.

I am carrying your baby. Yes, the deception did not keep me from getting pregnant.

Please. I do NOT want your sympathy.

Until a few minutes ago, I somehow didn't think about the fact that as an officially unwed mother, I will not be able to keep this baby. It will end up in the ozpizio and very few babies survive that.

So I am writing to you with only one question: using your money, is there any way you can help me keep this baby?

I am fully expecting your answer to be no.

And if you think maybe there is any chance I will give the baby up to you AND YOUR WIFE IN TUSCANY then think again. You must be crazy. I would rather die!

Please write to me. Do not try to see me as I do NOT want to see you. Ever, again."

I folded the letter. I gathered my things and pulled myself up to standing. I had to get an envelope. The postale had envelopes.

I stopped. I needed his address. I had his address. 23 Via dell'Oceano, San Lucido.

That would get there.

I moved quickly from the beach. If I hurried, I could reach the postale before it closed for mid-day siesta.

********

I didn't tell Mama or Nunzi what I'd done. What was the point?

Exactly two mornings later, about 7 a.m., Giovanni appeared at the door. Mama answered it and called to me.

The loud knocking had woken me up. I heard Mama say something. I had turned over. I would pretend I was asleep.

Mama opened my door. "Filomena?"

I was asleep. Mama came in and sat down on the bed. She waited. Nothing from me.

"Fi," she said finally, "I know you can hear me. So please listen closely. You cannot keep this up any longer. You cannot refuse to see him. You and he share this baby. Now please. Make my life a little easier this morning. Please get up right now. Please Fi."

Her last words were pinched with nervous tension. When I thought about it, I wasn't being fair to Mama. And for that reason alone, I turned over. I was crying. She lifted her apron and dried my eyes.

"My dear daughter, I realize how hard this is for you. But you are carrying life inside of you. You must be an adult. You have no choice Filomena." She kissed my forehead. "Please get up now." I heard tears in her voice.

Mama stood up. She stood there until I was out of bed. She handed me a dress, which I exchanged for my nightgown.

And then she turned, and I prepared to be a grown up. I followed her out to the kitchen.

I stood there staring at the floor.

"Fi, please look at me."

I didn't. I kept staring at the floor.

"I got your letter. And I am...heartbroken. Fi I want to have this baby with you, I would do anything to..."

"Just shut up Giovanni. Do you hear me? Just SHUT UP DAMN YOU! Stai zitto, dannazione!!! He stopped.

"But Fi, I want to find some way to help you. I really do! It's my baby too, I want to help!"

"So what do you suggest? Do you have a way for me to keep the baby so he doesn't go to the foundling home?"

"Perhaps I could talk to Father Crudele, maybe I could convince him to make an exception, letting you keep.."

"OH PLEASE! I hardly think Father Crudele is the person to stand up for me, considering his stupidity in allowing our marriage. I'm sure he is plenty embarrassed by that decision to overrule the annulment. Why would he want to stick his neck out now and try to stand up to the Church fathers?!"

"Well I don't care about any of that, Fi, I'm still going to talk to the priest."

I realized that I should at least be grateful to Giovanni for caring enough to try something.

"I thank you for caring about the baby," I whispered.

He set one hand over his mouth. Now he stared at the floor.

I glanced up at him and I saw that he was wiping tears from his eyes. But more importantly I realized that he was so thin he looked almost skeletal. He was pale, too, his skin had a greyish yellow cast. It was jarring. I couldn't help myself.

"Are you sick or something?"

He looked up quickly. "Why, do I look sick?"

I stared at him. Part of me -- the part that would always be angry at him -- wanted to ignore his question. But I couldn't, because if there was something wrong with him, then...

"Yes, you look like death warmed over. La morte si è scaldata."

"I've got something. Something the doctor says he hasn't seen before."

I sighed. One more thing.

"Look, Giovanni. I'm only interested in the welfare of this baby I'm carrying."

"Fi, I understand that. But must I keep reminding you, it's my baby too."

I nodded. Oh God this was hard. I felt queasy and a bit dizzy. Mama had left. There was a pitcher of water on the table. I took two cups and poured water in both. Then I sat down. I did not invite him to sit down but he did anyway.

"Yes, Giovanni, I know only too well that it's your baby too. But the time is long passed that I can undo that."

"Oh Fi what are you saying, are you saying you really don't feel any love for..."

I slammed the cup down on the table. "I want you to shut up Giovanni. I told you I don't want to hear a word from you about love!"

He sat back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. "OK fine. I think what you want from me is a miracle. You want me to say that I know a way to save the baby from the likes of the church and the municipio? Well I'm sorry Fi, even though I'm going to talk to the priest, I am doubtful. All the money in the world doesn't change the situation you're in." Then he uncrossed his leg and sat forward. "But I'm saying I still love you from here to the moon and back. I love you as much as all the stars in the sky, all of them combined! And so..."

"Oh please Giovanni, I cannot tolerate all your professions of love. Please keep all of it to yourself!"

He sat back again. When I looked at him again, he looked like someone had sucked him of all his life force. Well, so be it.

We sat in silence until it started to be really uncomfortable. I tried to think of something to say, but thankfully he saved me from having to do it.

"Filomena, if there is anything I can do to help you I will! And no, I won't take the baby home to Tuscany because there is no place for him or her there either! Don't think for a minute I haven't weighed each and every possibility! Fi I am so so sorry! I never thought it possible before, but..."

I looked at him. Curious. "But what?"

"I have considered all the different ways I could...take my life."

I cringed. He was coming unhinged. And he had nothing to offer me, no way to save the baby from the ospizia. I found myself starting to feel sorry for Giovanni. He looked so pathetic. So unhealthy.

The weight of the world was pressing in on me.

"I'm sorry for you Giovanni. And I'm very sorry you cannot help me."

We sat there.

"And just by the way, nothing is gained if you take your life. That's just my opinion."

I could see him chewing this over. After a while he spoke once more.

"When I think about my life, I think, I am only 28 years old and already I've had two wives. But no more. And I have had one child die. And now, I face losing another child. It is wildly unfair I think and it's not easy for me, not..."

I bristled. "ABBASTANZA!! Enough! Don't let's get started talking about what's unfair. Please!"

Standing, I started walking quickly toward the door. "I don't have any more to say to you Giovanni."

He got the hint. As he passed me, he stopped. I really think he was going to try to kiss me but I turned away.

Again, he got the hint. "Fi, I'll try something, I will. And like I said, if you think of any way I can help you, please...please get in touch with me."

"I will."

"Do you promise?" "Oh dear let's not be childish Giovanni. Yes, I promise!"

He left and I just stood there staring at the door.