More than anything, he wanted to take me out in the sailboat. He badgered me all of December but I told him we were too busy preparing for Christmas. After the holidays were over, he started in again. I kept telling him that sailing was a foolish notion in January. "Can't it wait until April?"
But no, Giovanni was in a hurry, and he can be awfully stubborn. And so when there was a warm spell toward the end of January, with many days of sunshine and temperatures reaching above 60, I gave in and we ventured out on the sailboat. Giuseppi packed a cold lunch for us and we rode in the carriage to the pier, such as it is, and we were armed with several blankets to ensure that we would keep warm should the weather turn. Giovanni promised me that it wouldn't!
Because of his weak arm, he invited his sailing partner, Lorenzo, to come along. A big beefy fellow from Naples, Lorenzo is very good company as he always knows something to say to get you laughing!
I have been out on the water many many times with my Papa, but I must say, Giovanni's gigantic sailboat -- the Lucia -- was exhilerating. At my husband's insistence, I lay down on the deck up toward the bow, covered up with blankets. I watched how the billowing white sail swelled with wind. My ears were filled with the slap of waves against the hull, and the roar of the wind. Lying there, my face felt pleasantly warm in the sun. The morning went quickly as the boat flew up the coast.
At lunchtime, I crawled over the deck and descended into the cockpit. Giovanni and Lorenzo were laughing, and each had a beer in his hand. I opened the basket that contained our lunch. I spread a small tablecloth, and opened the container of cold pasta with bacon and parmesan. I inhaled, it smelled delicious in the salty air of the sea. Oh heavens I was hungry!
As we sat eating our pasta, I noticed that Giovanni was studying my face. Or was it my hair? Why was he frowning at me?
But soon I realized that he wasn't looking at me. He was staring over my head. When I swiveled around to face where he was looking, I gasped. Half the sky was overcast now, and in the distance was a thick ring of grey clouds sitting squarely on the horizon, and it looked to be heading our way.
"Oh really Giovanni, must I?"
Giovanni gave me a narrow look. "Yes, I'm afraid so, darling. It's much safer down there."
I was annoyed, but I did what he asked. Only I did it very slowly. I watched as the men got busy tying things down. And donning these oversized jackets that made them look like small mountains.
Honestly, I have never been in a boat in a bad squall. And so I wondered if they weren't making too much of a fuss.
But within minutes, I began to understand. This burrasca was wicked!
Before I knew it, the boat began rocking wildly side to side, tipping first in one direction and then swinging in the other. I descended below and sank onto the wooden floor. Using my feet to brace myself, I managed to sit tight. But still I was thrown back and forth by the mighty waves.
I could hear the wind thundering against the old wooden frame of the sailboat, and at one point, the wind cracked so loud it sounded exactly
In the past I've never been one to be seasick, but then I had never felt myself thrown back and forth like an old rag doll. Before I knew it, my lunch was splattered all over me and the bottom of the boat. My head fell back and I started to pray that we would make it back to shore safely. I worried about the two men on deck; how could they manage to hold on?
Try as I might, I couldn't stop throwing up. Finally, I had nothing left inside of me. I began weeping, as the boat was still in the throes of the wind, and now driving rain was upon us. It must have been frozen because the rain sounded like icy nails as it hit the boat.
For a moment, I began to panic. What if Giovanni and Lorenzo had both been swept away? What if I was alone on this sailboat, at the mercy of this vicious weather?
Using the last bit of energy I could muster, I brought myself onto my knees, and forced my way back up into the cockpit. I was greeted by an explosion of wind and ice cold rain. But at least, I could see G and Lorenzo both at the helm in their bulky jackets and hats with large brims that hid most of their faces.
I yelled to G, but he didn't hear me. I yelled louder and still he didn't look my way. So I pulled myself onto the deck and when he noticed me, he motioned for me to go back down below. The boat tipped and slammmed at that moment and I went flying down the short staircase, and I think I must have hit my head on the way down.
There I lay for God knows how long. I remember that I was trying to pray. I kept saying "Hail Mary," but then I couldn't remember the rest of the words of this prayer I had known since childhood! I was tossing and turning, too, and I must have fallen asleep or gone unconscious. I remember dreaming that I was sitting with Mama beneath a tree, the sun was shining so brightly in a perfectly blue sky, and she and I were eating olives! I kept dreaming that if I just filled myself with olives my nausea would be quelled and all would be well.
The next thing I knew I opened my eyes and Lorenzo, a burly young man, was carrying me. I felt his long black beard tickling my face. Giovanni was saying something but it wouldn't come clear. I heard water sloshing and I felt sick to my stomach again.
And then he set me down in the wet sand and I looked all around me. I began sobbing because I was so terribly grateful that we had survived la burrasca!
That night, Giuseppi made us what he called "comfort soup," zuppa di conforto, which resembled Mama's straciatella. Chicken broth, spinach, and "stracci," the rags, fashioned out of eggs dropped into the soup. Giuseppi added lemon peel and lots of parmesan. I can still remember the taste of that soup, and the way it calmed me.
After dinner, Giovanni and I sat in front of the fireplace, the one right in our bedroom. We drank chamomile tea and we read poetry to one another. G chose Petrarch's sonnet 311:
"That nightingale who weeps so sweetly,
perhaps for his brood, or his dear companion,
fills the sky and country round with sweetness
with so many piteous, bright notes,
and it seems all night he stays beside me,
and reminds me of my harsh fate:
for I have no one to grieve for but myself,
who believed that Death could not take a goddess.
Oh how easy it is to cheat one who feels safe!
Who would have ever thought to see two lights,
clearer than the sun, make earth darken?
Now I know that my fierce fate
wishes me to learn, as I live and weep:
nothing that delights us here is lasting."
The poem left me completely sad. After a moment of silence, I said, "Heavens, G, that one is particularly scary for me. Why that one tonight?"
He sighed. "I'm not sure, but I think because it reminds me how fleeting life is, and how, at any moment, we might face 'una burrasca'!"
Alas, Giovanni could not have spoken truer words. Who knew all that awaited us the very next morning!
**********
The sun had returned and even though it was chilly, I dressed warmly and tied on my head the lovely blue wool bonnet that G had brought me from Tuscany. I headed for the beach right after breakfast. Giovanni was busy with Lorenzo, addressing a fix that he said was needed on the sailboat after it endured the squall.
I walked on the wet sand and stopped now and then to gaze out at the lively whitecaps dancing on the blue green ocean; I had a new appreciation for what a force the sea could be. In an odd way, I was glad to have had the experience of the squall, because it had humbled me, and more importantly, I think it had humbled Giovanni. He has always lived a life where there seemed to be no limits but now the sea had imposed her limits on him! Thank God we made it through.
Thinking I would write in my journal, I had brought it and a pen along with me. I sat down on a large rock and opened to a fresh page. But nothing at all came to me this morning. I suppose I was still digesting the horrifying experience of the day before.
Also, I was feeling a bit queasy again. I figured it was a leftover, a bodily reminder of what had happened on the sailboat. I sat for awhile and then decided to head back to the villa.
Will I ever forget the first thing that met my eyes when I approached the front door? I've had months and months now to think about what happened, and I've wrestled with the events of that fateful morning over and over and over again. And still I'm no closer to grasping the chasm that opened up in my life on that bright cold January day. It was January 25th to be exact.
There was a fine carriage sitting next to the cedars. The exterior of the carriage was a highly polished wood, with the most beautiful grains. I stood before it wondering who would own such a carriage? The horse or horses had been taken away. Whoever the owner was, he (or she?) would have to have a bounty of money...
Perhaps, I thought, it was someone in Giovanni's family?
I entered the front door and I can only say that my heart started clamouring. There before me was Giovanni with that man, the one who stands not quite as tall as G but is altogether similar but older, an imposing image in his regal stance.
Uncharacteristically, Giovanni's father was not yelling at his son this morning.
They were standing in silence.
I winced when I came closer, though. Giovanni had one arm bent and lifted to his eyes. He was trying to cover his eyes, because he was crying, I could see that plainly now. He had a white sheet of folded paper in the other hand.
I rushed up to him, because I pride myself on knowing exactly how to soothe him when he is the least bit distraught. And so I did try.
"Darling, I'm here, I'm here."
He dropped his arm from his eyes. He reached for me, and his father shook his head sharply and made a noise, and turned away as if in disgust.
"Yes, Fi, you are here. You are always here for me my darling wife."
"But what is it G? Please just let me help you the way I always do!" I whispered this to him, and then laid my head on his chest. He set one hand on my back and started to make circles. But still he was crying.
I took a step back. He sniffled. "What is it Giovanni? Please talk to me. Can we go upstairs?"
He just stood there blinking. And then he closed his eyes. But still he didn't speak.
Panic started to take hold of me. And oddly, the nausea was getting worse. My stomach growled deeply. Now was not the time to think about eating, but I knew that I must put something in my stomach. But first I had to know what was going on.
"Giovanni, can you please tell me why you are so upset? I'm starting to get...scared." There. I had said it. Now he could tell me what minor catastrophe his father had unloaded on him. And then we could be done with it and continue on with our lives as before!
My husband cleared his throat. "Let's go upstairs, as you suggested, sweetheart." I looked at him. He had never called me sweetheart before, had he? Why was he starting now?
And so we went upstairs, leaving his father in the marble foyer. I was so thoroughly convinced that this was just an inconvenience, this visit from his wretched father. The old man would be gone soon enough and I would be glad to see him go.
Those were the thoughts in my head as G and I made our way upstairs, hand in hand. We entered the bedroom. Sat down before the fireplace on the settee we had occupied the night before. The last coals from the evening's fire were still glowing red.
He wasted no time to begin.
"Fi, there is something I need to explain to you. And I..." But he stopped there and would not go forward.
"Yes?"
"Fi, would you kiss me please?"
I chuckled. I raised my face and we embraced and he left his lips on mine for a long time.
Finally I pulled away. "Please say what it is G, and let's get it over with."
At that, he started crying again. Now I began to worry. What could be so earthshaking?
"Fi, I am...afraid that you...I know that you will always live in my heart. Forever."
A kind of dread took hold of me. It was a ring of darkness that began to creep over the two of us and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it!
"Filomena, I am afraid that we...have made a terrible mistake." I could barely hear the last two words. But I did hear them.
A terrible mistake. Un terribile errore.
"What mistake?" I shook my head slowly. I was certain that we had done absolutely nothing wrong. We had married and we had promised to love each other as long as both shall live.
And now it came.
"Fi, I'm afraid that my father has brought to me this letter from the Papal offices in Rome." He cleared his throat. "The letter is an official missive, meaning, it transcends any other decision by any other diocese in Italy." I was getting irritated. Who cared about some Papal missive? Why had his father brought it here? What about it could give Giovanni reason to cry and carry on like this?
"G, please tell me what you mean about we made a mistake. What mistake? We've never made a mistake!"
"We did Fi," he said, is face crumpling. "We got married when..." he squeezed his eyes shut. "When my previous marriage was not officially...annulled."
My eyes swelled. My lungs felt like they were going to collapse. My ears were burning because... G had just said the words, "previous marriage." Matrimonio precedente. "You...were...married before?" My voice sounded dull and deadly to me, as if a squall had swept through my throat.
He shook his head up and down. "Yes, but I think when I explain it to you, Fi, I know you will understand, you will agree that..."
I covered my ears and I screamed as loud as I could. "YOU NEVER TOLD ME THAT YOU WERE MARRIED BEFORE YOU NEVER TOLD ME!" I stood, I covered my mouth with one hand and I started pacing. Each direction I faced was unsuitable, unacceptable, every which way I turned I was caged. Caged by my own rage.
He stood and tried to take me in his arms.
"Oh no! Just go away!" I held both arms out to shield myself from him. And when he got close I shoved him away with both hands as hard as I could. If I had held a club at that moment, I would have bludgeoned him, I swear I would have!
"Fi, you've got to let me explain."
I was crying now, I wasn't sure how I was going to continue. I stood there, my life force pouring out of me. I looked up at him with dead eyes.
"Fi I married when I was 18, so so young. And my wife got pregnant right away, she was only 17. And she had something awful happen during the pregancy, she had what the doctor says amounts to a stroke, and the baby died, and she became..."
We stood there. I stared at him. He stared at his feet.
"She is in a coma that the doctors say could last forever. For the rest of her life, however long that is..." Here he raised his eyes, his pathetic eyes, to me. "And it could be a very very long time!"
I stood there. I could see the ocean and the peaks of whitecaps. I felt like I was growing distant from Giovanni already. I felt like he was receding from me. Meanwhile I needed food, or water, desperately.
"Father Crudele sought an annulment in the province of Reggio Calabria and the priests there were unanimous that I deserved the annulment, they agreed that no one my age should be saddled in marriage with a woman who is barely alive."
Here he held out the letter that he still carried in his hand. "But my goddamn father refused to accept the idea that I would remarry. He insisted I had an obligation to Loretta. That I shouldn't get an annulment, so he went all the way to Rome and...he prevailed."
I was a statue. I was gazing at Giovanni and I was trying to listen to all of his words. I heard exactly what he was saying. It all made perfect sense.
But somehow it didn't penetrate my skull.
A minute ago, my life was full and happy and completely rational. And now, somehow, it was ravaged. My marriage was a falsehood. Giovanni could never be my husband. He should never have asked me to marry him. He had absolutely no right. He had a wife, a living breathing human being lying in some fancy bed up in Tuscany. A woman being cared for by someone not unlike me or my mother.
I sank onto the settee. "I will pack my things," I said in a tiny voice. "Some things at least. I will leave this afternoon. As soon as...I have... something to eat."
Turning, I gazed at Giovanni. Our eyes met. But quickly I looked away, as I realized we would not be meeting again.
Never again would we share a bed. Or a meal. Or poetry.
Nothing.
Never. Would I see him. Again.
I picked myself up off the settee. I felt like I was crumbling in on myself. I crossed my arms over my middle and headed quickly out of the bedroom.
I would go see Giuseppi, and he would give me something to eat.
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