I give my dear Nunzi all the credit. Leave it to her to come up with something that resembled a solution.
When she first suggested the plan to me one afternoon in September, over provolone and bread and espresso (I could tolerate coffee once again) I wasn't altogether sure.
But here at least was a way that I knew the baby could live. I was relieved that there was no fear of the ruota. No terror at the thought that the baby would land in the ospizia, where he would feed on a wet nurse who carried disease -- disease that would kill my precious baby in only a matter of months.
Back to Nunzi. After my "resurrection" in the ocean that morning, I started visiting my friend regularly again. She fed me homemade pizza and lagane e cici (lagane pasta with chickpeas.) Very occasionally -- and Mama always was invited too -- we ate delicous frittole e curcuci -- fried donuts, served with a long-simmering mixture of every part of the pig that wasn't already used, including the neck, cheeks, kidneys, snout, tongue, ears, belly and everything else.
By May, I was starting to eat for two, and Nunzi -- and Giovanni -- came through for me. He knew that I was seeing Nunzi, so he started to have one of his employees buy and deliver food to her so she could cook for me. I began eating a ton of fresh fish, and lots of salami, including the spicy sopresata and njuda.
I was about half-way through my pregnancy, when I finally agreed to see Giovanni once in a while. We would talk at the kitchen table, or sometimes I agreed to meet him at the beach.
A few times in the summer, he had Giuseppi pack a picnic lunch and we took it to our rocks. On the very last day of July, a really lovely summer day, not too hot and absolutely no clouds, he arrived with the picnic basket. He asked me to bring my journal and I hesitated. I hate to say it but I hadn't been writing at all. I certainly didn't want to admit that to him but I think he knew. He really pushed me that day so grudgingly, I brought the journal along.
After lunch, I lay back against the rocks and closed my eyes, as I was getting used to taking naps in the afternoon.
I don't think I'd been sleeping very long when I opened my eyes again.
He was watching me. He smiled. I looked away. "Fi, I have a surprise for you."
I didn't want gifts from him. "Please, Giovanni, you know I don't want your gifts."
"Oh I'm sure it isn't."
"Please close your eyes."
I did.
"OK now open."
When I did I think my eyes actually swelled, in spite of me! I was beyond delighted. Because in his hands was a slender box with a set of four gorgeous glass pens of different colors! The glass handles were twirled. Giovanni had told me about these pens once, saying that they were fashioned on the island of Murano, near Venice. Each one had a metal tip.
In his other hand was a bottle of lovely dark blue ink.
And as if that were not enough, he had two brand new leather journals in his lap!
Giovanni knew me well. Dangling those pens -- and the ink and the journals -- in front of me was like offering a selection of fine sausages to a hungry dog!
I didn't say a word but I reached one hand out, and he picked up the green pen, glittering in the sunlight, and laid it carefully into my hand. And then he handed me the ink. He set the journals aside.
"I think it's time that we write for a while. What do you say Fi?" What could I say? Actually, I didn't say a thing. But I opened my journal to a clean page, right after that chunk of pages that I had torn out in my rage back in March.
I wrote:
"I am more than half-way finished with my pregnancy. I am not sick to my stomach anymore, but now I am so worried about what will happen to the baby. I would rather die than have to slip him into the ruota! I'm sitting here in the sand with Giovanni. He seems to have gained some weight but he still doesn't look well. I keep telling myself that somehow there will be a miracle and I will be able to keep my baby.
"I gaze out at the sea! The most beautiful turquoise water. The pen in my hand is exquisite. It comes from Murano and it is made of glass. I don't want any more gifts from Giovanni but how can I say no to these pens and this ink?
"I should say thank you to him. But I'm still so angry. I'm not even sure who I'm angry at exactly. Sure, Giovanni lied to me and so he is at fault for our getting married. But I'm also angry at the stupid priest for telling Giovanni he could get an annullment in Reggio-Calabria.
"And when I am fully honest, I'm angry at myself too for not being more careful. Or suspicious. I was speaking to Nunzi a couple of weeks ago, saying that part of me had a vague feeling G wasn't telling me the full story. But I didn't want to push anymore. I didn't want to wait anymore.
"Oh, what's the point of rehashing all of this? THERE IS NO POINT AT ALL!!"
"What's so funny Fi?"
"Oh nothing."
He was staring at me, and I didn't want him to.
"Look, Giovanni, thank you so much for this pen. Why don't you keep the others for your..."
"NO, Fi, absolutely not. I got these for you for..."
He stopped. He sniffled once and then continued.
"I got these as a wedding present and I've been waiting for them to come..."
"Oh no, then I don't want them. Nope. Take them back. Give them to.." I set the pen back into the box. My fingers were covered in ink. "Quite honestly, I don't care who you give them to!"
We sat there uncomfortably. Then he spoke in a kind of deadly tone. "You know Fi you really can be cruel sometimes. I was hoping we were coming to some kind of a...a truce. But you just won't let go of your anger, will you?"
I shot back. "Should I?" I stood up and set one hand on my belly which seemed to be swelling bigger every day. "I kind of have a constant reminder don't I?"
Tears erupted. That happened so easily when I was pregnant. I would cry when I saw a new puppy. Or one day, when I noticed an old crippled woman who was blind and begging in the street.
Suddenly there was a fleeting sensation, a kind of quivering inside my belly. It had happened a couple of other times this past week. Each time, it was like a tiny river wiggling inside my belly. It happened so fast I wasn't sure what it was. When I asked Mama, she smiled and said, "that is your baby swimming inside you, doing a somersault, una capriola, to show you that he is alive!"
But now it was a swoop, and a dive, and it made me gasp out loud in surprise. I set my hand under my belly. I smiled. And laughed. I looked at Giovanni. I had to tell him.
"The baby is moving," I said. He got up onto his knees. I know he wanted to touch my belly, to feel the movement for himself, but I just couldn't allow him to do that.
Standing there, however, I realized again that it made no sense to hold onto my resentment and anger. I sank back onto the sand. Would it be so terrible to take this gift? These were the most beautiful pens I could imagine. And I owed him so much, in terms of my writing. I wouldn't have nearly the confidence I have now as a writer if it weren't for his constant encouragement.
"Thank you for buying these stunning pens for me Giovanni. And thank you too for the ink and the new journals. I am sorry for being so difficult. I will accept these gifts in the spirit in which they were given."
And then, just when I thought I was feeling upright and happy, another dark thought shot across my mind. "Here, now, in this pen, is evidence that you were very very briefly the wife of a wealthy man. These glass pens would be so easily broken, just like your marriage was broken, smashed..."
I shook my head back and forth, trying to dislodge the ugly thought.
"It's time we got back," I said.
"Must we already?" he asked.
"Yes, I ought to help Nunzi with dinner."
That of course was a completely silly excuse. I was beginning to be able to lie so easily.
Later that night, when I showed Nunzi the pens, I explained how I was torn about accepting them. And I told her why, because they were a belated wedding present. I told her I was still so angry.
"Fi, you ought to be looking forward not backward. There is nothing to be gained gazing into the past."
She was right of course. The problem was I had no idea what I was gazing at looking forward. I was going to say that but I had said it over and over again. No need to say it once more.
I let Nunzi have the last word. "You should also try to fill yourself with gratitude," she said. "Thank the Good Lord, and Mother Mary, that you are so healthy."
I didn't say it, but Nunzi's advice didn't really impress me. I couldn't say exactly what I had to be grateful for.
*****
And then came September. The best and the worst news I have ever had came in the same week, only a few days separating them.
The bad news came on a Tuesday. I remember I was staying at Nunzi's as she and her husband were visiting a cousin of his down south near Amantea, where her husband's family originated.
I was in charge of the three boys (the new baby, Lucio, born at the end of July, accompanied Nunzi, of course, as she was nursing.) She and her husband were only going to be away for three days and that's good because I was exhausted. Even though Nunzi had prepared some meals ahead of time, I had to run after the next to youngest.
He was no longer napping, so there was no resting in the afternoon. And as soon as the first light broke outside the window in the morning, Vicenzo would pop up from his bed, a little bundle of energy, and the next thing I knew he was standing in front of me, shaking me awake. "Fi fi, please get up. Oh Fi Fi, che fame. Oh so so hungry I am. Please feed me my breakfast, oh che fame io, so hungry!"
He had a wild head of black curls, and Nunzi's impish smile. I adored Vicenzo, but pulling myself out of bed at this early hour was tough. I did though and prepared him some cooked farina, with a squirt of honey. The older boys were difficult to wake up. The older boy, I took him a cup of coffee. And the middle son, Lorenzo, who was nine, I tickled him awake.
Anyway, as I said, it was a Tuesday. In the middle of the morning, I told Vicenzo that we would walk over to my house to see Mama (who always had a treat for him), but first I had to do some laundry. I scrubbed away, relying on the washboard, and rinsed and hung up a few things.
We were getting ready to take our walk when suddenly there was a knock on the door. When I answered, it was Mama!
"Oh Vicenzo and I were just coming to visit you," I said.
Mama had been crying.
"What's wrong? Are you ill Mama?" She didn't look ill. "Please, Mama, please tell me!"
"Sit down Filomena." I did. Vicenzo climbed onto my lap and set his curls on my chest. Mama wasted no time.
"Tullio and Edoardo came a few minutes ago. They carried this letter."
I stared at her, not comprehending. I took the enveloped and slipped out the letter. It was in Giovanni's handwriting, but it wasn't quite right; he might have written it when he was tired. I hadn't seen him for a few weeks, and the last time I saw him, he looked pale again.
The letter was dated September 5, 1870, just the day before.
"Dear Filomena, You know that I haven't been well for some time. I have been feeling more ill lately, and a few days ago, I began vomiting blood. Earlier today the doctor came and he said that things do not look good for me. I would so much like to see you again, as soon as possible my dear wife. Your ever adoring husband, Giovanni."
Beieve it or not, the first thing I reacted to was those stupid words "wife" and "husband." How dare he call me his wife, and himself my husband! I sat there fixated on those words, because I so hated to be reminded of that story of pain that I had endured. The one that was over but still felt like it was neverending.
But that silliness only lasted a few moments. My stupidity went out the window, and the sky came crashing in. Giovanni was dying. Giovanni wanted to see me again before he...died!
I looked up at Mama, who was sobbing into her hanky. "I am so so sorry Filomena. Mi dispiace così tanto!!!"
I was frozen. I had known Giovanni was ill, but I hadn't ever considered the idea that he might be near death. At my young age of 18, I didn't fully realize how tenuous life is for each and every one of us. No one is guaranteed another day, no matter how old he or she is.
Vicenzo, seeing my mother crying, pushed himself off my lap and went quietly over to Mama, who he called Nonna Lucia, and he patted her tenderly on the shoulder.
"Non piangere," he said over and over. "Don't cry. My mama will be home tomorrow, you'll see! Non piangere Nonna Lucia. La mia mamma tornerà a casa domani, vedrai!"
Meanwhile, I was a statue. All that Giovanni had said hadn't sunk in yet. I only knew one thing. I had to get to San Lucido as quickly as possible.
"But I need to stay with the children," I said to Mama.
"No, you need to go to San Lucido, I will stay with the children."
"And how should I get there?"
"You are to go in an hour from now to the village square, where a carriage will be waiting."
And so, I removed Nunzi's apron and with my dress still wet from doing laundry, I hurried from Nunzi's and headed straight for the square, for the fountain, where I had first waited for Giovanni so many lifetimes ago!
****** I know it's going to sound like I am cold-hearted but when I first arrived at Giovanni's bedside, I didn't want him to hold my hand. And I didn't move to embrace him at all. I just sat there trying to take in what was happening.
For one thing, G's face was not the face I knew. It was dripping wet with sweat. And his color was ghastly. The skin of his face was the color somewhere between a lemon and a lime, or the two fruits, combined.
But he was able to speak.
"You were good to come Fi...so quickly," he said. He ran his tongue back and forth over his lips.
"I am so terribly sorry, Giovanni." I didn't want to be sitting here staring at him. He looked to be on the other side -- the deathly side -- of sickly. It scared me on a very deep level. And like everything else about my relationship with him, this too was never supposed to happen!
"I know you are. I am too. Because I wanted to be..." he stopped and I had no idea what he wanted to say, so I just sat there. "I want to be there when you have the baby."
I blinked. And held my breath. I hadn't really been thinking quite that far ahead. I sat there, frozen again. Those moments with him were so much more painful than I realized when I was going through them. I think Nunzi was right when she said that I was in complete denial that morning.
"I know that you care for me very deeply," I said.
He nodded. "I do Filomena." He closed his eyes and for some reason I went back in time to when we first met on the beach. His head of blonde curls. His hair today had been trimmed very close to his head.
I maintained a steady gaze, finally meeting his eyes. I wanted to say that I too cared for him deeply. I was struggling with exactly what to say, though, and then without any warning, he was asleep! Or had he died?
Tullio and Edoardo were just outside his -- formerly our -- bedroom, and I rushed out to get them. Tullio set one hand under Giovanni's nose, and felt him breathing.
"This happens," Tullio said. "He will be talking and then he suddenly drops off."
So we three sat there waiting for him to wake up again. I had time to let my eyes circulate around the room. The salmon colored walls. The white satin wallpaper. All the exquisite handmade furniture. It stirred up bad, and sad, feelings.
Giovanni called out. "Please don't hate me Fi!" he screamed, and I stood up and leaned over him. But his eyes were closed, and soon his mouth hung open and his nose must have been blocked because he began snoring.
I sat there for several hours. I'm not sure how long exactly. At some point, Tullio forced me to go downstairs to the dining room where Giuseppi had prepared a small feast for me and Tullio. Edoardo had already eaten, and now he was going to sit beside Giovanni while the two of us ate.
"So his father isn't coming?" I said, in between bites of a delicate pasta with butter and capers, lemon and parsley.
"Ha, are you kidding? Giovanni didn't have too much to say after the doctor talked to him but he did say that he forbid me to inform his father that he was ill...and...dying!"
We sat in silence, eating. It was pitch black outside.
Finally Tullio spoke. "Fi, Giovanni has left you a sizable inheritance in his will. The details are still being finalized but..." I turned to stare at him. "But we are not married, Tullio, there is no..." "Fi, you've got to stop your foolishness," Tullio said, interrupting, and for the first time since I have known him, he sounded impatient with me. "You know very well that if Giovanni had any choice in the matter, the two of you would still be husband and wife. And of course, he loves that baby you are carrying..." Tullio shook his head slowly and sadly, side to side. His lips were pressed together. And then he lifted his cloth napkin to his eyes and dabbed at them.
His emotion kindled something in me. It was at that moment, I started to know in my body that I was losing Giovanni. I cannot explain it exactly, but looking back, it must have been the combination of eating and then feeling the depth of Tullio's sadness.
I knew something else. I knew that I had to get back upstairs because there was something I had to tell Giovanni. So I told Tullio, and the two of us went back upstairs. Tullio let me go in alone, however.
Edoardo was happy to give up the chair there beside Giovanni's bed. He was still asleep, but I made the decision: I would remain by his side until he woke up again. I was a bit panicked thinking he might not. I began to pray to Mary.
He woke up after about an hour. He looked very serene (and later I learned that was because the doctor had boosted his dosage of morphine, to make G more comfortable.)
Now I took hold of his bony hand, and squeezed it gently between my own hands. "I love you Giovanni," I said, whispering close to his ear.
When I sat up again, he was smiling a weaker version of that charming smile of his, the one I'll always hold in my heart.
"Mille grazie," he said, and he kept repeating those two words over and over again.
"Giovanni, I heard that you very generous to me in your will," I said. "You didn't have to do that."
"Oh. Yes. Of course I did," he said. And now his brow furrowed. He looked upset. "Oh would you please get Tullio?"
So I did, and Tullio took the chair on the left, and a nurse brought a chair for me on the right.
Giovanni had his eyes closed, but he opened them. "Tullio, I must ask you... to do something very important for me... quickly." His voice was listless. "Anything, G." "My father has his ways...and...his lawyers. Bastards, all of them. There must be no way that he can... interfere with my will..." He dropped off again, and I looked at Tullio. Fear rose up in me. But he opened his eyes again. "You and I must work together Tullio, quickly..." We sat, waiting. When he spoke next, his words came out in a rush: "You must prepare a letter... for me to sign. We must withdraw all the cash from my bank account in Cosenza. All of it for Filomena...a new account for her." He was breathless by the end.
I started to sweat. The air all around me felt warm and sticky, like it was hard to breathe it in. I felt lightheaded too. And on top of it all, the baby was kicking. I picked up the hem of my dress and wiped my face. And it was almost as if I wiped off the last bit of pretense. I was fully exposed now.
Tears bubbled up. I leaned over G from the right side, and rested my face there, and just let the tears soak into his chest. I remember all the nights I had rested here, mended to him, on this side of the bed, after the wedding.
I heard G say: "Tullio please...do this right away."
Tullio scurried off. And I cried and sat with G well into the night. I didn't want to leave him but Edoardo said I had to sleep, if not for me, then for the baby. He promised me on his life that if G seemed to worsen, he would wake me right away.
I went into another bedroom and lay down and pulled up a cotton blanket and was instantly asleep. I slept well into the morning. When I woke, the sun was up; I wasn't sure in the very first instant where I was, and then I knew and I hurried into G's room.
He was asleep and had one hand covering the other on his chest. I sat down. I felt a sore throat coming on. Soon a young woman I didn't know brought me coffee and a pastry and some water on a tray.
Tullio came in a little later with the letter G had to sign. And when G woke up next, Tullio held the pen in his hand and together, they signed his name in a childish scrawl.
All I could think about was how many times I had seen G writing like a demon, the words pouring out of his pen and filling up a pile of paper.
Giovanni passed away later that day. I stayed with him until late at night. I would have stayed until the next morning but Tullio and Edoardo insisted I leave him. They helped me up, and helped me walk, because I had started crying so hard that I couldn't talk and I felt like all of me was melting into the floor.
********* The funeral was a very small affair. There was no family at all, unless of course you count me as Giovanni's family. When I said this to Tullio, he got annoyed with me again.
"Of course you are his family Filomena. For heaven's sake, you are making his flesh and blood come alive inside you!"
I didn't know the priest who said the funeral Mass. I was just so glad it wasn't Father Crudele.
Both Tullio and Edoardo spoke at the end of the service, and then I said a few words. I didn't want to, at least not at first, because I said it would be too difficult for me not to cry. But then Edoardo said to me, "Do you think it's easy for us Filomena? Tullio and I have been friends with G for decades, since we met on the playground in the fourth grade!"
The night before the funeral, I went for a walk at dusk on the beach in Paola. The waves were crushing high and white, far up on the shore. My feet sank deeply into the sand as I walked. Suddenly I found myself talking to Giovanni.
"I can still remember meeting you right here on the beach. You were carrying a large leather notebook and immediately I wanted to know whether you were a writer or an artist. I started to fall in love with you at that very moment G. You were so tall, and with those blonde curls. I looked back after we passed each other and I could see that you were staring at me. So maybe you fell in love with me that day too."
"There are all kinds of love stories, Giovanni, but the kind we had was very special, full of drama and writing and your kindness to me. And there were so many months when I thought for sure I would never see you again. And now...
Suddenly it hit: the realization that this time, I really would never see him again. I started to sob, and I hurried forward on the beach.
All I could think was, "how can I possibly get up there to say anything if I just break down crying?"
Then I realized that no one would expect anything different of me. In fact, they might think it odd if I didn't start crying.
With that in mind, I went back home and wrote down what I was going to say in my journal. I took that with me to the funeral. When it was my turn to speak, I I started by holding up the journal. I told those gathered that Giovanni had bought me the journal, and four beautiful glass pens from Venice. "He taught me what it means to be a writer. And he gave me the confidence to express my thoughts."
Then I read what I had written in my journal. When I got to the part about what I would remember, I ended by saying. "I will always remember him as the first man that I fell in love with. And the man who has given me my first baby." I started crying then, very softly. I squeezed my eyes shut.
"I will never forget you, my darling Giovanni. As long as I am alive, you will be alive within me!"
After we went to the cemetery, all of us went to the house, where Giuseppi laid out a beautiful meal. I didn't feel at all like eating, at least not when I first got there. But Mama convinced me to sip some Prosecco, and before I knew it, I was feeling more relaxed. And then I was famished. I filled my plate with baked cod covered with bread crumbs, and pasta with pesto and fresh tomatoes, along with a couple of different salads. And then I looked around: where is he? Where is Giovanni? For a moment I had actually forgotten! But when I remembered, I felt the tears coming down. Mama saw me and guided me to a table. "Mangia, Filomena. Stai mangiando per due! You are eating for two!"
For dessert, Giuseppi had made olive oil cake with whipped cream and a delicious chocolate tiramisu because, he told me, "those were Signore Giovanni's favorite sweets, that is, besides you, Filomena!" He took me in his arms and hugged me tightly.
Soon after I ate dessert, all of my energy began to drain out of me, as if I were a sink and someone had pulled the plug. I hugged Tullio and Edoardo and Giuseppi again, and a few others I had known at the villa, and then I let Mama lead me out of the house into a carriage that was waiting there for us. I slept soundly until about 5 a.m. When I woke, it was still dark. The baby was moving around like crazy. Maybe he missed Giovanni too.
And then I remembered something else that troubled me: I still had no idea how I was going to keep my son (because I had decided it was a boy) out of the ospizia. The thought weighed heavily on my heart.
Little did I know, but the wheels of fate had started to turn, and very soon, I would have the answer I sought!
******* Mama has a saying, which pertains specifically to a baby being born. "Always women are waiting at the end, dying to know when their babies will come. Well they should realize one thing: the ripe pear when it's ready, falls from the tree."
In other words, everything in its time.
And that wisdom of my mother's applied to my baby's fate as well.
The day after Giovanni's funeral, I felt as though I was, as I told Mama, "good for nothing." I was too tired to move. And too sad to think straight.
So she told me she would sit with me and keep my company while she crocheted some lacy thing she was making.
"Take a nap, Fi," she said in the morning. I tried, but even though I felt tired, I was too distraught to fall asleep. I got up, and Mama made me a cup of chamomile tea, which is supposed to be relaxing.
As we were sitting together, drinking the tea, Nunzi arrived with Vincenzo riding on her hip.
Mama offered her tea but N asked for coffee, and so Mama made a pot of espresso and poured three cups. She pulled out some provolone and bread.
And then, as Nunzi stirred a bit of milk into her cup, she said something which almost made me fall off my chair.
"You have?"
"Yes, I think so. When we were down in Amantea, my husband's cousin Maria Sonobuona introduced me to this farmer's wife, a lovely lady named Adelina. She has four grown sons, and one age 11 and one six or seven and then suddenly, she became pregnant earlier this year. She is due to deliver her baby just about the time you do, in late October, or early November."
Mama apparently knew all about this. She was sitting in her chair, and when I glanced at her, I saw her staring at me. She looked...well, she looked worried.
"I'm not sure I understand Nunzi. Why does she want my baby, I mean, doesn't she have her hands full with all of her own kids?"
"Well, yes and no. She and her husband have an olive orchard, and a few goats and pigs and horses and chickens, and they make cheese and olive oil and they sell pork. But as my husband and I know so well, it is very hard to support a family on an olive orchard or a farm. Giovanna and I were talking, I liked her so much, Fi, you would too, she is sweet and smart and thoughtful and rather artistic. Like your Mama, she makes cotton lace -- the designs are all her own, and they are intricate and beautiful."
"I don't understand Nunzi. Please explain to me what you are thinking." I could feel a knot growing in my throat. I didn't want to have to think about this. I didn't want to think about another woman actually taking my baby.
Nunzi inhaled. "OK, well so I got to talking with Giovanna, as I said, and I mentioned that my best friend -- la mia migliore ragazza -- is facing a really difficult situation. I explained what had happened to you and then I said to her, "My friend's baby may unfortunately have to go to the ospizia."
I waited. Frankly, I was getting a bit impatient with Nunzi. And angry, too.
"Yes, and so?"
"Well, so Giovanna was very sympathetic. We both agreed the answer would be for someone who was having a baby at the same time to take...yours too."
"But why would she do that Nunzi?"
Nunzi shrugged and laughed. "Because, Fi, you silly girl. Because she would be...paid." She stared at me closely, to see my reaction I guess. "And what is ironic is that this conversation with her came just about the same day that you found out...that...G was leaving you a boatload of lira."
Finally I understood. Yes, how silly of me. Of course. It made sense that this woman would do this heroic thing for money. But then I thought about it some more...
"This woman, Nunzi, I'm sorry, but will she love my son, Nunzi? Just because I pay her?"
"I think if you find the right woman, and this woman Giovanna would be ideal, Fi, because she is a very special human being, very spiritual. And several of her children are grown. The grown ones eat a ton of food, however, as they are all working hard on the farm."
"I see." I shook my head. Actually, I really didn't quite see it. I felt like I should like this idea, because this was indeed a way to sidestep the ospizia. But this woman couldn't possibly love my baby the way I would. And I was feeling really angry all of sudden, angry that I should have to deal with this.
Mama spoke up at that moment, and it was almost as though she had read my mind. "Filomena, when Nunzi presented me with this idea a few days ago, I must say that I was not sure at all. Because, like you," she said, speaking slowly and carefully, "I kept thinking how can you pay someone to love your child? It's impossible. But then after living with the idea for the last three or four days, I started to warm up to it a little bit. So maybe you must give it some time."
Nunzi spoke. "I'm telling you Fi when you meet Giovanna," she caught herself. "Please excuse me, Fi, if you meet her, I promise you will find yourself falling in love with her, as I did! There is a certain quality about her. She is loved all over Amantea because she is forever coming to the aid of others, mothers, children, old folks, newlyweds, anyone in need."
I nodded. "OK, well." I inhaled deeply. "I think...I think I must meet her." I too spoke slowly. I rested my hands on my belly which was starting to stick out like a rounded shelf. Here it was almost the middle of September and I was due to deliver sometime in early November. The midwife, who I had seen a few weeks before said she wouldn't be surprised if the child came in late October.
At that moment, my baby spoke the only way he can: by squirming! He swims excitedly across my belly, my very pregnant belly -- la mia pancia molto incinta!! And he pokes his limbs out, too.
"Oh, there he goes," I said, and held Mama's hand on the side where I felt what I thought could be his elbow. Or the heel of his foot.
"Oh, il tallone!" Mama said, and a big smile widened across her face.
"Let me feel," Nunzi squealed. But the baby had shifted. "Oh well, I guess next time then."
"Yes, of course, next time." I turned to face Nunzi. "I just want to say thank you for doing all this for me." I paused. "I'm sorry if I am not more...grateful. It's just that..." here now tears were starting. "I don't want to think about anybody else with my...my baby."
Nunzi stood up and bent over and wrapped her arms around me. "Oh Fi, of course you don't, Fi. I understand. This is so awfully hard for you." Then she crouched down in front of me. "But remember Fi, this is how we are going to save the baby! You have to focus on that, sweetie! You must!" She reached her hands out to me and I took them.
I shook my head showing her I understood. But still, my tears wouldn't stop. They were tears for my baby, but also for the husband I had lost.
Now I felt thoroughly exhausted. Mama told me I should lay down again, and I did and this time, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was feeling better.
I realized that my dear Nunzi had figured out a way to save my little boy!
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