A Perfect V.

I sit in the village square, mid-day, in the shade of the awning at the village cafe. The wind blows in from the ocean warm today. I close my eyes, inhale the salty air of the sea and try to let it fill me up. I imagine myself in a sailboat, a huge white sail, sailing toward Greece. In my lap is a giant spool of pink and white cotton thread, and now I open my eyes and set to work again, moving the hook swiftly and steadily in and around the thread, pulling up and looping and tightening, looping and tightening and slowly but surely, a new shape emerges.

I look down and curled at my feet on the dusty cobblestones is my darling kitten, who I call Gemella. Short for Anima gemella. Soulmate. I would hate to think what my life would be like without this sweet little thing with the bright green eyes.

I bless Adelina for giving her to me. Gemella sleeps at my feet every night. And she comes to the square when I sit here, crocheting, talking to neighbors who stop for a few moments to chat.

I bless my nonna, Graciela, for teaching me to crochet, because now it appears that this skill will save me from poverty. And from insanity too.

I crochet from morning to night: just after first light, even before I have my bread and coffee, I pick up the needle, and try not to think about Nunzi's friend Carmela, who is feeding my precious Pasquale.

My throat tightens and I stop, my chin drops, tears begin leaking from the corners of my eyes, but there is no one to tell my troubles to. I take a big breath in and wipe my eyes and begin crocheting again. Slowly but surely a long piece of lace grows out of my fingers. I am proud to say that each piece I produce is graceful, each one more intricate than the last.

And Nunzi, such a businesswoman she's become, lately she has been able to sell my lace to a man in Cosenza who takes them to stores somewhere far up north. Last week, Nunzi brought me a small pile of lira. So proudly she laid the coins on my kitchen table. "How fast can you crochet?" she said, laughing triumphantly. Apparently, the man wants her to come back with more of my lace, which seems to appeal to some faceless women with a lot of money to spare.

All that should make me feel happy. It does, but still, I am in misery.

It has been four months. Nunzi made me agree that I would give the baby up after three months. In the end, she gave me two weeks more. I lived up to my end of the bargain but my heart is still shrivelled.

For 113 days I lived with Adelina. Helped out on the farm, feeding cows and chickens. Baked bread. Washed so many, many diapers, between those of Pia and those of my son. Thankfully I wore a large wrap around my shoulder and chest so that at every moment, I could hold Pasquale folded against my chest.

Those days were the happiest of my life. My heart exploded with love every morning when I opened my eyes to see my baby's dark eyes, his silky olive skin. And then came the day that Nunzi arrived.

March 17th. I was outdoors, sitting on the wall near the well. The spring air was everywhere. Birds making sweet noises. I held Pasquale on my lap, he was facing me, and I tickled his thick belly. Caressing his chins, I laughed and talked to him until he chuckled back at me. Oh did his eyes shine.

It was a sunny morning that day, but still quite cool. And then I heard the dreaded sound. The wheels of the cart, squeaking with rust. I looked up to see Nunzi approaching. She wore a black scarf over her reddish hair and I thought, yes, you have dressed appropriately: for mourning.

"Come sta Filo?" she asked as she pulled the donkey to a halt.

I nodded my head. I considered telling her the truth: terribile! But instead, I just kept nodding and talking to Pasquale, who I had taken to calling Froggy. Ranocchio. "Bongiorno Nunzi," I said, finally forcing myself to look at her with a big fake smile.

I had been over this moment so many many times in my head and now the deadly hour had come.

I scooped up the baby and held him to my shoulder. "I will be only a few minutes packing my things," I said, patting the baby's back.

"Would you like to hold him while I get ready?"

My eyes blurred with tears as I turned to the house. Adelina and Pia greeted me at the door. Adelina saw my tears and caught me by the elbow. "My poor friend!" she whispered. "This isn't fair."

I rushed by her into the house, went straight to my tiny bed in the corner of the living room. I piled Pasquale's things and slipped them into a satchel along with my own few pieces of clothing. I saw Gemella look at me with curious eyes. And then she started purring. Adelina had offered her to me but I had declined, over and over. Now I decided to catch her up in my arms and hold her tight.

I stood at the door, watching Adelina and Nunzi outdoors; they were holding up Pia and Pasquale side by side. Even though he is younger by two weeks, my son is longer and fuller than Pia. No wonder, considering his father is more than six feet tall.

All of a sudden, blood rushed to my face as I thought of Giovanni. I wondered if Vanni ever thinks of me. I wondered if he is ever even a bit curious about his son. Does he even know I had a boy? Closing my eyes I could see his face, and then just as quickly I erased him from my mind. What kind of man abandons the woman he says he loves more than all the stars above?

Quickly, I stepped out into the March sunlight, holding my breath. Nunzi praised me for bringing such a beautiful boy into the world. "He is growing so well." Then she asked if I would rather drive the cart, or hold Pasquale for the trip. My heart started slamming. "I am his mother no matter what happens," I say. "So I will hold him today and any other day I have that chance."

The ride down to Paola took two hours; I wanted to stretch it on forever. Nunzi took us back to her place. The air was cool, but my face was sweating. Pasquale could tell I was nervous, he started to fuss.

"I must feed him," I said to Nunzi, "to calm him down."

Nunzi frowned. "But Filo this must be the very last time," she said. "Carmela has been very patient, but we should not take advantage of her."

"Oh fooey on her," I mumbled, but some other more colorful words came to mind.

Nunzi's eyebrows flew up like two black crows, the way they do when she is irritated. "I have found one of the kindest ladies in all of Italy to care for your little one," she said.

"I know I know, you said so before, more than once!"

"So be grateful Filo. We've managed to keep him out of the foundling home. I have heard just this week of another infant dying there."

I thought maybe she was trying to scare me, and that got me angry, but I was determined not to give into my tears today. As soon as I switched Pasquale to the other breast, I started to say my Hail Mary's and I said them over and over and over again as Nunzi reached for Pasquale.

"All will be well," Nunzi whispered, and I pulled out the rosary that Adelina had given me and I said the rosary, sitting there, crying, barely able to pray as she took him away forever.

That was four months ago, and soon after I gave up the baby, I resurrected my nonna's crochet hook and her cotton thread. It soothed me to sit and wind the thread into fantastic patterns; like nonna, I found I could design the patterns as I worked. After all, I had watched her do it for so many many years.

I kept Gemella close by and at moments when I thought I was going to die for missing my little one, I picked up the white kitten and wrapped her in my arms, and set my face into the fur between her ears. Ah, but that comforted me.

And now that summer has come, I've taken to the town square to work. That old man, Baffo, sips a glass of red wine at the next table. By the middle of the afternoon he is barely able to keep his head up.

And me, I sip a cup of acqua con gas, and a cafe now and then. When I look at the lace this morning, I reaize that it is taking a new shape: I am crocheting something in the shape of a V. And then I realize, this would be beautiful placed against a woman's chest, for a blouse or a fancy nightgown. I smile, wondering how many lira this will fetch.

An hour passes. Baffo is face down on the next table so when I hear the voice at first I am uncertain who is talking to me.

"Filo are you so busy you can't take a moment to speak?"

The crochet hook comes to rest between my fingers. My eyes linger on the lace. Slowly I turn my face to see. Him. My heart comes slamming up my throat. I feel tears gather behind my eyes. I refuse to turn toward him.

"Why...why have you come?" My voice has thorns.

A short laugh. "What, I'm not allowed to visit Paola? I have business here today."

My anger boils over. I turn to him. His jaw is clean shaven, and his blue eyes dance. His blonde curls are thick, but today I want to spit on him. "Like hell you have business here! No, Vanni, I think instead you are the scum of the earth, the cruelest man alive. Now that I've delivered your son, now that I am deep in suffering over my baby, you have come to see me? Bruta!" My anger dissolves in tears. My fingers trembling, I wrap my lace and needle into my satchel and scoop up Gamella. "You my friend can go straight to hell where you belong."

He tried to follow me. I turned. "Don't you dare take another step! I will yell "rape" as loud as I can and someone is sure to arrest you and throw you in jail." He laughs and that just enrages me further. If I had a rock in my hand now I would slam it against his head.

Instead, I just leave him in the square. As I do the bells of St. Frances chime. I'm headed home when instead I decide to go to Nunzi's to tell her of my lace in the shape of a perfect V. And then I see another new shape: I will crochet a short jacket with a plunging neckline and cap sleeves. Something for a bride or a new mother! I lift my head higher and hurry on.