Every time Nunzi visits me, she tells me to get out of bed, "For God's sake, Fi. Do something!" she screams.
I went back to bed the day after my baby was torn away from me six weeks ago. I had him with me for just over two months, until January 6th, which just happened to be the Epiphany.
Pasquale and I were staying with Lina and her family, and I will be forever grateful for that precious time. For those weeks, I felt like I was living in a nest, protected and filled with unspeakable love. Lina lined the hayloft with warm blankets and the baby and I slept there. I nursed him whenever he whimpered. I cradled him against my heart, especially when he woke in the middle of the night.
This time with my baby was a gift from God, but then, when it was over, and Nunzi said it was time for me to go back to Paola, and leave Pasquale behind with Lina, I was of a completely different mind! It felt like I had descended into some special kind of hell. The morning that Lina came to the barn, in Nunzi's company, and Nunzi said to me in a low voice, "OK Filomena my dear friend, it is time," I felt like someone was taking a knife to me. I was about to be carved -- my heart was being sliced out of my chest, leaving a gaping wound, a wound that would never heal!
It took both Lina and Nunzi to pry the baby from my arms. I screamed when they finally wrenched him free from the last grasp of my fingers. Lina swept the baby out of the barn and I tried to follow; Nunzi was attempting to steer me toward the cart, but I collapsed into the hay and stayed there on my knees wailing at the top of my lungs. I thought the pain of it would rip me apart. What was left of me without my beloved child? How could I possibly live, minus my beating heart? I cradled my arms around my chest, and lay curled in a fetal position until I fell asleep.
When I woke, Nunzi was there, waiting, keeping me company. I knew we had to leave, but I didn't think I had the strength to stand.
"I will help you Fi," she said finally, and that set me crying again. I sat up and held my wet face in my hands and rocked back and forth saying "voglio mio bambino, voglio mio bambino!" each and every time.
It was a fiercely windy day, and we were wrapped in scarves and shawls pulled tight to our shoulders and heads. By the time we arrived at my house, three hours later, I was cold, exhausted and numb.
"Fi," Nunzi whispered, "do you want me to come inside?"
I stared into my lap. I remained silent. I didn't care what she did. I didn't care what happened to me.
Already my breasts were burning, hot and so hard, filled with milk with no infant to feed.
After waiting for a reponse for a few minutes, she came around and helped me down from the cart and pushed me toward the house, where Mama was waiting. "Oh Fi," Mama said taking me into her arms. "My poor girl. Thank you Nunzi, for all that you've done."
That was six weeks ago. It is now February 13th.
I just keep counting and counting. I count the days since he was born on November 3rd. He is 102 days old today. I count the days since I last saw him: 38. I get up every two or three days and I wash myself. I eat whenever Mama brings me a plate.
She stands there staring at the floor. She waits patiently until I stop screaming, and then she says it -- the same thing to me, over and over again.
I sob. I whisper. "But what kind of life is this? Huh Nunzi? What am left with? Nothing, nothing. NIENTE! I have no reason to live anymore. I am done for."
Then Nunzi sits down next to me on the bed, and if I let her, she feeds me soup or pastina. When she leaves, Mama takes over nursing me. Every chance I get, I go back to bed, and sink as low as I can under my coverlet.
For weeks this has been going on. I never get up to eat. Why should I? Mama cooks me an egg every few days. Other days she brings me a small block of cheese, some dried anchovies, an orange.
"Oh please Fi," she begs, "you are getting so thin. Please for my sake please. Mangia!"
Yesterday morning, she made panettone, which I adore. She brought me a thick slice, while it was still warm. She had slathered it in butter. She sat on the bed beside me while I chewed. Slowly. Slowly, I swallowed. And drank the warm coffee she had prepared.
"Now doesn't that taste good?" Mama asked, her eyes shining brightly.
I managed a smile. I nodded my head. I gazed at my dear mother. I reached out to touch her face. She took my hand in both of hers. And pressed my hands to her face. That's when I collapsed again in tears. I thought about the baby and started crying so hard, I began choking, and soon I felt the panettone might come up my throat.
"Oh Fi, I am so so afraid for you," Mama said, after I had stopped gagging. I fear that you will take ill if you don't come alive again. How can you possibly live if you don't eat?" I don't say it, but what I think is, 'If I'm fortunate I WILL get sick, and whatever it is, I pray that it may it kill me, put me out of my misery!"
Now, tonight, Nunzi has let herself in. I am pretending to be asleep. I see that she is shrouded in a huge cape that goes all the way to the floor. The thunder and lightning crack and crack and the light floods my bed. Nunzi drapes her wet cloak over the door.
She doesn't speak. She drags a kitchen chair into the bedroom, places it next to my bed, turns it to face me and she sits. She brings her face up close to my head. I am turned toward the wall.
"Filo," she whispers. "Please wake up. This is a miracle I am about to share with you. Please wake up now and look at me."
I don't want to open my eyes. The lightning sails down again. The thunder cracks. I keep my face to the grey wall. The thunder cracks again and again.
Nunzi rises. Leans over me. "For the sake of the Virgin Mary, and his son, dear Jesus, would you please sit up and listen to me Filo?" Her tone is sharp. She isn't pleading anymore.
I roll over.
"Sit up!" she commands.
I'm slow to do it. She grabs hold of my hand. "Sit up right now because I have the best news of your life!" She pulls me up. She sits down beside me on the bed.
I study her face. What is she telling me?
Nunzi continues. "When it was time for you to have the baby, I went to the priest. I told him that I would happily sponsor your child, and that I would be honest about raising him. He turned me away. I asked him again just before we went up to Lina's. He said he would never change his mind so I was never to ask him again." She smiles widely. "But now...I don't know how, or why but..."
My heart is racing. I am afraid to think... "What...what are you telling me Nunzi?" I whisper. I hold my hands in prayer against my chest.
"So Fi, it turns out that somebody with a lot of influence, and plenty of money has come forward. And this individual has 'convinced' good old Crudele that it might be wise for Pasquale to grow up near his mother."
There is a moment when I am completely frozen. Incredulous. I know what she is telling me. But I cannot make my body believe it. I just sit there blinking, and shaking my head back and forth.
She takes hold of my shoulders. I am weak, from hunger, but also because I am just so astonished. "And so...he is...he's coming home?" We embrace. I begin sobbing "Oh Nunzi, dear Nunzi, you...did this miracle. My son is...he is coming home!"
Suddenly I hear myself. And then I stand up and throw my arms out to either side and I begin shouting with the joy that is flooding me. I am shouting and then I am shrieking so loud that my throat aches, so loud and hard...that I wet myself. At that moment, Mama rushes in. I clamp my hands over my mouth, crumpling.
Nunzi explains what has happened. Mama opens her arms wide, and I fall into them.
Now the thunder crashes and outside the window, lightning turns the sky white. And then there is another explosion of thunder right overhead. I know this is God, throwing fireworks for me. For us.
"So of course you know he must always live with me, Fi, but that doesn't prevent you from visiting me every day!"
"Oh my dear dear Nunzi I will never be able to thank you enough for this...miracle!"
"Don't worry about thanking me, Fi. What you need to do now is feed yourself! You are wasting away. Eat a good dinner, and get a good night's sleep. Because as soon as the sun rises tomorrow morning, we are on our way, to fetch... our boy!"
When she leaves, I stand at the door watching the sky go white with lightning. And then I sit down at the table and Mama lays out a parade of food. In no time at all she has fixed me chicken broth with pastina, escarole in garlic, anchovies and several slices of bread and cheese. The food goes down slowly, but I manage to eat a good deal. I feel like una balena -- a whale -- as I rise from the table.
And then I go into the bedroom, and kneel down, and pray to the Virgin, thanking her over and over again and asking her to show me what I can do to repay her for this miracle. I fall into bed, and somehow I sleep until six am. When Nunzi arrives, I am dressed and ready.
The painting, "Le Dernier Baiser," (The Last Kiss) is by Charles François Marchal, 1858.
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