Stella Mia

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “Sarina, you are a smart girl. You can’t deny that you and Carlo come from different worlds. Carlo needs a woman like Gemma by his side. She is accustomed to hosting parties for her father’s business and socializing with wealthy people. She is also her father’s right hand in his business. Gemma could help Carlo with the running of the hotel, especially some day when I am gone. With you as his wife, Carlo would never again be taken seriously as a businessman. You know how quickly gossip spreads. It would become common knowledge in no time that you read tarots and were a singer. Carlo would become a laughingstock. Sarina, do the right thing. If you love Carlo, let him go. How would you feel knowing that you were the cause of the rift between Carlo and his father? How would you feel knowing he lost his rightful inheritance because of you?”

  I want to lash out at Signore Conti, telling him it would be no one else’s fault but his own if he disinherits Carlo. But I can’t because a part of me knows that much of what Signore Conti says is the truth. I’ve always known Carlo and I are from different worlds. Perhaps that is why I’ve had some anxiety about us getting married soon. I always knew that Signore Conti wouldn’t approve of us seeing each other. But Carlo foolishly thought he could convince his father that we were meant to be together and that in time his father would accept our union. I wanted to believe Carlo, but I always knew the reality, probably because I’ve had a lifetime of dealing with harsh truths. Carlo, who is accustomed to a life filled with wealth and opportunity, could afford to be optimistic. He’s never had to deal with hardship as I have. He could afford to dream and believe that a rich boy could marry a poor fisherman’s daughter. I see now how stupid I’ve been to actually believe I could have the life I’d always imagined. These past few months have been nothing more than an illusion—a cruel illusion to show me what life is like for other people, but not for someone like me.

  Without meeting Signore Conti’s eyes, I say in a low voice, “You’ve won. I will leave, but not until Nonna Lucia’s funeral. I want to pay my respects.”

  “That won’t be necessary. The funeral will be just for family and close friends like Gemma and her father.”

  His words sting me. How can I leave before the funeral? How will I explain it to Carlo?

  “I want you to leave immediately. I will have one of the workers drive you to wherever you want to go.”

  “I can’t just leave without saying good-bye to Carlo.”

  “Either you leave now or I call my lawyer to remove Carlo from my will.”

  I nod my head, blinking away tears. Perhaps it is for the best that I don’t see Carlo before I leave. How would I explain to him that I have had a change of heart? He would probably suspect, too, that his father had a hand in it. I think Carlo would be able to see in my eyes that I still love him and am lying if I say I no longer want to be with him. And I don’t think I could take seeing the pain in his face when I tell him I’m leaving.

  “You will have fifteen minutes to pack up your belongings. If you should see Carlo in that time, you are to act like everything is fine.”

  “But what if he asks me why I have my bag of clothes?”

  “Lie. After all, isn’t that what gypsies are good at?”

  With that, Signore Conti storms off.

  I walk quickly to my room and throw the few clothes I brought into my bag. Tears are spilling down my face. I keep telling myself this is for the best. This is better for Carlo. He will have a better life without me. Gemma is the wife he needs, just as Signore Conti said. But all I can think of is that I will never see him again.

  In front of the hotel’s entrance, a car is waiting for me. A man I’ve never seen at the hotel asks me if I’m Sarina and tells me he’ll be driving me. He takes my bag and places it in the trunk before getting behind the steering wheel.

  “Where would you like to go, signorina?”

  I was too distraught to think where I should go. And I’m still in shock.

  “Just take me to the village.”

  I’ll figure out what to do once I get there. Hopefully, my head will be clearer by then.

  As we pull away from the Villa Carlotta, I whisper softly, “Good-bye, Carlo.”

  Moments later, we arrive in the village. I decide to go see Angela and ask the driver to leave me in front of her shop. Before I get out, the driver hands me an envelope.

  “From Signore Conti.”

  I break open the envelope’s seal and glance inside. Money. Frowning, I hand the envelope back to the driver, but he holds up his hand, refusing to take it.

  “Signore Conti told me to tell you it’s your last earnings from when you were employed at the Villa Carlotta.”

  “I still don’t want it. Please, return it to him.”

  The driver places his hand over mine and says, “Signorina, don’t be foolish. Take it even if it is from the devil. Besides, I’m sure you will need it.”

  I pause for a moment. The driver is looking at me with sympathy in his eyes. How much does he know about what happened between Signore Conti and me?

  “Va bene. Thank you for driving me here. Buongiorno.”

  “Arrivederci, signorina. Buona fortuna.”

  After wishing me good luck, the driver waves and drives off.

  There is a line of people inside Angela’s bread shop. I glance at my watch. It is eight in the morning. No doubt the locals are getting their rolls before leaving for work, and tourists who are getting an early start on their sightseeing are grabbing a quick breakfast. I wait until the shop is empty.

  It takes Angela a few moments to notice me. She’s bent down behind the display shelves, replenishing them with more rolls and breakfast pastries. When she stands up, she jumps.

  “Ah! Sarina! You scared me! Why didn’t you say anything? It’s so good to see you.”

  Angela quickly hurries over to the other side of the counter and gives me a hug. That is all I need to break down. I collapse against her, sobbing into her chest and dropping my bag of clothes to the ground.

  “Figlia mia! My poor girl! What has happened?” Angela pats my back while hugging me tightly to her. I try to say something, but can’t. I am shaking so hard.

  “Come behind the counter. I will close the shop for a break. This way we will not be interrupted.”

  I quickly shake my head. “Please, don’t do that. Don’t lose money on my account.” Upon uttering those last words, I can’t help remembering Signore Conti’s words, “How would you feel knowing he lost his rightful inheritance because of you?” And I begin crying hysterically again.

  Angela takes me by the hand and leads me to a little room adjacent to the kitchen. She plops me down into a chair in front of a small café-style table.

  “I will be right back.”

  Placing my forehead in my hands, I try to force myself to stop crying. The tears still slide down my face, but I’ve managed to stop sobbing out loud. After Angela puts the “on break” sign on her door and closes up, she returns, placing an espresso on the table in front of me.

  “Drink this. It’ll help. I added a little something special in there to calm your nerves.”

  I take a sip of espresso and can taste the sambuca liqueur Angela has added. It’s quite strong, but I don’t complain.

  “Grazie, Angela. I’m sorry. I must’ve scared you.”

  “It takes more than a pretty young woman crying to scare me, Sarina!” Angela gives a little laugh. She places her hand over mine and looks at me with concern.

  “If you don’t want to tell me what has upset you so much, I understand. But if you want to ease your burden a bit, I’m here for you.”

  “Thank you, Angela. I’m embarrassed for barging in on you like this in the middle of a busy morning. I didn’t think I would fall apart like that.”

  “It happens to all of us. Don’t be embarrassed.”

  Taking a deep sigh, I tell her everything that has happened in my life since I last saw her. I finish by telling her about Signore Conti’s threats and how I left Carlo w
ithout even saying good-bye.

  “How could I do that, Angela? And right after he has lost his grandmother? He’s going to think I am some heartless woman and that I never loved him. How could I hurt him so much?”

  “You did what you did because you do love him. You don’t want to ruin his relationship with his father as well as cause him to lose his inheritance. I can see how tormented you are over this. But listen carefully to me. If Carlo were anyone other than Silvano Conti’s son, I would’ve told you that you needed to give him the chance to decide whether he was willing to forego his inheritance and even have his father disown him instead of you making the decision for him. But you can rest assured that Silvano Conti is a man of his word. He would not only have made good on his promise to disown and disinherit his son, but he also would have made your life hellish. I could even see him causing problems for his son down the road if Carlo managed to secure the funds to open his own hotel as you said he was hoping to do. Silvano Conti is a proud man and is known for his competitiveness—even with his son. All that man cares about is money and looking good to his business cronies, who are just as crooked as he is.”

  Angela pauses, looks around as if she’s checking to see that we are alone when we both know we are. Angela’s husband, for some reason, is not at work today. She then leans over to me and whispers, “I never told you this because you can’t be too careful, and I assumed you would probably hear of it on your own while you were working at the Villa Carlotta. But something tells me you do not know. It is common knowledge that Signore Conti has ties to the Mafia.”

  As soon as Angela utters this, she again looks around nervously. In Sicily, many people can get quite paranoid where the Mafia is concerned, fearing their phones are bugged and that spies are lurking behind the seemingly friendly faces of neighbors, shopkeepers, even family members. One can never be too careful.

  “How do you think he is funding that new hotel he’s building in Enna?”

  “But the Villa Carlotta does well. He’s had it for so many years.”

  “It does well, but not well enough to pay for the lavish hotel he’s building. It’s supposed to be even grander and bigger than the Villa Carlotta. He has connections everywhere. Even if you and Carlo moved to Lipari, he would have spies reporting back to him.”

  I then remember how Signore Conti told me he knew all along that Carlo and I were traveling through the Aeolian Islands. I also remember how he boasted of his influence.

  “Although you feel like your heart is being ripped out of you, Sarina, you did the right thing. I know it is difficult for you to fully believe that now, but in time, you will see. After all you have been through, you deserve happiness and some peace in your life. You already had a tyrant with your father. You don’t need another one. Though Signore Conti wouldn’t have beaten you as your father did, his controlling ways would have been just as bad. You were so happy when you got the job to sing at the Villa Carlotta that I didn’t want to dampen your spirits. But I was worried all along about your working for the likes of him. It’s known that he treats his employees poorly. I was relieved when you didn’t complain to me about any mistreatment you were receiving from him.”

  “It’s true. He didn’t treat his employees well. But other than insisting I wear a Sicilian folk costume while I performed, he treated me fine. I think that’s because I was bringing in a huge audience with my singing and my tarot card readings. I made him money. I’m sure if I had stopped doing so, he would’ve begun to treat me like the others. He said terrible things to me today. So I believe all that you’re telling me about him.”

  “You can stay with me as long as you like. My husband will understand.”

  “Thank you, Angela, but I will only stay for the night. I just need to rest before deciding where I’ll go.”

  “But where will you go? Surely not back to your father’s?”

  “No. I can’t go back there.” At the thought of my family, I begin crying again. “Carlo asked the police to give my father a warning about beating my mother and my siblings. And he checked in with the police from time to time to make sure my family was okay. Now that I am no longer with him, I will not know how they are.”

  Angela pulls me into her arms.

  “Someday, you will be in their lives again. I’m certain of that.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Right now, Sarina, you must worry about yourself. Please, reconsider staying with me.”

  I shake my head. “I cannot take advantage of your kindness. Besides, this is too close to Carlo. Though I love Taormina, I can’t stay here. I would run into him, and he would know I was lying about my reasons for leaving. I love him too much to hide my true feelings. The sooner Carlo forgets about me, the better for him.”

  “Do you need money? I can give you some.”

  “No. I have enough to keep me going for a little while. I’m sure I’ll be able to secure work, even if it’s just reading people’s fortunes until I can get something steadier.”

  “Will you return then to Lipari?”

  I think for a moment before answering. “That would be the first place Carlo would look for me. Too many memories are there. No, I need to start fresh, somewhere I’ve never been with Carlo.”

  I think about all the Aeolian Islands we visited. Maybe I should head west and stay on the island of Sicily instead of going back to the Aeolian Islands. But I still hold hope that I can secure work that will allow me to provide more for my mother and siblings. That someday I can rescue them from my father. I cannot bear the thought of going too far from them.

  I then remember that Carlo and I didn’t visit all of the seven Aeolian Islands. We never visited Alicudi or Salina. From what Carlo told me, Alicudi is even more remote than Filicudi. I’d never be able to find work there, and since hardly any tourists visit the island, I wouldn’t even be able to give tarot readings. I would have a better chance in Salina.

  After spending the night in Angela’s apartment above her bread shop and promising her that I will write so she’ll know I am okay, I take a bus to Milazzo, where I catch the ferry to Salina. For a third time, I am being forced to make a new home in a place I’ve never been. I wonder when my wandering will finally stop. Perhaps Signore Conti was right after all about me. I am nothing more than a gypsy.

  20

  Salina

  November 1—November 15, 1969

  Today is All Saints’ Day. I pray that it is a lucky day for me and that I will make some money. Standing at the marina in Santa Marina Salina, I am singing even though it is raining lightly. My straw hat is on the ground with a few liras I’ve placed inside to make it look like others have given me money. It is a cool day, and my shawl is doing little to chase away the shivers running down my arms. Although summer was not that long ago, it feels far away. I try not to think of those days. So far, my plan of coming to Salina in hopes of not being reminded of Carlo has failed. For every time I look at the sea, I’m reminded of the boat rides we took to the private coves of the islands. Whenever I walk by the few hotels here, I’m reminded of singing at the Villa Carlotta, then going out for the entire night with Carlo. The worst is when he comes to me in my dreams, often angry. Sometimes I dream that I am in his arms again, making love to him.

  I have been in Salina for a month now, and the money Signore Conti gave me is rapidly diminishing. I am renting a tiny room from a widow. She is a greedy, miserable witch who would not include any meals with my rent. So I must make my food last as long as possible. My meals usually only consist of bread, fruit, and any little fish I can catch with my shawl. Lately, I’ve begun feeling dizzy from the lack of nourishment I am getting.

  I’m suddenly drawn out of my thoughts and stop my singing when I feel my purse, which is slung around my body, drop to my legs. A sharp pain slices through my leg. When I look down, I see two gypsy boys. One is holding the knife he used to cut through my bag’s strap and my leg, and the other takes my purse before they both run away.

&nbs
p; “Stop! Someone stop them!”

  My cries go unheeded even though several witnesses have seen what has happened. I chase the boys, but they are too fast for me. Bending over, I place my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. The cut on my leg is still bleeding. I rip off a piece of my skirt’s hem and tie it tightly around my cut.

  Standing back up, I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. I cannot believe my purse was stolen. That was all of my money. There wasn’t much left, but it would’ve been enough to pay rent for the next two weeks. What am I going to do now?

  Since we are well into autumn and the tourist season has long passed, I have not been able to give many tarot readings. I used some of the money from my last earnings at the Villa Carlotta to buy another deck of tarot cards since I gave my old set to Carlotta. I’ve had to be careful with the few readings I have given to the locals, conducting them out of sight of the other gypsies who hang around the marina. These gypsies are not kind and generous like Maria’s family. They are hostile to newcomers who could take any of their business away. I tried to befriend some of the women when I first got here, but they shouted curses at me and told me to return to where I had come from.

  I suddenly remember that, in my haste to chase the gypsy boys who stole my purse, I left my hat with my meager liras by the port. Running and praying that my hat hasn’t been stolen as well, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it’s right where I left it on the ground. As I pick up my hat, tears spring to my eyes. I fight them back, refusing to cry any more than I have since I left Carlo. I need to be stronger. Taking a deep breath, I notice people are coming out of church. Maybe they’ll feel more generous since it’s a holy day today.

  I approach an elderly man who’s well dressed and is leaning on a very expensive-looking walking cane.

  “Mi scusi, signore. Can you please spare a lira? My bag was stolen, and I have little money left. I will pray for you and your family.”