Stella Mia

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  I pause a moment, thinking of the few Italian songs I know. Clearing my throat, I begin to sing the song that my father and I danced to at my wedding—Vittorio Merlo’s “Piccolo Fiore,” “Little Flower.” I dare not look at my mother while singing the song. The real reason that I haven’t sung before now is that I feel like I could never measure up to her talent. I know she is by far the better singer of the two of us.

  I’m so absorbed in my thoughts that I don’t notice Mama come over and sit beside me on the piano bench. She places her arm around my shoulders and begins singing along with me. There is something in her face that I’ve only seen in my father’s when he listens to me sing. She is proud of me. We continue singing together through the end of the song. Our small audience applauds us and begs for an encore. We sing a few more songs before everyone decides to go to bed. But Mama and I remain, discussing our favorite songs.

  “Julia, I would love to give you a tarot card reading. If you’re not too tired, let’s go to my bedroom, and I’ll get my cards.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in them anymore?”

  “I don’t, but it’s still fun. There’s no harm in it, is there?”

  “I guess not.”

  We head over to Mama’s bedroom. Though Mama does share a room with Carlo, there are some nights when he isn’t feeling well, and she sleeps in her own room so that he’ll be more comfortable alone in bed.

  An hour later, and after an in-depth tarot card reading that covered my past, present, and future, Mama predicts I will have a transformative experience. Secretly, I can’t help wondering if she’s mixed up her cards and if that prediction is really supposed to be about my present and not my future, especially since meeting my mother has definitely been a transformative experience. But I don’t question her.

  I yawn and see it’s almost one in the morning. Mama looks especially tired, and I regret keeping her up so late.

  “Mama, I’m going to bed now. Good night.”

  “Julia.” Mama pauses.

  “What is it?”

  “This is going to sound silly, but . . . but I was wondering if maybe you would want to sleep here tonight. We can talk until one of us falls asleep first.” She utters a light, nervous laugh.

  I see what she is doing. What she has been doing these past six weeks that I’ve been here. She is trying to make up for the lost time—for not being there to tuck me in as a little girl . . . for not being able to watch me fall asleep.

  “I love slumber parties! Why not?” I hop under the covers, making her laugh.

  We talk for another couple of hours. Though I’m tired, part of me doesn’t want to go to sleep. I want to prolong this night forever, just listening to Mama tell me stories about her and Carlo that weren’t in the diary or stories from her days singing on the road. She also tells me stories about when I was a baby and a toddler. After Mama is done going down memory lane, she asks me to tell her more about Kyle and how we fell in love. I then remember something.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I go to my room and take out of my purse the bracelet with the fish charm that Carlo had given to my mother that night they were in Filicudi.

  Returning to Mama’s room, I see her eyelids are beginning to close. But she hears me and opens them, forcing a smile. She looks so tired.

  “I’m sorry. Why don’t you go back to sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow, and I should let you have your bed to yourself. You’ll be more comfortable.”

  “No, Julia. Please. This bed is huge. There’s room.” She motions to me with her hand.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Si.”

  I get back under the covers.

  “I can’t believe I’ve forgotten to give this to you.” I hold out the bracelet.

  My mother gasps, placing her hand over her mouth. She takes the bracelet from my hand and examines it. Her eyes get this faraway look; no doubt she is remembering that night in Filicudi, when she and Carlo made love for the first time and he gave her the bracelet.

  “I told your father you could have this.”

  “He did give it to me, but I always thought it was a gift from him. He gave it to me when I graduated from kindergarten. After I read your diary and realized it was the bracelet that Carlo had given you, I didn’t feel right keeping it.”

  “You loved this bracelet when you were a toddler.” My mother’s face grows somber. “That was when I hit you. I found you playing with the bracelet, and before I knew what I was doing, I hit your arm, causing you to drop the bracelet.”

  “I know. Daddy told me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Julia.”

  “It’s understandable. There was such enormous sentimental value attached to this bracelet.”

  “No. There’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you.”

  “I’ve worn the bracelet since Daddy gave it to me. He had to wrap the bracelet twice around my tiny wrist until I got older. It’s almost as if I sensed it was your bracelet. I was so fond of it.”

  My mother takes my arm and places the bracelet around my wrist, fastening its clasp.

  “It’s yours. Please, keep it. Carlo has given me so many gifts since we reunited.”

  “But this was extra special.”

  “And that’s why I want you to have it. Please, don’t argue with me. It would make me very happy to know you have it.”

  I nod my head. “Thank you.”

  We talk some more before I feel myself drifting off to sleep. And soon, I hear my mother’s voice in the distance, singing the lullaby she always sang to me as a toddler: “Stella mia, stell-ahhh mia, tu sei la piu bella stella. My star, my star, you are the most beautiful star.”

  I am dreaming of the beach where my mother grew up with her family. Staring up at the many stars in the night sky as I bravely walk alone with my lantern to the boulders on the beach. Though I see myself in the dream, I also see my mother, and it is as if I am one with her, living her life and experiencing her feelings. Soon, the beach transforms into a lush countryside. I am now holding hands with my cousin Agata as we skip and sing before getting to work, harvesting the crops from our fathers’ land. Once again, the landscape changes, and I am transported to beautiful Taormina with scenes of Mount Etna looming in the distance. Tambourines and flutes reach my ears as I dance the tarantella with Maria and her family of gypsies on the beaches of Taormina. Then I am staring into Carlo’s eyes as he watches me singing in the bar of the Villa Carlotta. A beautiful stallion appears, and my heart races against Carlo’s back as we ride the horse on the beach in Isola Bella. My body feels weightless as he and I hold hands while we float in the waters of Panarea. Then I am standing with Carlo on the island of Filicudi as a heavy rain soaks our clothes, and later we watch the moon rise across the waters of the beach. I am telling Carlo I love him in our candlelit room that we rented in Filicudi. Then I am staring into my mother’s sad eyes as I say good-bye to her and my younger siblings before leaving for America. Pain shoots through me, followed by elation when I stare at the baby girl I’ve just given birth to. Suddenly, Sarina’s face disappears, and I only see myself climbing up the grapevine in my father’s backyard in Astoria. Though I’m scared the grapevine’s thin branches won’t support my weight, I continue climbing higher as my father cheers me on. Then I hear Mama’s voice also encouraging me to keep climbing. I look over my shoulder and see that Mama is now also climbing the grapevine. Soon, she passes me and keeps climbing higher and farther away from me. I try to catch up to her, but she’s climbing too fast.

  I’m awakened by the sound of something banging loudly. I sit up in bed, and my clothes are nearly drenched in sweat. The window shutters are open and are swinging violently back and forth against the walls. I can hear the wind whipping up outside, which I find strange since it’s the end of August. It shouldn’t be this windy in Sicily now. I get up to close the shutters, but stop in my tracks as one last howl of wind screeches through. The shutters bang back into place agai
nst the windows. It’s then eerily quiet. I stare out the window, and though it’s cloudy, I see the sun is beginning to break through.

  Glancing at my wristwatch, I see it’s almost eight o’clock. I’m surprised Mama is still sleeping. She’s usually up at six, getting breakfast ready for me. I walk over to her and nudge her shoulder gently to wake her up.

  “Mama,” I call her repeatedly, but she doesn’t wake up. I then notice her complexion looks awfully pale. I touch her cheek and am stunned to feel how cold it is. A thought enters my mind. I try to push it away, but it won’t let me. I feel for her pulse. Nothing.

  “No. No. Not now. Mama, please. I need you. Please. Not now after we’ve been apart for so long. I still need you, Mama. Please.”

  My legs buckle beneath me as I fall onto my knees. Placing my head on my mother’s chest, I cry uncontrollably. I don’t know how long I remain there until Zia Carlotta walks in and pulls me off my mother.

  28

  Losing Paradise

  I am sitting at the airport in Calabria, waiting to board my plane to Rome. It has been a week since my mother died. I extended my stay and let work know I would not be able to return at the start of the school season.

  Mama’s funeral was beautiful. We kept it small. Besides me, Zia Carlotta, and Carlo, the only other people in attendance were the priest and Mama’s brothers, Enzo and Pietro. Zia Carlotta asked me if I wanted to sing at the service. I sang “Ave Maria,” one of my mother’s favorite hymns.

  I am leaving on the day after the funeral even though Zia Carlotta wanted me to stay longer. Kyle has been worried sick about me and wanted to fly to Sicily to be by my side. But I told him I would be fine. He finally found a job, and I didn’t want him to risk losing it by taking off so soon. Kyle told me he didn’t care. But I assured him I would be okay and would be home in a matter of days anyway.

  Before I left, Zia Carlotta made me promise to stay in touch with her. Even Enzo and Pietro extended an invitation for Kyle and me to visit them next summer. I promised them all I would stay in touch and come back to visit when I could.

  Poor Zia Carlotta. After the initial shock of my mother’s dying so suddenly, I asked Zia if Mama had been sick. She admitted to me that Mama had been diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago. It had been in remission, but had come back earlier this year. It was too aggressive to treat. I then remembered how much older than her age Mama had appeared to me when I first arrived in Sicily. I also remembered the regular coughing she did, which I had just attributed to old age. And her body had looked so frail. But other than that, I wouldn’t have known she was dying. I unleashed my anger on Zia, furious that she had not told me when I first arrived about Mama’s illness. She told me she came close to telling me the morning after I had arrived when she brought me breakfast in bed. But Sarina had made Carlotta promise not to tell me. She couldn’t go against the wishes of a dying woman. That was why she had implored me to stay longer in Sicily. Zia Carlotta knew I would never again have the chance to see my mother.

  I would have hoped that after being reunited with me and seeing how much I had been hurt by her secrets as well as my father’s, Mama would’ve learned her lesson and chosen to confide in me about her cancer. Zia Carlotta said Mama didn’t want me to feel any sense of obligation toward her. She wanted me to stay in Sicily because I truly wanted to finally get to know her and not because she was dying.

  Zia said that Mama had asked her to take care of Carlo if she should die before him. I was stunned that Zia Carlotta would sacrifice so much of herself and her own life to take care of the man her sister had loved, but as she explained to me, Mama had given up her life in New York and her daughter to help Carlotta and her mother and her siblings when they needed her. Zia Carlotta was honored to be able to repay her sister. Enzo and Pietro would now help with Carlo as well.

  Carlo didn’t stop crying at the funeral. We all thought he would confuse me with Mama and refuse to believe she was really gone. But amazingly, he knew she had finally left him forever.

  I glance down at an envelope with my name written on it. It’s a letter from my mother that she had written about a week before she died. Zia Carlotta found it among her belongings and gave it to me the day before the funeral. Mama had told her about the letter and instructed her to send it to me after Mama died. Apparently, she thought she had at least another six months before the cancer would finally get her. I haven’t been able to bring myself to read the letter. Taking a deep breath, I break the envelope’s seal and pull out the letter.

  Dearest Julia,

  I’m sorry I have left you again. But this time, I truly had no control over it. I am just so grateful to God that I was able to see you again.

  One of the happiest moments in my life was when I held you for the first time after you were born. Yes, I was incredibly terrified of being a mother and turning into my father, but I was also so proud of you. And then when I saw what a kind, beautiful woman you have become, I was even more proud.

  Over the years when I thought about you, I would often close my eyes and remember back to when I held you in my arms and lulled you to sleep by singing “Stella Mia.” You cannot know how happy I was when you told me you actually remembered my singing that song to you. I had always imagined you had little or no memory of me since you were so young when you last saw me.

  And then when you told me about how you still care for the grapevine I had planted in the yard of your father’s home, I knew you had never stopped loving me, even if you were hurt and angry that I had left you. When I would stare at my grapevine here in Sicily, I would hope that you were looking at the grapevine in Astoria and that you were thinking about me, too.

  I will never forgive myself for not returning to you. I will never forgive myself for hurting you the way I did.

  I was a coward, afraid of taking on the responsibilities that motherhood entailed. I see now I used as an excuse that I feared I’d become my father and would abuse you. I could not let go of my home in Sicily and my family who remained here, but I didn’t give America enough of a chance. I didn’t give you and your father a chance.

  I suppose you are wondering why I didn’t reach out to you when I learned I was dying. Just as when I had reconsidered coming to see you after your wedding, I didn’t want to suddenly waltz into your life and then disappear from it again so soon once I died. That would not have been fair to you either. It truly was a miracle that you found my diary when you did and decided to come here. Though I was so overjoyed at seeing you, I also felt immensely sad. For I knew our time together would be short, and then I would be hurting you all over again after my passing. I almost wished you had remained mad at me and left. That way you would have been spared this additional pain. But I am glad you stayed. These past few weeks have been a dream come true and the happiest in my life. They’ve also been extremely difficult for me because I see now what I could have had if only I had faced my demons and dealt with my depression. I threw away all those years we could have spent together. I’ve also come to realize that I was wrong in thinking I was losing paradise when I left Sicily for America. For the true paradise I lost was you, my beautiful daughter.

  Please don’t be mad at me or Carlotta for not telling you I was dying. Someday we will see each other again. Until then, think of me whenever you sing or look at the grapevine.

  Ti voglio bene.

  Tua Mama

  I take out a tissue and wipe the tears that have fallen down my face.

  “Flight 380 from Calabria to Rome is now boarding at Gate 11.”

  I put my mother’s letter in my purse and make my way to the airline attendants collecting boarding passes.

  Half an hour later, my plane is in the air. I have the window seat and am staring at the serene panorama below. How could my mother have left such a beautiful place behind? Seeing how stunning her homeland is makes me finally have some understanding as to how difficult it must have been for her to leave all of this behind and adjust to life in A
merica, no less New York City. She went from an island paradise to a densely populated metropolis with views that are almost always marred by scores of skyscrapers.

  If only my mother had been able to convince my father to move to Sicily, things could have been so different. But then I suppose Daddy would’ve been the one to be unhappy? I guess I’ll never know how that could have played out. I just wish Mama had been able to get the help she needed with her postpartum depression. All I know for certain is that I’m through with wishing things had been different in my life. It’s time I look to the future.

  I continue staring at the magnificent view when my mother’s words come back to me: “The true paradise I lost was you.”

  EPILOGUE

  Sarina’s Grapevine

  Astoria, New York, August 2016

  As I stand in the backyard of my father’s home, looking at the grapevine, I can’t believe three years have passed since I went to Sicily and was reunited with my mother. I think of all that has happened since then.

  When I returned to work, I had forgotten about the family tree project I had assigned to my students before the summer break. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about it since if it weren’t for that assignment, I would’ve probably never found my mother’s diary. Of course, my students reminded me on my first day back to school, and they were actually excited to share their family trees. When my class was all done relaying their essays about their ancestors, they told me it was my turn. I had nothing prepared since I had forgotten about the assignment. So I skipped to telling them about one of my ancestors. I told them about my mother, but I decided to tell the students she was my grandmother instead. I didn’t feel comfortable revealing the fact that my mother had left me, and I was concerned they would have asked me why she lived in Sicily, while I grew up in New York. So I told them about how Mama’s father had mistreated her and how brave she had been to run away from home when she was just seventeen years old. I told them how she read people’s fortunes. The students seemed to especially love that. I relayed her love of singing and how she sang at the Villa Carlotta, where she met her first love Carlo. And of course I told them about Sarina and Carlo’s storybook romance while they went from one Aeolian Island to the next. My class was impressed to learn she had become a famous folk singer in Sicily, but what they really loved was hearing how she had been reunited with Carlo after so many years. I ended my story there. It was still too painful for me to talk about her dying or even to tell them about Carlo’s Alzheimer’s and how he was slowly, but surely, forgetting Sarina.