Iris was the first to break their embrace; she held Violet at an arm’s length to get a better look at her. Physically, she was a beauty: she stood tall and confident, her long dark hair cascading down her back, the multicolored flecks in her grey-green eyes twinkling with benevolence and intelligence, each well-coordinated movement quick and supple, denoting a well-exercised physique. She had little use for cosmetics, which would have detracted from her timeless, symmetric features, marred the rosy brushstroke of her lips, compromised the translucence of her skin, masqueraded the twin half-moons under her eyes that reminded Iris of the heroines in the nineteenth-century English novels she enjoyed reading.
“It’s so good to see you! And the girls have grown so much!” Iris said. “Come here you two!” She squatted to embrace Olivia and Castanea.
“I was hoping Lily would be here, too?” she said, checking to see whether she may be standing off to the side somewhere, waiting her turn to be hugged. Maybe she was just a little late; incredibly enough, the plane had landed right on schedule.
“I called her earlier to give her your flight information, but she said she had a tummy ache or something,” Violet answered, waving her hand in front of an annoyed expression, as if the excuse were a fly buzzing around her nose. “You look great, Iris! Let me see the new ring you told me about …. Oh my God! That is amazing. Gregorio sure knows how to treat a girl!” She held Iris’s hand closer to observe the emerald-cut ruby surrounded by diamond chips, set in a band of eighteen carat gold. Auntie Rosa strained to get a look.
“I can’t b’lieve it!” she said, wagging her fake fur pom-pom. “That Gregorio is a gem!”
“Yes, he sure is,” Iris said, but her thoughts were elsewhere, skimming over memories of Lily’s past stomachaches. She recalled her recurrent “I don’t want to go to school if Iris is staying home sick” stomachache of their childhood, when Lily would moan until their mother finally took her temperature, too. As soon she left the room, Iris would sneak the thermometer out of Lily’s mouth and put it in her own, then pass it back, complete with her fever, before she returned. Then there was her “feeding chickens and milking cows is not my idea of a summer vacation” stomachache, which had secured her early release from their cousins’ farm, leaving Iris stranded there, saddled with both their responsibilities, and both their cows to show at the fair. Maybe this was her “I don’t really want to see Iris” stomachache.
“Let’s get out of here,” Iris suggested to the three generations of females still clustered by the door. She was sick of airports: of the expediency they promised, which at any moment could turn into hardship or disaster; of the imposed intimacy with strangers caused by a coincidence of time and place; of the short-lived joy of reunions and the lingering sadness of separations which took place within their chaotic walls.
“Uncle Alfred can’t wait to see you!” Violet said. She squeezed Iris’s shoulder, as the two headed to the baggage claim area, while Auntie Rosa minded the girls. “Todd stayed with him so Auntie Rosa could come to the airport. She was so excited, she called me five times today. I promised her I would deliver you promptly and safely to her doorstep, but trying to get through to a Capotosti, especially an old one, is like trying to get through a brick wall!”
“Don’t I know it!” Iris said. After a pause, she cleared her throat and asked, “How is Uncle Alfred doing?”
“Well, suffice it to say he doesn’t really have the strength to play the guitar anymore.” Violet sighed. “But he still gets up every day, washes and shaves and dresses himself. It takes him ages, but he doesn’t want any help. You know how fastidious he is.”
From the vantage point of another continent, Iris had become adept at freezing the past and its inhabitants in her favorite poses. Wishful thinking and happy memories were her greatest indulgence, but now she would have to swallow the meat and potatoes of reality. It presented her with a different version of Auntie Rosa, the old woman who hobbled along beside her, leaning on the worn cane that had belonged to Grandpa Capotosti; of Uncle Alfred who couldn’t even hold a guitar; of time and events flying past her, dispensing ageing and illness upon those she loved in her absence.
“Hello?” At the tenth ring, Iris was just about to hang up, when Lily’s voice came over the other end, breathless and barely audible over the rhythmic music and bass line accompanying a singer, instantly recognizable as Michael Jackson. Iris wasn’t exactly up on pop music culture, but “Billy Jean” had made it to the top of the charts in Italy, too.
“Hi, Lily,” she shouted into the receiver. “It’s me, Iris!”
“Oh, hi Iris,” Lily said, wheezing. “Hold on a sec, would ya?” There was a thud as Lily set the receiver down; the music and Michael’s hiccuping voice were silenced. “Now if I could only find my fucking lighter,” she heard Lily mumble.
“Sorry about that, Iris,” she said a few seconds later, sucking in her breath. Iris could picture Lily cradling the receiver between her shoulder and ear as she lit up a cigarette.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Iris said, wondering why she should feel apologetic. It wasn’t as though she called a hundred times a day.
“That’s OK, I was just scrubbing the bathtub. I can’t seem to get the stains out. I’d rather just move,” Lily said, and sucked in another breath. Iris could picture her squinting her eyes against the plumes of smoke rising in curlicues around her face.
“When did you get in?”
“Last night. Didn’t Violet tell you?” Iris said.
“Yeah, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the airport. I was feeling a little queasy.”
“Queasy? Violet said you had a tummy ache, but she didn’t mention the word ‘queasy’.” Maybe Iris had jumped to conclusions too quickly. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
“It’s not what you’re thinking.”
Iris had been hoping Lily would get pregnant again soon; she had been lighting candles to the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mother for her, too, whenever she went to church. Each time she lit the two votive lights, always choosing two that were side by side, Iris prayed for a double miracle to bless them both. Iris fantasized the she and Lily would become mothers at the same time, like the Virgin Mary and her barren cousin Elizabeth. They would write letters to each other, at least once a week, to compare notes on how they were feeling, share tips on how to deal with nausea and their changing bodies, what their hopes and fears were. By the time their babies were born, each would have a diary of the other’s pregnancy. Motherhood would be such an incredibly emotional experience for them to share as women, after all the little things they had shared as little girls. And Iris definitely wanted Lily to have a baby to love, whether or not Iris could; so why did she feel that twitch of relief when Lily dismissed her suspicion that she might be expecting? She pushed the thought aside, to get to the point of her call.
“Listen, I know it’s short notice, but I wanted to know whether you and Joe would like to come over to Auntie Rosa’s for dinner tonight.” Thank God for food: talking about it, preparing it, cooking it, serving it, and eating it could take so much strain out of relationships. “I promised Uncle Alfred I’d make him some pasta. He hasn’t been eating much, but his eyes lit up at the idea. He’d love to see you, you know. And so would I.”
“Joe works nights. He never gets home before nine or ten,” Lily said.
“But you’re free, aren’t you?”
“Apart from SaveMart and housework, my calendar is pretty wide open these days,” Lily said.
“Please come then. Around five. The older they get the earlier they want to eat.”
“Sure. OK. See you then.”
“Sorry if I’m late,” Lily said, standing at the threshold of Auntie Rosa’s front door as if she were a guest, rather than one of the family.
“You’re not late at all,” Iris said. “Come on in and give me a hug!” As Iris gathered Lily in her arms, she was flooded with tenderness. She had forgotten how much smaller Lily
was than she; the top of her head only came to her shoulder, and the bones in her arms and back seemed so fragile. Lily’s hair smelled of coconut and pineapple and mango, like one of those tropical punches they served at the Luau; it was also laced with the smell of cigarette smoke, just like the air at the night club.
“I’ve missed you,” she said.
“Me too,” Lily said, pulling away. Iris only caught a fleeting glimpse of Lily’s grey-green eyes, before they darted away. They were dry now, and attractively made-up, but they still looked like her funeral eyes of two years ago.
“Auntie Rosa’s helping Uncle Alfred get ready for dinner. He looks so frail, Lily. When was the last time you saw him?”
Lily looked at the floor. “I don’t really remember. I stopped over a few times after his operation, but Auntie Rosa always said he was resting. There’s been a lot going on, too, between work and Joe and the house and all.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I can’t believe it took me so long to make it back.” Gregorio had offered to bring her over for Christmas the previous year, but Iris had declined, and kept the information to herself. She would have loved to spend the holidays with her family, and of course with Gregorio, but being with both at the same time confused her.
“Anyway, I was really shocked when I saw him last night,” Iris sighed. “It’s just not fair. He always walked five miles a day, never drank booze or coffee, never smoked. How does someone like that end up with lung cancer?”
Lily shook her head and looked up at Iris, who didn’t know what else to say.
“Why don’t you come and give me a hand in the kitchen?”
“Sure. Lead the way,” Lily said, as if she hadn’t been in Auntie Rosa’s kitchen hundreds of times.
“Oh, would you mind taking off your shoes first?” Iris said. “Auntie Rosa likes to keep the place as germ-free as possible.”
Lily kicked off her sneakers, and followed as Iris led her past the table she and Auntie Rosa had set with the good china and linen napkins.
“You and me making dinner again, Lily. Just like the old days, except you can hardly move in these efficiency kitchens,” Iris said, clearing a space on the counter, then taking a bottle from the refrigerator. “But there’s an upside; now the cooks get to drink on the job!”
“I don’t really drink,” Lily said.
“Oh, come on, just a drop. Keep me company.” Iris set out two glasses, “There isn’t much of a selection at the liquor store over in the plaza, but this is a decent Verdicchio. I hope you like it.” Wine and cooking were two things that always relaxed Iris, and she hoped they’d help dispel the vague sense of unease that had descended upon her the moment Lily walked in the door. If Lily would at least write once in a while between visits, they wouldn’t have to waste precious time cracking the shell of unshared facts and feelings that had formed around each of them in the meantime. She uncorked the bottle, and poured two glasses.
“You’re pretty good at that, Iris.”
“As they say, practice makes perfect. Good wine doesn’t come in screw-top bottles over in Italy. Alla salute,” Iris raised her glass.
“Salut,” Lily said, following suit.
Iris took a sip from her glass, then checked the pot on the stove. “Almost boiling.”
“But you don’t even have the sauce started yet,” Lily said.
“This is quicker. And just as delicious, if not better. You’ll see. Go ahead, break these eggs into the serving bowl, one for each person,” Iris instructed.
“You’re making me cook?”
“Don’t you want to learn a new recipe? It will be fun,” Iris said, passing Lily the eggs. “Here, beat them with this,” she said, passing Lily a fork.
“So you’re saying this is an authentic Italian dish, right Iris? With no tomatoes? No pork butt or meatballs or sausages? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely!” Iris said. “Look here,” she showed Lily the contents of a skillet, which she stirred with a wooden spoon. “Cubed bacon, thick-sliced if you can find it. I learned this recipe right in Rome, the very first time I went to Italy. I made it for Dad and the boys when I got back, and they loved it. What are those guys up to these days anyway? I never hear from them.”
“I don’t hear much either. I guess they’re still tying to find their way, you know? William keeps switching girlfriends, Charles keep switching jobs, and Ricci keeps switching schools.”
Iris wished she had time to organize a dinner or something, and invite all her siblings, but was daunted by the sheer number of lives and schedules and preferences to coordinate. Uncle Alfred would love seeing everyone all gathered together, like in the old days. It saddened her to think he might have to wait for his funeral for that to happen; she, for one, had decided not to wait. Her thoughts were interrupted by the growling of her stomach, which joined the symphony of sizzling and bubbling and beating in the kitchen. The sounds and smells apparently had a similar effect on Uncle Alfred. His eyes were as wide as those of a child in a candy shop as he shuffled in on the arm of Auntie Rosa, who smiled stoically as she used Grandpa Capotosti’s cane to help them along. Uncle Alfred was looking dapper after his rest and grooming, his movements slow but well-controlled as he lowered himself to his place at the table.
“Aloha, Uncle Alfred,” Lily said, going over to give him a quick hug, then returning. She took a sip of wine and lowered her voice before speaking again. “Wow, I didn’t realize he had gone so downhill, Iris.”
“You can imagine how shocked I was when I saw him last night,” Iris said, in a whisper.
“Is it almost ready, Iris?” Uncle Alfred called from his seat at the table. “I’m dying of starvation,” he said, chuckling.
“You stop that talk, Alfred!” Auntie Rosa said.
“It’ll only be a minute, Uncle Alfred! We won’t tolerate anyone dying at our table!”
“And I’m not dying until I eat your spaghetti, that’s for sure!”
“Then maybe I’ll just make you wait a few more years!” Iris said, stirring the spaghetti in the pot, before turning her attention back to Lily.
“Now just add some grated pecorino to those eggs, would you?” Iris said to Lily. “Oh, and some of this.” She handed her a pepper mill.
“Sure. Geez, I can’t wait to spring this recipe on Lucy. She’ll have a friggin’ cow,” Lily said. “She thinks if spaghetti’s not swimming in tomato sauce and meat, it’s not worthy of the name. Her and her goddamn secret sauce.”
Iris lifted a strand from the pot with a cooking fork and tasted it; since moving to Italy, she would not allow anyone to interfere with her ruling as to when the point of al dente was reached. “Everyone come to the table!” she called, draining the spaghetti in the colander. “Ready, Lily?” she asked, dumping the steaming pasta into the egg mixture. “Quick now, toss it so the steam cooks the eggs.”
Though Iris always derived satisfaction from setting food on the table, she let Lily present the steaming bowl of spaghetti alla carbonara. Auntie Rosa grasped Uncle Alfred’s hand as Iris and Lily sat down.
“We’re the only ones left,” she said. “God took them all. Pa, Ma, my little sister Teresa, my baby brother Carlo, then last year, my little brother Bartolomeo.” She paused to make the sign of the cross. “The good Lord only knows why he went to live down south in that trailer park instead of spending his last years here with me and Al.”
“Let’s not start with that again, Rosa,” Uncle Alfred said. “You’re going to ruin our appetites.” Iris had forgotten how much like a married couple they acted.
“Uncle Alfred’s right. Let’s give thanks instead.” Iris bowed her head. “In the words of our father, and your brother Carlo, before every meal: ‘Grace before meals bless us our Lord and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord amen.’”
“Amen,” they all repeated, crossing themselves. As Iris began serving, she paused to look at those gathered around the table. Distilled joy twinkled
in the eyes of her aunt and uncle as they watched her: the Capotosti fiber was resilient, the spirit strong and capable of savoring the gifts of the present, of rising temporarily above the indelible pain of the past and postponing the inevitable suffering of the future, at least long enough to enjoy a heaping plate of spaghetti in the company of family. She looked at Lily, and wondered what her present was like; whether her life with Joe made up for her disappointments of the past, and provided a solid foundation for her future happiness. From what she heard, Joe was a good provider, and Lily had only taken the job at SaveMart until she became a mother, just like Iris had taken hers at Transoceanica. They were both biding their time.
“You girls playing any guitar these days?” Uncle Alfred asked, winding spaghetti around his fork, and delivering the slippery bundle to his mouth on a tremulous hand.
“I’m working on it, Uncle Alfred,” Iris said. “Look!” She held up her left hand to display the callouses on the pads of her first three fingers; she still had trouble using her pinky. “I got myself a guitar a while back.”
“Maybe you’d play me something after dinner?” he said. “I don’t have much of a grip anymore but I can still slide on the steel, or strum that old ukulele.”
“It would be so much fun to play with somebody for once, especially with you, Uncle Alfred! I only play when I’m home alone. We could do something from our Hawaiian repertoire,” Iris suggested. “Lily will sing, won’t you, Lily?”
“I’m so out of practice,” Lily said, poking at the spaghetti in her plate.
“We could do ‘Beyond the Reef,’” Iris suggested. “That’s easy.”
“Oh, girls!” Auntie Rosa said. “Why don’t you do that ‘No Kau a Kau’ song? I used to get goosebumps every time Lily sang that one.”
“Why not, Lily? It’ll be fun, like old times,” Iris said.
“Fun? Like old times?” Lily shook her head.
Iris reached under the table, and squeezed her sister’s hand.
The Complete Series Page 73