by E. Graziani
“Silence now, Alcide!” Mamma said, with mild disapproval. She motioned to the two of us, still in the doorway. “Look how they’ve grown, Eleonora.”
“They are even more beautiful than when I last was here,” Nora smiled, her lovely cheekbones prominent with perpetual roses. She put out her cigarette and walked toward us, but we were already running to her. “Come and give me a hug. It seems like years since I’ve seen you.” We all embraced tenderly in the crowded kitchen.
“I’m so happy you’re home, Nora,” said Mery, hugging her.
“I missed you, Nora,” I said, holding onto her waist. I loved her the most. She was the loveliest and kindest to me and I could never get enough of her company. “Why can’t you take care of the orphans around here? Then you could be closer to us.” I looked up at her with puppy eyes, hoping I could convince her to live back home.
Eleonora was dedicated to her work as a nurse in a home for unwed mothers and abandoned children run by the Italian government. Unwed pregnant women were given support, no questions asked. After their babies were born they could decide whether to keep them or give them up for adoption.
“But the children need me in Florence, my treasure,” she replied, gently cupping my face in her hands. “I can’t just leave them.”
“I suppose,” I said, surrendering her to the poor little waifs I imagined in the orphanage. “But Armando misses you, too.” Everyone burst into laughter. Armando had a crush on Eleonora, and she made it a point to see him whenever she came home from Florence. Armando was as handsome as Nora was beautiful. When they were together, it was as if one of those glamorous couples from the cinema had descended upon our ordinary little village.
Nora tucked a stray lock of dark hair that had escaped her coifed finger waves behind her ear. “You are all horrible busybodies,” she said, smiling. “I shall ignore that. Now let’s help Mamma with lunch. You two,” she pointed to Cesar and Alcide, “can go outside. But don’t go too far. We’re eating soon.” Nora was a natural leader.
“Mery and Bruna,” called Mamma. “Go and change your clothes.”
Mery and I climbed up the stairs to change into our day dresses and aprons. We were always careful not to create more work for Mamma. In addition to working in the fields, she took in washing for some of the women in the village for a little extra emergency money.
As we changed, our sisters bustled about the tiny kitchen, chattering all the while. I could hear them clearly from the second-floor bedroom.
Aurelia, the eldest of my siblings, had come home just the night before from her job as a cook for a wealthy family in Pisa. She lived there, coming home whenever she could. “Maria, at the grocers, told me that Cesar and Ersilia are courting,” she said. It sounded like she was speaking loudly on purpose.
My brothers sat just outside the front door on the little terrace, lined with my mother’s cherished daisies and geraniums. “And what about you and Dante next door?” Cesar replied, as he exhaled puffs of smoke from his cigarette. Aurelia shouted something back at him in Portuguese. My brothers and sisters were fluent in Portuguese, the native language of Brazil, where they were all born and raised. This shout from Aurelia gave rise to yet another peel of laughter from everyone except me. I was the only sibling born outside of Brazil, and I didn’t understand a word.
“Speaking of Dante, do you remember last month?” Alcide snickered just recalling the incident. There was always another funny tale to tell. “After we left the bar? It was you, me, Mario, and Dante.” He was laughing so hard he could barely get the words out. Cesar was smiling. He knew the incident in question. The girls listened from the kitchen as they put the finishing touches on our feast.
“It was late and we had all had a few drinks. The village was quiet and we were headed home. We had stopped to talk outside of Egidio’s door and Dante told a joke. We didn’t realize how loud we were. I guess Egidio had had enough of telling us to be quiet. He came charging out in his underwear.” Alcide guffawed, tears streaming down his face.
Cesar chimed in to finish the story. “He was absolutely furious. He glared at us in his baggy underwear,” Cesar said mimicking poor Egidio, with an exaggerated grimace. “Then he pointed his finger at us. We thought he was going to call the police. Instead, jabbing his finger at each of us, he shouted, ‘One, two, three, and four.’ Then he just turned around, stormed back into his house, and slammed the door behind him. That was it! The four of us howled so loudly afterwards, we had to run home.” Cesar was in tears retelling the story.
“What on earth did he mean by doing that?” asked Pina, laughing mostly at her brothers who were in stitches.
“Obviously, he wanted us to know that he would deal with each of us in the morning. It must have been cold out there in his long underwear,” cackled Alcide, wiping the tears from his cheeks with a handkerchief.
“What about that time Guazzelli put a jacket on the sheep?” Alcide hollered, as he continued the anecdotes. There was hardly a need to recount that story, as everyone knew what Edo had done. The fun was in sharing it again.
But further stories had to wait.
“Come now, all to table. It’s time to eat,” I heard Eleonora announce from the kitchen below. The mad rush to secure a good spot at the Easter feast was on.
Chapter 2
Pina and Aurelia placed piping hot vessels of stew, and warm potato and rice tortes, fortified with lots and lots of ricotta and parmigiano cheese on the crowded table. Not to be left out, Eleonora offered crisp greens with sweet tomato salad, fresh baked bread and sharp, salty olives. Mamma grasped the carafe of wine from the shelf near the window and placed it on the table, alongside a jug of fresh water. The feast was ready.
After we said grace, the eight of us dove in. I was most interested in the cake that followed, a delicious buccellato pound cake made with fresh milk from our cow, eggs from our chickens, and lots of creamy butter.
After much initial clattering of cutlery against our plates, compliments to the cooks, and lip-smacking, the conversation predictably turned to a popular topic in our house whenever our family had the good fortune of coming together: politics.
“We are so busy these days in the steel factory,” said Pina between mouthfuls of potato torte.
“Of course,” responded Cesar. “If we go to war, there will be a demand for steel. Rifles, bullets, tanks.”
“Oh, my goodness, Cesar. Don’t say that.” Mamma placed a finger over her lips. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you two going off to war. I don’t believe Il Duce is interested in going to war. Hitler is doing well on his own.” This kind of talk made me very nervous.
“I wouldn’t be so certain, Mamma,” Alcide said, shaking his head. “There is talk in the factory about massive shipments…”
Nora interrupted him in mid-sentence with a kick under the table. Her eyes swept over to Mery and me. We had stopped eating, our eyes darting from one speaker at the table to the next.
“Mamma, is there going to be war here?” I wanted so badly to hear a no.
“Here? Up here in Eglio?” Mamma shook her head from side to side. Her tone made the idea of fighting in our little corner of the world seem silly. “Besides, Mussolini has always helped provide for us. We have all that we need. He cares for his people. We must trust him.”
“Yes,” said Eleonora softly. “He is the one who provides for the women and children at the orphanage where I work.” I nodded, temporarily soothed, and concluded that Il Duce would not put my family, and in particular my brothers, in harm’s way. “Well, enough of this talk. It’s Easter, we must be happy. Let us cin cin to our health.” Nora held up her glass. The rest of us hoisted our mismatched glasses in the air and toasted, alla salute, to our health.
“Speaking of health, did you hear what happened to the midwife in Sassi?” Pina asked, a smile creeping over her lips.
“Oh, now that’
s a story,” Mery giggled.
“Tell us, Mery. What happened?” Aurelia was already beginning to snicker.
“Norina’s bull, the one they use for breeding, got loose and terrorized the entire town. Everyone was indoors hiding from that wild animal,” Mery said, trying not to laugh. “The poor midwife, having just assisted at a birth, knew nothing about it. She left the house and was cornered by the crazy bull in the archway between the piazza and the post office.”
“Oh, the poor woman,” gasped Mamma. “Did she get hurt?”
“No, but I hear they’ve asked her to run at the next Olympics,” Cesar said, straight-faced. At this the entire kitchen was in stitches.
Mamma begged us all to lower our voices. Though she knew it was all in good fun, it was very important to her that her brood was always beyond reproach and that we behaved in an exemplary manner. Mother cared very much about what people thought of us. Perhaps it was because we were the only family in the village without a father. Or at least without a father who lived with us.
Chapter 3
A Little Background
My parents, Matilde and Aurelio, had emigrated to Sao Paolo, Brazil shortly after they married in 1912. An uncle had offered Aurelio employment in one of his businesses there. Aurelio, an only child from a relatively wealthy family, had decided to begin a new life in that far-away country with his new bride. He had been spoiled by his mother, Serafina, after his father died. As a young man, my father attended a boarding school in France, while his mother tended to the family business in partnership with her sisters. Successful businesswomen of that time, the sisters owned a number of small hotels, pensioni, in the Liguria resort region of Italy, in Florence, and in France.
When Aurelio had completed his education and it came time for him to join the family hotel business, he was expected to work his way up. An educated man, he didn’t take kindly to that notion. Aurelio wouldn’t agree to carry the guests’ suitcases or walk the hotel dogs. Because of his refusal to do such menial work, a rift between the sisters developed. Eventually his mother gave up her share of the business. She and her new husband purchased a large property in the agrarian region of Garfagnana in Tuscany. They settled in the village of Eglio and worked the land.
My mother, Matilde, on the other hand was a simple, uneducated girl from the village. But she was beautiful and obedient. Unlike his mother, she was quiet and dutiful, qualities Aurelio valued most in women. Before long the couple fell in love and were married, though Aurelio’s mother felt that he deserved better. Matilde had never learned to read or write, since she had always helped with the family farm rather than attending school.
Shortly after the newlyweds reached their new home in Brazil, Aurelio set to work at one of his uncle’s brick factories as a supervisor and Matilde gave birth to their first child. Life was a struggle at first, but eventually their lives fell into place. The next year Matilde gave birth to another child. Before long another followed and then another. The years passed. Aurelio worked and came home to his family, where he was well looked after by his wife. He was an authoritarian figure to his wife and children and could be severe at times. Although Matilde took care of the household and tried not to complain, her health began to fail. The stifling heat of the unforgiving Brazilian climate and her ever-increasing brood were taking a toll. By then there were six children, two boys and four girls.
She longed to be back home, on the cool green hillside of her village, looking across at the sprawling valley before her. She missed the mountain air, fresh and aromatic with the scent of wildflowers and she longed for her sisters. She loved her husband and children, but her heart ached for the mountains as she steadily grew weaker.
Though her doctor warned Aurelio that she should not have any more children, Matilde soon learned that she was to have another child. She was now forty-one years of age, sick, and tired. She tried to overcome her malaise, but it was a losing battle. The physician came again and told Aurelio that if Matilde did not go back home to Italy, she would surely die. Delaying the trip was considered, but the physician insisted if she didn’t make it home before the baby was born, she would die in childbirth. So, Aurelio took pity on his wife and made the necessary arrangements for her return to Italy. He decided that the children would go with her and he would follow once he had sold their belongings and his paper work was in order.
By the time Matilde boarded the ship back to Italy, her belly was enormous. She and the children said their tearful good-byes to Aurelio and excitedly boarded the ocean liner back to Italy. They had no idea that they would never see him again.
As the ship cut through the water, day after day, Matilde felt better and better. The salty sea air was therapeutic and she spent much time on deck with the children. The older ones always helped her, as by then some were in their teens. The closer the ship got to the cliffs of Gibraltar, the better she felt. One day, she began to feel the familiar pain in her back and belly. She knew that her baby was coming. The ship’s physician and nurses were terribly excited, as this would be the second baby to be born on this voyage. It would be a first for the doctor and the ship’s captain.
On April 14, 1929, on the Atlantic Ocean, on the magnificent ship, Belvedere, Bruna Maria Serafina Margherita Emilia Pucci was born. That was me! Mamma always liked the name Bruna. Maria, was after the captain’s wife; Serafina, after Aurelio’s mother; Margherita and Emilia, after the ship’s nurses.
I loved hearing that story from my mother and I asked her to repeat it often. It made me feel very special, knowing that I was born in the middle of the ocean. None of my friends or siblings could claim that fact. It set me apart from everyone else.
I was the youngest child in a family of seven, raised by a single mother. This was a rarity in rural Tuscany at that time. I was as innocent and sheltered as any child in that pastoral setting could be. Life was good for me and my family, but the good days were numbered.
Part Two
Italy Enters the War
1940 – 1942
When Nazi Germany invaded Poland in September 1939, Great Britain and France declared war on Germany. Throughout 1940, Nazi troops continued to systematically seize other nations and take control. Countries, such as Denmark, Norway, Holland, and Belgium, were no match for the German forces. They all surrendered, toppling over like dominoes. In the meantime, Nazi bombing campaigns began on the British Isles, while their troops prepared to invade France. Italy’s Benito Mussolini held out from joining the war until the last moment. Then, when he saw fascist victory on the horizon, he made up his mind and decided to join Hitler’s war.
Four days after Mussolini’s declaration of war on June 10, 1940, Nazi troops marched into Paris and shortly afterward France surrendered. In September 1940, the German Air Force began all night air raid bombing campaigns in London. Meanwhile, Italy invaded Greece in addition to other countries in North Africa. In 1941 the Axis powers invaded Soviet territory, creating another front. All the while, Nazi forces continued their relentless persecution of Jews.
That same year, the United States declared war on Japan after Japanese forces bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii — a surprise attack. The German/Italian/Japanese Axis appeared unstoppable. By 1942, the horrific conflict was the largest land war in history. Virtually the entire world was at war. The people of Eglio would now begin to feel the war as well.
Chapter 4
June 10, 1940, that horrible, detestable, wicked day; the day that began the washing away of our innocence, the tearing apart of my traditional adolescence; the day that would test my family’s bonds to the limit. It had begun so unremarkably, so perfectly and ordinarily, that when I think back to our unspoiled simplicity, it makes me shudder. It was over with the speed of a radio signal cutting through the valley. Before long, my sheltered life in a tiny Tuscan village would slip away as subtly as the morning fog crept over the Apennine Mountains.
When I reached the
cobble path that led to my house, I paused and steadied my breathing. My hand shielded my eyes from the early morning sun, still low on the horizon. I scanned the steep, meandering descent to Poggetti, the name we gave our home. The name was derived from the verb, poggiare, which means to lean or perch upon. The little house we lived in was literally perched on the lower portion of Eglio, on the edge of an ancient retaining wall facing the expansive valley below. Ours was a very close community. Eglio’s population that year, 1940, had come very close to surpassing 500, including those living in the outlying farming areas as well.
I skipped merrily along the path, holding fast to the freshly ground sack of chestnut flour in my arms. Mamma had sent me to the mill to have some dried chestnuts ground into flour. If there was one thing in abundance in the forest around Eglio, it was chestnut trees, and the villagers took full advantage of anything growing wild that could supplement their food supply.
I did a lot of thinking as I walked. I thought of my sisters and brothers and my mamma. I thought about how my father had decided to stay to work in Brazil, since there was no work for him in Italy. Occasionally he sent us money, and I would look forward to his letters, which he would send both to me and my siblings. Since I never lived with my father, I didn’t really miss him, though I did miss never having met him.
These thoughts preoccupied me, as I walked from the miller. I knew that Mamma had probably sent me to the mill just to give me something to do. It was boring for me with only one sister in the house. Mery was getting older and she didn’t want much to do with me, her baby sister, anymore. She and Eleonora had always been most popular at the impromptu dances. These dances were held in the theater, where sometimes a few of the men in the village would sit with an accordion or two and start playing. The place really was a theater, used by the villagers in both Eglio and neighboring Sassi for plays and skits. We occasionally enjoyed a drama or a comedy by a core group of amateur actors, who mounted plays like La signora delle Camelie, “The Lady of the Camellias,” for all of us to enjoy. It was an old cavernous space, its exposed wooden beams and whitewashed walls lovingly maintained by the villagers. It was the only building big enough in the town to accommodate a large group of people.