Somewhere in the Stars

by Frank Polizzi

  “Nicolo, you no look happy,” Lucia said. Nick waved his mother off. “I slaved all week over my Singer and then my stove, only to seea that sad face.” She smiled. “I coulda made pasta cu sardi for your father, but no, I made your favorite dish.”

  “Lucia, leave the boy alone.”

  “It’s okay for you to say, sitting like King Tut, but your son has a sour puss on whenever he comes in the house.”

  “Mi dispiace, Mamma.”

  Gaetano gestured towards the pasta that Lucia had already ladled into their dishes. “Mancia, Nicolo. Your mother can’t help it because you mope around the house and we worry. What are we supposed to do?”

  “I got things on my mind. Let’s just eat.”

  “Va beni!” Gaetano reached over and poured some red wine in everyone’s glass. “Salute!” as they clinked glasses.

  They ate with a minimum of conversation, and at the end of the meal Gaetano took out two, stubby Toscano cigars.

  “Nicolo, step into the backyard and have a smoke with me. The sun’s rays will do us good.” He arched his right eyebrow and grinned at his son.

  Nick followed his father out the back door, when Lucia blocked his way and said: “Innuccentu!” She pinched her son’s cheek.

  “I don’t think so, Mamma.” He kissed his mother’s hand. “Pop is waiting outside for me.”

  “Good. I no want him to stink up the house.”

  The cool breeze coming from the Bay tempered the warmth of the sun. They sat next to each other at the picnic table. Gaetano had already lit his cigar and handed one to his son who opened his Zippo with a ping and torched the Toscano.

  “Mannagia, you’ll set yourself on fire.”

  “I got everything under control, Pop.”

  “I can see.” Gaetano puffed on his cigar and blew smoke into the air, spiraling away. Nick repeated the same pattern as his father while they stared for a while at the covered tree in the corner of the yard.

  “Do you want me to liberate the fig tree, Pop?”

  “Beni.”

  Nick leaned the cigar in a glass ashtray and proceeded to undress the tree, starting with its bucket hat, cutting the rope and wrapping it around a stick, then unraveling the black coat and furling it, placing each item on the table.

  His father clenched the cigar in his teeth while approaching the tree and gently spread the branches out.

  “Do you think we’ll have a lot of figs, Papà?”

  Gaetano took the cigar out of his mouth. “Don’t worry. When the figs are ripe, we can eat them with some prosciutto on top. Allura, what happened to your friend, Nathan? He don’t come around no more.” Gaetano stubbed the cigar out in the ashtray.

  “Nothing, Pop.”

  “Your friend hasn’t returned since he banged my back door. Non capiscu.”

  “Nate has some cockamamie idea that he should run after some woman he met in Italy.”

  “Does he love her?”

  “Si.”

  “Then why should he not pursue her?”

  “I don’t know.” Nick walked over to examine the fig tree. “It’s none of my business anyway.”

  Gaetano followed his son to the tree. “Bravu. Eh, but why you no speaka to each other?”

  “He wants me to go with him to Italy and I refused.”

  “Isn’t Nathan your best amicu?”

  “He used to be.”

  “No, non possibbili! There must be something else you’re not telling me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “Tell me the truth. You always confided to me since you were a picciriddu.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Pop,” Nick yelled out. “Don’t you know where I’ve come from?”

  “No, I know nothing about what happened to you during the war.” Gaetano raised his voice. “I guess in time you’ll tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “What’s going on out there?” Lucia called out, as she stepped out the door. “The neighbors!”

  “Lucia, I am just having a little talk with our son. No problemu!”

  Lucia shook her right hand in the air and went inside.

  “Nicolo, let’s sit down again.”

  “Okay, Pop.”

  Gaetano sat opposite to his son. “There’s something else troubling you. Besides Nathan. I heard you were once sweet on his sister. Deborah, right.” Nick nodded. “A nice girl. But she is married, I understand. Anyway she was Jewish, so how was this going to work out, you being a Catholic?”

  “I’m not interested in the Catholic Church anymore.”

  “You used to be an altar boy. When you were in the sixth grade you told your mother and me you wanted to be a priest.”

  “That was a long time ago, Pop.”

  “But thank God, you came to your senses when you discovered girls.” Gaetano pointed his index finger at his son. “Ma Nicolo, you are still Catholic. We are not heathens.”

  “Pop, you only go church on Palm Sunday, so you can get free palms to weave into fancy crosses for us to wear.” Nick ran his hand over one of the limbs. “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot Christmas.”

  “Never mind! Your mother goes every Sunday.”

  “Let’s get off this. I don’t want to hear about it.”

  “Okay, so what else is bothering you? Your cuginu, Paolo?”

  “I don’t want to talk about the war.”

  “It was terrible what happened to my nephew and what it did to Ziu Francesco and Zia Concetta. La tutta famigghia.”

  “And what about what happened to you? The government should be ashamed of themselves for throwing you and your paesani into one of those internment camps.”

  “FDR shoulda stopped the whole damn business from the beginning. And to think we Italians, loyal Democrats, helped put the President into office. And when we sent our sons to fight in the war, they still called us enemy aliens.”

  “The G-men stole you away in the middle of the night. Right outside.”

  “You should of been at the camp to witness their riddles. The interrogator, he says: ‘Who do you want to win this war?’ I saya just like this: ‘Think of your mother as one country and your wife as another country. You love your mother and you love your wife, but not in the same way, that is if you’re not pazzu, excuse me signuri, crazy.’ So I thought for a moment and finished. ‘I love my mother country, Italy, and equally love my new wedded country, America. Sir, would you be able to choose one over the other? I only want them not to fight against each other, just like we did in the last war.’ Still I was guilty as charged, an enemy alien. Allura, we are a proud people and don’t complain, but everything remains here.” Gaetano tapped the side of his head.

  “Si papà tu sei un uomo di fiducia, a man of trust, as Padre Esposito would say.”

  “Padre Esposito?”

  “Papà, if you are a proud man, then you must find other work. You can’t sit around the house while Mamma sews in a shop with two temperatures, steaming hot or damp cold.”

  “It is easy for you to say. You are young. I am too old to start a fishing business again.” Gaetano became lost in his thoughts, then mumbled: “È veru, figghiu miu ma …”

  “But what, Pop?”

  “I did not want to tell you all these things, but the U.S. Navy returned my fishing boat. It was unseaworthy, good for nothin’. Do you know what I did to that boat, which your mother and me scrimped and saved for, the fastest purse seiner in the bay? Do you want to know what I did? I set the useless junk boat afire at the dock of Fisherman’s Wharf, right where it once rested gently in the water, its shiny wood gleaming in the sun.”

  “A lot of crazy things went on during the war, Pop, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. Don’t take this in the wrong way, but I have an idea. You could work in Ziu Francesco’s alimentaria. Help him supervise the young busters. Maybe even set up a fresh fish counter in the back.”

  Gaetano put his head down. “Maybe, as you say. We’ll see.” Gaetano looked up and tapped N
ick’s cheek. “I’ve got it,” Gaetano said with a questioning look. “Before, your faccia shows it. There has to be some other girl. You can no fool your father.”

  “After all you went through, we’re back to this topic. Minchia!”

  “I am right.”

  “Beni! Okay, okay. I was with an Italian woman in Roma. A Milanese!”

  “Minchia! Don’t get involved with the Northerners. The ones from the Mezzogiorno will understand you better, especially the Siciliani.”

  “I’m American, Pop. Remember, I was born here.”

  “Maleducatu! Don’t get smart with me.” Gaetano smiled at his son. “Continue with your story about the Milanese.”

  “I even lived with her a while.”

  “Si, of course. Go on.”

  “You wouldn’t like what she did to get by during the war.”

  “Don’t say anymore.” Gaetano raised his palm up. “Va beni. The war is over and you are safe at home. You’ll meet another woman.”

  “It’s not as simple as that, Pop.” Nick rubbed his hands through his hair and stared at the fig tree.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Caterina.”

  “You love this woman?”

  “I don’t know, Pop. I don’t even know where she is now.”

  “I don’t think your mother would like comu si chiama?”

  “Caterina.” Nick’s face showed exasperation.

  “Your mother would want a nice Sicilian girl for you. If no, then an Americana who comes from a respected family.”

  “I don’t want a nice girl, Pop.”

  “You are my only son and I want you to be happy.” His father’s eyes popped out. “I’ll make a deal with you. I don’t care what happened with this Milanese girl from Roma. If you like, I’ll convince your mother about Caterina’s purity. I am very good at telling stories.”

  “I appreciate everything you and Mamma have done.” Nick embraced his father and then let go. “But it’s best if you let me sort this thing out myself.”

  “So maybe you should go with your friend. Nathan è bonu comu lu pane.”

  “As good as bread, Papà.”

  Gaetano tweaked his cheek. “He needs you now. You can go back to school in the fall.”

  “I don’t know, Pop.”

  “Maybe the trip will do you good. Allura, all you do is read your books and take notes.” Gaetano clasped Nick’s shoulders. “You need to pick yourself up. You will have an adventure!”

  “As Mamma and you have noticed, I’m very mixed up right now.”

  Gaetano grabbed his son’s face and turned it toward him. “Look into my eyes, figghiu miu.” Nick stared at his father. “Do you know what I see? You left as a boy and came back as a man. Your mother and me are very proud of you. And as you are a man, you have known love, and may still be in love. Your father knows about these things.” Gaetano wrapped his arm around his son. “You know there is an old Sicilian saying— Amari e disamari nun sta a cui lu voli fari. You don’t choose whom to love and not love. Capisci?”

  “I guess.”

  “Bravu.”

  As they walked back in the house, Lucia was standing at the door, teary-eyed for things she could not hear but must have felt. He thought about his parents, and how they must have not slept one peaceful night till the day he stepped back into their home on Stockton Street. He told them he was going to take a walk and not to worry so much.

  Before he left, he went into the kitchen and shouted to his mother who was whispering to Gaetano in the living room. “Mamma, do you have any caponata left?”

  She stood at the entrance. “Si, there’s a sealed one left on the top shelf.”

  “Can I have it?”

  “Certo. For your girlfriend?”

  “Grazie Mamma!”

  Nick trekked for several miles until he reached the jazz joint, Jack’s Tavern. The same bartender, Billy McClellan from his 18th birthday party, was still there. Nick held the jar of caponata in the air for the bartender to see, who smiled when he recognized Nick. He took off his apron and had his barback take over for him, motioning to Nick to follow him outside because there was a bebop set going on with its fortissimo brass sounds racing away.

  “After all these years! It’s Nick, right?” Nick smiled. “And what’s this? Wait a minute, you brought me some capo …”

  “Caponata.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “I wanted you to have the eggplant appetizer that my Mamma made.”

  “Well I do sure appreciate that. “It’s been awhile, but I remember you was regulars before you guys left for the army. Glad you made it back alive. Where’s your cousin?”

  “My cousin Paul was killed in action when we were in Italy.”

  “God damn, I am sorry to hear that, son. It must hurt bad!” Nick grimaced and Billy rubbed his chin. “But I do have some good news to share. My boy, William Junior, he joined up before he finished college and came back in one piece as 1st Lieutenant. Tuskegee Airmen of 332nd Fighter Group. Only Negroes to fly in the war. Woo-eee, that boy was some pilot.”

  “Glad your son made it back safe.”

  “You look a little under the weather, Nick. Is everything okay?”

  “I don’t want to keep you from your job.”

  “I’d rather talk with you awhile. I get mo’ tired these days.”

  “Well, there is one thing now that you mention it.”

  “Shoot!”

  “See my other buddy, Nathan. He used to come here too.”

  “You mean the fella who always came in with a sketch book?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. Anyway, he went off to Italy to find a girl he was sweet on. But I didn’t want to go with him.”

  “Well, I suppose he can take care of hisself. Is that all?”

  “He’s desperate. Needs me there and I turned him down because …”

  “Because why?”

  “I am afraid to go back. I left someone there too, you know, but it was a bad situation.”

  “That’s something only you can deal with when it comes to matters of the heart, if that’s what you getting’ at. As for your buddy, you can’t desert him.”

  “As soon as classes ended, he scrammed on the first train for New York City to catch an ocean liner. He should be somewhere near the port now.”

  “I know what you could do. Listen here! My son has a few connections with the flyboys. Maybe you could hitch a ride in one of those transport planes at Travis Air Force Base. They go to New York. I think it’s Floyd Bennett Field.”

  “Wow, I don’t know what to say?”

  “Don’t say nothin’. Come back tomorrow and I’ll let you know if you going on one of those big mamas.”

  Nick returned home by midnight and tiptoed out to the backyard. He sat on top of the picnic table and gazed at the stars and tried to read them, so he might figure out how he might handle things with his buddy, Nate, and whatever else he might run into. He mulled over his father’s advice and the bartender’s counsel many times. Nick wondered where Caterina was at this moment, eight hours ahead in another time zone. As the rosy dawn was waking her, he wondered what she might have been dreaming about. Did she ever muse about their times together in Italy or was their Roman encounter not even worth a bad dream for her?

  XXIV

  Nathan embarked on the Swedish American Line’s Gripsholm from New York to Gothenburg. He held onto the rail as the ship sliced through the brown water of the harbor, the cry of seagulls circling without purpose. He wondered if he were going to cross over 3000 nautical miles just to set himself up for failure. Once out of the New York Bay, the ocean liner increased speed to 17 knots per hour, running parallel to Long Island, an endless succession of waves that separated him in due course from the solid ground of ‘The End’.

  Out on the open sea, the sunrays grazed the metal hull, turning into flashes of exploding shells that skimmed the ocean’s surface, dredging up memories of the dead and wounded of Ita
ly, a country he thought he would never return to. He was not the same man, though no one in his family noticed, and then there was Nick. What a damn disappointment, after all they had been through. The war had changed Nick too. Nathan could not decode what motivated his best friend anymore. And to think Nick didn’t get what a great gal Caterina was. So water continued to rush and swoosh along the side of the ship, leaving a wake touching the horizon, while he steamed to Rachele. Nathan reflected on the nature of mental illness, a condition that doesn’t disappear because a person wills it. Something else had to come into play and Nathan did not want to live on the “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” as the song goes, but he had to give it one last chance. He felt a hollowness that bored through him, adrift on the vast sea until someone jerked his body with a smack to his shoulder. Nathan spun around and then his jaw dropped.

  “Did you think I would let you go on this meshugganah adventure all by yourself?”

  “Nah, I was hoping you’d change your mind, buddy.” Nathan grinned and shook his head. “How did you manage to catch up with me?”

  “I hitched a ride on a military transport thanks to Billy, the bartender’s son. You remember Willie from Jack’s Tavern?”

  “Sure!”

  “Would you believe it? Billy flew one of those fighter planes in Italy. Broke the color barrier flying planes.”

  “A mensch if there ever was one. Nick, remember when we came back on the Queen Mary?”

  “Yeah and passing the Lady in the Bay. I could’ve kissed her feet.” Nick laughed a little. “And our ship packed like my father’s favorite fish.” They both laughed. “Speaking of fathers, I accidentally ran into yours before I left.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Not when it comes to Mr. Fein. See, your father apologized for all the grief he caused me. Said he never should have interfered. The funny thing was his not being pissed at you for leaving. My mom made many signs of the cross as I walked out the door.”

  Nathan placed his arm around Nick’s shoulder as they scoured the waters for dolphins, whales or any other creature with fins, giving a cheer even though they only saw drifting debris, neither of them giving a damn what the other passengers thought.

  “Like old times, Nick,” Nathan said.