Somewhere in the Stars

by Frank Polizzi

  “Yeah, like old times, Nate.”

  After a week on the ocean, they arrived at Gothenburg, continuing on their journey by ferry, then a patchwork of connecting trains till they caught the last one from Rome to Assisi. Padre Esposito was waiting for them at the station and, after an emotional greeting, the friar drove them in a Fiat 500 to the monastery where they had stayed during the war. After they washed up, the three of them ate a supper of salsiccia all’uva prepared by the two mysterious monks, including asparagus, new potatoes and rosemary from their own garden, accompanied with a chilled bottle of Orvieto Classico. Afterwards, they drank espresso and nibbled on good chocolate from Perugia and the conversation picked up.

  “I’m so happy to see you boys again. I never thought I would live to see this day.”

  Brother Ginepro walked in from the garden with dirt on his forehead and stopped at the dining table. A smile stretched across his face as the two Americani jumped up and hugged him. Nick spoke affectionately in l’italiano with Fra’ Ginepro for a while before he picked up the plates and joined the other monks in the kitchen.

  “You have something else on your mind, Nathan. È vero.”

  “It’s great seeing you again, Padre, but you’re right. There’s someone else.”

  “I hope you have not come on this journey for nothing, but Mother Abbess urged me to contact you. The nuns convinced Rachele to leave the convent, but they wanted her to be in a transitional place. So she could adjust herself to the outside world she ran away from. The psychiatrist, Antonio Russo, is well-respected in the field and took on Rachele’s case.”

  “Capisco, Padre.”

  “The breakthrough came when she mentioned your name. Weaving it into conversation at odd times, il dottore could see a visible change in her. He observed his treatment in the garden setting causing a stimulus for this sudden emotional well-being or …” Padre grinned. “He witnessed a miracolo, despite his being an atheist.”

  “Well, Padre, I’m not much of a believer myself, but there must be something to Rachele repeating my name.”

  “Let us pray so, for it seems the two of you lost something the last time you were here.” Padre Esposito studied their expressions, while Nathan had listened intently. “In the morning I will drive you to the villa. Nicolo can amuse himself in our beautiful village or hike in the countryside. Allora, let’s have some limoncello. It was made right here at our monastery.”

  The next morning Nathan set out from Assisi with Padre Esposito, driving an hour to Gubbio through the foothills of Umbria. It was early June and the heat of the sun was getting stronger, allowing the sunflowers to grow taller in the fields, while along the road, yellow pansies and lavender were sprouting and marking the route. Nathan periodically glanced at his watch, as they spoke of the weather and the growing season, and encouraged the Franciscan monk to stick with Mother Nature for conversation. Nathan was anxious about meeting Rachele and hoped that her progress was real.

  They arrived in the mountain village while the weekly outdoor market was still active with wooden stands that displayed pots and pans, cheese, spices, lines of women’s blouses and leather wallets. Padre Esposito couldn’t resist and insisted they look for a bargain. Nathan indulged the monk since he wanted to delay things. As they browsed around the market, Nathan left the Padre for a short stroll around the 2,500-year-old Gubbio with its green mountainside as a backdrop to gray stone houses flanking a stream. It wasn’t long before he looked at his watch and retraced his path to the miniature car just as a smiling Padre Esposito returned with some bags of red pepper flakes and oregano, their smell hovering in the air. The father drove another fifteen minutes on a circuitous road and then onto a dirt road with hairpin curves.

  They got out of the Cinque Cento and meandered up to the villa, which had burnt siena stucco walls and a roof of weathered tiles that had lost most of their reddish-orange color. There were clay pots scattered around filled with geraniums that were beginning to bud.

  “This is the place where Rachele has been living. What do you think, Nathan?”

  “It’s very lovely, Padre.”

  “Si, molto tranquilla! The Padre smiled. “I have some business to take care of with a local priest. I’ll pick you up later.” He gripped Nathan’s hand. “Buona fortuna!”

  Nathan waved to the Padre as he drove away and realized he would be better off handling this by himself. He combed his hair, took a deep breath and lifted the brass knocker, hesitating a moment before letting it bang. Within a minute a chubby woman dressed in a white apron appeared and let Nathan in, urging him to sit on a wooden bench while she called the psychiatrist. He squeezed his fingers over his eyebrows until he was called in.

  “Signor Nathan Fein, prego, sit down and make yourself comfortable.” The psychiatrist looked down at a thick folder and flipped to the back, reading a few lines to himself. “Mi scusi, I was just checking something. Rachele Stein is the lone survivor of her family, all of whom perished in Buchenwald. She still has unresolved guilt, a lingering shame. But we have made great progress with Rachele in the last two months. I have been successful before using my methods, mainly based on changing the environment of the patient into one that is totally tranquil, a bucolic garden if you will. I try to center on the individual, slowly moving Rachele out of the patient context, gaining her trust and more importantly, her confidence in herself. Am I moving too fast, Signor Fein?”

  “No, go ahead. You can call me Nathan.”

  “It has been difficult to retrieve the happy moments of her childhood because they invariably lead to her immediate past. But I did make some headway. The seeds of her breakthrough, I believe, may have started during her time in the convent. She adored the nuns, who not only saved her life but also treated her like their adopted daughter. It wasn’t long before your name came up. I could see in her face a warmth I had not noticed before. I thought to myself: I must try and find this young man. And so here you are. Grazie for listening patiently, Nathan.” The doctor gazed at Nathan as if he were looking right through him.

  “Dr. Russo, to be honest, I’m very nervous.”

  “There is nothing to fear, Nathan.” The doctor smiled thinly.

  “You don’t understand. I am not worried about myself.” He paused to look out the window where he could see a row of peach trees blooming. “I’m afraid she’ll get worse if she sees me.”

  “No doubt you must have loved her; otherwise you would not have traveled so far. Instead of thinking of the two of you as a failed relationship, consider the possibility of renewal.”

  “Will I be able to reason with her?”

  “Nathan, I am not a gypsy fortune-teller, but if you are successful in communicating with her from the beginning, in time we may liberate Rachele from her pain enough so that maybe she’ll get on with her life. The only advice I have is to be calma and pay attention to her facial expressions, especially her eyes. Don’t expect elegant words of recognition. Let me take you to her. Andiamo!”

  Dr. Russo locked arms with Nathan and the two went out the side door to the garden, where the psychiatrist dropped him off by a curved stone bench that faced Rachele. She sat on a cushioned wicker chair facing a flowerbed of white and red azaleas. She gave a tight smile towards the doctor, flattening her black dress out over her knees, as Nathan eased his way onto his seat. There was an awkward moment of silence, broken by a warning call from a turtledove that landed on a fountain, trickling a tiny stream of water.

  “Do you recognize me, Rachele?”

  “Nathan?”

  “So you remember me.”

  “Si. You have come far.”

  “Yes, but I had company. Nick. Do you remember him?”

  “Si, the name sounds familiar but I’m not sure. Aspetta! The good looking one!”

  Nathan looked away for a moment, tapping his foot.

  “Have you seen Caterina?” Rachele smiled and Nathan fidgeted on the stone. He grasped the side of the bench with both hands. “The t
wo of them were an item.”

  “Non capisco!”

  “You know, a couple of lovebirds.”

  She smiled in recognition but her eyes drifted towards the turtledove that was bathing in the fountain.

  “Do you recognize me, Rachele?”

  “Si, you are that young, American soldier who visited me many times in the convent. A long time ago.”

  “Nathan F …”

  “I know your name. I’m not crazy.”

  “I didn’t mean to insinuate such a thing. My buddy, Nick, sometimes he thinks I’m pazzo.”

  “You must be, if you traveled all the way from wherever you came just to see me.”

  “San Francisco. The good old USA.”

  “Where is your uniform?”

  “Oh, I’m out of the service. Going to college now. Graphic arts.”

  “Then why are you here? Shouldn’t you be spending all your time learning from the maestri?”

  “You’re right, but you see, I just came here on a lark. I mean a chance. I mean I wanted to see you one more time.”

  “You have come a long way, so I do not want to be brutta figura. Capisci, a bad impression, but I am feeling tired.”

  “Bene! I’ll go now. Padre Esposito will be wondering what happened to me.” Nathan stood up. “Will I be able to visit you again? I came a long way.”

  “It is not like anyone wants to see me, except Dottor Russo. I am not in control here.”

  ‘You’ve more presence than you give yourself credit for.” Nathan smiled at her. “Ciao, Rachele.” He shook her hand, which was damp and limp.

  “Addio, Signor Fein.”

  Rachelle walked deeper into the garden, turned her head towards Nathan, then continued on. Dr. Russo, smoking a cigarette by the back door of the villa, invited Nathan back to his study and ushered him in.

  “Prego, Nathan.” Dr. Russo motioned towards the leather chair and took out a notebook. “So, how did you find our Rachele?”

  “To be honest, Dottore, I found her very tense but that’s not going to stop me.”

  “You obviously have feelings for the girl and it is important that Rachele knows this.” The doctor circled something in his notebook. “She needs a connection to someone other than myself or the nuns.”

  “Does that mean you think we should continue with these meetings?”

  “This country garden setting is very helpful for the recovery of my patients. They can sometimes drag up their darkest times and reach epiphanies for themselves. And yet, they need what all so-called sane people want—companionship, even if it is just one human being.” The doctor looked out the window and then turned to Nathan. “Umbria has a way of bewitching people to remain. The only Italian region untouched by the sea. Allora, you’ll have another reason to stay here.”

  “As long as she agrees to it, I’ll do anything you say.” Nathan stood up. “It’s hard to explain my feelings, Dr. Russo, but I do know I love her. It’s funny …” Nathan shook his head. “But I can’t articulate exactly why I do love her, so why would it be easier for Rachele to sort this thing out? But she did remember me despite all the stuff she went through during the war. Anyway, you thought it was significant enough to get in touch with me, right? So here I am.”

  They shook hands and Nathan met Padre Esposito outside. The monk drove him back to San Damiano where they met Nick in the garden.

  “So how did it go, Nate?”

  “She was acting somewhat strange but still looking beautiful.”

  “Give her some time to get used to you. That’s all you can do.”

  “I don’t know, Nick, but I’m going to keep trying until …” Nathan looked at his feet.

  “You must have patience, young man,” Padre Esposito added. “Remember! Pazienza, pazienza, pazienza. Keep chanting that to yourself.”

  “Easy enough for the both of you to say.”

  Nathan locked himself in his old cell of the monastery and refused to come out despite the repeated efforts of Nick and the friar. He felt as if his brain were about to erupt into one of its old seizures. He opened the window, knelt on a wooden chair, resting his right cheek on the cold stone, staring out at black hills and hoping the sensation would pass soon.

  Nick, already disillusioned by Nathan’s experience, wondered why they had bothered to make the voyage. He hiked up to the town and went to the best restaurant he could find. He ate a four-course meal by himself, savoring the smell of the food before each bite, trying to transport his body to a gastronomically safe haven. The halo effect lasted until he stepped into the monastery and acknowledged that one of things he hated most in the world was to dine by himself, recalling how Caterina first identified him to be American and not Italian, as he read and ate at the same time. Nick decided, since it was his buddy who got him in this predicament in the first place, he was prepared to break the door down and drag Nathan with him for their next meal.

  In the morning, Fra’ Ginepro slipped a note under Nathan’s door. He read Dr. Russo’s message, dressed and made it down to the dining room. He dunked a plain cornetto into his coffee, finishing both the pastry and coffee within minutes and hinted to Nick what his mission was. Padre Esposito was already waiting at the front door and the two of them took off in the Cinque Cento.

  Rachele, wearing a pale yellow dress, was running her hand through the basin of the garden fountain when Nathan came into the circle. She didn’t turn around but asked: “Nathan?”

  “Yes, Nathan.”

  “Come closer. The dove left one of his feathers from yesterday’s visit.” She held it up to the light and turned around. She placed it into Nathan’s hand and then sat in her chair. “Prego, sit down. You look like a butler, standing there.”

  Nathan relished her attempt at humor but remembered to stay calma. Anything could happen, he realized, so he sat and chattered about the beauty of the Umbrian landscape and how he should do some sketches. She was paying more attention to him than his discourse, or at least that’s how he viewed it. It was as if Rachele were the first woman he had ever spoken to and that he had reverted to his awkward youth. Every word he uttered made him feel foolish. He gritted his teeth to block out his dark thoughts and hoped she was sweeping hers away.

  The turtledove returned to the same spot and Rachele clapped.

  “Persistent, nosey guy, wouldn’t you say, Rachele?”

  “Our little friend, nonetheless. St. Francis used to talk to the birds, and yet no one accused him of being crazy.”

  “You’re right! It’s a term that gets thrown about all the time, like curse words that have become common modifiers to every event that happens.”

  “You remind me of a professore from my university.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “Si, si. He was very handsome, very intellectual.” Nathan’s cheeks flushed red. “I have gotten a reaction out of you.” She laughed flippantly.

  Nathan realized that he was acting more formal than Rachele, who was a young woman filled with all kinds of emotions that had been caged up like a canary for so long. During periods of silence, it seemed they transcended their positions in the garden. As he moved from one free association to the next, it hit Nathan like one of Dr. Russo’s epiphanies—his feelings for Rachele were not about saving her, that would best be left for il dottore or the sisters. He loved her as a unique woman—the way she looked, her delicate spirit, and in some crazy way, that she was a female doppelganger for himself. Lost in thought, he imagined someone was talking to him until he realized Rachele had just repeated something to him.

  “Nathan! I’m glad you have come …” She rubbed the silk sash of her dress. “But my feelings still get jumbled.”

  “Nothing about you is jumbled for me.” Sitting here for the second time, all his memories of them during the war flooded his mind. He had to remind himself how fragile Rachele was, just as Caterina had warned. He sat on the stone bench, more aware of its hard surface than what he should say next. Maybe she read h
is mind. It was funny that Rachele was content to sit near him without any words in this secluded garden. He thought it was about time he screwed up a little mut, after everything he had been through in Italy, show a little courage.

  “I’ll never leave you. Unless you insist I go home.”

  “What?”

  “I promise to come here every day till things change.”

  “Too many words.” She whispered: “I don’t understand. Non capisco. Ich verstehe nicht!”

  Nathan got up and dropped on his knees, holding her hands. “I love you! Ti amo. Ich libe dich.”

  She kissed his cheek and rose up. “I have to go now. Dr. Russo will be looking for me.” She spun around and moved towards the French doors of the villa, while he stood there confounded. Rachele turned and pulled a postcard out of the pocket of her dress and extended it to him as he got closer. “Make sure you give this to Nick.”

  Nathan stuffed it into his shirt without looking at it. “Can I see you again, Rachele?”

  “Tomorrow, Nathan.”

  As Nathan waited outside the villa for Padre Esposito, he prioritized his future plans—find a studio apartment in Gubbio, buy a Vespa and get an Italian tutor. He swore that he would wait forever, if he had to. He could hear the exhaust from the Cinque Cento approaching, and the lyrics of “It Had to Be You” from one of his 78s came to mind, which he hummed as he moved towards the car.

  Late in the evening Nick took Nathan to the same trattoria, happy he wouldn’t be dining alone. The owner of the family-run place welcomed them and they sat at a table with a view of the hills.

  “Wait till you bite into the first morsel of food. Paradiso,” Nick boasted while he twisted his index finger into the right cheek, as if to say: ‘It’s very good—buonissimo!’

  “I can smell the truffles from the kitchen.”

  They ploughed through all the courses and two bottles of Orvieto Classico, ending with grappa from Bassano. They clinked glasses, bellowed “Cent’anni” and drank it down.

  “Dottor Russo advised me to watch for the signs in her appearance, the way she holds onto things, the expression in her eyes.”