"I never even thought about you." She wiggled out of his arms and punched him in the shoulder, sticking out her tongue for good measure. "Of course I missed you, Piccola." It meant "small," and he had called her that ever since she was born.
"Well, you never wrote. Not to any of us."
"Pia," her mother said, "your brother just got home. Leave him catch his breath."
"That's OK, mom. I'm sorry about that, but I've been places where mail just isn't a possibility." Remembering the flowers he offered them, slightly battered, to his mother. "Here, mom, these are for you."
"They're beautiful, Larry. Much nicer than what Filomena sells." Larry and Pia both smiled, fighting hard to keep from laughing.
"Sit, my son," his father said, motioning towards his big easy chair."
"I'm fine on the sofa, pop."
"Letta, bring us in some lemonade, please." Giacomo settled into his chair, Larry sat down on the sofa, weariness from the long journey, as well as a fatigue that went deeper than muscles and bones, having its effect on him. Pia curled up on the other end of the couch, and a quiet settled about them. No words were needed.
Larry grew to young manhood in this loving ethnic community, graduating from South Philadelphia High School with grades that were better than average although not outstanding, except where his proud parents were concerned, and excelled in track, especially the 440 and the mile. Larry was now twenty-six years old and had enlisted in the Army at nineteen. When the war broke out he was already a veteran, and after less than a year in combat he had been asked to volunteer for a transfer to the OSS, Office of Strategic Services, a new unit about which not much was known. He was told only that the pay was better than the regular Army and that it would help his career in the military. And by the way, the Captain had said, it might involve some work behind enemy lines. About the dangers, high risk of death or capture, possible torture and the fact that, if caught, he would be treated by his captors as a spy, well, that wasn't mentioned until later when it was too late for him to do anything. But, such was the Army.
His father was a skilled leather worker but the economics of Italy had not been favorable, and when they failed to improve, the young couple found it necessary to become itinerant workers, as both their parents had been. It was, for Giacomo, a great disappointment, for he considered it a step down not to have his own shop, where clients came to you, someplace where you could welcome them, perhaps offering a glass of wine to the regulars.
Austria and Switzerland were not far, and soon they found themselves in front of a large horse drawn wagon making their way into the lake and border towns of these two neighboring countries. For Giacomo and Aletta it brought back memories of their childhood, a time when they each made the same circuit with their families, sometimes going to sleep hearing one language spoken and waking up to the sounds of another. At an early age they could speak German and French, as well as several little known dialects. Since itinerant workers often traveled in groups for safety, the two children frequently found themselves together at campfires, and a friendship was formed, one that grew stronger for all the adversity and adventure in which it was born. They shared the secrets and the trials of growing up, uniting them ever more closely, a bond that was not lost on their parents, and a match was made, the betrothal pledged.
Sirmione, long considered the family home, simply could not provide a steady livelihood for the newlyweds, and after a short stint as an assistant to a saddle maker, it became apparent that the life of itinerants was to be their lot, too. Shortly after Giacomo and Aletta were forced to follow in their parents' footsteps, Giacomo made a decision. As soon as they could scrape together enough money for tickets, they would sail for America and start a new life there, in the land of golden opportunity. In less than a year they sold their belongings, took their meager savings and booked passage on the S.S. Philadelphia, leaving from Genoa. Aletta thought it a sign from God that the ship was named "Philadelphia" since that was to be their final destination. It was a large city with a sizable Italian population, and, moreover, was home to Giacomo's uncle, Matteo, who wrote that he would help the young couple get started. Matteo and his wife had never been able to have children, and they emigrated to the United States in the hope that a new country would mean a new beginning for him and fecundity for his wife. In the former, events fulfilled his wish, but sadly, in the latter, their hopes were dashed. Pregnant once, his wife lost the baby and almost died, all hopes of bearing children gone.
Matteo, like most of his siblings, grew up learning the leather trade, and was happy to have a family member who could help him in his growing business. He and his wife treated the young couple like the children they never had, and Giacomo and Aletta always showed them love and respect. It was no surprise to anyone that Giacomo took over the business when Matteo became too old to work, and, under Giacomo's tutelage, the business expanded even further, continuing the tradition of fine Italian leathers and craftsmanship. Larry, Pia and brother Paulo, looked on the loving older couple as grandparents, and Giacomo, steeped in the Italian importance of family, was glad to let their sponsors assume that role.
Giacomo Sabatini would have done whatever was necessary to send his first born to college, but Larry was more than willing to let that honor pass to his younger brother or even to his sister. At nineteen years of age, South Philadelphia was too constricting for him, and the recruiting posters for the Army too compelling. In spite of his parents' apprehension, he enlisted, and it wasn't long before Giacomo was boring the neighbors with stories of his son, the future general in the American Army. By skill, determination and a character that was genuinely both gentle and good natured, Larry overcame the prejudice that still lingered amongst some in the military, even after Italian-Americans were no longer considered alien enemies, and rose to the rank of sergeant before being transferred to the OSS.
When Mrs. Sabatini returned with drinks, the silence struck her as odd until, with the quick emotional eye of a woman, she saw the contentment on the faces of her family. She set down the tray and passed around glasses of fresh made lemonade. "Larry, I'm making your favorite for lunch - capellini, veal and red gravy. But it won't be as good as usual so don't be disappointed."
"Mom, your cooking never disappoints."
She waved dismissively. "I didn't have time to simmer the veal in the gravy. Still, it will be better than the alphabet food they feed you, you know, those A, B, C or K rations. Sounds awful. How do you even know what letter to order for each meal?" He laughed. She shrugged, pleased, and walked back to the kitchen. Later, Larry's "grandparents" walked from around the corner to join them all for lunch, a meal that lasted hours, interspersed with stories and more wine than he had drunk for many months. Afterwards, he walked Matteo and his wife home, then returned to sit on the front steps with his father. Giacomo had not done much talking during the long, midday repast, content to sit and listen, and stare at his first born with love and admiration. He was not one for discourse in a crowd, but here, one on one, he felt at ease and could open his heart. Larry knew this about his father and purposely planned for the two of them to be alone, comfortable on the front steps where they could talk to each other. Conversation flowed easily, moving from banal everyday subjects - the business, their health, how his brother and sister were doing - to matters of the heart.
When he went off to war, mortality was not a concept that occupied much of Larry's thoughts. Like most people his age, death seemed a distant and rather nebulous condition that might require some concern, but certainly not for many years. War changes much in a person, forces one to see things previously unrecognized, and time spent behind enemy lines sharpens that focus even more. How tenuous our hold on life, how quickly things can change, how unseen are the true dangers. Although not obsessed with death, nor paralyzed by the realization that he might die, Larry was aware that death awaits us all. Time and circumstance may vary, but the ultimate end of the journey was the same for everyone. And so he told his fat
her of his love for him, and the great respect in which he was held for all that he had accomplished for his family. Arm on his dad's shoulder he said, "Pop, you really are my hero. I pray I could be half the man you are."
"No! What did I do but what any man would have done? There's nothing heroic in that."
"That's just it. Not every man would have or could have done all that you did to give your wife and children a good life. You never complain, you never brag, you just do what needs to be done. It wasn't a one-time act of bravery; you've been doing it since you were a boy. There's a quiet kind of valor in that. We all appreciate it, Dad, we just don't say it like we should."
His father shook his head, an attempt to demur, but the tears welling up in his eyes and the set of his mouth gave witness to the emotion he felt. Larry had never seen his father cry, not even when the letter came from the old country telling him that both of his parents had died within a week of each other. According to Aletta, the only time he shed tears was at the birth of each of their children. Tightening his hold on his father's shoulder, Larry reached over and gave his father a hug, both of them at a loss for further words. They sat for a moment, then slowly lapsed back into the mundane, reminiscences of his childhood, stories about friends and neighbors, easy conversation that suited an idle afternoon.
Before long, Larry noticed a figure at the end of the street. By its size, general appearance, bearing and many other subtle signs that most of us evaluate unconsciously, but which Larry's training taught him to apply by design, he recognized his brother Paulo. Larry motioned to his father, then stood up, arms akimbo, and fixed his gaze on his approaching sibling. Paulo glanced their way, oblivious as to whom the distant figures were. However, as he approached, he let out a whoop and started to run, the heavy brown leather briefcase he held causing a funny looking asynchronous wobble to his gait. Panting from the run, he set down his load and embraced his older brother. "Jesus, it's good to see you. You know I actually missed you."
"Hard to imagine that." Smiling.
"When did you get in? How much leave do you have?"
"Ship landed this morning, and I've got about two weeks, depending on ship traffic." He took a step back and looked him up and down. "Paulo, you've grown a lot. I didn't think you were supposed to grew any after eighteen."
"That's only an average. There's a lot of individual variation."
"Is that what you learn in medical school? Sounds really useful."
Paulo smiled; something that came easily to him. He wore the khaki fatigues of a naval officer, but his days were spent at Jefferson Medical College, at the expense of the United States Navy. After he was accepted at medical school, he thought it his patriotic duty to join the armed forces, and so one day, walking back from Jeff where he had just completed a large stack of admission forms, he stopped at a recruiting center. The navy was only too happy to get another Swabby, but they thought he could be of greater value as a naval physician, so they patted him on the back as he signed on the dotted line, gave him four weeks of basic training and ordered him back to Jefferson in time for the new school year.
Although he shared Larry's good looks and jet-black hair, he was several inches taller and had a lighter complexion. Sworn enemies during their early teens, they had become friends and confidants by the time Larry turned eighteen, and in the year before he went off to the Army they had formed a relationship that Paulo thought would last for ever. Giacomo was pleased to see his two sons so close, and decided to leave them alone to catch up. Picking up the briefcase he had made with such care, he said, "You two sit and talk. I'll call you when dinner is ready." He grunted as he lifted. "Paulo, what you got in here, bricks. You going to be a stone man or a doctor?" He limped up he steps. The two brothers looked at each other, smiled, then started to quietly laugh.
"How many times has mom fed you so far?"
"Only once, not counting cookies and lemonade."
"You got off lucky, but wait, dinner's coming soon." Paulo eased himself down onto the middle step, unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his tie. "So what's it like in the Army? I guess you missed out on the D-Day landing."
"Yeah, I guess you could say that. Sort of."
"Now there's a definite 'yes,'" he said sarcastically. "It's that special unit you were transferred to, isn't it?" Before Larry could respond, Paulo went on. "I know you probably can't talk about it, and I don't want you to say anything that might get you in trouble or make you violate a trust."
"Thanks. I know that, but actually I'd like ..."
The front door was thrown open and Pia emerged from the house, stood at attention on the landing, one finger held across her upper lip in imitation of a mustache, her right arm outstretched in a "Heil Hitler" salute, and said in near perfect German, "And just what secrets are you keeping from your sister? You are obviously both spies and must be punished."
The brothers turned in unison to look up at their sister, and as one, threw up their arms in surrender, both laughing. Paulo, through his laughter, said, "You better watch that German before Mrs. Carlotti next door reports us as enemy saboteurs."
"It wasn't that long ago that we really were classified as enemy aliens. You boys haven't forgotten Proclamation 2527 have you? The president signed it right after Pearl Harbor."
"Yes, I know, but Piccola, it lasted less than a year before he repealed it."
"I know that, too. It would have been politically tough for him at the next election, what with six million Italian Americans, and most of them democrats. But I still didn't like what Roosevelt said to that Biddle guy in charge of the internments. You know what he said?"
"I don't know," replied Larry, "but I think my political activist sister is going to inform us."
"Damn right!"
"Don't let Dad hear you swear or he'll personally inter you himself."
Ignoring the jab from Paulo, Pia finished her mini lecture. "He said that he really didn't care about the Italians, that we were a lot of opera singers. It was the Germans he was worried about. We're not six million opera singers, we're a lot more than that. It's no better than calling us all wops."
"Well, he was right about the Nazis," said Larry in German.
All of the Sabatini children could get by in German and French as well as Italian, especially Larry and Pia, the two oldest. Giacomo and Aletta thought it to be to their children's advantage to speak several languages, and passed on their knowledge, accumulated during years on the road with their parents. Dinners at the Sabatini's were usually laced with conversation in a polyglot of languages, and when the children visited their father at work, they were just as likely to hear German or French spoken as they were to hear Italian or English. In point of fact, there was a sizeable German community in Philadelphia, and Giacomo, due to his fluency as well as his craft, had managed to accrue a good number of wealthy German clients. Of course, the war changed all that.
Larry's facility with languages was an important asset for the OSS; however, it was a sword that cut both ways - his talents were appreciated by his superiors, but he was often assigned dangerous missions in Germany and occupied France. This shadow world where everything had to be questioned and allegiances were sometimes mere expediency, he kept secret from everyone except the officers who debriefed him. However, the emotional impact of certain encounters was a growing mental burden, a consciously imprisoned set of memories that cried for release but which he could not share with his superiors. The medicos listened and applied their psychological salves, but the realm of the mind was largely foreign to them, and it was obvious to Larry that they were uncomfortable with what he had to say. A broken bone, an inflamed liver, these were ailments they understood. His demons stayed with him, caged animals whose distant cries were heard in the night. Terror that insinuated itself into those quiet moments between thoughts. What he needed, he realized, was an empathetic listener, someone to whom he could unburden himself and who would listen without blame. Paulo was to be that person. But not now. Pia had ensco
nced herself on the stoop with her brothers and appeared to be there for the duration. Catharsis would have to wait; for now, the ambiance of family had to suffice.
The afternoon slid easily into evening until Aletta opened the door and announced dinner. She wore a beaming smile, ignited by the sight of her three children together on the steps, a tableau that was to haunt her in it's irrevocable loss. "Come on in, my children, we haven't all sat down to a family dinner in a long time. Let us enjoy God's blessing." She crossed herself and disappeared back in the house, knowing she would not have to repeat her summons.
* *
The curtains on the windows of the rear bedroom swayed to and fro in a morning breeze that was a harbinger of relief from the oppressive heat that had plagued the city for the last few days. Morning sun flickered across Larry's eyes, its beams rhythmically interrupted by the blowing curtains, like some urgent message from a ship's signal lamp, and when he awoke to the bright staccato light, several seconds passed before he realized where he was. Throwing off the light sheet that covered him, he stretched out his arms and legs, feeling muscles knotted by sleep protest meekly, then relax, toned and ready for the day ahead. Normally, Larry would have immediately swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood to begin a few minutes of light calisthenics. Today, however, he was a civilian, and would remain so for the next two weeks, so, in keeping with his new status, he folded his arms behind his head and lay in bed enjoying the early morning breeze and the pleasure of not having much in particular to do.
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