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The Difference

Page 28

by C. D'Angelo


  I pause and breathe in a cleansing breath.

  “Here, Teodora. Can you please read what this letter says?” I hand it back to her.

  “Yes,” she continues.

  April 15, 1913

  Dearest Mother,

  I wanted to write to you on this day because, as you know, this is the day Father died one year ago. Vincenzo, the Serafinos, and I have gone to our church and said prayers for him. We also lit a candle for him. You would love our church, St. Mary Magdalene de Pazzi, near our home. They have welcomed us with open arms and we have found many friends there, many from Genoa and the surrounding towns.

  Do not worry about Vincenzo and I. We have been put in charge of many aspects of the Serafinos’ tailoring business and are learning new things every day. Someday we will have our own business. Father would be very proud of his sons. We want to continue to make you proud as well. I love you, Mother, and miss you every day. Give a hug and a kiss to Antonia. I will write again soon.

  Love your son,

  Salvatore

  I take another deep breath, the only sound in the room. Grandpa was solid and steady. I always knew it, but now know it infinity more.

  Teodora breaks the silence for the second time. “You do know that our family inherited the Serafinos’ tailoring business, right?”

  Shock hits me again. How is that even possible anymore tonight? Since I had not thought about how my family never ended up leaving Philly and how there probably weren’t that many tailors who could stay in business back in those days, it makes sense. The Serafinos had to be the nicest family friends on the face of the earth since the dawn of time. They took in kids who were not theirs, provided them with skills, and gave their hard-earned business to them.

  After a few moments, I look up and simply say, “No.” I am sure my face looks like I am in outer space with my thoughts.

  She goes on, “They only had daughters and in those days a family’s business would not have been given to or run by females.”

  Great-Aunt Angeline chimes in, “The boys, they were like the sons they never had is what we heard. They considered them one of their own children. La Famiglia.” As she says the last phrase, she put her hands in the air like she’s hugging it, eyes all aglow.

  “So this is why Grandpa and Great-Uncle Vince never lived in New York. And before tonight, I didn’t even know they wanted to live there. Maybe that is where I got my large desire. I always wanted to, even as a young girl. Isn’t that so strange? It’s like it was in my DNA to live in the city,” saying it, laughing at yet a third possible family tie for genetic memory. Both Teodora and Great-Aunt Angeline nod in possible agreement of the idea.

  I continue, “I’m glad that Grandpa knew I did live in the city. I know he wanted that dream of mine to be fulfilled. He died when I was a freshman in college, so at least he knew I made it there.”

  “I can see that you were close with Salvatore. I want you to know that I believe he knows you live there and made your life there. Believe me, he knows.” Great-Aunt Angeline looks up again as if speaking to him, soul to soul.

  My heart flutters. Seeing that my family has the same beliefs as me reinforces he is here right now. All of the signs that happened to lead me to this moment are my proof. And, without his help, I don’t think any of this would have happened.

  I glance at my watch and my mouth opens. “Oh, it’s late. We’ve stayed so long. I’m sorry.”

  “We want you here.” Great-Aunt Angeline laughs.

  “I don’t ever want to leave, but,” I look at Brian and he nods in agreement, knowing my thoughts I feel, “we will see you soon. We are here in Italy for a few more days.”

  Even though Great-Aunt Angeline is a spunky older lady, I am sure she needs to get to bed soon.

  “Promise?” Teodora asks.

  “Oh yes, I promise, believe me.” I chuckle.

  Our hugs and goodbyes last a solid thirty minutes, as is usual for Italians even in the States. We’ll be back as soon as possible. She won’t be able to get rid of us if she tries.

  Back at the hotel, when Brian and I are brushing our teeth to get ready for bed, I finish and say, “I seriously cannot believe all that has happened. I mean, in general for me, for us, and in Grandpa’s life. The feeling of being frozen since Grandpa’s death never went away no matter what great things happened to me…until the ice chipped away over the last few months. After tonight, that frigid ice is finally melting.”

  He rinses his mouth with water and responds, “Yeah, it’s really something.” His eyes widen, then he rubs them. The enormity of the information we learned today must be sinking in for him too. “I’m so glad to hear you say this. I see the difference in you. My Rachel is back.”

  I smile. “It’s been a lot of work, but yes, I think I am.”

  “I know you will be okay,” he says.

  We hug for what feels like five minutes.

  Still in each other’s embrace, I say, “I know that Grandpa lived a full, long, and loving life. He was a tough man and I’m going to choose to focus on that quality instead of the trauma he had. He would want me to do that. If he could get through the devastation of the Titanic, I can get through anything.”

  “That’s Salvatore’s girl!”

  “Hey, don’t forget I’m also your girl.” I kiss him on the cheek and walk to the bed. I slip between the warm, soft sheets and pull up the bedspread.

  He calls out from the bathroom, “You don’t know how much that is like music to my ears.”

  Upon closing my eyes to go to sleep, I try to let my mind rest, but it wants to continue to grasp everything I learned. What a challenge. I can’t stop thinking. I know people remember where they were and what they were doing when a tragedy occurs, but the opposite is also true. We remember where we were and what we were doing when something outstanding and life-changing occurs as well. Today is that time for me. I finally know my family history. I know my story, my roots. There are no secrets anymore. I am free.

  Despite the flooding thoughts, I continue to feel the new sense of stillness. The feeling is stronger than the thought jumping, even though some thoughts are wonderful and I want to catch and hold them forever. I am not floating around anymore, in my head or otherwise. I feel like I belong—to family, to a greater good, to a worldly connected story.

  My poor Grandpa and Great-Uncle Vince were saved from the sinking of the Titanic and so was I, just today. That sounds dramatic, but it’s true. Yes, I was never alone like them. I have Brian, my parents, my brother (ugh, I guess), a few friends, and Harrison of course. But, I never felt what I feel in this moment tonight. Laying on the soft bed, I feel like the ground, the land has my back. I am supported by generations that came from this sacred country. I don’t need to merely survive in my bubble anymore. I need to stand out, because my family members were two of a few lucky souls who survived that wreck. This trip saved me like the lifeboat saved them.

  Chapter 44

  I slept well last night, exhausted from the heightened emotions yesterday. But this morning, I am still tired sitting at the breakfast table. Not in my usual, err past, depressed manner, but in a mental fatigue from trying to sort through the facts I now inherited as my and my family’s history. I know I will phase out of this state once feelings are processed, though. Maybe being on a high for days is catching up with me too. All this energy and motivation is a large change for me.

  It is hard to explain this emotional spot. I know the facts are real but it’s surreal that the circumstances ended up being this way. If my family came to the US on any other ship but the Titanic, and the same tragedy happened where somehow Great-Grandpa Gino died on the voyage to the States, it would have been awful and tough to believe, but come on. They were on the Titanic. That’s so coincidental given my obsession, it makes me think that DNA theory is accurate once more.

  I must admit,
I have mixed feelings about my family being part of the world-wide fascination. While I understand the intrigue, I don’t like that my story is one of everyone’s knowledge. I am way too private to have my story out there. But is my story even out there at all? Hmm.

  I have never come across last names even relatively similar to ours when reading the ship manifests and all other Titanic passenger information. I wonder if my family were never accounted for in the records. The adult in charge was deceased and the boys were whisked away by the Serafinos, who I hope met them at the pier when the Carpathia arrived. The kids better not have had to get to Philly on their own. I wince at the thought.

  Anyway, the boys were traveling under the Bastows’ set of tickets, so if the authorities didn’t know that, they could have easily fallen through the cracks. Were they under the Bastows’ name, leaving the Allegranza name to be erased from history’s records? In the movie Titanic, the character Rose gave a false surname, so technically the boys could have done that or even could have been sleeping when the Carpathia crew gathered names. Who knows? There are so many possibilities and, as I have learned in this year-long journey, there could have been a lot of documentation mistakes made at many points along the way.

  Okay, now my mind is waking up (good), but racing and going into overdrive (bad). I know I’ll look into the manifest discrepancy sometime in my endless Titanic resources. If my family weren’t on the list of victims or survivors, then I will write to someone to make sure they are recognized. Yes, I will make sure my family is acknowledged in history. But then I would be back to a lack of privacy. Ugh. Saving this for another day; note to self.

  After this much needed slow breakfast of steamy cappuccino and crusty bread with fig jam, I feel more physical strength return. Pondering, oh, everything while sipping the foamy masterpiece helps the mounds of information sink into my overworking brain. The pile is more organized up there now and I’m ready to enjoy today. The present.

  A quick walk on the now well-traveled route leads Brian and I to stand before the Cathedral of St. George again. Its beauty never fades for me. Great-Aunt Angeline told us that this cemetery is where Great-Grandma Francesca and Great-Aunt Antonia’s tombs reside, plus a memorial to Great-Grandpa Gino. I figure that since I am out of my box in so many ways lately, why not also visit a gravesite of a loved one. Add it to that imaginary Rachel list.

  I see the helpful man from the other day, the one who spent so much time with us in that dusty basement. We each wave and smile from a distance, even before Brian and I enter through the iron gates. He continues on his path away from the cemetery, while we continue on ours, veering left. Our roads may never meet again, but he was an unexpected essential aspect of the road to my knowledge and healing. He was a part of the links of facts that I’ve gained while here in Genoa. The links have transformed into a beautiful chain that I can wear around my heart, like an Allegranza coat of arms. I’d be honored to wear it if it actually existed.

  As we make our way through the olive tree encased graveyard, on the narrow gray stone pavers, it doesn’t take long to spot Antonia Allegranza’s name. The cemetery is relatively small, especially for its age and housing many decades of residents. Maybe there is another section somewhere, but this one obviously includes my family. I’m thankful for that fact.

  We stand in silence and stare at each of the tombstones. Antonia, and—“Hey, look at this. Great-Grandma Francesca’s other married name is listed on her stone, instead of Allegranza.”

  “Yeah, it is. Oh, I’m sorry it isn’t your original name.”

  “I’m jolted…but understand.” Seeing Ricci near her first name brings a tinge of sadness, but whoever made the decision was logical. I am sure she would have wanted Allegranza on her stone in her young life, but hopefully was happily remarried and would be glad to have her dying surname engraved for eternity.

  “There’s Gino’s memorial.” Brian says.

  I sigh. My poor great-grandpa. I’m glad he’s honored here, with his loved ones.

  Even though I was never a person to sit at a gravesite and reflect, taking time in this cemetery makes me feel closer to my family. I place the newly bought calla lilies on all of their stones, as a symbol of gratitude and honor to them. Also, I found something special when messing around online a few days ago and this is the perfect time to use it.

  “Brian, I’m going to read a prayer aloud that I found. Don’t judge.” I grin.

  “You do whatever you need to do.” He kisses me on the cheek and wanders away, I assume to give me time alone.

  There’s a website I came across that has all kinds of traditional Italian prayers and mottos. Some of them are familiar family sayings like “acqua in bocca,” or “keep it to yourself,” but some are not, which I find way more interesting. One prayer struck me in an unexplainable manner and until now, I didn’t know why I needed to save it. So, with the intention of bringing tranquility to my ancestors for all the struggles they went through to get to America, as well as continuing to add to my newly acquired inner peace, I reach for the prayer in my pocket and read it softly in my best Italian pronunciation possible.

  Una Preghiera Semplice per la Pace da San Francesco

  (A Simple Prayer for Peace by Saint Francis of Assisi)

  O! Signore, fa di me uno strumento della tua Pace.

  (Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.)

  Dove è odio, fa ch’io porti l’Amore

  (Where there is hatred, let me bring love.)

  Dove è offesa, ch’io porti il Perdono.

  (Where there is injury, let me bring pardon.)

  Dove è discordia, ch’io porti l’Unione.

  (Where there is discord, let me bring union.)

  Dove è dubbio, ch’io porti la Fede.

  (Where there is doubt, let me bring faith.)

  Dove è errore, ch’io porti la Verità.

  (Where there is error, let me bring truth.)

  Dove è disperazione, ch’io porti la Speranza.

  (Where there is despair, let me bring hope.)

  Dove è tristezza, ch’io porti la Gioia.

  (Where there is sadness, let me bring joy.)

  Dove sono le tenebre, ch’io porti la Luce.

  (Where there is darkness, let me bring light.)

  O! Maestro,

  (O Divine Master,)

  fa ch’io non cerchi tanto:

  (grant that I may not so much seek)

  Ad essere consolato, quanto a consolare.

  (to be consoled as to console,)

  Ad essere compreso, quanto a comprendere.

  (to be understood as to understand,)

  Ad essere amato, quanto ad amare.

  (to be loved as to love.)

  Poiché: si è Dando, che si riceve:

  (For it is in giving that we receive.)

  Perdonando che si è perdonati;

  (It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.)

  Morendo, che si risuscita a Vita Eterna

  (It is in dying that we are born to eternal life.)

  Amen

  (Amen)

  After I finish reading the prayer aloud, I take a few more moments of silence. I close my eyes and think of my family’s story; the tragedy that came upon them in their journey to the United States and the pain they were in due to grief, clear through the letters and journal. I feel as though my ancestors can hear me right now in our familial heart connection. Despite the unexpected changes that occurred in my family’s immigration plan, they persisted, in both the US and in Italy. They persevered in their dream of “making it” in America until they were successful. And I have these people to thank for my lifestyle now.

  Brian meanders back to me. “All okay over here?”

  “Yes, all is okay.”

  Now I’m one of those people who find meaning at gravesites? Well, so be it then
. I’ll have to be like others sometimes, I guess.

  “Let’s go,” I say with my head held high.

  Walking down the road to the shops, we find a place with Wi-Fi so I can call Teodora and Great-Aunt Angeline. I want to connect with them every possible second while here. There’s no time to waste.

  “Hi, Teodora. It’s Rachel.”

  “Ciao, bella. How are you doing today?”

  “I’m great. We are headed to tour around a little bit and I wanted to say hello.”

  “How about more than a hello? How about you and Brian come back here for dinner tonight? I know your Great-Aunt Angeline would love to see you again, and so would I.”

  I can feel her smile through the air waves. And I’m smiling on the other end.

  “Yes! It would be wonderful to come to dinner.” I look at Brian as I say the words, asking him with my eyes if the invitation is okay with him. He nods his head in agreement.

  “Come over at six. Va bene?” She asks.

  “Yes, that is good with us. See you then.”

  As soon as I end the call, I have a thought that pops into my mind.

  “Brian, what would you think if I stayed in Italy a little longer? I don’t think I am ready to leave in a few days.”

  “You can do whatever you want, Rach. That sounds like a good idea, actually. I mean, I don’t want to be apart from you with an ocean between us, but I think we can handle it.”

  I squeeze him in a hug and lock my lips on his so passionately I cause my heart to skip a beat, I swear.

  “I think Annabelle would be able to deal with the office alone for another week. I will tell her later. Oh, I want to call Maggie soon, though! She needs to know all about what has happened and,” I look at my watch, “it is morning there now.” I pause. “But wait, do you want to stay in Italy with me?”

  “Nah, I think you need to have some family time without this guy. Plus, I need to get back to work and take care of our little man H.”

 

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