by Angela Petch
Dawn broke as they reached the plains, the coach speeding along the straighter road to Arezzo. Birds perched on telegraph wires like rows of pegs on washing lines and mist hovered over newly ploughed fields. A scattering of sunflowers bent under the burden of their heavy seeds, floated above the morning mist and resembled rusty shower heads.
It was a long journey. Francesco dozed but Anna enjoyed gazing out of the window, taking note of names of towns crowning the Tuscan hilltops: Monte Amiata, San Galgano, Roccastrada, the names like phrases from a poem. Davide was engrossed in his Harry Potter book while his twin sisters made friends with an elderly couple on the back seat, every now and again reporting to their parents on how wicked their new friends were. Signor Micheli had taught them a couple of rude jokes, whilst Signora Micheli had described how naughty she’d been as a little girl.
‘Babbo,’ said Emilia, ‘do you know what she and her friends used to do in the piazza?’
‘Shock me,’ Francesco said, opening his eyes.
‘Well - they used to wee on benches and then hide and spy on people who came along. The people would wipe the wee away with their hands and say stuff like, “I hadn’t realised it had rained…” And then they’d sit on the wee…’ Emilia burst out laughing as she finished her story.
‘But they didn’t ever wee on the bench their own Mamma used to sit on,’ interrupted Rosanna.
‘Thank heavens for that!’ laughed Anna.
‘And they used to knock on the orphanage door and run away,’… took up Emilia.
‘…until one day the nuns opened the door as soon as they’d rung because they must have got fed up and been waiting for them and this huge boy orphan ran out to chase after them…’Rosanna continued.
‘…and Signora Micheli’s little cousin lost his shoe while he was running away from the big boy and they all got told off when they got home but they didn’t tell their parents how it happened,’ finished off Emilia.
‘All much more fun than being slumped in front of television,’ said Francesco.
‘But quite naughty, don’t you think?’ Anna glared meaningfully at her husband.
Four hours later the views from outside the coach turned to flat landscape. Reclaimed ground that had once been marshland early in the twentieth century was now planted with olives and vines. Small flocks of black and white sheep dotted the gentle slopes. The road ran along a canal and as the coach trundled past, dozens of egrets fluttered up from the water like large white handkerchiefs.
Anna was disappointed with the centre of Alberese. She’d expected more than the bland wide square lined with tall unattractive buildings. A parched palm tree drooped in the middle of a patchy grassed seating area, its benches covered in graffiti and rubbish littered the ground. And Francesco was peeved to find the museum closed. A notice on the door explained that, due to lack of funds, it would remain closed for the foreseeable future.
‘That’s a great shame,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to show you lots about the transumanza - photos and documents and old tools. How very frustrating!’
‘Pazienza!’ Anna said. She found it a useful word. She found many ups and downs to living in Italy, not least the bureaucracy. It was frustrating the way anything that should be easy had to be complicated. It seemed there was no sensible reason for this other than to keep pen-pushers busy in their hidden-away government offices.
‘Never mind,’ said Davide, who was secretly pleased he didn’t have to poke around a museum. ‘I’ve already got enough information from Babbo and Giselda.’
‘And we’ll be fine on those swings over there, won’t we, Emi?’ said Rosanna.
With an hour to spare before the special fish meal that was a part of today’s coach tour, Anna and Francesco opted to drink aperitivi at a bar next to the playground.
‘Cin cin!’ said Anna, clinking her tall glass of Aperol against Francesco’s. He was still fuming about the museum. ‘I definitely wouldn’t have dragged you all down here on a four-hour coach journey if I’d known the museum was closed. It’s a long way to come just to eat fish.’
‘I don’t mind, tesoro. I’m enjoying being out and not having to think of cooking. Cheer up! We’ll have fun today, don’t worry.’
Lunch was the usual gargantuan Italian feast. After a glass of Prosecco served with trays of crostini, there were numerous starters, each plate whisked away as soon as it was empty: mussels, razor shells, morsels of tuna steak with tomatoes in an oil dressing, clams and giant prawns. On came the primi: linguine with baby lobster claws and risotto with fresh mussels. When Anna thought there couldn’t possibly be any more to eat, the waitress appeared again with a plate piled high with fried octopus and more giant prawns. All this was served to the fifty or so people from the coach who were chatting and laughing, knocking back wine and sharing nostalgic memories of how life used to be down on the coast for their ancestors. At one point Francesco was invited to referee an animated discussion between a couple of hunters as they bantered about the differences between hunting boar up in the mountains and down at the sea. He held up his hands in surrender after a couple of minutes and said he preferred to remain neutral.
Amazingly, the children had room for ice cream but Anna and Francesco opted for strong espressos and Anna vowed she would never, ever eat again.
‘But you know you will,’ Francesco said, his fingers massaging the back of her neck. ‘Do you think we should be offering meals at Il Mulino?’
‘That would be a definite N - O,’ Anna said. ‘Far too much work.’ She pulled Francesco up from where he was sitting, ‘Let’s go for a walk and work off some of this meal. I can’t sit here all afternoon. In fact – lead me to the cemetery!’
He groaned. Anna’s interest in graveyards was something he still couldn’t fathom. When she’d taken him to England on a winter break before the twins were born, he couldn’t believe it when she’d dragged him off to look round grave stones dotted around Norman churches. She’d read out names and old-fashioned inscriptions to him and it gave him the heebie-jeebies to think of bodies buried so close to a church and nearby houses and not in cemeteries at the edge of town, as was the Italian way.
‘The children won’t want to come,’ he said, hoping to dissuade her.
‘We’ll promise to take them to the beach afterwards. They’ll be fine. They could do with a walk too.’
**
Alberese was a small town so the cemetery wasn’t far. The children refused to enter until Anna set them tasks to discover the strangest names. ‘But no running off!’ she warned. ‘Stay in sight.’
Emilia found a Famiglia Scoccianti, translating as “annoying family”; Davide a Bellabarba - “beautiful beard”; but they all decided Rosanna’s Famiglia Gattamorta or “dead cat”, had to be the winner.
The name that Anna stumbled upon was the most intriguing.
‘Hey, here’s one of our long lost relatives,’ she called to Francesco, gently pushing aside russet petals of fresh chrysanthemums in a vase in front of a gravestone. They were in the area where Francesco had explained poorer people were buried; below ground as opposed to in family vaults where plots were more expensive and generally preferred. Anna had laughed when he told her his mother always asked to be buried where there was a good view. And he had made sure of that for her in the little cemetery in Rofelle. They went together regularly to tend the family grave and Anna liked the way the dead were never forgotten.
‘Look,’ she continued. ‘Starnucci! And she was married to a Giuseppe. Wasn’t that your grandfather’s name?
‘That’s a coincidence,’ said Francesco, let me see.’
He knelt on one knee and read out the inscription:
‘Starnucci Luisella, neé Sciotti
Wife of Giuseppe
Died May 1923, aged 23
Our son, your parting gift
Pax
‘She died in May 1923.’ Francesco paused before he turned to Anna with a frown and added, ‘The same month and year my father was
born!’
‘Another coincidence?’ Anna said.
‘Must be!’ He stared at the plain stone grave. There was no enamelled photo displayed on its surface like on other tombs nearby.
‘Aren’t you curious?’ Anna asked, ‘wouldn’t you like to meet another possible relative of yours? I’d be itching to - it shouldn’t be difficult to find out more about her, Francesco.’ She altered the arrangement of flowers so the inscription was more visible. ‘These are fresh flowers that somebody’s arranged.’
‘We can’t wait around to see who comes to tend her grave,’ Francesco said, standing up and brushing soil from his trousers.
‘No, we can’t,’ said Davide… ‘please can we go now? This place is soooooo spooky.’
‘And I’m starving again,’ Emilia said, rubbing her stomach.
‘You’re always starving,’ Rosanna retorted.
‘Come on then, everybody,’ said Anna, ‘for now, we’ll take it as a coincidence – the beach calls.’
As they all walked towards the sea, Anna put her arm through Francesco’s. ‘You’re not going to leave it like this, are you tesoro? It’s like ignoring a whole possible chunk of your history.‘
‘It’s probably a coincidence. Somebody else’s history…’
‘…but, what if it’s not? Don’t you want to at least try and find out more? You’ll be forever wondering who this young woman was otherwise.’
‘Now’s not the time. The children don’t want to go poking around that cemetery anymore. It’s not fair on them.’
Several fellow diners were now wandering down the dusty lane between Mediterranean pines towards the beach. Blue-green water lapped a clean sandy shore and Anna and Francesco sat together watching their children run free at last, splashing at the sea’s edge.
Francesco was very quiet. He skimmed pebbles into the waves and seemed deep in thought.
‘You’re thinking about that girl, aren’t you?’ Anna asked, snuggling up to him. ‘I think we should go back.’
He smiled at her, ‘You know me so well. Give me a minute.’ He stood up to brush sand off his chinos and went over to talk to the twin’s elderly friends.
Without hesitating, signora Micheli came over to Anna with Francesco, ‘Don’t worry about your beautiful children. We’ll keep an eye on them for you.’
‘Please, pretty please,’ Rosanna said, joining her hands in prayer. ‘We want to stay here, Mamma - we’ll be as good as gold.’
‘But - ’ began Anna.
‘No buts, signora,’ cut in the old lady, ‘it will be an absolute joy. You can trust us.’
Her white-haired husband added, ‘Our three grandchildren live in Australia now and we miss them, so it would be an absolute pleasure for us to be grandparents for the day to yours.’
‘Please Mamma and Babbo…’ This, from Emilia.
‘Look what lovely new grandparents we’ve found. Aren’t we clever?’ Rosanna added.
Francesco and Anna walked back towards the cemetery entrance where an elderly man was tidying fallen leaves and dead flowers into a bin next to a water stand. Large empty detergent bottles stood ready for use as watering cans.
Francesco went over to him. Anna watched as in answer to her husband’s questions he shook his head and then spread his hands in the Italian way. Then, as Francesco turned, the old man shouted after him, ‘Try Perpetua! She knows everybody and everything! You’ll find her in the church.’
‘Listen, Anna - if Perpetua’s not in church, I’ll leave it be.’
‘Fingers crossed then we find her!’
Then he laughed and said, ‘Perpetua – it’s a nickname traditionally given to a priest’s housekeeper who would faithfully serve him.’ He winked at Anna. ‘Possibly serve him in more ways than one…’
The church door was open and, after adjusting to the gloom they made out a stout woman in a polka dot pinafore bending over a metal candle rack. She was chipping dried wax from the holders and on the gleaming marble floor beside her was a bucket containing rags and cleaning products.
‘Signora Perpetua?’ Francesco asked, as he approached her.
‘Signorina,’ she corrected, as she turned round. She had squint eyes that were difficult to focus on, bow legs and a cross face sprouting a creditable moustache.
Anna stifled a giggle, determined not to look at Francesco in case her giggles turned to uncharitable laughter, thinking the old lady would have made a prickly mistress.
‘How can I help you?’ Perpetua asked. ‘The crypt is closed to visitors and I’ve only two minutes to spare before I leave.’
‘I’m looking for any relatives named Starnucci who might live here. I’m Francesco Starnucci. There’s a grave in the cemetery…’
‘…I’m sorry,’ she said, collecting up her cleaning paraphernalia, ‘I don’t know that name. But there are plenty of newcomers in this town. Including foolish foreigners who buy up ruins for holiday homes. Our town has changed too much over the years.’
‘It’s just that there are fresh flowers on that grave…’
‘Signore, I’m very busy.’
Francesco fished a visiting card from his wallet and handed it to her. ‘Here’s where you can contact me, signorina, if you come across any information.’ He shook her hand and placed two Euros in the offertory box next to the candles.
‘Oh well, at least you tried.’ Anna said, as they linked hands outside in the bright sun.
They were almost back at the beach when Francesco’s mobile phone rang out. ‘This could be Alba,’ he said, ‘I hope so. We haven’t heard from her for a few days.
‘No news is good news, remember!’ Anna said.
It wasn’t Alba. She heard him arrange a meeting with somebody called Carla in half an hour’s time and after making sure with Signora Micheli that all three children would be safe for another hour and promising to be no longer, they made their way back to a bar in the piazza. Buckets, spades, lilos and plastic beach shoes hung from a rail outside. A blackboard displaying exotic cocktail drinks served in coconut shells and umbrellas draped in raffia completed a tired and tatty décor which had nothing to do with Italian seaside.
Carla was a petite brunette in her mid-twenties. Her hair was plaited round her head and she wore frayed denim shorts with a skimpy white peasant blouse that showed off a tattoo of dove’s wings on her left shoulder. The only other customers were four old men playing cards on a corner table covered in Formica. Carla’s eyes lit up as Anna and Francesco entered and she came from behind the counter to welcome them.
‘Signori Starnucci? Can I offer you something? A digestivo? Coffee?’
‘Nothing at all for me,’ said Anna, covering her stomach with her hands.
‘We’ve just finished eating for the whole week!’ Francesco added.
Carla laughed, ‘You’ve obviously just had the Sunday Special at Belmare. Let’s sit outside. It’s quieter.’ She indicated a table and chairs shaded by a luxuriant bougainvillea. ‘Signorina Perpetua called me and told me you are relatives of Luisella? I’ve often wondered about her. But my great-grandmother used to say it was a secret whenever I asked about her and nobody dared persist. Bisnonna was scary.’ She chuckled. ‘All our family had to do was keep Luisella’s grave tidy. But it’s always made me sad to think she had no family who cared about her. On the Festa dei Morti, when my parents visit our relatives’ tomb, I make sure I go to Luisella .’
‘I’m not sure if we are related,’ said Francesco, ‘but it’s uncanny her husband was called Giuseppe – as was my grandfather who used to come down to Alberese. And on her grave it shows her baby was born in the same month and year as my own father.’
‘It wouldn’t be impossible,’ Carla said. ‘With families separated, all kinds of things happened all the time - bigamy, children born out of marriage… And I know many babies were left in the orphanage here during the time of the transumanza.’ She shrugged her shoulders.
‘But why does your family put flowers at her grave
?’ Francesco asked.
‘Well, bisnonna was a midwife. Mamma told me the story of how she’d delivered a baby boy to a Luisella Sciotti all those years ago and that she was paid to take care of her grave after she died in childbirth.’
‘What a sad story,’ Anna said.
Carla showed them an intricate gold ring on her right hand. ‘I had this made from a pair of earrings that Luisella’s husband gave bisnonna by way of payment. I inherited them when she died. They weren’t my style and so I had them adapted into this.’ She started to pull the ring off her finger, ‘I should give it back to you if you think you’re related…’
Francesco covered her hand with his, ‘Absolutely not! You’re very sweet but I’m not at all certain I’m related to this poor girl.’
‘Anyway, a pair of gold earrings can’t have been sufficient payment for all the years your family have tended her grave,’ Anna said.
Carla pushed the ring back onto her finger before getting up to return to her bar work. ‘She’s become part of our family now. I think of Luisella as an adopted relative. And it would feel strange not to tend her grave. It’s never been done in the hope of payment, you know.’
Anna hugged her. ‘You’re a good girl. It’s been so special to meet you, Carla.’
‘We’ll see you again, I’m sure,’ Francesco said, clasping her hand in his.
The children waved at them as they approached the shore but continued happily with what they were doing. There were several driftwood structures dotted about on the sand and Anna and Francesco sat watching as the twins ran up from the waves and started to weave in and out of the sea-bleached sticks. They draped seaweed flags over the top and then returned to the water’s edge, hand-standing near the waves. Their adopted grandparents, the Michelis, stood watching them nearby, clapping when Emilia performed three perfect cartwheels. Davide had joined up with a boy of his age he’d met in the restaurant and they were engrossed in building a huge Tower of Pisa out of sand.