The campanile of la Chiesa Cattolica towered above all buildings in Serino, Italy. Antonio and his friends climbed its 132 steps, then shimmed up a rope to the top of the bell tower. This vantage point offered optimum viewing of le ragazze exiting the church on Christmas Day. Shouts of “Buon Natale” and “Ciao, Bella!” prompted giggles from the pretty young girls below.
One blond-haired lass stood out, taller and more serious than the others. She ignored her would-be admirers and focused on corralling her two younger brothers in tow. For Carmela, Mass was an escape from reality. She admired the simple sanctuary, unaware of the beauty of more elegant cathedrals dotting the Italian landscape. The touch of the carved green doors, smell of pungent incense, and flickering of candlelight transported her to some ethereal place.
The pubescent boys in the belfry ogled Gianna’s dreamy eyes and Anna Maria’s bountiful curves, but Antonio had his own fantasy. He gazed past the indigo mountains in the distance. A different Siren called to him–America. When he voiced his vision of crossing the vast Atlantic, the others chided him, “Tu sei pazzo!” But Antonio knew that his crazy dream would become a reality one day.
Carmela’s mind drifted on the walk home. The church’s fading brown stucco reminded her of the rustic farmhouse where she lived before her mother died. The fetid smell of a braying donkey burst her daydream. The wobbly produce cart capsized when she stepped into its path. Carmela, Dominico and little Sabino lay on the cobblestone street. Bits of smashed olives and tomatoes stained their holiday clothes. Fear of her stepmother’s rage and certain punishment flooded her imagination. She crossed herself and prayed for a new life in another place far, far away.
The Little Italy section of Paterson, New Jersey lived up to its nickname. It exploded with the sounds of Italian dialects and the fragrances of Neapolitan cuisine. Two years passed since Antonio met Lady Liberty and survived the indignities of Ellis Island. Now an apprentice in a cobbler’s shop, he was enjoying a weekly paycheck, learning English and adjusting to life in the USA. The new immigrant savored these novel experiences. Still, he had a longing, a desire for something more.
Three weeks on the rocking steamship played havoc with Carmela’s body and spirit. Weak from seasickness, she fell into the arms of her brother when she stumbled down the gangplank on June 24, 1903. He greeted her with magical stories of America in the new millennium. Exhausted and homesick, she longed to re-board the Prinzess Irene and return to bella Italia. Through teary eyes, Carmella noticed someone standing on the dock next to her fratello.
Dominico introduced his sister to a paisano from their own hometown, Serino. The young man took her hand and bowed. “Piacere,” he said with a confident voice, “Sono Antonio.” The touch of his rough hand on hers was electrifying. Carmela’s pallid cheeks turned to crimson and her heart began to race. There was something about those almond eyes…
Was it fate or il destino? Free will or chemistry? Or, did Cupid’s arrow pierce the young hearts of Antonio and Carmela and give me Italian grandparents???
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Living my personal mission statement, “Each One, Teach One,” my greatest blessing is being the mother of two, grandmother of three and a lifelong educator. A graduate of UF and UNF, I am the former principal of St. Paul’s Catholic School in Jacksonville Beach, Florida and executive director of Tree Hill Nature Center in Jacksonville.
Since retirement my avocation is now my vocation – freelance writing. The technical writing of past professional life evolved into more creative genres of poetry, short fiction and memoir. My goal is to invoke the entire spectrum of human emotions in my reader: longing to laughter, pain to promise, despair to discernment.
