Last Night In Sicily

The Spring sun was just peaking over the mountain bringing its warm light to the small village. A sweet breeze gently rocks the treetops. The earthy smell of fresh brewing coffee wafts from the small café that is on the piazza. The proprietor is just putting the chairs down at the outside tables.

The café owner smiles at me as I come silently up. He gestures to a seat. His wife appears as if by magic and puts a fresh, hot cup of coffee down on the table.

“Grazie Mille,” I say.

“Prego,” She smiles at me and waves as she departs.

I take my seat and wait. It won’t be long. Today is the day. I can feel it.

The coffee is hot and tasty. I take a cigar from my inside pocket and snip the end. The fire from the wooden match makes a crumpling sound as it spreads to the tobacco in the cigar. The smoke is thick and aromatic. It blinds me momentarily as the cigar comes to full strength. My head spins a bit.

Through the smoke I see him. The morning sun highlights the red in his auburn hair. He is searching, again, for something important. His jaw is set in determination. His eyes, glinting steely Hazel, reveal a grim determination to find the object of importance. He is looking for me.

He was here yesterday. I saw him from across the piazza. He was showing a picture around and asking the locals about me. I knew he was asking about me. I knew he was asking about her.

I watched him all day, wondering the whole time how he could be across the piazza from me and not see me. Maybe it was divine intervention that kept him from seeing me. Soon, I will spare him another day of searching, but not quite yet.

A motion at my elbow makes me look up. The café owner has appeared with a plate with Sfingi on it. The small deep-fried pastries are like a doughnut, or a beignet. They are made with Ricotta cheese and covered with sugar after they are brought, steaming, from the oil. I smile at him.

“Grazie.”

“Non preoccuparti per questo.” Don’t Worry about it, he says. He fidgets and I know that there is something on his mind.

”Vai avanti, mi chiedono.” Go on, ask me. I already know what he is going to say.

“È quello che penso sia?” Is that who I think it is? He saw him, too. I look up at him and there are tears in his eyes.

“Si”

He reaches out and grasps my shoulder. He seems about to speak but changes his mind and goes back inside. I puff my cigar and look across the piazza.

The boy has now sat down on the bench next to fountain in the center of the Piazza. He is looking at the picture that he has been showing around and saying something inaudible. The light through the trees highlights the color of his hair, the paleness of his face and the light freckles that frame his cheeks.

There is a place in every movie where time slows to a crawl and the camera slowly zooms in on the face of one of the characters as they slowly look up and recognize the person who is looking at them from a distance. That was always the part of the movie that I liked best, but I didn’t think that this happens in real life. It does.

The breeze sends a paper napkin tumbling across the piazza and the boy looks up. My breath catches in my throat as I look into his Hazel eyes. They are deep, warm and full of expression. Recognition washes over him as he sees me.

I motion for him to join me. His relief is palpable as he takes a seat across from me. Before he can speak, I greet him.”

“Tell them I said, NO.”

“What?” He is startled.

“That is why you are here? She wants me to come home?”

“She does, but that isn’t why I am here.”

It’s my turn to be startled. The boy is looking around and I motion for the Café Owner. “What would you like to drink?” I ask the boy.

“Just some ice water, please”

The proprietor moves away at the request. There is silence. The sound of the breeze is calming. Jazz piano starts to play inside the café as the owner’s wife puts on her favorite song.

“Where are you staying?” I inquire.

“At a boarding house.”

“Signora Fratelli?”

“Yes.”

Silence again. He is looking at my pastry. I move the plate across the table to him. The water has arrived at the table by this time.

“I saw you yesterday.”

“What?” He looks at me and his eyes harden in annoyance. The look is so familiar that I almost laugh but the tears spring to my eyes instead.

“I wasn’t sure it was you, at first. Then, by the time I knew, you had gone. I came early today so that I would be sure that you could find me.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“The eyes. I have looked into those eyes a million times. I know them. I have memorized every color. It was more than that, though. Yesterday when you asked Signor Bruno about me and he didn’t answer, you made a face that almost made me laugh out loud. Then, I knew. “

“He knows you?” The response is visceral, angry, and the look that accompanies it is the same look from yesterday.

“Yes, they all know me.” I laugh, “They would never share information with a stranger. There is a saying here, ‘Non so nulla, non ho visto nulla, non ero lì e se fossi lì mi sono addormentato’, that means ‘I don't know anything, I didn't see anything, I wasn't there and if I was there I was asleep.’ Even if they wanted to help, they are not going to. Silence is survival.”

“I guess I understand. What now?”

“I don’t know. I thought for sure you were here to take me back.”

“They don’t know that I am here.”

“They don’t?”

“No.”

The piazza is full of people now. The sound of shoppers at the market fills the air. The bustle of a village market is amazing. People are talking everywhere. There is amazing smells and sights. Even in a village this size, people come to the piazza every day. There is fresh baked bread, fresh caught fish, and vegetable vendors. Then there is the café.

Absentmindedly, I take a worn pack of playing cards from my pocket. My hands shuffle the cards and then deal. I had, without thinking, dealt him into a game of Gin. His young hands pick up the cards, without question.

He knows the rules. The house rules are simple. We play to Gin. No deadwood. No counting points. Gin wins. We don’t count the wins. We play to pass the time.

The morning melts away. We don’t speak. The cards say more than our words ever could. Some time, as if by magic, lunch appears on the table. Sandwiches on fresh bread and a local anti-pasta salad disappear. They are replaced with gelato.

At some point, I look across the table to catch him staring at me. I smile and ask him how long he paid for his room.

“Just for the week. I didn’t know how long it would take to find you, and I didn’t know what would happen after.”

“You can stay with me. She will give you your money back. Tell her you found me, and you are staying with me. Go get your stuff and meet me back here.”

“Okay.”

He gets up reluctantly. I smile.

“Don’t worry. I will be right here.”

He doesn’t believe me, but he has no choice. He sprints away. Hurrying, I am positive, to make sure he makes it back before I change my mind and disappear. He needn’t fear.

The sun is starting its descent when he comes back. His is carrying a green army rucksack and a leather Doctors bag. He looks surprised that I am waiting for him.

The red and orange of the skyline is beautifully framed by the trees lining the piazza. The air starts to turn a bit chilly and I know in my old bones that it is time to go home. With a creak and a crack from my knees and back, I rise from my perch and take my hickory walking stick in hand and we start across the piazza for home. At first, he walks behind me, but that won’t do. I motion him to my side.

He moves up beside me and we move along in silence. I can feel his questions. He is reluctant to start talking and I am reluctant to start talking. The sound of our footsteps on the stone walkway blends in almost perfectly to the sounds of the village as it prepared for night.

As the sun sinks beneath the skyline and the darkness creeps across the landscape the sounds of night become more pronounced. A symphony of crickets and cicadas serenade us as we move in silence across the village toward my home.

We stop just once as we get near home. He waits in silence as I struggle to speak. It’s difficult to speak, my words stick in my throat, but I do, eventually, get it out.

“Tomorrow, we’ll talk. Ok?”

“If you want.”

“It will be better.”

“Okay.”

The lights of my villa are on as we come through the gate. Signora Delucca, my housekeeper, is waiting with my dinner, as always. She looks surprised as the two of us come into the dining room.

“There will be one more.” I say to her.

“I see. It is lucky that we have plenty to eat.”

“Yes, it is.” I laugh.

“The boy would like some wine?” She asks me but looks at him.

“No thank you,” he smiles, “just water for me, please.”

“Si.” And with that she is gone.

He places his things on the sitting sofa inside the dining room. He looks around the room. I can see his confusion and surprise. The surroundings are opulent.

“It’s a long story,” I say, “one I will tell you tomorrow. Tonight, let’s eat.”

He nods. The food arrives for him and we eat in silence. Dinner is amazing, as usual, and he eats heartily.

After dinner Signora Delucca shows him to the guest room and I walk in the garden. My thoughts are troubled. It’s almost time, I can feel it.

“It’s almost time, my love.” I speak out loud. She is there. I knew she would be.

“I know.” She is beautiful. Love is in her Hazel eyes. The lamplight in the garden highlights the fading Auburn in her graying hair.

“I love you…” I start to say.

“With all my heart and then some.” She finishes for me. I reach out to touch her. She smiles at me, the skin at her mouth crinkling with amusement. She is mocking me. She loves to do that. Her fair skin is dappled with faint freckles.

“Grandfather?” He is behind me, and she is gone. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one. Did you need something?”

“No. I just wanted to say that I am glad that I found you and to say goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

I look around once more, but she is gone. I climb the stairs to my bedroom and my empty bed. Sleep cannot come fast enough for me. I take my place in the large wingback chair in the corner opposite the bed. I close my eyes and I sleep.

In the darkness of my dreams I am standing in the foyer of a large church. I can feel the anxiety of waiting in my chest. I am near the grand doors looking out at the fountain in the parking lot.

Around me there is activity. People coming in. People milling about in the foyer. The valets, just beyond the glass doors are parking the automobiles of congregants. In the distance behind me I hear the organ. Service is starting. I turn toward the door leading to the sanctuary.

I turn back to the glass doors as an auto pulls in. The door to the car opens and there she is. Her smile is radiant, beaming from ear to ear as she sees me. Her curly auburn hair has been put up in a thousand curls wrapped tightly around her beautiful head with tiny curls framing her delicate face. Her fair skin is dappled with faint freckles. Her steel hazel eyes sparkle at me. She reaches to open the door. My heart swells with love.

I open my eyes in the darkness of my room. My heart sinks. The tears run down my cheeks as I silently sob in the darkness. The first rays of sunlight are making the sky change colors.

He is waiting for me. I can hear Signora Delucca chatting with him in the dining room. He is telling her about trying to find me. She is laughing at him.

I slowly dress for my day. I am usually careless about what I wear, but today? Today is an important day.

“It is almost time, my love.” She is behind me as I look at my reflection in the mirror. She is smiling at me.

“I know.” She is beautiful. The morning light makes her look like a goddess. It catches the Steel Grey in her Hazel eyes and makes them shine. Her fair skin is dappled with faint freckles.

I turn to embrace her. The room is empty. I finish dressing in silence.

As I descend the stairs, Signora Delucca is telling him that I take my breakfast at the café in the Piazza. She stops speaking as I come around the corner. She looks at me in surprise.

“Ah, you are already here!” She is amused.

“Yes. I thought that we might eat here this morning, Signora. If you don’t mind.”

“What? You haven’t eaten here since…” Her voice trails off. Even she cannot speak it.

“Yes, that is true. I think that I should make an exception this once. You will make it for me?”

“Of course, just so. What would you like?”

“Oh, I think you know.” I smile at her sadly.

“Just so,” she says, “In the garden?”

I smile at her and mirror her favorite phrase. “Just so!”

I take my grandson out the doors that lead to the garden. The place where we are going to eat is in a gazebo in the center of the garden. We sit and while we wait, he looks around.

“When we first came here, a few years ago, we fell in love with this house. It was in disrepair and for sale. Signor Delucca had passed away suddenly and the Signora couldn’t afford to fix the house. So, your grandmother insisted that we buy it. She had a way to get what she wanted.”

“The house was in such disrepair that we knew that it might be years before we could live here. Your Grandmother talked some of the local boys into fixing the house. The house came with some olive trees behind the house. She gave them the olives as payment, and they used the olive oil and olives to pay for the materials.”

“Signora Delucca, she lives in the house that was hers and the only thing we have ever asked is that she take care of it for us when we are not here. We pay her a decent salary and she lives here for free.”

She arrives just as I am finishing my story. She places two plates on the table with two cups of coffee. She touches my arm and smiles.

“It is a good arrangement, no?” She says.

“Yes, it is a very good arrangement!”

“Here is your breakfast, Signor. I hope you like it!”

The plates that she has set before us are covered with a silver lid. I gesture at my grandson and he removes his lid! He smiles at the breakfast he sees; A fresh baked piece of toasted bread with a healthy piece of ham, also toasted, then covered with seasoned feta cheese, then topped with two fried eggs.

“Bellissima! What a fine meal!” I say, tears in my eyes.

Signora Delucca touches my arm again and glides away. My grandson is looking at me with wide eyes. I wipe the tears from my eyes, and I explain.

“I created this dish for your Grandmother a very long time ago. We were young and she wanted something new, just for her.”

“I have had this before,” he says, “My mother makes it all the time!”

“I can imagine! She loved it when she was a child! She asked for it all the time!”

The meal is perfect. The bread is warm and soft, and the eggs are runny and tasty. I look up at the young man across from me and he is lost in the taste and for a moment he is gone. In his place a young lady with auburn hair and Hazel eyes is enjoying something made just for her. She looks up at me and smiles. Her fair skin is dappled with light freckles.

“It’s almost time, my love.” She says.

“I know.”

“What?” says the auburn-haired boy across from me.

“Nothing. It’s not important.”

We eat in silence. My thoughts are far from here. He keeps looking at me with a strange look on his face and worry in his eyes. After the plates are cleared and the coffee is gone, I tell him that I want to show him something important.

As we are leaving the house, Signora Delucca comes to the door and hugs me. She rarely shows emotion like this. She knows that it is time.

“Buona Partita, signor.” She says to me.

“Ciao, Signora”

“Spero che tu trovi la pace”

“Soon. Very Soon.”

“I know.”

I look over her shoulder. Behind her a beautiful girl with auburn-hair smiles at me. Her fair skin is dappled with light freckles. I turn to go.

“What was that all about?” asks the boy.

“Nothing. It’s not important!”

The air is crisp this morning. It is perfect and the feel of the sun on my skin has loosened my tongue. As we walk, I talk.

“After you were born, I was restless. Your mother had moved far away, your uncles and aunt were busy with their own careers, so your grandmother and I decided to see the entire United States. We packed our things into an RV, and we drove and drove. And we drank coffee. And we played Gin, and she won every hand.”

“There was nowhere that we didn’t go, if we wanted to. I mean, we saw everything. We wintered in Tucson. We summered in Napa. We saw the green of whatever. It was thrilling.”

“We were in a small town in Virginia, eating breakfast when I asked her where she wanted to go next and she looked at me with those Hazel eyes and she said ‘Sicily.’ So, the next day we sold everything we had, and we flew to Europe.”

“We came here to this village almost by accident. We were looking for a town that doesn’t exist. She was a fan of this show, and one of the characters was Sicilian. The little village in the stories in the show doesn’t exist but your grandmother saw the name of this village and she wanted to come here because it was close.”

“So, we came here. That is when we saw the house. She fell in love with it. She wanted it. I bought it. It was like that. I would do anything to see her smile.”

“It would be some time before we could live in it, so we lived in a flat near the Piazza. The man who owns the café rented us a room above the café. And we sat in that café, at the table you found me at, and we drank coffee and we played Gin, and she won every hand.”

“One day, she looks at me and she says, ‘let’s go to Paris!’ Oh my God, I had wanted to go to Paris. The whole time we were here my heart was in Paris. So, when given the chance, I jumped at the chance to go. I realize now that she didn’t so much want to go it was just her way of making me happy. It was like when she let me win at Gin. She was like that.”

“Paris was beautiful. We saw the Louvre. We saw Notre Dame. We ate in the café’s and we drank coffee. And we played Gin, and she won every hand. I was happy.”

It could have been the pace that we are walking or the story telling but the distance that we were supposed to be going is shorter than I expected it to be. We reach a place where there is a bench and we sit down there. He motions for me to take a drink of his water, but I wave it away and pull a flask from my inside pocket.

“Scotch! This what I need!” I take a nip from the flask. It burns and makes me cough. “That’s good stuff!” I continue my story as we sit.

“We were happy. She talked about her house and dreamt about what it might look like when she came back. She was beautiful.”

“One day, she woke up and she was in pain. We went to a doctor in Paris and he gave us the news. Five years, he said. Six if we went home to the States and she had chemo.”

“I wanted to go home. I wanted to squeeze all the time I could from the time we had left. But your grandmother wanted to go home, to her house. ‘Five years is a long time!’ she said.”

“And I already told you, she had this way of getting what she wanted. So, we came back here. We came back to Sicily”

Rising to my feet, I motion to the boy that we need to keep going. We move along the path toward the piazza. My feet are getting heavy.

“So, when we came back, the house was finished, and we moved in. We didn’t tell anyone that she was sick. She didn’t want sympathy. She was like that.”

“Five years we spent living in that house. We ate the special breakfast, we went to café, drank coffee, we played Gin and she won every hand.”

“And every day that we woke up, was a day that I was glad that she was still with me. And every night as we lay down to sleep, I would lay awake as long I could because I didn’t want to sleep; because, I might miss one breath that she took. I didn’t want to lose her, so I held her every night until I passed out from exhaustion.

She was beautiful. She was the only thing in my life that I ever needed. Oh, I have had many things that I wanted, but only one that I NEEDED!”

By this time, we are in the Piazza. The café owner pulls out my chair, but I smile at him. He nods at me, tears in his eyes. He touches my arm.

“Andare con Dio, Signor.” He says.

“Addio ecchio amico.”

The boy is becoming suspicious. I smile at him and motion him on.

“C’mon, boy, it’s not far now.”

We continue down the path through the Piazza. The place we are going is just beyond. It won’t be long now.

“When we first got here, all those years ago, she fell in love with this village. The people immediately loved her back. Me they took longer to get to know.”

“It’s not in my nature to let people in. I am a very private person, but there is something about this place. It changes you.”

“The thing that made her love this place was the way that they just pulled her in. The sights, the sounds and the smells made her never want to leave.”

“The thing that made me love it was the fact that she loved it so very much. After she was sick, and we came back, the peace it brought her was amazing. For a long time, I hoped that the magic of this place might heal her.

“Then one morning, I knew. Her breath was coming in short bursts. Her pain was excruciating. She asked me to hold her. So, I did. I held her until she breathed a very faint, ‘goodbye my love.’ I held her until the last breath. I held her till Signora Delucca came and made me let her go.

“And I sat in the chair and stared at the place she lay until they came and took her away from me. She had wanted to stay here forever so I fulfilled her wishes. I took her ashes and planted them in a tree here.”

By now we’ve come to edge of the village where a stand of trees dances in the spring breeze. A pretty sapling is growing near a park bench. I motion for him to sit.

I ease myself down on the bench. We sit in silence. I close my eyes for just a moment.

I hear my name being called and I open my eyes. Beyond the stand of trees, a beautiful woman with brunette hair motions for me to come to her. Her hazel eyes swim with joy. Her fair skin is dappled with light freckles. I get up, leaving the boy sitting there. We embrace and she whispers in my ear.

“I love you…”

“with all my heart and then some.” I finish it for her, and we go down the path toward the piazza.

* * * * *

The boy reaches and closes his grandfather’s eyes. He reaches in his pocket and takes out a cell phone.

“Yeah. No, I found him. No. He’s not coming back with me. Yeah. He’s home.”