Taking Tuscany (15 page)

The answer to my question comes bright and early at school. Annalisa has suddenly morphed from the
queen bee to the
ice queen
.
Mama must have scared the royal jelly right out of her. Now she avoids eye contact with me at all costs. When she passes me in the hallway, she looks the other way. And at lunch she just whispers to her little
icicles
about me. Rather than aggressive rejection, it's now passive avoidance—basically just another form of rejection.

On a positive note Bianca's back at school today, and I have someone to sit with at lunch. Just when I start to tell her about yesterday, someone bonks me lightly on the head with a lunch tray.

“Ehi lí
,
Angelina.” Dominic sits down right across from me.

“Hey there, yourself,” is all I get out before Bianca pinches my leg—hard. As Dario slides in across from her, I pinch her back, equally as hard. This just does not happen to people like us—especially in our school cafeteria. I can pretty much say without looking that the ice queen and the entire student body are gawking at the miracle taking place.

“Dario and I were wondering if you and Bianca want to come slide down the ice ditch with us after school? There's a solid patch of ice that runs from the top of the drain ditch to the bottom of the hill.”

Bianca and I look at each other, trying to keep our jaws from hitting the floor. She nods casually. “Uh, sure,” I reply for both of us.

Dominic and Dario stay and eat their lunches at our table, unaware of the polar freeze that is radiating from the ice queen over at the popular table. I am definitely going down in Macchiavelli
history.
Go Yank!

In social studies Signorina Rossa gives us an assignment to compare our social system here in Italy with the social systems of other countries. We can use textbook examples as well as personal experience. “What's different? What works well? What doesn't? And what could you do, personally, to help bring change?”

This should be a whiz. I can just draw from experience.
I open my textbook, and slip in a piece of sketch paper. Instead of making a list of social differences, I begin drawing our skating pond with two little ice-skaters holding hands.

Signorina Rossa asks for volunteers to share their findings. Since no one volunteers, she picks me.

I take my little skating pond picture and pretend to read from it. “Well, for one …”

“Excuse me, Angelina, could you come up front where we can hear you better?”

Uuugghh.
I curl the sides of my paper up so no one can see what I really have for notes. “For one,” I repeat, “family structures are different. In Italy most grandparents live with the family until they die, and in America they live in nursing homes. So you're better off being young in America because there's more to do, but you're better off being old in Italy.”

“Why is that?”

“Well … nursing homes smell really bad, and there are no kids or dogs around.”

“Interesting. Angelina, could you give us an example of how America cares for its needy and unemployed?”

“Uh, s-sure.” I stare at my drawing.
No clues here.
I try and recall some of those boring dinner conversations between Mama and Daddy.
Ah-ha, Daddy always talked about the stupid welfare system.
“It's called welfare.”

“And what can you tell us about it?”

“Well …” Looking down at my skating pond, I just wing it. “Everyone who works has to pay a bunch of taxes to the government. And they set some of it aside for the folks who don't have jobs and call it welfare.
”

“Do you feel it's a good system?”

“Welfare is a good thing for children, and for grown-ups who really can't work, but the whole system backfires for people who can work but won't.”

“Can you give us an example?”

Example, example
… “It's like this … I once had a hamster named Ruby. She had a cage that came with a food dish, so I always put her food right in the food dish. Whenever she woke up, she went straight to the food dish, stuffed her cheeks, then went back to bed and slept all day. She just got lazier and lazier. I started thinking about how hamsters in the wild have to forage for their food, and how much more productive their lives must be. If they want to eat, they have to work for it.

“I began to see that the food dish was causing a hamster welfare mentality. From then on I made it harder for Ruby to find her food. I scattered her nuts and seeds all over the cage, so she had to hunt for them. And I bought her an exercise wheel to give her something to do besides eat. She seemed much happier after that—like her life had
purpose
to it … If you make something too easy for people, they lose their sense of purpose, feel useless, and become lazy. Everybody feels better when they have to work to achieve something, but welfare gives too many people an easy way out and turns productive people unproductive.”

“So, Angelina, is there something you might be able to propose to help change the current system?”

“Actually I'm thinking about sending a letter to the U.S. government with a reform proposal based on my Hamster Welfare Reform Experiment.”

“Interesting idea,” Signorina Rossa says. “Thank you, Angelina. Anyone else?”

Whew!

“
Il bel disegno
,” nice drawing, someone whispers, as I walk back to my desk.

Bianca shows up at my locker after school. We're soon joined by Dominic and Dario. As we leave the building, I notice Annalisa and Tia tagging along behind us, hoping, I'm sure, to turn the guys' attention their direction. Annalisa even goes so far as to hint,
loudly,
that they have nothing to do after school, then comes up alongside of us and asks Dominic if he knows of anything going on.

Dominic shrugs his shoulders. “I hear a lot of people are heading over to Pietro's pond.”

Annalisa whips her head back around, looking insulted, then rearranges her hair.

Dominic looks at us and shrugs again. He has no idea that Mama already sent Annalisa on a wild-goose chase over to Pietro's pond yesterday.

When we come upon Annalisa's private road, the two of them cross the street, and the rest of us tromp on together. Bianca and I get to endure Annalisa's silent-but-deadly glare as we pass by her gated driveway. If it weren't for the fear of my mama in her right now, I'm sure she'd come up with something to thwart our Dominic-and-Dario ice-ditch date.

As we pass by the
scuola elementare,
Benji and Dino run out to join us.

Dino sneaks up behind me and shoves an icicle down my back, then darts off. “Oh … brrrr! You rat!” I shake the ice out of my shirt with one hand, and shake my fist with the other. “Tell Mama I'm going to the ice ditch with Bianca, and I'll be home by dark.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he says, then he turns and gives me the raised eyebrow.

This family and their eyebrows …

Dominic leads us to the top of
La Collina di Papaveri—
Hill of Poppies or, as I call it, Poppy Hill—where the big ice ditch begins. The drainage ditch is about three feet wide and a hundred feet long, with a solid sheet of ice lining the bottom of it.

“
Attenzione
.” Dominic stands at the top of the ditch, rambling off his opening speech. “Welcome to the preliminary time trials for the 1972 Winter Ice Ditch Olympics. Our first Olympic hopeful, Dominic Delossantos, will now attempt his first run for the one-man tobogganless toboggan race.”

He gives us a quick good-bye—just in case—while he slides into position. Then he shoves off, hits the first steep incline, and quickly picks up speed. By the time he's halfway down the hill, he looks like a true toboggan racer. Coming into a steeper incline, he becomes just a blur, whizzing through the icy ditch. Near the bottom of the hill, the drainage ditch fans out and runs off into the field—a solid sheet of ice mingling with grass. Dominic hits the field and smashes into a loose hay bale, which explodes into the air and leaves him covered in straw. He stands up with straw sticking out of his clothes every which way.

We are all cheering and howling our heads off at the top of the hill.

“Lo spaventapasseri carino,”
Bianca whispers. Cute scarecrow.

“Angelina, vai!”
Go for it! Dominic yells from the bottom.

I quickly stop laughing.
“Chi, io?”
Who, me?

“Ma perché no?”
Why not, Dario asks. “What's the worst that could happen?”

“I could die.”

“True.” He laughs.

Dominic is waiting with his hands on his hips. “Are you going for the gold or not?” he yells.

I wave back and slide into position on the ice patch. “It's been nice knowing you,” I say to Dario, and push off.

Slipping away at a gradual pace, I decide this isn't as scary as it looked. Ten seconds later I am a human rocket. Reaching unearthly speeds, the infamous words of
Wide World of Sports
ring through my ears.
The thrill of victory
—a thick mound of earth and ice rise out of nowhere like nature's idea of a bad joke. I hit the jump like a flying torpedo and take to the air, up and over the hay bale, splatting a good ten feet past Dominic in the grass—
and the agony of defeat …

Coming to a halt flat on my back, I decide it's a good time to fake dead. I hear footsteps running down the hill. The closer they come, the laughter slowly dies away. “Angelina?”

No response.

“Angelina, are you okay?” Dominic is kneeling over me. Then I hear Bianca and Dario hovering over me. “Angelina? Angelina!”

I can't contain myself any longer.
“Chi sono io?”
Who am I? I whisper, and start to laugh.

I open my eyes and watch their concern turn back to smiles. Except for Dario. It takes him a little longer.

Walking past him, I quietly comment, “You thought I was dead.”

“No, I didn't.”

“I think you did.”

“I think you took the gold.” He smiles. That's all I get out of him.

“You still have a chance, you're up next.”

He sighs. “After watching you, I think I'd rather try out for the skating event.”

14

Nascondino

(Hide and Seek)

October 20, 1972

Dear Danny,

How are you and Sailor? And how is Chuck? I asked the nuns to pray for Chuck, so good things should start happening for him any day now. As far as a Dorothy update, keep praying. No miracles yet. She's not being traumatized in public so much, but the cold war is definitely on. Dorothy has to live with a lurking fear that anything could happen at any moment. The grand total of people who talk to her at school is now up to three. Pretty sad.

The weather has been icy cold here. Our pond froze and I went ice-skating with Dominic. The next day, I went ice sledding with Dominic, Dario, and Bianca. With the exception of my one girlfriend, Bianca, boys sure are easier to get along with than girls. And they don't worry about stupid things like hair.

What are you doing for Thanksgiving? Will you go home to Oklahoma or will your family come to see you on the island? I wish I could spend my Thanksgiving there. I don't know what we'll be doing—no one here celebrates Thanksgiving, except for us. As far as the relatives go, we are going on four months of not talking to each other. I'm kind of wondering how long this can go on. You have no idea how strange it is for people like Mama and her sister to not talk to each other. They used to call all the time just to say things like, “Did you see that ridiculous outfit Carrillo wore today on ‘La Dolce Vita' (their favorite Italian soap opera, ‘The Sweet Life')?” or, “How many garlic cloves do you put in your Forty-Clove Garlic Chicken recipe?” It's unnatural for them to go without speaking.

Adriana and I are getting along a lot better than we used to. She lives in Milan. She's planning to come home for a few weeks over Thanksgiving and Christmas. The only guy in her life is Pip the Mighty Mutt. I now understand why they call them toy poodles. He's the size of a small windup toy and sounds like one too—the kind you wish the batteries would die on so they'd stop making that yip-yip-yippy noise. Does your brother, Jason, have a girlfriend? Do you?

Well, I guess I'd better go. Mama is yelling downstairs about Grandma Juliana. I'd better go find out what she's done this time. The last time Mama yelled like this, my grandma had painted a pair of pants on Mama's marble statue of David to hide his “indecency.”

Write soon,

A. J.

P.S. Could you maybe beef up the prayers for Dorothy? She can use all the help she can get. Thanks.

“Mama, what's all the yelling down there about?”

“Nonna is missing—is she up there with you?”

“No,” I yell back, as I'm flying down the spiral staircase.
Missing?
Where would she possibly go?

Sure enough, Nonna is nowhere to be found. The sunshine came out today for the first time in a while, so it's warmer than it's been lately. Mama thinks she may have decided to get outside for some fresh air. Nonna never goes much farther than the courtyard with her statues. Occasionally she'll go out to the grape arbor or the garden, but she's in neither of those places now.

Daddy heads down the hill toward the pond in the Fiat. Mama's going down by the pool—which has been covered up since September. The boys and I start out on foot to look along the road in the direction of the stables. I don't like this feeling. We've never lost Nonna before.

When we make it as far as the stable, J. R. says, “There's no way she could have gone any farther than this.”

“Let's just check around here.” I start toward the barn. Walking past Caesar's stall, I hear singing. Signaling to the boys to follow me, we peek into the horse stall, and find Nonna sitting on a hay bale in her bathrobe and slippers. She's feeding hay to Caesar, one strand at a time. Napoleon is sitting at her side with his head on her lap. The four puppies are asleep at her feet. And Nonna is singing “Ave Maria.”

There are some things in life that are too
preziosi
to interrupt. My brothers and I quietly turn around, and slide our backs down the outside of the stall. Closing my eyes, I picture Nonna singing to the animals. Comforting little grunts and sighs come from the puppies.

“
I miei bambini preziosi
,” Nonna whispers to Ci-ci's young family. My precious babies.

My brothers and I exchange glances with one another and add a few sighs of our own.

After Nonna's rendition of “
Arrivederci Roma
,” J. R. whispers, “I'd better let Mom and Dad know we found her. Wait here—I'll have Dad bring the car for her.”

The twins and I smile at each other as Nonna belts out “
O sole mio
.” I can't think of a better way to spend a Saturday morning. I hope I remember this when I'm old. If I'm going to lose my marbles, this is the way I'd like to do it: spending my days sitting on a bale of hay in a horse stall, singing to the animals. Can't get much better than that.

When Daddy pulls up outside, my brothers and I look at each other and sigh again. Taking Nonna by the arm, Daddy gently leads her out to the car; all the while she's accusing him of ruining her perfect day. For once I'd have to agree.

J. R. and Dino ride home with Daddy and Nonna. I walk back with Benji. Halfway home we hear a little whimper behind us and turn around. “A. J., look, it's Luigi.” Benji bends down and scoops him up. “Do you think Mom and Dad will let us keep him?”

“I already asked. The answer is
no.
Mama says I'd give her grief on both ends if I got attached to a dog in Italy. She says I'm already torn up over leaving Sailor behind, and I'd be torn up all over again trying to leave another dog. ‘You must be out of your mind to even ask,' is how she put it.

“But I really want him.” Benji keeps walking toward home, with Luigi in his arms.

Before long Ci-ci shows up, making a big fuss over her baby.

“How did she find him?” Benji asks.

“Mamas know the scent of their own babies,” I tell him, “—except when they're up to their necks in a water trough.”

“Do you think our mom knows my scent?” Benji asks.

“Sure she does. How do think you she tells you and Dino apart?” I laugh.

“Yeah, well, that's because Dino stinks and I don't.”

Come to think of it, mamas have their own scent too. I know mine does. Mama is a cross between Jergens hand lotion, Carnation perfume, and Ivory soap. Mixed all together, that's Mama.

Ci-ci reminds us that we still have her baby and she is not happy about it. “I think you'd better give Ci-ci's puppy back before she goes crazy and shreds you to pieces.”

“Yeah, our mom would do the same thing if something happened to one of us, wouldn't she?”

“I'll bet you're right.” I think of what Mama just did to Annalisa. “Mamas don't like anyone messin' with their babies.”

“I don't want to find out what Ci-ci will do.” Benji quickly sets Luigi down beside his mama.

We decide to walk Luigi and Ci-ci back to make sure they get home okay. I think Benji's right. There's nothing in life that can keep a mama from worrying over her kids, and woe to the one who tries to come between the two.

Today is the best mail day of my life since I moved here. Danny's pictures finally arrived. I knew what they were the minute Daddy handed me the envelope. I ran upstairs to savor my former life in privacy.

Laying the pictures out on my bed, I recapture my life one photograph at a time:

1. Little Papoose. My log cabin in the woods. It looks so lonely with no one out on the porch swing.

2. Juniper Beach. The sandy beach I named myself. All of my memories of diving for bottles and star-gazing come from that beach.

3. The Pitchy Pine Trail. The trail lined with pines trees that lead to Juniper beach. I can almost smell that sweet pitchy pine air just by looking at it.

4. My critter cemetery. Where all my dead animals and bugs are buried, including a memorial headstone for my hamster, which reads:

My Beloved Ruby Jean

June 1968—August 1968

Lost at Sea

RIP

There are even fresh-cut flowers on each grave. Danny must have taken the time to do that for me.

5. Danny's grandpa, standing on the bow of his tugboat.

And then, there's my favorite, the sixth: Danny and Sailor sitting together down on my old dock. They both look … great. Danny still looks like a blond Little Joe Cartwright. He looks older than I remember him, because he is. He's almost seventeen now—in December. Wow. And I mean
wow.

I think I'd like to share my photos with Sister Aggie. Maybe she will understand the agony I have to endure living here.

Saturday afternoons are Sister Aggie's time off, so I show up at the convent, hoping she'll be free to see me. I'm asked to wait in the
atrio
while one of the nuns goes to hunt her up for me. While I'm waiting, I wander over to look at some of the paintings that are hanging in the reception area. I'm fascinated by the paintings of the holy family. One painting of Mother Mary holding Baby Jesus captivates me. Mary's face is expressing both joy and sorrow at the same time. It's a miracle to me that someone can express two emotions at the same time—in a painting, no less.

“Angelina, how wonderful you've come.” Sister Aggie greets me warmly, and leads me to a cozy visitor's room. She gestures for me to have a seat on the soft white sofa, and sits beside me. “What have you come to share with me today?” she asks.

I pull out my envelope of pictures and hand it to her. She takes them out one by one, looking intently at each photo while I explain them to her. When she gets to the last photo, the one of Danny and Sailor, she sighs. “Ah, now I see why you are so homesick.”

I'm not sure if she's referring to Papoose, the island, Sailor, or Danny. “Why?”

“You had a loyal pet, a true friend, and a beautiful setting all in one place. This island was your paradise.”

She gets it. I knew she would. That's why I came.

“Tell me about your island,” she says.

“Well …” I tell her everything. I mean
everything
. I tell her about saving Sailor, and about Sailor saving me, and losing Ruby Jean, and about my critter cemetery, and finding my sister and her two-timing island boy, Jason, kissing on my sacred burial grounds. I tell her about Mama's Big Island Bash, and about Sister Abigail, and how I got stuck in the confessional—twice. I tell her about Buzz from the gas dock, about icky little Rodney Gizmode, and the ice bath we set up for him and his hotshot brothers. And then I tell her about Danny, and star-gazing, and how he rescued me and Sailor the day we blew downwind, and how much I wish I was on the island instead of here. I start to cry.

Sister Aggie places her hands on each side of my face, gently,
and looks into my eyes. “Angelina,” she whispers, “God has something special for you here, too.”

“Really?”

“Really. Sometimes all we need is a new light to see our situation differently. God doesn't always change our situation, but He can help change our perspective about it, and that can make all the difference. Follow me. I have something that might help.”

Sister Aggie leads me down a long, dark hallway to another room with a desk and a few chairs. The walls are lined with books, shelves and shelves of books.

A library. I'm in heaven.

Sister Aggie pulls out a book and holds it out to me
Il Diario di Anne Frank.
“This girl was just about your age, Angelina, during the time the sisters and I were hiding children in the hills near Cuneo. Anne Frank lived in Amsterdam at the time, where she was hidden in a home for over two years.”

I remember trying to read this book in fifth grade. I could not believe that people could be so cruel to other people—especially to kids who didn't understand why they were hated just for being Jewish. After sobbing myself to sleep reading it each night, Mama took it away from me and told my teacher to give me an alternative reading assignment.