Taking Tuscany (19 page)

Where on earth did Nonna get her hands on red glitter?

When exasperated, plagiarize:

Tucked in this town so quaint and steep

Lie hidden mysteries old and deep

I've roots and memories to keep …

… And miles to go before I sleep

And miles to go before I sleep …

Robert Frost must have had a Nonna too. I close my journal.

Abruptly.

Nonna's keeping rhythm to the
clickity-clack
of the train tracks with her glitter maraca. I reach for the tube before disaster ensues. I grab hold of one end, and Nonna pulls the other way …

Welcome to the red blizzard on the Glitter Ball Express.

“Oh sweet stars of heaven,” Nonna exclaims, “look what you've done!”

This would be really funny if it were happening to someone else. I'm doused in bright red glitter. Thank goodness Christmas is just around the bend. I can be a living holly tree.
Happy holidays!

The loudspeakers announce our arrival as we screech to a halt for a stopover in Nice. Estimated departure time: thirty minutes.

Personally I don't feel much like moving, but Nonna insists on seeing the train station. I should know better than to let her wander off the train without me, but there is really nowhere else she can go except inside the station.

“Nonna, you have only enough time to get off the train, take a quick look around, then come right back. Do you understand?”

“Of course I understand. I've been on more trains than you could shake a stick at.”

While Nonna shuffles down the aisle toward the exit door, I picture her shaking sticks at trains. Glenda the Good Witch with her glitter wand. Why do I have this nagging fear that I may never see her again? I redirect my thoughts back to my poem. Maybe I'd better forget trying to come up with the perfect ending for the Sainte Foy pilgrimage. I've had a new thought.
What if I lose Nonna?

Nonna … where is she? Watching nervously for her little gray head to poke back through the door of the car, I ponder the thought of her missing the train …
As the train pulls away from the station, Nonna is wandering around, happy and clueless as can be … as Peter, Paul, and Mary sing, “If you miss the train I'm on, you will know that I am gone, you can hear the whistle blow five hundred miles …”

I can't risk it. Mama would never forgive me for losing her mother. I dash off the train and into the train station. I can't see Nonna anywhere. Frantic, I suddenly spot her standing in line out on the platform—about to board the train.

The
wrong
train
.

“
Nonna
!”

Once we're seated—on the
right
train—I make an executive decision that this will
never
be mentioned—to anyone, anywhere. Not even in my journal—as history has proven that even teen diaries sometimes get worldwide recognition. Nor will I risk this incident going down in the Degulio family dynasty record book, as the day Angelina Juliana Degulio, age fourteen, almost lost Nonna on a train bound for Yugoslavia.

When we arrived safely back in Florence, Mama and Daddy are waiting out on the platform, all smiles. I am not smiling.
Someone
has been a little bit
testy
ever since I had to pull her out of line, and drag her back to the right train. I was the lucky one who got to endure all the glaring faces while Nonna screamed, “Someone help me!” at the top of her lungs. In the time it took for me to pull out her ticket and prove to the conductor that she really was supposed to be going to Italy,
not Yugoslavia
, she had the entire train station convinced that I had kidnapped her against her will.

“Welcome home!” The minute we step off the train, Mama greets us with a kiss on each of our sparkling red cheeks.

“How was the trip?” Daddy asks.

I look back at Daddy, cross-eyed, shaking glitter from my hair. “We had ourselves a dazzlin' good time, didn't we, Nonna?”

And miles to go before I sleep …

18

The Wonder of It All

Language Assignment: November 7, 1972

A Poetic Correlation of The Hound of Heaven

By Angelina Degulio

Hooves of Heaven

How can I explain …

How can I express …

This Love that crosses oceans

And hounds me east to west?

He took me from my island

Far across the sea

He took me from my Sailor dog

To a land called Tuscany

He brought me to a castle

A crumbling tower of stone

And there He left the Yankee

To bear it all alone

Lo, in my deepest darkness

Amidst my tears and strife

The mighty Hooves of Heaven

Brought me signs of life

Yea, the Hooves of Heaven

Came to me in the night

And whispered, “All is not so bad.

In fact it's all just right.”

He gave to me a stallion

And nuns who love to ride

And books that give perspective

And family by my side

He chased me down the train tracks

Behind the French Express

On mighty Hooves of Heaven

He rode into Conques

T'was in the old stone Abbey

I saw the little Foy

T'was just a teeny tiny lass

T'was not a little boy

But oh, how brave, how bold!

Denouncing goddess Di

And for her King of Heaven

The sweet wee Foy did die

Then dawned on me, my Nonna

T'was once a brave lass too

Who ran and played and laughed and cried

As little lassies do

Oh, Noble Knight on horseback

Upon Your snow-white steed

You brought me gifts of wonder

Upon great hooves of speed

You took me from my island

Far across the sea

But on the Hooves of Heaven

We're taking Tuscany!

By the end of class I turn in my assignment and hope for the best. I figure most great poetry takes a commentary to explain the intent behind the poets' work. If Signorina Luzi doesn't understand a word of what I wrote, she can always request a commentary. I'll be happy to give her one.

On my way to lunch I encounter a small traffic jam in the hallway. Sure enough, wherever you find queen Annalisa, you'll find the rest of her subjects nearby. Beehive roadblock. This is probably my least favorite hallway scenario—walking alone toward the swarm, and it's too late to ditch and run, so I have to walk right through the middle to get to lunch. If that's not enough to ruin one's appetite, I don't know what is.

“Angelina!” A big arm comes flying around my shoulder. I turn, to find Dominic's friendly smile. “Where have you been?”

“France—I went to France for the weekend.” Sounds pretty impressive—minus the bit about going with my grandmother on a saint pilgrimage.

“France? Man, I was looking for you at the pond and the ice ditch all weekend.”

It's nice to know someone around here is happy to see me. Looks like the Hooves of Heaven sent Dominic to run interference for me in just the nick of time.

He followed me to school

Where halls of torture thrive

If looks could kill, I should be dead

So far, I'm still alive …

Dominic walks me to lunch and wants to hear all about my trip to Conques. He plunks his schoolbooks down next to mine at the back table and goes to buy his lunch. I brought my usual salami-and-cheese sandwich. While Dominic is going through the lunch line, I feel a strong prompting to try and make amends with Annalisa. She's been on my mind lately, like an annoying song that won't go away … to the tune of “Mona Lisa”: “Annalisa, Annalisa, Anna-l-i-i-i-s-a …” It has to be dealt with, now, if for no other reason than I'd hate to be driven insane over her name. If little Foy can forgive her offenders, so can I.

Not wanting an audience, I wait until Annalisa is heading over to the lunch line.

“Annalisa?”

She turns with little enthusiasm. “
Che cosa
?” What?

“I—I just want to say I'm sorry for the things I've done to offend you.”

Annalisa looks over at the lunch line where Dominic is standing. “If you think your phony apology is going to stop me and Dominic from being together, you're wrong. I know how you think, Angelina. You don't want me and Dominic together in the lunch line, so you thought you could separate us by making up this dumb apology, didn't you?”

She turns on her high heels. With that winning Kentucky Derby smile of hers, she calls out, “Hey, Dominic … I saved you a place at
our
table …”
Yak, yak, yak
.

Oh, neigh-whinny-whinny.
I do not get this girl at all. I believe this may be a classic case of what my psychology teacher refers to as projection
—
when you project your own intentions onto someone else's behavior. Some people make it really tough to feed the white dog.

Dominic meets me back at my table with his steaming bowl of minestrone soup and rolls. He quickly fills me in on all the excitement I missed at the Winter Olympic preliminaries while I was in Conques. Apparently my mother caught wind of this mini-Olympics idea and has blown it into a full-scale 1972 Winter Olympics
.
Not only did Mama take it upon herself to invite every family on
La Collina di Papaveri
, she enlisted all of the mothers to make fancy gold, silver, and bronze ribbons, as well as to bake cookies for the awards ceremony.

The boys couldn't be more excited. I'd heard all about the ice-ditch time trials from Benji and Dino. They were thrilled they both made the final cut for the tobogganless toboggan race. Apparently J. R. and Celeste are skating doubles for the skating pond event. The official Poppy Hill Winter Olympics are being held after school today.

“I still think my previous long-distance jump on the ice ditch should qualify for the gold, even if I can't compete,” I tell Dominic.

He ponders the thought a moment. “Officially you'd have to forfeit your spot by not showing up for the time trials over the weekend, but if you show up to compete today, I can probably sway the judges to make an exception.”

“Um, excuse me, but thanks to the five pounds of plaster on my arm, I'd say my days as an Olympic hopeful are pretty much over. If they won't count my last run on the ice ditch as official, then it looks like I'm out of the games for both the singles ice-skating competition, and the tobogganless toboggan race.”

“
Pazzo
!” Crazy! he tells me. “You are not going to let a silly little cast keep you out of the Olympics, are you? I won't let you do it. The Winter Olympics comes to Poppy Hill only once in a lifetime, Angelina.”

Not if you know my mother. This will become a new Tuscan tradition for years to come.
“Dominic, my mother will break my other arm if she finds out I'm competing with my cast on.”

“Meet me at the skating pond after school. I have the perfect solution—one that even your mother will approve of.”

This I've got to see.

When I show up at the skating pond, I'm quickly swept up into the excitement. The competitors are all out on the ice practicing for their chance at the gold. The opening ceremony for the skating competition will begin at four o'clock, with barely a glimmer of daylight still left. J. R. and Celeste are out on the ice practicing their doubles routine.

“
Buongiorno,
Angelina.” Dominic is skating toward me, pushing a chair across the ice. “Have a seat,
signorina
.” He skids to a stop in front of me.

“Are you serious?” I am laughing too hard to stand up, so I take his advice and sit down.

He starts to push me around the ice in my skating chair. “I have the routine all figured out—you just hold on and enjoy the ride.”

Four o'clock sharp, all the skating contestants are checked in and ready to go. The skating event will last until everyone who wants to compete has skated, then we'll all move up to the ice ditch for the tobogganless toboggan race. The boys already have burn barrels flaming away at both locations to signify the Olympic torch—as well as help to light up the events and keep us all from freezing to death.

Thanks to Mama the entire community begins to appear around the pond, including mothers with blankets, cookies, hot cocoa, and handmade ribbons for the winners. We have three couples and four singles competing for the gold in skating, and probably thirty spectators on the sidelines. Dominic waves to a big group of kids along the edge of the pond. Half a dozen hands wave back.

“Who are they?” I ask.

“My family,” he answers.

Sure enough, six olive-skinned, black-haired kids who look exactly like their brother are here to cheer him on. Right on cue everyone stands and sings the Italian national anthem to begin the opening ceremonies of the 1972 Poppy Hill Winter Olympics. We have skaters representing Italy, America, and France.
God bless us all.

As the cheering slowly dies down, I'm suddenly aware that my mother, the instigator of this whole shindig, is nowhere in sight. She assured us she would be arriving “with bells on” to honor those who lost their lives in the hostage tragedy at the Summer Olympics in Munich, Germany. She thought it only right to rally the entire community and dedicate our event to their memory.
So where is she?

Moments later my eyes are drawn to a bright flash in the distance. Lo and behold, here comes Mama, marching down the hill. Apart from her red, white, and blue sequin crown, she's draped in a red, white, and blue blanket, waving a small American flag in one hand, and a lit sparkler in the other, belting out “The Star-Spangled Banner.” She looks like the Statue of Liberty.
Go Yankees!

First up—singles skating. Bianca breaks the ice, so to speak, in a fancy French fur jacket of her mother's. She surprises me with a few nice spins that she must have learned within the past few days. Last time I saw her, she couldn't skate worth beans. Unfortunately the little kid who's up second has been skating in an ice arena since she was four years old and has the fancy skating outfit to prove it. Bianca hardly stands a chance next to little Anna Enrico.

By the time Dominic and I are up, J. R. and Celeste have already stolen the hearts of the judges with their romantic ending. After spinning her brains out, J. R. took Celeste in his arms and bent her over backwards until she nearly touched the ice. Moms always fall for that kind of stuff. I'm not exactly holding my breath for the gold as the one-armed ice skater. Maybe they'll have a special category for the six-legged skater.

Dominic takes me out on the ice, and begins pushing me in slow crazy-eight formations. Getting carried away, he puts a spin on my chair that is sure to make Mama shudder. The move that really scores big for us, though, is Dominic serenading me with an Italian love song about a swan—probably “The Ugly Duckling”
—
while skating around me.

Pushing his luck, Dominic ends our routine with a grand finale spin on my chair, intending to impress the judges. They're all smiling—until he loses his grip. Skidding across the pond on my Olympic throne, I hit the edge where the ice meets the earth and fly out of the chair. A graceful face splat in the snow adds a nice finishing touch to our performance. This pretty much botches our chances at the gold for this year.

Dominic is by my side in seconds, mortified. “I'm so sorry … are you okay?”

Although facedown I somehow managed to hold my arm out of harm's way. “I don't think I nailed that landing very well.”

Dominic tells me that it was a perfect ten-point landing, but he may have a hard time convincing the judges. One in particular, my mother, is clearly not pleased at the moment. After the judges hash over the scores, Celeste and J. R. walk away waving the gold ribbon. Dominic and I take silver.

With ribbons flying we trudge up to the top of the ice ditch for the tobogganless toboggan races. The crowd gathers in a big huddle around the burn barrel to watch the games.