Frank Polizzi - Somewhere in the Stars

“Like I was saying.” He rubbed a tear away. “My father would borrow his friend’s sloop and take me out sailing in the San Francisco Bay. He taught me how to tack the sails properly.” Nick looked up. “There are no stars out tonight. I hope this fisherman friend of Padre Esposito can find his way without them. You never know what to expect when you’re out on the sea.”

Caterina twisted her hands as if she were running a Paperino and Nick grinned in recognition. They left the monastery and he retrieved his motor scooter. They rode to the outskirts of town where the trees were thickest. He leaned the scooter against a pine tree, while Caterina laid out a blanket on the ground. He left his cane in its pouch and limped a short way to her, dropping down next to her without tumbling over. As they made love, he didn’t worry about the missing stars. He wanted only to be lost in her arms and body, and when all the passion was released, feel the soft warm skin of her face resting on his cheek. He was in the moment of his last night with her before he headed north, shutting out any dark thoughts.

They sat up when some stars broke through the sky, flashing little beads of light, helter skelter as the clouds passed through.

“Some stars are pulsating, Nick.”

“I can see them, Caterina.”

“And do you see me?”

“I didn’t know about your university life. But I’m not surprised, if that’s what you mean?”

“So you don’t see me as a cretina or other things?”

“I always thought you were smart from the first moment I met you.”

“You never mentioned it.”

“Why did you get into this business anyway?”

“There’s no point talking about it. I had a different life in another time, before the fasciste seized the government.”

“Papà and his friend Marco hated them.”

“ Allora , my father was different than yours.”

“I guess we don’t know each that well.”

“I know you better than you could ever imagine. Nicky, keeping things inside you does not help. Everything comes out in your sad eyes.”

“You’re a mystic now.”

“I have no powers over you. I am not happy with my situation but sometimes we become trapped by circumstances. Do you see me past your sexual desires?”

“I see you as clear as the stars that just peeked through the darkness. And I’m moved that you worry so much about me.” He gazed at the sky. “I see you better than any light that stars could bring.” He looked at her. “Because I like being with you. But don’t ask for the stars when it comes to me.” His brow furrowed. “I lost my bearings when I crossed the ocean, a long time ago.” Nick stood up and extended his hand.

The two mysterious monks were in the garden, one clipping with a rhythmic sound, the other countering with the thud of his spade. Nathan stopped to watch them and noticed Caterina sitting by the well. He stepped behind a stone column and had an urge to sketch Caterina as she sat there daydreaming. He imagined she thought of Nick riding with the partigiano on the road to the Adriatic Sea. Nathan had suspected she didn’t want to sit with him in the refectory for their spartan breakfast and he couldn’t blame her, considering all his unkind remarks about her, not all of them behind her back.

Nathan recalled when the three of them had been drinking too much whiskey in a Trastevere café and Nick left to pick up some cigarettes at a nearby tabaccheria .

“So where’s your plumed hat, Caterina?”

“ Come ?”

“Ever seen any of Kirchner’s paintings?”

She pursed her lips. “Non lo so .”

“He’s a German expressionist. Nazis declared his work degenerate. Killed himself in ‘38.”

“Allora, what is your point?” She moistened her lips with the whiskey.

“He loved to paint Berlin prostitutes who were fond of dressing up like birds.”

“You’re not funny at all, Nate. Maybe you’re jealous, no?”

He drank his whiskey in one gulp. “So tell me, how many fascists and Nazis did you go to bed with before you met Nick?”

“You’re drunk and disgusting. You know nothing about me yet you judge me.” She finished her whiskey. “The answer to your ignorant question is none.”

This scene faded out as Nathan reflected on Nick making his way to Venice. After all, he had promised to look after the ragazza. When Nathan moved closer to her, he noted that she cradled a cup of cappuccino with both hands. As she sat alone in the garden, a silhouette of brooding, the aroma perked up when he got closer.

“ Buongiorno , Caterina.” She put her cup down on the ledge and nodded. “Nick must have reached Ancona by now. I heard him leaving right after dawn.” She picked the cup up and sipped the coffee that left some foam on her upper lip. “You’ve got a moustache.” She wiped it off with her fingers, her expression blank. “Look, maybe I should learn not to butt into somebody else’s business. But you’ve got to understand. We look out for each other.”

“I know what you think of me. You call me a puttana to Nick’s face.”

“I was just teasing. You know, GI talk.” He sat down next to her.

“So you were just teasing about looking like a Berlin whore?”

“I was soused and people say stupid things when they’re drunk.”

“You’re always ready with an answer or one of your jokes.”

“I’m not trying to wiggle out of this, but I got a lot of things on my mind.”

“I know. That’s why Nick is gone from us.” Her eyes were bloodshot.

Nathan shook his head and looked away. “Mi dispiace!” He looked at her. “I’m really sorry.”

“I am going to the Monastero di San Quirico to see a friend.”

“I’m bored. Do you mind if I go too?” Caterina remained silent. “I’ll behave myself.”

“You could walk with me, if you like.” She stood up. “That’s if you’re not embarrassed by me.”

The wrought iron gate of the beige, stone wall convent dragged along the ground as one of the extern nuns, the only sisters allowed to interact with outsiders, let them in. The sister befriended Caterina, as she led her to the reception desk of the guesthouse. Nathan thought the setup was odd and sat on the stone bench, taking out his sketchpad to wile away the time. Caterina disappeared through another doorway leading to the cloister. An hour passed but Nathan stayed put. He didn’t want any tales spread about him when his buddy returned, God willing. The same nun, who first greeted them, led Nathan into the dining room of the guesthouse. Caterina was already sitting at a table with another nun.

“Nathan, this is Rachele, mia cara amica .”

“Nathan Fein. Piacere!” Nathan extended his hand but Rachele looked at the table, as he sat down next to Caterina, and said: “You can speak English.”

Rachele kept her eyes on Caterina. “It has been very hot this summer, Caterina. Molto caldo.”

Caterina turned to Nathan. “Rachele was saying before that their peaches are very sweet.”

“È vero. We try to grow all our food on the convent grounds.”

Rachele glanced at Nathan with blank eyes. “Where is your uniform?”

“Oh, I ditched it in one of Padre Esposito’s cells.” Her eyes locked into his face, which made Nathan apprehensive. “And are you Jewish?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” Rachele turned sideways toward Caterina. “It has been a good year for the garden so far. It is a blessing.”

His artist’s eye noted the nun’s face, which had the whitest skin, and some strands of auburn hair peeking out from the white bandeau, almost as if she were a lost movie star from a German expressionist filmmaker like Fritz Lang. As Nathan focused in closer, he thought her face turned paler as their light chatter tapered off. He was mesmerized by her presence and glad his vision had been improving since that nearfatal day. Nathan was taken aback when the friendly sister entered the room and motioned to Caterina that it was time for Rachele to return to the cloistered part of the convent. The extern nun let them out the front gate.