Frank Polizzi - Somewhere in the Stars

Several weeks after the concert, Carlo walked into Nathan’s room with a grin on his face.

“I did it cugino!”

“Did what?” Nathan’s mouth opened.

“I signed up with the Jewish Brigade.” Carlo paced around the room. “I’m going to hitch a ride with a US army transport group heading north. I have to catch up with them, subito !”

“Hold your horses, will ya! You’re going too fast for me.”

“Last week I met Brigadier Benjamin’s orderly and he told me all about this Palestine Regiment. It’s part of the British army.”

“I never heard of them.”

“It’s made up of mostly Jewish soldiers from Palestine, but Jews from other countries can also join. So there it is. We’re going after those Nazi scum.”

“I am glad you’re all excited about this, but remember this is a bloody war. There’s nothing romantic about it. It only takes a couple of seconds to do something stupid.” Nathan hugged his cousin, so Carlo didn’t see the anguish in his face. He had already come to the conclusion that none of Carlo’s family was likely to have survived. Now he might lose the sole survivor of the Venetian branch of his family. Carlo gathered his things and, after sharing some Sambuca together, he marched out of the room. Nathan looked out his window and saw Carlo strutting down the viale and yelled out, “Buona fortuna, kid,” but his cousin was oblivious to his call.

Nathan thought about what Rachele was doing. He visited her every weekend he was free, as the seasons passed, summer, fall and winter, but they never had much physical contact. The beginning of their relationship began with promise but now was punctuated with stray marks of Rachele’s odd behavior. He never knew what to expect from her, what her mood might be. Nathan kept on going back to her until the day he got a note from the Mother Abbess that he had become a strain on Rachele’s emotional stability, that she had become more afraid to leave the convent, even briefly. He crumpled the message. “I spent so much time trying to help her. Every God damn weekend pass I could get. I pitied her too much and drove her away. It’s all my fault for being a schlemiel .” He tossed around in bed all night, never finding a comfortable position.

It was another sunless Sunday morning, his cousin gone, and he called out to the empty room: ‘Damn it, Nathan, she doesn’t seem to fit in the outside world. You’re not going to save Rachele. She’s fragile as a porcelain doll.’ Despite not having broken through her resistance, he was still determined to go back to Assisi and try again, even though the nuns didn’t want him around anymore. If he overextended his leave, then let them throw him in the stockade. What would it matter anyway?

After hours of straining his Paperino, Nathan slid the motor scooter to a halt. He was in such a frenzy he had no recollection of the scenery he had passed. To him it was like a canvas smeared with green and brown with patches of white, shapes but no recognizable forms. He had no idea what he could say to change things around, but the nuns would not stop him from speaking to Rachele. Let them call the carabiniere . Nathan completed his run and banged on the cloister door with such force every nun in the convent must have crossed herself. The Mother Abbess spoke through the grille without showing fear.

“Signor Nathan, we already wrote to you about Rachele’s worsening condition. There is nothing you can do. It is in God’s hands, not yours.”

“Mother Abbess, per favore, I beg of you. Give me a chance to see Rachele. If it doesn’t work, I promise never to come back. I swear on my family’s honor.”

The Mother Abbess closed the grille and a few moments later opened it. “You can speak to her in our church. Remember that God is watching what you say. He does not care about your passion, only what is in your heart. Wait by the baptismal fountain inside. I will send Rachele there if she agrees to see you.”

Nathan stepped outside the convent to get some fresh air but the wind blew dust into his eyes, which he rubbed, irritating them further before entering the church of San Quirico. The church was empty, void of sound, and dark except for groups of flicking votive candles in front of various saints. He felt that an hour passed instead of fifteen minutes, when a familiar extern nun opened the high, wooden door and brought Rachele in, whispering that he could have ten minutes with her.

The thick door slammed shut behind them as Rachele walked down the aisle. He imagined they were models for a phantasmagoric painting, the focal point of the composition, this pretty woman stretched in black distortions, his form receding in the background, his face unrecognizable. Rachele knelt at a small altar dedicated to St. Clare and counted her prayers on black rosary beads, the smell of burning wax in the air. Nathan stood behind Rachele, calling her, but she did not turn around. He came closer and she got up, crossed herself and swung around in a frightened way.

“Prego, sit with me in the pew.” He took her by the arm and guided her to the first row and both sat sideways.

“Why do you come here to this holy place?”

“Rachele, you don’t have to remain in black anymore. You’re safe now.”

“No one is safe. I stay awake during the night and sleep during the day. No matter how my sisters try here, they can’t break this cycle. Neither prayers, nor gardening, or even baking can help me to fit into the peaceful routines of their daily lives.” She grasped her knees and put her head down. “But still, I have no place to go. I belong here.”

“Rachele, you’re not a nun. You’re Jewish. You don’t have to conform to anything. All you have to do is get back to a happy place.”

“I try to go to these happy places, as you call them, but everything is blurred. My dear sisters try to coax me into feeling good about myself. When their words hurt too much, I get a throbbing in my head that feels like it’ll just burst through my temple and I scream.”

“You’re not screaming now.”

“You’re different but I don’t know why. Are you Jewish too?”

“Rachele, I have gone over this before, from the first time we met. I wanted you to know that our people will survive despite all the horror that hounds us.” He placed his hand on hers. She did not move it but showed no sign of recognition. He squeezed her hand gently but it remained limp.

“Why are you here?”

“It’s you, Rachele. Can’t you see in my face what I feel?”

“I see a handsome young man. Are you in the pictures?”

“No, Rachele, I’m just an American GI.” She took her hand away.

“I can never leave here. This is where I will stay the rest of my life.”

“You don’t have to do this. You can change your life.”

“You don’t know what runs around my head. You can’t know and why would you care?”

“I need you as much as I think you need me.” Nathan faced the statue of St. Clare and looked down at her plaster feet. The chapel felt like the most silent place in the world for Nathan, until he turned and spoke emphatically. “I loved you from the moment I saw you. I don’t know what you remember and how you remember, but I am alone and so are you.”

“I am not alone. I have all my sister friends. They protect me from everything.”

“You don’t feel anything for me, is that it?”

“You treat me like a patient.”

“That’s not true, Rachele. Prego , stop placing imaginary barriers between us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You sound like the doctor. Did he send you here because he’s frustrated?” There was a thudding noise at the door. “I must go back to my cell.”