Frank Polizzi - Somewhere in the Stars

“That’s strange. I sent you letters from Morocco and Sicily and never got anything in return.”

“I never got them and figured you forgot about me. Anyway, you know how strongly my father felt about us not keeping company.” Deborah pressed her palms on her cheeks. “That’s why I sent the last letter, when you and Nathan were in Rome. Hope I didn’t sound too awful.” Nick looked off in the distance and recalled Nathan saying he didn’t want to get in the middle of this. When he faced Deborah again, her eyes had turned glassy. “Forget it, Nicky. It’s not your fault.”

Nick wanted to get the hell out of there but held his ground to save face. He was relieved when she made up a phony excuse about having to rush home to meet her husband for lunch near his father’s real estate office. It sounded like a garbled message breaking up on a walkie-talkie from the war. When Deborah was out of sight, he dropped down under the tree, pushed his books aside and leaned his head against its thin bark, shutting his eyes and returning to the San Francisco Botanical Garden. After a short while he found himself wandering the empty streets of Rome. He had coiled up in a ball on the grass and covered his head with the spring jacket he had tied around his waist and cut the rest of his classes. He daydreamed about Caterina and him living together, how she cared so much about him and tried to soothe his anguish over the lousy war, her body wrapped around him in unconditional love.

That evening after supper, Nathan came by Nick’s house and they went into the backyard, sitting in the same spot on top of the picnic table. Nick lit up a cigarette and offered one to Nathan.

“I’ll pass. I only smoked on breaks in the army to keep out of extra duties.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I heard you met up with my sister today.” Nick glared at Nathan. “Okay, I acted like a putz, but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I said to myself what are the chances of the two of you running into each other in this big city? I’m sorry, buddy.”

“Doesn’t matter now. I’m happy for her.”

“Really?”

“What do you expect me to say?”

“I was going to say something to you, believe me, but was waiting for the right moment. Anyway, I think it was crummy when my father busted up your relationship with Deborah. He threw your letters in the incinerator. Just the other day, I reminded him. ‘Father, do you realize that Nick risked his life for Carlo, your own nephew.’ He was speechless for a while, which is unusual for my Dad, but he admitted you’re a true mensch. That you acted like a brother.” He placed his arm around Nick. “It’s just too bad my family was too blind to realize what a great guy you are. As for David, her husband, he’s all right, but he’ll never measure up to you.”

“I’m okay, Nate. I get lost in my books.”

Nathan pulled out a postcard. Nick could see an Italian stamp but didn’t say anything. “This may not be the best time to show you this but I’m too excited not to. I know we made a pact about the war but you said it was different for you and me, so…”

“If you want to talk about a woman, just make sure it’s not Caterina.”

“It’s hard to believe, but I received the postcard this morning.” Nathan smacked it in his hand. “From Padre Esposito. Got my address from his priest friend at the Vatican. He’s better than a detective.”

“Spit it out, will ya!” Nathan looked nervous and happy at the same time, but Nick didn’t like where this was going.

“Rachele! It’s about Rachele!”

Nick flicked his cigarette onto the ground. “I thought she was a goner, lost in space.”

“Stop with the glib attitude. Let me say something.”

“Go ahead, I’m all ears.”

“Something happened over there in a villa . The countryside north of Assisi. A well-known psychiatrist came up with a new theory for treating patients suffering from gross stress reaction. Takes them out of institutional settings to live on a working farm. Spends a lot of time talking to the patient in a garden setting.”

“But you’re back home, Nate!”

“Padre Esposito says she’s better. Not a 100%, but…”

“Do you think she still remembers you?”

“After Rachele was there for six months, she started mentioning my name. The psychiatrist asked Padre Esposito: ‘Who is this Nathan? It’s not an Italian name.’ That’s when the friar decided to track me down.” He looked sideways at Nick. “I’m going back.”

“Are you pazzu?”

“Yeah, I’m meshugganah, but I’m going anyway.”

“What about your art studies at the Institute?”

“As soon as the spring semester is over, I’m heading out.”

“Chasing rainbows!” Nick felt bad after he said that but it was too late.

“No, chasing the missing chink in my heart. I’m not going be a chump like you when it comes to women.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Nick looked up at the night sky but didn’t see anything. “Buona fortuna, buddy.”

Nathan got off the table. “I want you to come with me.”

“What for? You think I’m a loser.”

“Stop it, will ya. Listen to me. If I fail with Rachele, I couldn’t face this alone. I’ll go out of my mind. I need you there.”

“Sorry, no can do.”

“You’re one sorry ass.”

“We’re not in the army anymore, so you can’t order me around, sergeant.”

“You know what, Nick? You’re still a schmuck .”

“Go back in time alla H.G. Wells. I’m staying right here, where it’s nice and safe.”

“You’re just as miserable as me, and you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. So why don’t you wise up. I’m going to Assisi.” Nick shrugged. “And I thought you were my buddy.”

Nathan banged the back door shut and Nick waved his hand in disgust. He lay flat out on the picnic table and fell asleep. When he woke up, the night sky had brightened up with several constellations. He jumped off the table and ran into the house, slamming the door. His father came halfway down the stairs.

“Nicolo, chi cosa fai?”

“Nenti, Pop. Go to bed.”

“Managgia! The door keeps banging.”

“I fell asleep, Papà, and had a bad dream. It’s pazzu but I saw myself flailing my arms through the Pleiades constellation. You know, the one with seven Greek sisters. A bad omen, no.”

Gaetano shook his head several times before going back to bed. Nick sunk into the sofa and grabbed his copy of Crime and Punishment. That his assigned book somehow meshed with his own personal life made him feel like singing the blues. Nick wasn’t a murderer like Raskolnikov, yet there was this thread of dead relationships for him on both sides of the Atlantic as he lay there reading, until his eyes blurred into a twisted sleep from the yellowed, artificial light, the book tumbling onto the floral, wool rug, the empty sound of night outside marked by the muffled tempo of the mahogany, Seth Thomas mantle clock.

The next morning after breakfast, Nick sat at the picnic table facing the fig tree framed by a wooden fence. It was still shrouded with its galvanized, bucket hat, wrapped in tarpaper zigzagged with twine. He lit up a cigarette, watching a plume of smoke float in the wind, not focused on anything in particular. He heard a tinny scratch and saw a female northern cardinal with dull colors of golden brown and olive. Within seconds the unmistakable male with his red plumed crest and sash bottom alighted next to her. Nick was thrilled to see them together. He sat motionless in his North Beach backyard, letting the cigarette ash up, in a place where he would more likely see a common house sparrow. The male bird fed the female a tiny seed. Soon after, they alternated a song, what-cheer, what-cheer… wheet, wheet, wheet, wheet . When they finished their melody, Nick inched his way off the bench to get a closer look at the songbirds. The female cardinal flew away, the male chasing after her without a moment’s hesitation.