Frank Polizzi - Somewhere in the Stars

“Great, I’ll give this to my Pop. Loves collecting Italian stamps.”

“Cretino, read who it’s from.”

Nick read all the way until he hit the signature, ‘Caterina.’ He placed the postcard on the table and pushed it over to Nathan. “I think one hunt for a missing person is enough, wouldn’t you say, Nate?”

“What are you talkin’ about? We know where she is now. She’s on the island of Panarea.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Come on, Nick.” He picked up the card, pointed to the picture and placed it nearer to Nick. “It’s part of the Sicilian islands, the Isole Eolie. You know the Aeolian Islands.”

“Okay, I get it. The islands from Homer’s Odyssey. So what?”

“Stop pulling my leg. You’d never find your old girlfriend in Rome, but now Rachele comes up with this postcard from Caterina.” Nathan slapped his hand on it. “There’s no return address but it’s marked Panarea.” He turned it over and touched the cancellation stamp. “Caterina left Roma for a small island.”

“Good for her.”

“What do I have to do, spell everything out for you, Nick?”

“Our relationship died with the war.” Nick’s eyes darkened. “Besides, why would she be interested in seeing me anyway?”

“For old times’ sake. Isn’t that good enough?”

“That’s a helluva trip to go down memory lane. I’ll have to pass on it.”

“You know, I thought I didn’t have the courage to tell Rachele how I feel about her, but when I look at you now, I think you’re the one with no coglione .”

“I’m the Italian here, not you.”

“No, you’re wrong. A branch of my family is as Italian as yours, or have you forgotten?”

“Okay, you’re a regular paisan . I’m not going anywhere. Besides, what’s it to you?”

“I got to know Caterina better when you went off to get my cousin out of Venice. She’s worth a journey.” He grabbed Nick’s wrist. “Look, I’m indebted to you for what you did for Carlo.” Nathan released his grip.

“You would have done the same for my cuginu. ”

“I got the gal all wrong. Caterina is one hell of a dame. Smart, good looking. When I was teaching her how to paint, her technique was poor at first, but she worked hard at it. She has the passion for it.”

“You two seemed to hit off real well while I was gone.”

“There you go again, tryin’ to get out of something by cooking up spuntini filled with jealousy. Go where your heart is, smuck. Remember how I kept on cursing you out in several languages when you broke up with her.”

“Couldn’t hear you. Had the pillow over my head.”

“Stop hiding your feelings. You can’t bullshit me. Don’t let her get away, will ya? If you do, you’ll never forgive yourself for not trying. You were so close to something happening big in your life and you let it slip away. If she told you to go to hell, I can’t say you wouldn’t deserve it. But you’re the best buddy a guy could have, so I’m not going to have it on my conscience that I didn’t press you to go. You’ve got nothing to lose. Maybe you just want to sit by yourself in restaurants the rest of your life looking at the paintings on the wall or maybe just marry the first woman willing to put up with you.”

“Stop getting under my skin!”

“No, you got it all wrong again. Caterina should be under your skin.”

Nick felt Nate had just hit the nerve endings in his bad leg but didn’t let on.

“You know something, Nick, with all the things that Rachele has gone through, she still remembered her good friend, Caterina. Maybe she can’t articulate her feelings well, but I could see she was worried about Caterina when she handed me that postcard you tossed aside. And what about you, Nick? Aren’t you at least curious as to what happened to her?” Nick’s eyes watered up. “Don’t do it for me, buddy, do it for yourself.”

“ Signor, altro bicchiere di grappa per me e mio amico ,” Nick called out and then turned to Nate. “Okay, okay. I’ll go.”

“Now you’re talking, buddy. Tell the waiter to leave the bottle when he comes back. Who the hell cares if we wake up the monastery tonight?”

The last ferry of the day from the Milazzo port docked at Panarea, the night sky aglow from the volcanic fire northeast on Stromboli. Nick wondered if he were entering paradiso , as other travelers liked to call the island. Or was it really a way station for that erupting island in the distance or the other one he passed, the southwesterly island of Vulcano, known for its sulfuric air marking its harbor? He headed for a brightly lit café on the southern edge of town, passing a few stores and a row of fishing boats lined up on the beach near the port of San Pietro. When he reached the place, he ascended the steps imbedded with black lava stones that led to a small terrazzo facing a group of tiny islands barely visible and Stromboli further up. He carried his gear in a hiker’s backpack and dropped it on the floor under the outside lamp. The thud of his pack hitting the floor brought the café owner out onto the terrace. A man, who looked around fifty, observed Nick’s attire before speaking.

“Inglese, Signor ?”

“No, Americano .”

“You have come a long way. È veru .”

“ Si . From San Francisco.”

“I know about San Francisco.” The owner smiled. “Big red bridge. I have a cousin there. Perhaps you know him?”

“It’s a big place. Come si chiama ?”

“Giuseppe Randazzo, cuginu miu. Io sono Salvatore Randazzo .”

“Like I said, molta genti. Don’t know any Randazzos.”

Salvatore stroked his beard. “Mancia!”

“I’m not hungry. Vorrei un caffé.”

“ Certu. ”

The fireworks on Stromboli intensified while he waited for his espresso . Nick was alone on a mission that Nathan was surer of than he was. Not that he didn’t want to see Caterina again, but after the way he disappeared from her life, his journey to reconnect was as perilous as bathing near the shoreline under a volcano, waiting for sizzling lava to slope down a path where it has been dropping for years, creating a whirling cauldron in the sea.

“Ecculu, Signuri. Comu ti chiami?”

“Nicolo Spataro.”

“That name sounds Sicilianu .”

“ Si .”

“You have returned home. It is in your blood.”

“I’m not sure why I am here. I just need a place to stay.”

“I have a room available upstairs. It is not expensive.”

“Grazii, Salvatore.” Nick sipped the last drop of espresso and followed Salvatore to his new room. He placed his backpack on a chair and settled on the bed without taking his clothes off. He couldn’t sleep and got up to look through the casement windows. After opening them wide, he could still see the volcano smoldering away, leaving steamy puffs of smoke obliterating the skyline. He went back to bed and fell into a deep sleep filled with a dream that he would not choose to recall in the morning, when he awoke with a soaked undershirt. But he could not stop the flashback to the ferryman who had asked Nick for payment to get off at an unfamiliar island. He dug deep into his pockets, then rifled though his backpack and came up with nothing, while the ferryman seem to loom larger over him with each second. As the ferry moved backwards from the dock, the ferryman’s mouth extended so wide while he yelled for his money, Nick thought he would be devoured at any moment. He begged the ferryman to understand his situation but was catapulted into the sea. He swam, smashing his arms and legs on the water’s surface towards the sole light in the pitchblackness, a fire at the summit of another island, while a shark’s fin sliced the water in a decreasing circle around him. He changed strokes to those of a synchronized swimmer, hoping to fool his stalker while mumbling every saint’s name he could think of, as well as every permutation of Mother Mary’s name.