Frank Polizzi - Somewhere in the Stars

Nick munched on some biscotti that Salvatore had stuffed in his shirt picket. He dropped the biscuit when the door opened and saw a woman who held a small boy by the hand. She looked familiar to him. The sun was in his eyes and he rubbed them, as he struggled to get a better view of her as she climbed up past him. This was the same Isabella he had met in Assisi, but her curly, black hair was cut much shorter. Perspiration lined his neck at the thought that Caterina was likely to follow, but the door remained shut. He tracked Isabella and the boy into the village, keeping back so far that he could have lost her because he feared she might recognize and interrogate him. If Nick could be unnerved by Isabella’s presence, he couldn’t imagine how he would react if he ran into Caterina.

That night he opened the window to his room to observe the nature show that took place each night. There were billows of smoke emanating from the cone of Stromboli and the star patterns were murky. He could hear the sound of the surf that beat on the shore below his window. He figured since he had come this far, then the least he could do was approach Isabella. There would be no harm in that. He saw the outline of a pair of birds in a channel of water, and judging by their beaks, he thought they were red herons. He wondered if one of them had been the visitor on the villa wall, keeping a watchful eye on him. He undressed to his boxers and white undershirt and stretched himself out on the bed, waiting for sleep to come.

The following morning, encouraged by Salvatore, he set out for the villa again. He reached his destination much faster than he expected and hesitated before knocking, cleaning the dust from his boots on the back of his dungarees. A middle-aged woman in a pastel housedress came to the door, opened it half way and questioned Nick’s presence at the villa. He waited like one of those undertakers who stands at the center of the funeral home, directing mourners to the viewing room with an expression that belies emotion—mulling over how he should act if Caterina were to materialize in front of him after all this time. Or maybe he was already dead of emotion lying in the casket, and near him a faux night table with a photo of Caterina and him and some funeral holy cards of his patron saint stamped on it.

Nick overheard a woman’s voice from another room, allowing him to follow the housekeeper onto the terrazzo, where he busied himself watching a sailboat heading south towards the island of Vulcano. A cool breeze blew under the tent-like structure that he stood under. The signora of the villa entered with a boy who hid behind her.

“Buongiorno, signore. Mi dispiace per mia governante di casa.”

“Buongiorno, signora. Forse, è migliore noi parliamo in l’inglese .” Nick tilted his head towards the child.

“ No problema . That’s my son, Nicolo.” Nick’s face whitened at the sound of his own name. The boy ran circles around the two of them. “Maria! Maria!”

The housekeeper appeared at the entrance to the terrazzo . “ Si , Signora.”

“Maria, prenda adesso bambino mio alla spiaggia, per favore. Anche abbiamo bisogno di granita limone qui.”

“Subito, signora.” Maria took the child by the hand and left.

“Isabella?” Nick asked.

“I’m Isabella, Signore,” she said straight-faced. “And I remember you. News travels fast here on Panarea.”

“Then you’re Caterina’s friend,” he said, trying to read her impression of him.

“ Si . Why are you here?”

“I’m such a cretino.”

Isabella laughed while she responded: “No, you are not an idiot.”

“I’m looking for Caterina.”

“That has become a big problem for you. I can see it in your face.”

Maria came in with the granita and set it down on the table, the child calling for her to hurry up to take him to the beach.

“Have some granita di limone, Nicolo. Maria made it this morning. It is very refreshing.” They devoured the slushy, semi-frozen lemon ice that was both sweet and slightly sour. When they finished scooping the remains, Nick sensed Isabella was uncomfortable, assuming it was some bad news about Caterina, so he changed the discussion to what he thought was a safer topic.

“Where’s Carlo?” Isabella seemed distant. “Have you heard from him since the war ended?”

“I’m happy you remembered Carlo Moretto.” She looked at her sandaled feet.

“How could I forget? Helped Nathan’s cousin get out of Venice.”

“Then you remember that Caterina set me up with Carlo at a café in Assisi.”

“ Si. ”

“So where’s Carlo?”

Isabella face turned ashen. “I’m sorry to tell you ma Carlo è morto !”

“Oh Christ.” Nick’s eyes reddened. “After everything we went through.”

“He promised he’d come back to me. But Carlo has never left me.” She slapped a hand on her breast.

“I am very sorry to hear this, Isabella. Nathan will be devastated. You remember him, don’t you?”

“ Si , the one who was devoted to my university friend, Rachele.” A tear ran black as her mascara melted on her face. “I have already shed many tears for Carlo. To tell the truth…” She stopped to wipe most of the black line away. “We never had a chance to marry. As you know, he went off to fight with the Jewish Brigade. Carlo became an infantryman for the British Army. They fought the Germans on the Northern Italian Front.” Isabella rubbed her eyes and Nick sat closer to her as she continued. “He died on April 13, 1945 at the Battle of the Argenta Gap, near the Po River.” She crossed herself. “Hit by the last of the German artillery shells. When I wrote to him before he died that I was with child, he swore he would return to Assisi and marry me. He thought we should name the child, Nicolo, after you, if we had a son.”

“I am honored.” They both stayed quiet for a while. “So how did you wind up here of all places?”

“Carlo had instructed Don Ca Botto to leave whatever was left from his family estate to me and his child. So we would avoid the poverty so many Italians now face. All because of the fasciste.” She mimicked spitting on the floor. “You mentioned Nathan before. Where is he now?”

“We came back to Italy together. He’s staying with Padre Esposito and visits Rachele every day at Dottor Russo’s villa. Somewhere in Gubbio.”

“Is there hope for my friend?”

“It’s hard to say but Nathan is determined to go all the rounds of this fight. He’s the one who showed me Caterina’s postcard to Rachele, postmarked from this island.” He handed her the card and Isabella smiled as she looked at it. “How did you come by Caterina’s painting that’s hanging in Salvatore’s café?”

“Caterina gave it to me as a going away present, but I felt that her work should be appreciated by others, hopefully some wealthy, foreign tourists.”

“I see.” Nick lowered his eyes. “So what do you do to keep yourself busy on Panarea, besides running after little Nicolo?”

“I am working on folk pottery of Isole Eolie or Isuli Eoli, as the Sicilians would say.”

“Bravo, I am jealous of your endeavor.”

“ E tu? ”

“I’m studying American Literature at San Francisco State College, not far from where I live.” Nick paused and stared at Isabella. “Ma adesso , I am looking for Caterina.”

“I know she’ll be angry with me for telling, but Caterina is right under your nose, Nick. You see, two months ago, Caterina asked if she could stay with me for a while. She wanted to work on her painting and I have a little guesthouse just below my villa near the water. I knew it would be perfect for her. Naturally I agreed. She is there right now.”