Frank Polizzi - Somewhere in the Stars

“So Nick, what do ya think? Yankees or Cardinals for the World Series?”

“What’s it to us? Merda, we don’t have one major team on the west coast. But if you ask me, I’d just as soon as go with the Dodgers. Brooklyn’s where my folks first started out in America.”

“I’ll go with the Cardinals. St. Louis is as close as you can get to home.” Nathan twirled the long spoon in his glass, then pushed the half-eaten remains across the table. “It’s getting too noisy. Why don’t we go somewhere else?”

They walked to Mission Park and Nathan continued chatting about baseball most of the way, recounting endless statistics of the Cardinals and Yankees.

“You could be an ace sports announcer, Nate,” Nick said as they finally reached the park. “Let’s sit on the grass slope over there.” Nick pointed to a palm tree and Nathan followed.

Nick noted the children playing hide-and-go-seek with their intermittent cries of ‘Ollie Ollie oxen free,’ as parents watched while sharing some fruit on the grass. Nathan wasn’t sure what to say without offending his buddy, but he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t want to face his father if things went wrong since he promised to settle things with Nick. After all, it was his fault, according to Father, for bringing Nick into the house when they weren’t around.

“It’s got to end, Nick.”

“What are you talking about, Nate?”

“You know, my kid sister.”

Nick’s eyes widened. “Deb!”

Nathan shook his head yes, as he averted his eyes.

“You must have known all along what was going on between Deb and me. Never a word from you.”

“It kills me to be the person to tell you, but…”

“But what?”

“You can’t see Deborah anymore!”

Nick heard the words clearly but for the moment he was dumbfounded that his best buddy told him to end it with Deb. His felt a pain in his chest, as if he were on a rack and Nathan turned the screws. He didn’t want to break up with his girl.

“I thought you were my friend, Nate.”

“You’re the best pal a guy could have. It’s my father!” Nathan felt he was getting a bum rap and was getting annoyed that Nick didn’t realize it. He doubted that Nick could handle the situation and would just burn up right in front of him. “Couldn’t you figure that out for yourself?”

“I’m not good enough for your sister, that’s it.”

“Never said that.”

“Just some worthless dago?” Nick’s lips pressed, while his chin pushed up.

“It’s in your head, not mine. Let me explain, will ya!”

Nick stood up and turned his back on Nathan. He had dreams about being with Deb forever but sfortuna dogged him wherever he turned.

Nathan got up and placed his hand on his friend’s right shoulder. He wanted to rephrase things. When Nick felt the weight of Nathan’s hand, he imagined it as an aggressive move. He was in no mood to be touched. He swerved around and took a swing at Nathan who blocked it and then held his friend’s arms back.

“Calm down, will ya. It’s not me, you fat-head.”

“Let go of me.” Nathan dropped his grip. Nick marched off, then stopped short, turning around. “I’m stuck on your sister!”

“My father thinks you should find someone else. It’s not so much about religion. More about Jewish tradition. What can I say, Nick?”

“I thought your family wouldn’t mind since we’re friends. Do you think mine would be filled with joy, knowing I’m dating a Jewish girl? My father never steps foot in a church except for Christmas and Palm Sunday, but I can tell you he would still want me to marry a Catholic, even an Irish girl, though he might add ‘God forbid’ to that.”

“It’s a screwed up world.”

“So, I’m supposed to turn off my feelings because your father says so.”

“Why don’t you just cool down? Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to persuade him otherwise.”

“Whatever you say, Nate.”

“Believe me, I don’t care you’re not Jewish. We’re supposed to be buddies right?”

“I gotta go home now. My mother’s by herself.”

“Sure, let’s catch the J Church streetcar. It runs by the park.”

As the streetcar clanged its bell past the Mission Park, Nick leaned on the edge of an open window, while Nathan looked straight ahead, sitting next to his friend. Nathan felt bad about the whole mess and hoped that Nick would get over it and not take it out on him. He was just the knucklehead messenger. They sat for a while listening to the confluence of steel wheels against steel rails.

“Tell your sister, I’m never going to forget her.”

“Why don’t you tell her yourself? Just one last time, I mean.”

“I don’t know if I can look at her and say goodbye. There is one thing I know for sure you can do for your ol’ buddy.” Nick dug down into his T-shirt and pulled a gold cross and chain over his head and held it up. “Give this to Deborah. I know your kid sister can’t wear this, but she can hold onto it as a keepsake. It’s the only thing I own that’s worth something.” Nathan placed the cross around his neck and hid it under his shirt, so as not to lose it. “Tell her no matter where I go, I’ll always remember our time in the Botanical Garden.”

“Sure Nick, whatever you say!”

Nathan got off at Duboce Avenue and Nick continued on to the Columbus Avenue stop. Nick gaped through the bus window at folks window shopping, women pushing baby carriages and a few young couples walking arm in arm or holding hands, but that’s what got to him the most, eating his heart out, as the old fashioned saying goes. When he got off the streetcar, he took the long way home, shouting out to his mother when he closed the door behind him. He found her sitting at the kitchen table, mesmerized by a piece of paper lying there.

“ Mamma !” She handed the telegram over without looking at him.

Nick raced his eyes over the message from the War Relocation Authority at Fort Missoula. The final hearing on the status of Gaetano Spataro had been completed and he was officially declared an enemy alien to be held at the camp until further notice.

His mother looked at Nick and cried out: “Iddu è innucenti!”

“I know Mamma, he’s innocent as they come.” Nick put his arms around his mother’s shoulders while she wept. When Lucia stopped, he stepped into the backyard to breathe some fresh air, which had the faint smell of the salty sea. He collapsed into a wooden lawn chair. The superstition, ‘Bad news comes in threes,’ popped right into head—Papà, now Deborah. He was angry with Nate but didn’t want his friend to be number three. “Chi sacciu?” he asked aloud. “What do I know? Nenti!” Nick was Giufa the fool all over again, but the situations with his father and first girlfriend were true, not tales from long ago.

On a Good Friday morning, Nick drove the 1,000 miles to Missoula, Montana, in a Studebaker President that Mike the Barber lent him. He could still hear Mike swearing at him not to get a scratch on his year-old, light blue sedan. Mamma and Paul rode with him not saying much. Nick tightened his grip on the steering wheel, wondering how his father was faring in the Alien Detention Center, War Relocation Camp—or whatever else they wanted to call it. Sounded more like a prison to him, but he would have to see for himself. Instead of going on a joy ride with his cuginu, picking up two beautiful dames and heading for the wine country of Sonoma Valley, an antidote for his blues over Deborah, it felt like he was chauffeuring a hearse and all he needed was a shiny brimmed hat.

The roads were slow and on the third day they approached Fort Missoula, facing the Bitterroot mountain range caked with snow at the top, to celebrate Easter with Papà. A chain link fence topped with barbed wire enclosed the internment camp that had guard towers moored to it. A black iron searchlight tower rose from the interior. Nick parked the car outside the camp. He glanced at his mother whose eyes welled up with tears, while Paul’s mouth dropped, which set the tone for what was to come. It was clear to him that no matter how they treated Papà inside, the outside showed the determination of the feds, blessings of the U.S. Army included, to keep Gaetano Spataro locked away from the west coast of America, his livelihood, and most of all, his famigghia, all swapped for barbed wire, armed guards and giant flashlights, providing a new meaning to a summer camp for Sicilians who fled their country for a better life.