A Semester Abroad (20 page)

“In Italian?” I asked in English, not wanting to play her little games.

“
Si
,” Lisa said.

“Because I’m obsessing,” I said, going into the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face and studied myself. You must do this, I whispered to myself.
Devi fare questo
.

Lisa was staring at the bathroom door when I came out. She had something to ask me. I could tell by the way she was quivering.

“What?”

She held out a worksheet. “Will you test me on
imperativo?”

This is just an excuse I thought, for her to show off. Or maybe she was trying to psych me out like a boxer. Was she even that calculating? Maybe my accent was really good in my sleep.

“Please,” she said.

“Fine,” I said. “I don’t have much time, though. I need to run an errand before school.”

“Okay, I just need the irregulars.”

“Okay and I’m going to do
sapere
and
volere
, too.”

“You’re right. Those are hard,” she nodded, considering.

So I tested her, expecting that she would get them all right. And she missed some, too. It was good for me to review. It was impossible to prepare too much.

Then I dressed quickly and on my way back through her little room I said, “
In bocca al lupa
, Lisa
.
”

“
Creppi,
” she said, smiling up from her book. Sometimes, she wasn’t so bad. Or maybe sometimes I was just more patient.

I decided earlier in the week to go to the
duomo
for a last-minute prayer. I stepped into the cathedral and looked up at the paintings. I stifled an attack of the hacking cough that still stuck with me. And then I prayed to the severe-looking Mary in the golden dress. One Hail Mary. I wished I knew it in Italian. Hopefully, it would work.

Then I went to the
università
.

“
In bocca al lupa
,” I whispered to Lucy who sat in a small desk a few rows up.

“
Studenti
,” the proctor said loudly. At nine, they handed out the tests.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. When I opened my eyes, Jung, the Korean man, was staring at me. I wasn’t sure if the thumbs-up sign was universal so I just nodded. Then I began.

I read each question carefully. There was a lot of
articoli
and
congiuntivi
. None of it was as hard as I imagined. There was a mock conversation where I need to fill in the blank with an
imperativo
of
sapere
. My review with Lisa was worth it.

About an hour in, people started getting up to hand in their papers. We had an hour and a half, and I intended to use all of that time to make sure my essays were perfect. With ten minutes to spare, I looked it over as much as I possibly could. I got up and handed in my test.

“
Grazie,
” I said stupidly to the proctor. I had two hours until the oral presentation. During that time the tests would be marked. Lucy was waiting for me outside, smoking.

“What did you think?” she asked.

“Not to bad. Can I bum a cigarette?”

‘Of course. What should we do now?”

“Sweat the oral for a while,” I said.

“C’mon it will be fine. Let’s go to Osteria la Chiacchiera and get some
ribollita
for an early lunch. It will put hair on your chest.”

“Just what I need.”

Lucy prevented me from spending two hours biting my nails. The restaurant had delicious food served in communal-style tables. Gaetano loved it there, too. I looked around wondering, if he was there. He wasn’t, and I considered calling him to tell him about the test. But then I doubted that he would care.

Back at school, Lucy and I were scheduled to go into our oral test together. We sat outside the classroom for a while before we went in. I coughed constantly.

“This is killing me,” I said to Lucy. Then I translated, trying to make light of this whole thing. “
Mi fa morire
. What do you think of that, huh? Huh? Pretty good, right?”

“Save it for the
professori
.” Finally, we got called in. I felt as though I was meeting a firing squad. It was just Signora Laza and Signore Pastorino. Lucy went first. She got a 30 on the written exam, pretty damn good. Thirty-two was the highest possible mark. They asked Lucy about a job she had in her country. Of course she did wonderfully. Her speech flowed, and her accent was perfect. I was envious of the way she held her mouth when she spoke.

Then it was my turn. I got my written exam back: 29. Not great, but pretty good. I knew that I would at least get a D, no matter how much I flunked the oral part.

“Okay, Gabriella,” Signora Laza said, smiling. “In one of your papers you told us all about one of the holidays in your country, Thanksgiving. Tell us what you do on that day and why.”

I began to talk about
La Festa di Ringraziamento
, Thanksgiving. My voice shook, but the words came out comfortably. I painted a picture of the ideal Thanksgiving. I was channeling Norman Rockwell. This was America. I only messed up once, when I described the turkey as a “
grande uccellino
” which meant “big little bird.” Luckily, I caught myself and apologized. The professors laughed it off, helping my confidence. When my two minutes were up, I looked at Lucy, who smiled. I knew I did a good job.

“
Brave
!” Signore Pastorino said to both of us.

The
professori
talked quietly, not exactly hiding what they were saying. Lucy got an A- for the class, based on the conversion they had for Italian grades. The conversation got more heated for my grade. Based on my performance of the final, Signore Pastorino wanted to give me a higher mark. Signora Laza showed him my unimpressive grades from the semester. I realized they could still choose to have me repeat the course if I got a D. They were arguing between a C and a D. I cleared my throat, hoped that I wouldn’t cough and looked into Signora Laza’s eyes.

“
Per favore, professoressa, un C
.” Signora Laza smiled and shook her head, giving in. Perhaps it was my stirring rendition of “Born in the USA.” I will always be grateful to Springsteen.

“Okay.
Non darmi una brutta figura, eh?
” Signora didn’t want to look bad to her colleagues if she passed a girl who couldn't speak.

“
No, mai
,” I said, determined to never make her look bad. I wanted to lay out all the ways I would make her proud, but I didn’t want to talk too much and have them revoke the grade.

“Okay, Gabriella,” Signora Laza said. “C.”

“
Grazie, grazie
,” I said. I got up and hugged Signora Laza. Lucy laughed loudly, then hugged me, too.

And it was over. I passed the final. Still in shock, I jumped up and down, holding on to Lucy’s shoulders in the lobby.

“A C, I got a C,” I screamed. “I can’t believe it. I also can’t believe I’m this excited about a C. It’s the lowest grade I ever got in college, but I’m super psyched.”

“Even with the
grande uccellino
,” Lucy said, patting me on the shoulder.

“Even with the
grande uccelino
,” I said, still disbelieving.

“We should get drunk,” Lucy said.

“I’d love to, but I have to pack and take an overnight train to Paris.”

“
Bienvenue
,” Lucy said. “Have fun and call me when you get back.”

I smiled through the
campo
. I ran into Lisa, who was flaunting her B+. She smirked about my C. She was back to her old self. It didn’t bother me too much, though I was compelled to tell Lisa that Lucy got an A-.

Gaetano was at my apartment when I returned. He was sitting at the dining room table with Janine, who was wearing a tank top and cutoffs. It was too cold for the outfit, but Janine didn’t care about comfort as long as she could show off her body.

Both Gaetano and Janine shared the same expression when I came in. They looked at me as though they would like to be caught doing something that they weren’t doing. That we should all feel awkward even though nothing was really going on.
Non mi fregga niente
.

“
Com’è va
?” Gaetano asked, wanting to know how the test was.

“
Bene
.” I stepped into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of
acqua con gas
that seemed to be flat. There were dishes piled up in the sink.

“You packed?” Janine shouted from the dining room.

“Mostly, just need a couple more things.” I was speaking English fast, not enunciating, not looking at Gaetano.

“Did you see those dishes?” she asked.

“Yeah, none of them are mine. I wash mine. I have a train to catch.”

“I wasn’t saying they were,” Janine said, defensively. “I bet they are from Michelle. She’s selfish. You in a bad mood today, G?”

Wouldn’t you like me to be, I thought, but I smiled and said, “Not at all. How was your exam?”

“Fine, passed. Got a C.”

“Hey, me too.” We slapped each other five. Gaetano laughed, so Janine slapped him five to, but I didn’t. Gaetano looked at me and spoke in Italian. This Janine couldn’t really understand.

“I thought I would walk you to the bus station. Help with your bags.”

“
Grazie
,” I said on purpose. “I’ll be ready soon.”

“I can’t believe everyone is leaving me,” Janine whined in English.

“Lisa will be here until the middle of the week, right?” Janine just rolled her eyes.

“It’s my birthday, you know. Thursday is my birthday.”

“We’ll celebrate when you I back,” I offered. “It’ll be something to look forward to. It’s too bad your friend cancelled.”

“Yeah, too bad,” Janine said. She turned to Gaetano for sympathy. “
Il mio compleano
.”

“
Quando
?”

He wanted to know when her birthday was, and she had to think about how to say Thursday for a second. Frustrated, I helped her and we answered together. “
Giovedi
.”

“Oh,” said Gaetano with saccharine regret in his voice. He spoke English for Janine’s sake. “We mus’ maka party.”

“There’s no one to have a party with. Michelle
va via
. Gabriella
va via
.” Janine pouted and flicked her hand in a going a way motion.

“
Facciamo un picnic
,” Gaetano said, ever helpful. I hated him at that moment. He was showing me that men were always disappointing no matter where they are from. And I was interchangeable. One American girl was good as the next, the sluttier the better. He was trying to test me.
Fine, fuck him
.

“A picnic would be great,” Janine said. She would love that, to have her own little Italian friend just like Michelle and me. It would be better for Gaetano, too, I was certain of that. He could finally get laid.

“Janine, do you have that skirt I leant you the other night?”

“I think so,” Janine said, still kind of smiling at Gaetano.

“Well, I need to pack it for Paris.” Janine got up to get it, leaving Gaetano and me alone in the kitchen. He touched my arm.

“What’s wrong,
tesoro?” Tesoro
?

“What do you think?” I said. As he was searching my face, Janine returned with this skirt. I pulled my arm free from Gaetano to take the skirt. I only wanted him to know I was annoyed and not give Janine any more satisfaction.

I went to my room to put the skirt in my backpack and packed up my toiletries. Gaetano followed me. My bed wasn’t made, I never made it, but he pulled the blanket back to sit down. He whistled, when he saw the size of my backpack.

“Yeah, it’s big,” I said. “Now I’m sure that you won’t want to carry it.”

“So the test was okay?”

“Yeah, I passed. I did okay.” I wanted to tell him about the “
grande uccellino
” but I didn’t. He asked about my travel schedule, the train I’d be taking from Firenze. We were sticking to the specifics, exchanging information.

“You should be careful,” he said with a fatherly concern that annoyed me. One minute he acted like he wanted to fuck me, then he ignored me and then he was bringing me chicken and trying to be protective.

“I’ll be fine. I’m ready, if you still want to go.”

“Yes, we could get an espresso if you want
before …”

I looked at my watch. “No, it’s late. I need to get the bus.”

“Okay,” he said. I heaved my backpack on the edge of the bed and stuck my arms through, lifting it up onto my back, with a groan.

“
Madonna
!” Gaetano said. “That’s a bag.”

The bag made me hunch over a bit. I had to maneuver through the doors out into the kitchen, where Janine was sitting on the windowsill smoking a cigarette. I went through the motions of saying goodbye. I gave her a hug and told her to have a good time. I just wanted to go and be alone for the rest of the night. I wanted to get to it.

Gaetano and Janine kissed goodbye, too. I opened the door. Janine shouted at Gaetano in her stupid accent.

“
Chiamami.”
Call me? We didn’t even have a phone.

“Okay,” Gaetano said. He placed his hand on the back of my bag as we went down the stairs, trying to help.