Stella Mia (37 page)

The Dream

 

 

 

T
he past month and a half has been surreal as my mother and I have struggled to get to know each other. It is now the last week in August and my last week here in Sicily. I will be returning to work soon and cannot prolong my trip any longer, not to mention Kyle has been so patient about my being away so long.

The morning after I first arrived, I decided I would stay for another week. Then I extended my stay for an additional week, until I finally just gave in to my mother's and Carlotta's pleas to remain until the end of August. Now that my time here is almost over, I feel torn and anxious. I haven't let my mind wander to what it will be like once I go back home and won't have my mother with me anymore—although I know it's now different, for I can pick up the phone and talk to her and come visit her whenever I like. Still. I wish she could come back to New York with me.

The first week we tiptoed around each other, afraid of saying the wrong thing—well, at least my mother was afraid of saying the wrong thing. I still hadn't decided if I had forgiven her for staying out of my life for so long, yet I couldn't deny the strong pull to want to get to know her more. And to want to know what it would feel like to have her in my life again even if just for a few weeks.

I finally started to relax during my second week. Every day, Sarina would do something for me. One morning, I woke up to find my laundry had been washed and was folded neatly and placed on the chair next to the dresser in my bedroom. Another morning, she made for me
granita di caffè
, coffee granita. She even made her own
panna,
or whipped cream, to top it off. I didn't think anything of it, even though I have loved coffee
granitas
since I was a teenager. Daddy used to take me to a bakery in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, that sold
granite
. But then the next evening when Sarina presented me with another favorite of mine, Arancini di Riso, or Sicilian Rice Balls, I suspected something was up.

“How did you know that I love
granita di caffè
and Arancini di Riso?” I asked her.

She gave me a sly smile and said, “A mother knows these things about her daughter.”

I almost cried when she said that, but I merely mumbled,
“Grazie,”
and quickly began eating before I lost all control. There could be only one explanation. She must have phoned Daddy and asked him what my favorite dishes were. I was moved that she would go to this trouble, but it also made me incredibly happy.

Now, here we are seated in the outdoor terrace behind her house. A sprawling grapevine encircles the entire terrace. Pots of jasmine, bougainvillea, red crimson lilies, and hibiscus are everywhere. There is even a large orange tree as well as a fig tree. My back faces my mother as she braids my hair. I almost feel silly having her braid my hair as if I were a young schoolgirl, but whenever she's asked if she can do my hair, I haven't refused. Sometimes I've imagined that I am still a little girl, and my mother is styling my hair before sending me off to school.

Carlo hobbles out onto the terrace. Sarina begins to stand to help him, but he holds up his free hand, motioning to her that he can manage. Leaning heavily on his cane, he makes his way over to a folding chair and carefully eases himself into it.

“How are you today, Julia?”

My eyes meet my mother's. We were waiting expectantly to see if he would mistake me for Sarina as he's done a few times during my stay here. Sarina told me my being here has helped his memory, especially since I resemble the younger her. She said he's remembered more of their time together in Taormina and the Aeolian Islands. But I can't help feeling guilty when he does mistake me for my mother.

“I'm well, Carlo. Thank you. How are you?”

“Tired. But fine otherwise.” Carlo's eyes focus on Sarina braiding my hair. His gaze remains fixed that way until Sarina is done styling my hair. He often goes into a bit of a trance.

“Carlo, let's go for a walk on the beach.” Sarina stands up. “Please join us, Julia.”

“That's all right. I'll let you enjoy each other's company.”

“Please, Julia. I'd like to take a walk with both of you.”

I've found it has become harder and harder for me to say no to her. Even in her old age, there is something enchanting about her and vulnerable. When she asks me to do something that I know would make her happy, I see the teenage girl who ran away from her abusive father and who had to fend for herself. And the more she tells me about herself and her days as a folk singer, the more I find myself drawn to her.

“All right.”

Sarina hooks one arm through mine and the other through Carlo's arm. We walk very slowly for Carlo's sake. None of us says a word. I listen to the sound of the ocean's waves crashing against the shore. The voices of children chasing a dog reach my ears, but soon the only sounds are those of the ocean and the seagulls. I let myself steal a sideways glance at my mother and Carlo. Their gazes are fixed on the water. My mother's face looks serene and content. A small smile dances on her lips. Carlo's eyes appear again as if he is somewhere else, remembering another time, another place—or perhaps struggling to remember an event. Still, there is something tranquil about his expression as well.

Never would I have imagined this scenario, especially when I was reading Sarina's diary. Never would I have thought I would be walking on a beach in Sicily with my mother and her first lover—the only man she ever truly loved. Suddenly, I realize why she insisted I walk with her. Yet my heart refuses to believe what I suspect, even though I desperately wish it to be true. Could it be that she wanted to walk with the two people she loves the most?

As if reading my thoughts, my mother turns to me and looks into my eyes, smiling the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. And in that moment, I decide to let down the last wall.

“Ti voglio bene, Mama,”
I say.

Sarina stops walking. She lets go of Carlo's arm and takes my face in her hands. She is overcome with emotion as tears race down her face. She kisses my cheek and hugs me in a tight embrace. We stand like that for a long time. I don't want to let go. I cry, silently at first, but then I sob louder. The pain I have felt since I was a little girl comes rushing out. I don't try to push it back as I've always done.

When we finally pull away from each other, I see Carlo is staring at us and smiling.

Mama leans over to me and whispers, “I love you, too, my dear daughter.”

We resume our walk, but this time the three of us have our arms wrapped around each other's backs.

 

After dinner, Mama has convinced me to play her piano. Zia Carlotta, Carlo, and a few of the maids listen. I'm surprised she even has a piano since she doesn't play, but she told me she had always hoped to learn, but the opportunity never arose.

“Julia, perhaps now that you know us and are more comfortable, you can sing? I have been dying to hear your voice,” Zia Carlotta says.

Mama turns to me, her eyes glowing. “
Si!
Please, don't be shy.”

“All right. I suppose it's only fair since I have heard you sing.” I smile as I say this to my mother.

I pause a moment, thinking of the few Italian songs I know. Clearing my throat, I begin to sing the song that my father and I danced to at my wedding—Vittorio Merlo's “Piccolo Fiore,” “Little Flower.” I dare not look at my mother while singing the song. The real reason that I haven't sung before now is that I feel like I could never measure up to her talent. I know she is by far the better singer of the two of us.

I'm so absorbed in my thoughts that I don't notice Mama come over and sit beside me on the piano bench. She places her arm around my shoulders and begins singing along with me. There is something in her face that I've only seen in my father's when he listens to me sing. She is proud of me. We continue singing together through the end of the song. Our small audience applauds us and begs for an encore. We sing a few more songs before everyone decides to go to bed. But Mama and I remain, discussing our favorite songs.

“Julia, I would love to give you a tarot card reading. If you're not too tired, let's go to my bedroom, and I'll get my cards.”

“I thought you didn't believe in them anymore?”

“I don't, but it's still fun. There's no harm in it, is there?”

“I guess not.”

We head over to Mama's bedroom. Though Mama does share a room with Carlo, there are some nights when he isn't feeling well, and she sleeps in her own room so that he'll be more comfortable alone in bed.

An hour later, and after an in-depth tarot card reading that covered my past, present, and future, Mama predicts I will have a transformative experience. Secretly, I can't help wondering if she's mixed up her cards and if that prediction is really supposed to be about my present and not my future, especially since meeting my mother has definitely been a transformative experience. But I don't question her.

I yawn and see it's almost one in the morning. Mama looks especially tired, and I regret keeping her up so late.

“Mama, I'm going to bed now. Good night.”

“Julia.” Mama pauses.

“What is it?”

“This is going to sound silly, but . . . but I was wondering if maybe you would want to sleep here tonight. We can talk until one of us falls asleep first.” She utters a light, nervous laugh.

I see what she is doing. What she has been doing these past six weeks that I've been here. She is trying to make up for the lost time—for not being there to tuck me in as a little girl . . . for not being able to watch me fall asleep.

“I love slumber parties! Why not?” I hop under the covers, making her laugh.

We talk for another couple of hours. Though I'm tired, part of me doesn't want to go to sleep. I want to prolong this night forever, just listening to Mama tell me stories about her and Carlo that weren't in the diary or stories from her days singing on the road. She also tells me stories about when I was a baby and a toddler. After Mama is done going down memory lane, she asks me to tell her more about Kyle and how we fell in love. I then remember something.

“I'll be right back.”

I go to my room and take out of my purse the bracelet with the fish charm that Carlo had given to my mother that night they were in Filicudi.

Returning to Mama's room, I see her eyelids are beginning to close. But she hears me and opens them, forcing a smile. She looks so tired.

“I'm sorry. Why don't you go back to sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow, and I should let you have your bed to yourself. You'll be more comfortable.”

“No, Julia. Please. This bed is huge. There's room.” She motions to me with her hand.

“Are you sure?”

I get back under the covers.

“I can't believe I've forgotten to give this to you.” I hold out the bracelet.

My mother gasps, placing her hand over her mouth. She takes the bracelet from my hand and examines it. Her eyes get this faraway look; no doubt she is remembering that night in Filicudi, when she and Carlo made love for the first time and he gave her the bracelet.

“I told your father you could have this.”

“He did give it to me, but I always thought it was a gift from him. He gave it to me when I graduated from kindergarten. After I read your diary and realized it was the bracelet that Carlo had given you, I didn't feel right keeping it.”

“You loved this bracelet when you were a toddler.” My mother's face grows somber. “That was when I hit you. I found you playing with the bracelet, and before I knew what I was doing, I hit your arm, causing you to drop the bracelet.”

“I know. Daddy told me.”

“I'm so sorry, Julia.”

“It's understandable. There was such enormous sentimental value attached to this bracelet.”

“No. There's no excuse. I shouldn't have lost my temper with you.”

“I've worn the bracelet since Daddy gave it to me. He had to wrap the bracelet twice around my tiny wrist until I got older. It's almost as if I sensed it was your bracelet. I was so fond of it.”

My mother takes my arm and places the bracelet around my wrist, fastening its clasp.

“It's yours. Please, keep it. Carlo has given me so many gifts since we reunited.”

“But this was extra special.”

“And that's why I want you to have it. Please, don't argue with me. It would make me very happy to know you have it.”

I nod my head. “Thank you.”

We talk some more before I feel myself drifting off to sleep. And soon, I hear my mother's voice in the distance, singing the lullaby she always sang to me as a toddler:
“Stella mia, stell-ahhh mia, tu sei la piu bella stella. My star, my star, you are the most beautiful star.”

I am dreaming of the beach where my mother grew up with her family. Staring up at the many stars in the night sky as I bravely walk alone with my lantern to the boulders on the beach. Though I see myself in the dream, I also see my mother, and it is as if I am one with her, living her life and experiencing her feelings. Soon, the beach transforms into a lush countryside. I am now holding hands with my cousin Agata as we skip and sing before getting to work, harvesting the crops from our fathers' land. Once again, the landscape changes, and I am transported to beautiful Taormina with scenes of Mount Etna looming in the distance. Tambourines and flutes reach my ears as I dance the
tarantella
with Maria and her family of gypsies on the beaches of Taormina. Then I am staring into Carlo's eyes as he watches me singing in the bar of the Villa Carlotta. A beautiful stallion appears, and my heart races against Carlo's back as we ride the horse on the beach in Isola Bella. My body feels weightless as he and I hold hands while we float in the waters of Panarea. Then I am standing with Carlo on the island of Filicudi as a heavy rain soaks our clothes, and later we watch the moon rise across the waters of the beach. I am telling Carlo I love him in our candlelit room that we rented in Filicudi. Then I am staring into my mother's sad eyes as I say good-bye to her and my younger siblings before leaving for America. Pain shoots through me, followed by elation when I stare at the baby girl I've just given birth to. Suddenly, Sarina's face disappears, and I only see myself climbing up the grapevine in my father's backyard in Astoria. Though I'm scared the grapevine's thin branches won't support my weight, I continue climbing higher as my father cheers me on. Then I hear Mama's voice also encouraging me to keep climbing. I look over my shoulder and see that Mama is now also climbing the grapevine. Soon, she passes me and keeps climbing higher and farther away from me. I try to catch up to her, but she's climbing too fast.