The Mimosa Tree (10 page)

‘Don't let her get to you,' she says, hugging my shoulder lightly.

I shrug. ‘I'm used to it.'

‘We all are I suppose,' she looks over at Via who is currently shouting at my father because he has taken off his shoes. Her hands are flaying, and there's lots of finger jabbing punctuating her words.

‘What is her problem?' I say shaking my head.

‘She sees it as her job.'

‘To yell at everyone?'

‘To look after us. You know,' she says, leaning forward. ‘When she was a young girl she was actually a bit of a free spirit.'

I laugh loudly. My aunt Via's spirit is about as free as her long-suffering bosom.

‘It's true,' says Siena, kicking my shin playfully. ‘Via was a lot of fun. She was quite a beauty too, and had lots of boyfriends.'

‘You're making this up.'

Siena leans back into her chair. ‘She changed after Mamma died. She was the eldest and I guess she just thought it was her job to take her place, you know?'

She looks away, her hand goes to her throat but I can't tell if she is getting emotional or just distracted by one of the many conversations going on around us. I want to ask Siena about the day that Nonna died. I want to tell her that I remember how she carried me outside, but conversations about that day are like conversations about cancer, and I know better than to bring it up.

‘Hey, daydreamer,' says Via, sneaking up on me and grabbing me by the ear. ‘Go help your mother in the kitchen. It's her
birthday.
'

‘You could just ask me,' I say, pushing her hand away.

She rubs my head affectionately. ‘Then you wouldn't do it.'

‘How would you know? Not like you've ever tried.'

‘I do what works,' she says, lifting me out of my chair. ‘Now go, the poor woman is working her fingers to the bone for you.'

Certain that I will follow her directions without question, she
moves onto her next task which is getting all those remaining at the table to join her in yet another chorus of ‘Mamma mia dammi cento lire'. So as my family begins to sing, each in their own preferred key, I pick up some plates and go to help my mother in the kitchen. Anything to escape the madness.

As the table is cleared to make room for the final course, I insist that my six-tiered lobster shell tower be allowed to remain as the table centrepiece. Marco and Sera, who have helped me create this marvel of engineering, wholeheartedly agree. Together we resist the mocking glances, the threats of slaps to various parts of our anatomy, and prayers to that god that hovers above us all, until Via finally gives up and lets the tower stay. As she moves on in search of something else to take control of, we celebrate our rare victory with cheers and sloppy high fives.

‘What's on your hand?' says Marco, noticing the peace sign I scrawled there earlier.

‘It's a peace symbol. It means no nukes.'

‘What's a nook?' says Sera.

‘It's a big bomb,' says Marco. ‘I've seen them on TV.' He makes a loud explosion sound and throws his arms out wide to represent the mushrooming cloud. ‘They're cool.'

Sera shakes her head sadly. ‘They make me scared.'

‘Me too. You want one of these? It will keep you safe.'

‘Oh yeah!' she says pushing her arm out towards me. I take the red pen I have in my pocket and begin to draw on her
wrist. ‘How'bout you Marco?' But he looks a bit unsure.

‘Can you draw a dog?'

‘Sure,' I say, and draw him a smiling canine with floppy ears. I add a little peace symbol to the dog's collar, but he doesn't notice.

‘Want to play wars?' he says, and he positions his arms like he's holding a gun. He begins to spit and rattle like a machine gun, taking aim at everyone around the table before running off to fight more battles with the garden.

‘You coming?' says Sera.

‘Not today,' I say, flashing my peace sign.

She looks uncertainly at her own then towards the battling noises coming from Marco. ‘I won't kill anyone,' she promises, then tears off down the path after her brother.

I watch them play for a while, then go help Siena who is walking towards us with a large stack of bowls for the cake. Via taps her spoon against the table.

‘Speeches!' she says, eyeing each of us to make sure we are paying attention. ‘I go first!' She clears her throat then leans forward on the table with both hands, forgetting or perhaps not caring, that the table top is actually a loose plank of wood propped up on trestles. Suddenly everyone is scrambling to balance the weight on the other side to stop the tabletop from catapulting.

‘Dear family, we are here today to celebrate the
bird-day
of my dear sister, Sofia. We have celebrated many
bird-days
together, but I think we all know why this one is so special. Today is the end of a long and difficult year, and for this we are thankful. Today I want us to put these difficult times behind
us, and look forward again to enjoying our family and our health, for many, many years to come.'

She already has half the table in tears, but she stands up tall to deliver her final blow. With a tear slowly blooming out of the corner of her eye, she turns to my mother and holds her spoon up like it's a glass of champagne.

‘To Sofia. I wish you a long, long life, and many grandchildren.'

There are muted cries, meaningful glances and wrung hands everywhere. Determined that I won't be sucked into this drama vortex, I concentrate on digging my pen into my hand until it hurts just enough to distract me.

‘Thank you,' says Mum looking bashfully at her hands. ‘Thank you very much everybody.' She stands to start dishing out the birthday cake, but Via pushes her back down into her chair.

‘
More
speeches,' she says, then sits down and looks at each of us with a one-of-you-better-get-up-and-say-something look. When no one does, she pulls her husband to his feet. ‘Would you like to say something, darling?'

Half Via's size, Zito sways and smiles as he peers at us through sleepy, half closed eyes. He is, as always, ironed and buttoned, combed and soaped, but Via still manages to find an excuse to groom him, swiping at microscopic crumbs on his pants and correcting a minor deviation in the fall of his shirt. ‘Go on,' she says when she's done and I lean forward in anticipation of his usual mumbling, which I alone seem unable to understand.

‘Mmm, urrr, mmmm-aaaa,' he says, ‘egg zeekly yom mmmmmring.' And everyone laughs. I look around, wondering
what it is that I have missed. Zito turns to my Mum and raises his wine glass.

‘Mmm-uurgle-eezel,
Sofia.
' And whatever he says generates a round of ahh-ing and a fluttering of hands over hearts. Via's strapped bosom heaves with pride.

‘Beautiful!' she says and pulls him down to kiss him sweetly on the lips. Around the table heads nod in agreement. Via sits her husband down and offers him a bowl of strawberries. She lets him choose one then hugs the plate to her chest. ‘Next,' she says. When again no one volunteers, she turns to Siena. With a sigh, Siena gets to her feet.

‘Happy birthday, Sofia. I am so happy that you are well again,' she says. She is smiling at my mother, who is smiling back, and I lean forward to hear what she is going to say next, but she just stands there smiling. Finally she opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a little sob, and she covers her face with her hands and sits down.

‘Thank you,' says Mum still smiling.

Via shakes her head, like she's exasperated by Siena's inability to hold it together. She gives Siena a we-will-talk-about-thislater look before turning towards her next victim. I consider escaping into the garden where Sera and Marco are playing, but luckily, she sweeps past me and focuses on my father instead. In stark contrast to Zito's neat and soft appearance, my father looks and smells like a vagrant. He's got a can of beer in his hand, and one leg crossed over his knee exposing his cracked and blackened heel.

‘Don't
you
have anything to say?' asks Via.

Dad eyes her back easily, raises a single eyebrow in
amusement. He stands to make his speech and he's got the slight sway of a drunk. I look at the others to see if they have noticed but my father's drunkenness is too commonplace to be worthy of comment.

‘My lovely wife,' he says raising his beer can. ‘A beautiful party, for a beautiful woman. My wallet is empty, but my heart is full. I hope you all enjoy the beer. It's
free,
' he says and falls back into his chair, sloshing froth from his open can. Via stares angrily, but makes no further comment. Before she can nominate the next target, Mum stands and puts her hands up in protest.

‘Enough now. Time for cake,' but Via intervenes again, this time by hugging Mum around the shoulders so her arms are pinned uselessly to her side.

‘Just one more thing. I want to make sure you know how much we all love you.' And she starts to sing.

‘Appy bird-day to you!'

And we all join in.

‘Happy birthday dear Sofia. Happy birthday to
you.
'

‘Ip ip!'

‘Oooray!'

‘Ip, ip!'

‘Oooray!'

Finally satiated, Via falls back into her chair and refills her wine glass. She turns to speak quietly with her daughter, content for now to allow proceedings to take their own course. I watch them for a while, hearing Via's words but only knowing that Rosa is responding because her lips are moving. Mum slices big wedges of cake and Siena passes them around
the table. Marco and Sera run back, following their sugar and cream radar to the source. Not long now, I think to myself. This party's got about another hour in it and then I will be able to think about making that call or not. Mum comes over and sits beside me. Her smile is one of tired relief, like someone who has just finished a successful marathon.

‘So what's for dinner?'

She laughs, gives me a quick side squeeze. ‘Have you had fun?'

‘It wasn't really bad.' Which is the best I can give her. It must be enough because she pulls me closer, holds me in a hug as she looks dreamily across the table at her family.

‘What a
lovely
day.'

‘Uh-huh. The best “bird day” ever,' I say but she doesn't notice.

‘It's so nice, everyone together again.' She squeezes me again so that I have trouble breathing. ‘Do you have homework for school tomorrow?'

‘It's not school, and we don't have homework. We have assignments. And no, I don't have any to do.'

‘Good,' she says, looking down into her armpit where I am currently jammed. ‘Then tonight we can sit down together and you can tell me all about this boy you like.'

‘What?' I say, feeling faint. She laughs and I get bounced around.

‘I am not silly, dear daughter I heard you talking on the phone.'

‘You must have misunderstood.'

She rubs my head with her knuckles. ‘I am your mother.
I know what's going on in my house.' She lets me go, holds me by the shoulder and stares into my eyes. At least she is trying to stare into my eyes, because I am doing my best to stare anywhere but at her face. ‘There is nothing to be ashamed of, Mira. It's quite natural at your age to be interested in
boys.
'

‘Shhh!' I say, looking round to make sure no one is listening. ‘I'm not! I'm not interested in anything.'

She leans forward to whisper in my ear. ‘It's okay, darling. Your father and I think you're old enough to have a
boyfriend.
'

‘Whoa! He's not my boyfriend. We're just friends.'

‘So there
is
a boy!' she says clapping excitedly. ‘I knew it!'

‘You were just guessing?'

‘A very easy guess, Mira,' she snorts. ‘What else would a seventeen-year-old be talking about so secretly?' She claps her hands again, pulls me into her bosom. I realise I tend to spend a lot of my time here. ‘A
boyfriend!
So when can we meet him? Is he Italian? Does he like
pasta?
'

‘Slow down, Mum. I mean it. We are just friends, nothing is happening.' I pull myself out of her hug, sit back into my chair with my arms folded hoping to avoid any further grabs for my person.

She leans forward to stroke my cheek. ‘You are growing up so fast. Soon you will finish school, get a job, find a
husband.
' I open my mouth to protest but she laughs and hushes me with a finger to my lips. ‘I wonder how long I still have with you?' She looks away as she starts to cry.

‘I'm not going anywhere,' I say unable, as always, to imagine anything different to where I am now.

Mum sits up, wipes her eyes and makes a visible effort to
smile again. ‘You don't have to hide things from me,' she says. ‘I want you to tell me what is happening in your life. When I was young I told my mother everything and I want us to be the same. Will you try?'

‘Sure,' I say, and I am pretty sure I don't mean it.

‘Thank you, Mira,' she says smiling dreamily the way she does. ‘Right, time to do the dishes.' But as she rocks forward to stand up, she screams and falls onto the table.

There's a crash as glasses and plates hit the floor. Across the table, Rosa's glass has been flung out of her hands and her white dress is slashed with red wine. As the rest of us stare stupidly, trying to make sense of what has just happened, Siena rushes over to my mother who has fallen to the ground. Mum is on her side, propped up on one elbow, and breathing in short, quick gasps.

‘What is it, Sofia?' says Siena.

‘My back.'

‘Can you stand up?'

‘I think so.'

Siena directs me to take one side of her as she takes the other. ‘We are going to help you stand, on the count of three, okay?' And though I am not sure how I am going to do this, when three comes I hold onto my mother and lift as strongly as I can. We get her to her feet but she holds us tightly, her breathing shallow and her legs wobbly. I pull a chair over with my foot and we help her sit down.