By Christian D.
Meglio senza pane che senza famiglia
-Rosellan proverb: “Better without bread than without family.”
When the bus from Rome pulled up in the village plaza of Rosello on a windy Saturday evening in October, 1934, only one woman, in her mid-30s, disembarked. She set off, bound to a cottage on the edge of town. Two figures, one tall and one short, stood in its yard. They saw her coming. As Giuliana advanced, the face of the taller became recognizable. Even after fifteen years, she knew her brother Angelo anywhere.
“Angelo… ciao.” Her voice wavered nervously.
“Chi è éssa?” asked the young boy. Who is she? Giuliana pretended as if she hadn’t heard, and instead inspected the mountain view. From the tiny field wherein stood the Angelo Cimino’s cottage, nearly the entire village was visible, as well as the towering hill of grass and rock that stood in the center. Circling the village were the mighty Apennines, clothed in scarlet and gold robes, that formed the valley with their outstretched hands.
“Zejenete Giuliana.” Angelo hugged her stiffly, and then they faintly kissed each others cheeks. She bent down near the boy, who partially hid behind Angelo. He gently chided his son, who could only be her nephew Tonino, in rapid Abruzzese, and pushed him into his aunt’s outstretched arms. He tried to speak English:
“He… hello, Zezè Giuliana. How… how are…?”
She laughed. “Ciao, Tonino, nipote mio! You’re so tall—così alto! How old are you now, hm? Quanti anni hai?”
He counted his numbers in English until he got to the appropriate one. “Se-seven.” Giuliana grinned and hugged her nephew tight, feeling his soft breath. He squeezed her back; the embrace was a key for the cold gate she’d put up around her heart.
“Tonino, jemmecinne davèntre.” Angelo waited until his son obediently retreated into the cottage, before continuing in Abruzzese: “So, sister, why are you here? After all these years…?”
Giuliana struggled a bit to understand the dialect, instead of the standard Italian she’d brushed up on while on the voyage over. “I missed you, Angelo. It’s been years since we’ve seen each other.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
She sighed. “Please, I don’t want to discuss it—”
“You think you can just show up out of the blue like this, with no explanation? Ridiculous. What do you want, Giuliana?”
“Angelo, I came because I love and miss you—”
He chuckled derisively. “You certainly didn’t love me when you ran away—”
“I didn’t run away—”
“Basta. You broke our parents’ hearts.”
Wincing, she bristled. “I did not run away. Papa told me I could leave.”
The stillness of an overcast autumn evening hung between them. A distant roll of thunder from the darkest clouds over the mountains foretold rain. Angelo stared at her in stoic judgement while she inhaled hugely, wistfully smelling the nostalgic scents of the valleys and farms in sweet remembrance.
“It’s getting late… come inside for dinner. We’ll talk later.”
They retreated inside just as the pounding of rain began. The warm glow inside the cottage thawed her soul, drawing it back from the recesses of icy dinners and the chill of indifference, wherein, when allowed, fear and dislike and deceit crawl into the hollow where love once abounded. There was no such coldness here; it wasn’t even permitted entry by the coziness of the burning hearth, over which hung a hand-painted sign: “La famiglia è la patria del cuore.” The family is the homeland of the heart.
Giuliana was introduced to Angelo’s wife, Emanuela, who, despite never having met her sister-in-law in person, chatted casually as if they were old friends. The entire family, including the couple’s children, Tonino, Lucrezia, and Fiorella, surrounded the rough wooden table, which held a steaming bowl of tagliatelle with caciocavallo, a plate of figs, and a bowl of salad. Among the harmonies of pouring rain and thunder, in the little valley of Rosello, floated the supper grace of a family both united and estranged… siblings lost and found.
Angelo sat deep in thought, but Giuliana queried into the lives of her nieces and nephew, pushing away the growing lament that she hadn’t spent a moment of her life in their company before. They were such merry children. Lucrezia chatted away about everything from books to the Adriatic to even Balilla, of which Angelo disapproved. Fio, only five but clearly advanced in speech for her age, borrowed Giuliana’s ear to tell her about the previous feasts of September. Tonino stayed silent most often, but smiled up at his aunt from time to time. Emanuela told her about her own hometown in Molise, and wandered among happy childhood memories.
“So, you grew up here too, Zezè Giuliana? In this house?” Lucrezia asked.
“As did our parents. Our grandfather built this house, so we were raised here.”
“Did you really throw a cake at Father Domenico?”
She glanced sideways at her brother as Father Domenico’s cake-covered, horror-stricken face appeared in her mind, and she howled. Considering Angelo’s own laughs as he doubled over, pounding on the table, he hadn’t forgotten either.
There still is nothing like a true, fresh Abruzzese supper to soothe a wearied heart, and all the fancy frozen steaks and expensive reheated pastries in the world can never hold a candle to it… especially when the entire family gathers together for it.
The following Sunday dawn, Giuliana awoke more well-rested than she had ever done so in years. Sunlight streamed into her old bedroom, illuminating that which she hadn’t seen by morning light for fifteen years. Surprisingly, it looked similar to how it was when she left home. A smell of toast and warm goat’s milk wafted up to her nose.
Her family was seated around the table already, chatting and laughing, both which ceased momentarily when she entered. Angelo didn’t smile or frown, but stared at her with subdued wonder. Emanuela, on the other hand, smiled widely and gestured to the unclaimed chair, set with pan e lat—a simple delicacy, a cheap luxury, made all the more special to her not because of its delicious taste, but its evocation of reminiscence. Angelo asked if she would be joining his family for church. Giuliana hesitated—it had been a shamefully long time since she’d attended any church—but accepted the invitation.
All traces of the previous night’s storm were removed, save a few lingering, fluffy white clouds, and in its stead reigned a clear blue sky and the dawn’s sun, shedding light on the small village. The old stone church sat atop the towering hill overlooking the entire valley, and the bells rung solemnly to summon the inhabitants to worship. The Cimino family traversed the winding streets of the town and joined the ebbing flow.
Father Domenico took his place on the altar once everyone had found a seat and the bells had tolled the beginning of the Sunday Mass. His blonde crown had over the years paled to grey—his belly had expanded outwards—his coolness and command, dedication and reverence, in this place of worship, as he began Mass with song and prayer, neither paled nor expanded but remained as staid as it had always been since as far back as Giuliana could remember.
Then she heard a whisper in the pew behind her: “Sande ciele! It’s Giuliana Cimino!”
“Angelo’s sister, Giuliana! Here in Rosello!”
“Did you hear, Iole? The Cimino daughter is back!”
The whispers sparked and threaded through the church like wildfire, and soon every villager knew of Giuliana’s presence; if Father Domenico heard (he would have had to be deaf to not have heard it) he made no mention of it, nor gesture or expression to reveal it. He did, however, clear his throat and walk over to the smaller table, which held an ancient Bible. “A passage from the Book of Luke: The Parable of the Lost Son…”
Giuliana snapped to attention, focusing all her mind on a story she had heard, forgotten, and suddenly remembered. As Father Domenico narrated the son who had foolishly departed from his father and wasted his wealth, Giuliana reflected on her own choices and her own decision to return to the family that loved her… the family which she had left behind. She found herself mouthing along to the priest,
“Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.” She closed her eyes, dropping her head and the full regrets she had repressed for so long.
When the bells rang to signal Mass’s end, Father Domenico greeted Giuliana warmly at the door where he bid all churchgoers farewell. “It brings joy to my heart to see you again, Giuliana.”
“I’ve been gone for so long… I…” She swallowed her tears. “I never realized how much I missed my… my home.”
“It is a marvelous thing, that one may at any time ask for forgiveness and come home to that which she loves.” He patted her on the back and sent her away with a smile.
When they arrived home, Emanuela departed suddenly with the kids, on an errand to get honey from her friend who kept bees. That left the two siblings by the hearth.
“If it’s money you want, you can have it.”
Giuliana started. “What—that’s why you think I’m here?”
Angelo spun his head. “It is, isn’t it? You came because you didn’t think I’d give you money a second time… not after the first time… but I will.” Giuliana gaped open-mouthed at him. “You are, despite everything, my sister.”
“You think I came for money?” Giuliana gasped deeply, already feeling the floodgates opening. “That’s not why I’m here! I came because I missed you, Angelo.”
“After fifteen years? After you left without saying goodbye—after your only letters to me asked for money? Forget it—you don’t have to pretend anything.”
“I’m sorry, Angelo!” she cried. He strode away into the kitchen, with Giuliana pursuing. “I’m sorry! Truly, I’m sorry I left!—I’m sorry I never came back, just please, please—” She grabbed his arm and forced him to stay; Angelo stood rigidly and still didn’t face her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, that I missed your wedding and-and Mamma and Papa’s funerals—I-I—” Giuliana broke down sobbing.
His silence deafened her for a moment. “Why did you leave?”
“You know, when Nicola died I felt… empty. I couldn’t stand it, everything reminded me of him, of what we wanted to do and never… never did… I just thought it’d be better if I left for a while. You were away at university and Father didn’t mind—”
“You know he wouldn’t have refused you anything…” He stopped, seeing a fresh onslaught of tears at the brink of her eyelids.
“I… I didn’t plan to stay away… but, oh, I don’t know, I just got drawn into life in America. It was… well, not satisfying overall, but I felt ashamed of how I felt, afraid of what you’d say, of your—disappointment—I thought I’d disgraced myself too much to return. But now… now the fear which kept me away is what I’m most ashamed of.”
“What made you change your mind?” All anger had left his voice—only the disappointment which Giuliana had expected, had feared, had deserved, remained.
“I… I’d say I got a brutal reminder of what truly matters. After my illness—”
“Your—wait—what?”
“Last year I almost died from pneumonia.” His chin hung open. She hurriedly assured him, “I’m fine now. Stop worrying, Angelo—I can see it in your face. I did think I would die, though, and… I realized I didn’t… want to die.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“But I didn’t want to die without… without having seen you again. I mean it when I say I love you, and I wish I had seen earlier… what really mattered to me. And… I’m not leaving Rosello anymore. I sold all the things I had left to pay for the trip… there’s nothing left for me, except what I have here—and that’s all I want. I don’t wish to be anywhere else in the world, except with my family. And that’s why I hope you’ll forgive me.” She bowed her head, hoping but not expecting the kindness she didn’t deserve. Arms embraced her—a head rested on her neck—tears that weren’t hers—was her brother crying, however silently, with her?
“I thought I had lost my sister forever. But you’re here…”
They stayed like that for a moment—the happiest moment, she thought, since she had left so many years ago—their tears united in sorrowing and rejoicing.
“So you forgive me?”
A genuine smile lit up his face. “Do you even have to ask?”
Her nieces and nephew, returning and seeing the estranged siblings walk hand in hand into the cottage, cheered with delight with prospect of a new playmate. They already dearly loved their Zezè Giuliana, and hoped, not without fruition thereof, that she would remain with them for as long as the future, appearing so broad and blessing to the family, could hold her.