Yesterday, after hearing of Nonno's death, I had no clue what to do. Give the family space? Offer to take the kids? We left the door ajar and just listened for a time.
When Joe and Vincenzo got back after tennis, the EMTs were here (I didn't know). After a little while, I decided to go to Mariella's and just see what I could do. I saw Giuseppe Uno in the hallway with the boys, and I offered to bring them up to play. He said he'd stay with them for a while; they're sad. (Real life is not hidden from youngsters here).
The door to Mariella's living room, the "formal" entrance, was unusually open, so I walked in. I saw some of the family back in the hallway, assuming they're getting Nonno's things for the funeral, but no-- they were preparing Nonno for the funeral. It took many of them to sit him up, move him, and, I suppose wash and dress him. Despite having read about this in many a book, I was taken aback. Maria Teresa spotted me, and I asked how I could assist. She shook her head, saying no, they're preparing the bara. Again from my historical novels, I guessed this was the translation for a funeral bier--a word we never hear in English anymore. And by anymore, I mean since the 1800s.
Later, we saw a hearse arrive in front (and again made assumptions that they were) coming for Nonno's body. We waited.
Under an hour later, there was a little tap on the door. My first thought was, oh; thank God. Someone is going to provide some details.
It was Agnese, in her sparkly black shirt and fashionable pants, saying, "Ok; è tempo di vedere la bara." I followed her, thanking God that for some reason, I had chosen a dressier outfit to wear today.
In front of Mariella's door, the casket lid leaned against the entrance wall.
Inside, on four pillars backed by three huge floor candles, was Nonno in his casket. No embalming. No mortuary makeup. Just Nonno, clean and dressed in his finery, holding a red rosary, covered by a gossamer-thin hemmed veil. "A causa della mosca," Alessandro explained; to keep the flies off.
Nonno, a renowned Sicilian poet, had been recognized earlier this year at a literary event. There is a well-known Sicilian music artist (not known to me, however... Alfio Somebody) who set one of Nonno's poems to music and, in fact, had created two different musical versions of the poem. Vincenzo played one of them as people streamed in.
Actually seeing Nonno up close and completely lifeless, it struck me; I quietly lost my composure. Out of nowhere, Agnese was up against my side, hugging me tightly, and patting my back. This girl.
I found Giovanna and Fina back in the kitchen, seated on the loveseat. I love these two. Giovanna was in tears. I learned that Nonno called her every morning to check in on her (she lives alone). And though she's closer in age to me, she and Nonno had a special friendship. Nonno himself was a cipolla. There were many layers to that man.
Rachi walked in (she's really just so lovely), a bit teary-eyed, and snuggled her 14-year-old self up to me, staying with the three of us, just females being together in this quiet corner of the house.
As for quiet, it may be the first time I haven't heard Titi, Mariella's annoying dog, yipping constantly. I walked into the living room, and Maria Teresa's parents, Antonio and Pina, motioned for me to join them on the sofa. I looked under the pillared casket, and there was the dog. Quietly on guard. Incredible, the souls of animals. "Sensible e incredibile," I said to Alessandro, nodding toward Titi, with sensibile meaning aware or tuned into, not sensible as in logical. One of those false-friend words.
I learned over to Mariella, saying that I'll say the obvious... she was a figlia bravissima. The greatest daughter. She does everything with love; she's also a great wife, mom, grandma. "Meh," She waved two fingers in an exhausted manner.
Her rambunctious grandchild, Matteo, bounded in. "Dove Nonno?" he asked Mariella, cheerfully. "È là," Mariella pointed to Vincenzo. He then asked, "Dove Nonnopùddu?" (Nonno's Sicilian nickname for great grandpa Giuseppe). "È morto accanto a te," Mariella answered, matter of factly. He's right next to you, dead.
We stayed until after 9:00, seeing many people we know, exchanging lots of hugs.
I was glad to have prepared the broth earlier. I added pasta to make a hearty soup for supper. We opened the Firriato Charme, a bollicine, and drank to Nonno.
I turned in right after that.
************
Today is more of the same. Notices have been posted; people keep arriving in a steady stream. Nonno's unembalmed hands have dropped to his sides. Andrea was there and she and I talked a bit about how funeral customs here are variations on those in the US and Romania. And we hugged.
I have no idea if there is a custom of fasting during times of bereavement. I know there are no funeral lunches afterward, or things set out for visitors during, but I couldn't imagine Mariella and Vincenzo going on for another day without food. I thought of the panini we had picked up late the other night; they are merende and not necessarily a meal, so I had the idea to get one of them, cut in half (they're huge), and put it in their fridge.
Joe and I needed a few groceries, and stopped first to have a caffè. Actually, I had a caffè and he had a cappuccino and a cornetto. I just can't do it after 11:00; it would be like wearing a navy blue sweater with black jeans-- it's just not right. But I love that he enjoys it.
Car, scooter, horse --normal traffic day
On to get a few groceries. I suggested we go to Lidl, as they have good bread plus all the other things we need.
"You like Lidl Better than Decò now?" Joe asked. He's kind of a one-store guy. Nordstrom for clothes, Kowalski's for groceries. I grew up in a household where Mom and Grandma were on the phone weekly, comparing various store prices on pork butts or neck bones. I, too, shop different stores for different things. Today we needed Lidl things.
On the way back, we stopped at Bistrot to get our panini, and I ordered three, thinking Mariella and Vincenzo might only have time to split one; the other two were for us.
"Three?" Joe asked. "Yes; ours and one for Mariella and Vincenzo to split." He challenged me, asking why not four, six, a dozen? There will be a lot of people there. Are you getting one for each person?
"You're right," I agreed, and turned to the associate and changed my quantity to four. They might each want a whole one.
I popped into Mariella's, stuck the two panini in the fridge, stopped to say hello, and told her there was a snack for her and Vincenzo. Rachi nodded her head, saying "Good," and Mariella took my hand in thanks. Sometimes you just have to follow your gut.
I ventured down again, and met Luisa and Ciro, who are Alessandro's godparents, and live in Avellino, which is an hour from my family's province of Campobasso. Vincenzo and Ciro did the compulsory Italian military service together, and have been friends ever since. Luisa and Ciro have heard a lot about us, "the Americans". We also met Nonno's book editor and his wife, but missed seeing Marisa and Carmelo, who had stopped in earlier. Vincenzo came over and thanked me for the sandwich, as I was giving Tomaso the Pokemon cards I brought from the US for him and Simone. Teà unfortunately gets Halloween hair clips a little late. But they were in Tunisia on vacation until yesterday.
Elena asked if we'd go up and sit with the kids at her house. Of course! They were all fine, watching something on TV, with Teà and Matteo inventing their own game together. Matteo suddenly squeezed a juice box all over the floor, and then wanted to run through it in stocking feet. I asked Joe to grab him from the other side while I cleaned it up. Matteo went for an escape out the front door, but I caught him just before his exit, taking him into his room to play with toys. All the rest of them were calm; Joe's only job was to not let them escape. Matteo was entertained until he spied the other kids escaping, ugh!, and at that point all was lost. How did I ever raise small children on my own??? I can't seem to get it together here! Elena came up, assuring me (the elder, mind you) that kids get bored, then they look for something else, and they go downstairs. So at that moment I managed to feel both incompetent and stupid.
Now I'm back upstairs, hiding out in shame.
I suppose we'll have dinner, but that's three hours from now. And who knows what it will be. Tomorrow is the funeral.
************
I went back to the visitation and spent more time with Fina, Giovanna, and Luisa. I was pleased that I could detect a Napolitano -Molisano dialetto, confirming that the Sicilian dialect is indeed different and hard for me! But I understood Luisa very clearly. Fina is so incredibly nice; always politely curious about my life and the American customs. Then there's the ever-vivacious Giovanna, who has an old Sicilian expression for just about everything, so her every other sentence is filled with them. Una gioia.
I excused myself to go upstairs with Joe, which earned a wink from Giovanna, but I know Elena's oldest brother, Giuseppe, arrives any minute, and I want to give them space.
In the apartment, I started a simple but aromatic saute; tons of garlic for our simple aglio, olio e peperoncino tonight, when there was a knock on the door. Father Giuseppe! He just loves us, and his spirit is both childlike and devout, mixed together. He's fun. Padre explained Nonno's death was caused by a floating blood clot that went to his brain and burst. We talked about Nonno being so spirited at lunch yesterday! "Ma quando il Signore chiama, il Signore chiama;" he responded, merrier coli hands and shrugging. When the Lord calls, he calls! We kiss-kissed and ciao-ciao-ciao-ciao-ciao'd, ending with "Ci vediamo domani;" see you tomorrow.
We ate our simple repast, along with a salad and some non-Sicilian (shhhh!) Falanghina, and now we're ready to turn in. I'm anxiously awaiting for all of this to be finished, just so Mariella and Vincenzo can eat and rest. They have been going nonstop. I'm tired; they must be beyond exhausted.
I took one last look at Nonno, under the thin veil. His book of love poems and a nosegay of flowers accompanied him in his casket, so he could bring them to his beautiful beloved wife in heaven. He looks so tiny in there, as his stature came from being so full of discussion, opinion, life.
I'm so very blessed to have spent time with him over these past three years. Tomorrow is the final goodbye.
And today ends with good night.
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