Stella Mia

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “I’m sorry. I did not hear you. Si, si. Sto bene. I am fine. Grazie. I am too tired to sing tonight, but perhaps another time?”

  “Va bene. But you must come back. I am now curious to hear if your voice is as lovely as your features.” Maria pushes my hair back off my shoulders before she kisses me on either cheek. “Isabella told me you were looking for work at the hotels. Were you able to find any?”

  I can’t believe Isabella told her mother so much about me. Then again, she is just a child and was probably excited about meeting someone new.

  “No, I have not been able to. I’ve been to almost twenty hotels now between the ones near the piazza and a few on the beach. But I have not finished inquiring at all of the beachfront hotels yet.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, Sarina, but you look very pale. Have you eaten tonight?” Maria places her hands on my arms and forces me to meet her gaze.

  “I ate at lunch, but I’m afraid to say I lost track of time and did not have a proper meal this evening. I ate a roll a little while ago, so I’m fine.” I feel my face flush slightly. I know Maria knows I’m pretending not to be hungry.

  “Please, eat with us. There is plenty.” Maria takes my hand and leads me to a bonfire.

  A man who looks to be around Maria’s age and three teenage boys sit around the fire, holding skewers of fish over the flames. They are talking animatedly and laughing. The smell of the roasting fish makes my stomach grumble. They fall silent when they see Maria approaching with me. The teenage boys scan me from head to foot, making me feel more ashamed and uncomfortable. I can only imagine what I must look like. I have not paid much attention to my hair and clothes in the past week. I’ve been too preoccupied with finding work.

  Maria addresses the older man. “Gianni, this is Sarina. She befriended Isabella in the piazza the other day. She is our guest tonight. Please give her one of those skewers of fish as soon as they are ready. Sarina, I will be right back. Please make yourself comfortable.” Maria walks away before I can protest and say I’ll follow her wherever she is going.

  I cannot believe she’s left me here alone with this man and the teenage boys. I look for Isabella, but I see her off in the distance kicking a soccer ball to a boy about her age. Well, we’re not completely alone. The other women in the group are just a few feet away. I know I am overreacting, but I have never been alone in the presence of one man, let alone several. As if sensing my unease, Gianni begins talking to me.

  “How long have you been in Taormina?” Gianni looks at the teens and, with a slight nod of his head, they all return their gazes back to the fish they’re roasting.

  Feeling less self-conscious now that I’m not being gawked at, I begin to relax a bit.

  “I’ve only been here for a week.”

  “Sit down, Sarina. There’s a rock behind me so you don’t have to get sand all over your clothes.”

  I walk behind Gianni and sit down on the rock. It feels good to be sitting after the long day I’ve had. He hands me one of the skewers of fish he’s roasted.

  “Grazie molto.”

  “Prego.” Gianni smiles.

  One of the teenage boys looks at me and says, “My name is Tonio. I am Isabella’s brother, and these are my cousins, Marco and Felice.” Tonio points to his cousins, who each give me a shy smile. I’m glad to know I am not the only one who feels awkward.

  “I’m sorry, Sarina. I forgot to tell you who I am in relation to these thieves.” Gianni laughs and winks at the others. “I am Maria’s husband and Isabella’s father.”

  “And my father as well unless you and Mama have been keeping secrets from me all these years.” Tonio nudges his father’s arm playfully with his elbow.

  “No, no. You are definitely my son. Your brash demeanor attests to that.” Gianni shakes his head, but the grin on his face shows he is just teasing Tonio.

  “Do you read cards, too?” Felice asks me.

  “Cards?” I ask, confused.

  “The tarot,” Felice clarifies.

  Of course, they are zingari—gypsies. When I met Isabella, the thought that perhaps she and her family were gypsies had not crossed my mind. I just assumed they were pickpockets. But their clothes are not shabby at all, and in addition to the fish that the men no doubt caught themselves, there are several loaves of bread and platters of fruit and vegetables on a blanket that is spread on the sand. Surely, they must have paid for some of this and not stolen it all. Now that I know they are gypsies, I am not surprised by all that they have. They must do fairly well reading people’s fortunes.

  “No, I don’t read tarot cards. I have been trying to get work as a maid at one of the hotels, but have had no luck so far.” I attempt to eat my fish slowly so that my hunger isn’t apparent. The fish tastes like mackerel and is coated in a breaded batter.

  “Jobs at the hotels do not open often. People know how valuable those jobs are. This is Sicily, not the north where there are more opportunities,” Marco says in a grim tone.

  I suddenly feel foolish for not having thought of this. Of course, growing up in Sicily, I have always known of the bleak prospect for jobs. I cannot believe this hadn’t crossed my mind when I made my plan to run away from home and find work. Stupida! I mentally chide myself.

  “Papá, maybe we can teach her?” Tonio looks at his father.

  “See, you are my son. I was just having the same thought.” Gianni pats Tonio on the back.

  “Teach me what?” My hunger from the past few days has made my brain foggy. I am also beginning to feel sleepy. Gianni pours wine from a small jug into a wooden cup and hands it to me.

  “How would you like to learn how to read the tarot, and you could travel and work with us?” Gianni asks me. “My mother is slowly going blind. She had to stop reading cards six months ago. We have lost money. She was one of our best fortune-tellers.” Gianni looks over to where a group of women is sitting. He points to an old lady with a gold shawl over her head. She is smiling, but even in the twilight, I can tell she cannot see well. She talks to the other women, but her eyes hold an empty gaze. She seems content, and I see her laugh every now and then, revealing a top row of missing teeth.

  “Oh, that’s kind of you, but I don’t know.” Though I’m tempted to take Gianni up on his offer, I’m also not sure how I’d feel about conning people into thinking I can predict their future. I don’t believe for a moment that Gianni and his family have special abilities and are psychic. I often heard my mother talk about gypsies who had swindled people out of all their savings. But then again, this might be the only way I can make some money—at least until I can find some other work. Besides, since being on my own, I have had to put my morals aside to steal food.

  “Let me talk to Maria first. I don’t make important decisions without consulting her. You can think about it in the meantime. You know where to find us. Even if you decide not to work with us, you are still welcome to come by and eat with us anytime you wish.” Gianni stands up. “I must take a walk. I ate too much, and it is not sitting well with me.” He pats his belly and laughs. “Buonanotte!”

  “Buonanotte, Gianni. Thank you for the fish. It was very good.”

  Gianni merely holds his hand up as if to say, “It was nothing,” and makes his way to the shore. He walks slowly, and every few steps bends over to pick up pebbles and toss them into the sea.

  “I should go, too. It is getting late.” I stand up to leave.

  “Where have you been sleeping?” Tonio asks me.

  I shrug my shoulders, not wanting to say. I shouldn’t feel ashamed in front of gli zingari. They are accustomed to living on the road and doing whatever is necessary to survive. But while they live in tents on the beach, it is still more of a home than where I have been sleeping.

  Thankfully, Tonio does not pressure me to answer him and instead says, “It is always safe to sleep on the beach. We have plenty of sheets if you want one to sleep on.”

  “Thank you. I will keep that in mind. It was nice meeting
all of you. Thank you for your hospitality.” I wave to Tonio, Marco, and Felice. They nod their heads. I can feel their gazes on my back as I walk away.

  While I don’t want to see Maria for fear that she will try to convince me to stay with them for the night, I know it would be rude of me to leave without thanking her for dinner. I head over in the direction of where the women are still seated, but I don’t see Maria.

  “Excuse me, I was looking for Maria,” I ask a plump woman with graying hair. She is rubbing olive oil into the thick folds of her hands, which are quite large. Again, a memory of Mama comes rushing back to me as I remember she used to massage olive oil into her hands, which were severely chapped from all the washing and cleaning she did.

  “She went to put Isabella to bed. I don’t know if she will return. She mentioned not feeling well tonight and that she might retire early.”

  Secretly, I’m relieved, since it looks like I will be able to leave without Maria’s asking me to stay. I don’t know if I can bear to see her look at me with worry yet again.

  “Grazie, signora. Please tell her that Sarina was looking for her and that I’ll visit again soon.”

  “Be safe, my child.” The woman holds her hand up in front of me and makes the sign of the cross as if she is a priest giving me his benediction.

  “Grazie. Buonanotte.”

  “Buonanotte!” all the women chant back to me.

  It is quite dark now, and I still do not know my way around the beach area. When I was by the piazza in Taormina, I had been sleeping inside St. Augustine’s Church, crouched down beneath the pews as I did at the Duomo of Saint Sebastian in Barcellona the night of my escape. Fortunately, St. Augustine keeps their doors unlocked all hours of the day and night. And I feel safe there. I will have to sleep on the beach tonight, but I don’t want the gypsies to know. I still have some pride in me. Though I enjoyed the gypsies’ company, I also felt overwhelmed. I need to be alone tonight.

  I am about a hundred feet away from the gypsies’ tents when I hear their music start up again. Stopping, I look over my shoulder, but all I can see are shadows of their forms as they bounce back and forth in rhythm to their instruments and singing. Pulling my gaze away, I keep walking until I find a shed. Praying that it’s unlocked, I am relieved to see its door is slightly ajar. I open the door and step in. Something falls on me, causing me to yelp. I feel cold metal and fabric. I open the shed door wider, letting the light of the moon illuminate the object. A beach umbrella. I am then able to make out several beach umbrellas and folding chairs stacked up in the little shed. It is quite stuffy inside. There’s no way I can sleep in there. Taking one of the chairs out, I unfold it. I sit down, releasing a deep sigh. My bones have felt achy from sleeping on the floor of St. Augustine’s Church for a week now. Though the chair does not allow me to stretch out much, it still feels more comfortable than the cold floor of a church.

  Sinking lower into the chair so that my head rests on top of its back, I lay my hands on my belly and watch the moon, listening to the waves softly crash against the shore until I am lulled to sleep. My dreams are filled with the singing and dancing zingari, but soon they are replaced by images of flashing tarot cards as I struggle to decipher their meaning and see what the future holds for me.

  8

  La Ruota della Fortuna

  WHEEL OF FORTUNE

  July 22, 1969

  “La Morte.” I am giving a tarot reading and am seated under a beach umbrella by the shoreline to feel the ocean’s breeze. Every time I draw the Death card, my clients’ faces become ashen, and they look like they might actually die.

  “Do not be afraid. It does not mean you or a loved one will die. This is a very good card in the tarot deck. It signifies great change—a time of renewal and transformation.”

  The young man sitting before me looks to be in his mid-twenties. A scar runs from the left side of his forehead down across his brow bone, giving him an angry expression. His jet-black curly hair and close-set eyes detract even more from his appearance. We are nearing the end of his reading. He didn’t notice when I laid out his cards that the Death card was among them. He was too busy ogling me. I’m even surprised he’s actually heard me mention the Death card.

  “Do not lie to me,” he says in a very hostile tone.

  “I am not lying to you. One cannot merely look at the illustration depicted on the tarot card and assume it has a literal interpretation. The cards and their meanings are quite complex. If you will just let me finish my reading, you’ll see you have nothing to fear.”

  “Go on.” He gestures with his head for me to continue.

  My words seem to comfort him. Now, instead of staring at my cleavage or trying in vain to get me to stare into his eyes as he’s been attempting since he sat down across from me, he is closely examining not only the Death card but the other cards in the spread. Worry lines slash through his forehead. What could a man so young have to worry about? Then again, I am younger than him, and I have had my share of worries.

  “You will come to a crossroads in your life, one that will force you to embrace the inevitable change that will occur. Think carefully before you make your choice.”

  “I thought you said this was a good card? Change in my life has almost always been bad. It also sounds like you are warning me. That can only mean you see some misfortune ahead.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest as he leans back in his folding chair, rocking it forward and back. He seems to be oblivious that he is sinking the chair deeper into the sand. I want to laugh, but dare not.

  “The card is positive in the sense that it is alerting you to be ready for whatever change is coming your way. Even if it is a wonderful stroke of good luck, the card is still asking you to be cautious. Also, you cannot just look at this one card. You must take every card into account and see the overall message they are giving you. At the beginning of the reading, la Ruota della Fortuna, the Wheel of Fortune, card appeared. Again, this card indicates change in your life. We cannot control what God and fate have in store for us. We can only control how we will react to the change and learn from the lesson that is being imparted.”

  “You are being vague. What will happen to me? What is this great change you keep referring to? Am I destined to repeat my father’s miserable existence of running a filthy pig farm for the rest of my life? Will I become successful and live the life I know I was born for? Perhaps this is the change that the cards are alluding to? I will come into my wealth someday?” The man’s face looks desperate.

  For a moment, I feel sorry for him, but I also know in my heart he will make the wrong choice, and, even if he does become rich, he will place too much importance on it and ultimately destroy himself. The gypsies, who have now become my second family, constantly told me to trust my instincts when they instructed me in how to read the tarot. I was overwhelmed by all the cards in the major and minor arcana. Maria kept reassuring me that, in time, I would master each card and its divination. That is why I need to listen closely to my heart and feel what the cards are trying to communicate to my clients. While I am fascinated by the tarot, especially when my clients feel like I have given them an accurate reading where their past and present are concerned, I cannot help but still feel insecure when I predict my clients’ futures. It has only been about three weeks since I started giving readings.

  After just one week of lessons in tarot card reading, Maria and her family insisted I was ready, even though I still couldn’t remember well what each card signified. I sensed that their patience would run out soon if I did not start bringing in my share of the money. Though I would have preferred more time to learn the tarot better, I also felt uncomfortable continuing to eat the gypsies’ food without compensating them for it. I still searched for other work since Maria and her family do not stay in one location for long. They told me they would be in Taormina until the end of the summer before they headed to their next destination. If I can secure a more stable job in Taormina, I will not be forced to le
ave with the gypsies. As I have said before, I’ve fallen in love with Taormina. Also, I do not want to go much farther away from Mama and my siblings. Though I no longer live with them, creating more physical distance between us would only widen the hole in my heart. Knowing they are not too far offers a small consolation to me.

  I am snapped out of my reverie by my client’s fist slamming down on my small folding table, sending several of the cards flying.

  “Answer me? What is the matter with you? Your silence is proof that some calamity awaits me.”

  I continue to ignore him as I rush toward my cards, which are flapping in the breeze, inching closer to the water’s edge. A wave is about to crash along the shore. I scramble, picking up whatever cards do not escape my reach. Too late. The wave hits, sweeping a few of my cards out to sea. These cards were a gift from Gianni, Maria’s husband. Well, I insisted I would repay him once I could. I had tried to give him the money for the cards when I began earning money. But he insisted the cards were a gift. Now I will be forced to spend the little money I have earned to buy another deck so that I can continue my work.

  I walk back toward my table. The bottom half of my skirt is completely wet. The man is still waiting for me, but he’s standing now.

  “I demand my money back,” he says. His black eyes shine even darker as they stare at me with obvious contempt.

  “I gave you your reading. I do not give refunds merely because a customer is unhappy with his reading.” I return his stare defiantly.

  “You didn’t finish the reading. I want my money back.”

  “We can finish the reading now. You are choosing to end it.” I turn my back toward him as I walk toward my chair. He pulls me toward him.

  “A few of the cards from my reading blew away. You can’t finish it. Therefore, I want my money back. Now!” His hands dig painfully into my arm.

  “Let go of me! I will report you to the carabinieri!”