* * *
On a hot July day, Mama and I are running linens through the wringer before we pin them up on the clothesline to dry. From anywhere in Sharpsburg, you can hear the trains go by. We don’t pay any attention to them. When you hear several trains a day, day after day, it becomes background noise.
Today, however, there is a horrible screeching sound of brakes and a thunderous crash. And then there is no sound at all. I stop turning the wringer, and Mama drops the sheet she was feeding through it.
“What do you think that was?” I asked.
“It sounded like the train wrecked, didn’t it? Where are your brothers? They aren’t at the tracks are they? They know better.”
“Mama, they’re always at the tracks.”
“Andiamo.” She’s whipping off her apron and heading for the door. I know that she is afraid the train stopped because it hit a person.
The whole way there, we are crossing ourselves and praying. Mama can’t really run, so we’re doing a fast walk.
When we are in sight of the tracks, there is an enormous crowd. People seem to have left their homes, their stores, even the church. The train has indeed wrecked, right at the bend where the brewery is. Obviously, it was going too fast to take the turn and derailed. Now it’s making a tired hissing sound.
Marcello and Lindo must have spotted us in the crowd, and they’re coming toward us. “What are you doing down here? You know you aren’t allowed to play at these tracks!” hollers Mama. She says it while she is hugging them, so I know she is relieved.
“You should have seen it, Mama! We knew it was never gonna make the bend at that speed!” says Marcello.
“You could have been killed,” says Mama. “You could have been lying there under that train.” She puts her hand over her mouth as if it will stop the horrible possibilities from running through her mind. The more she thinks about what could have happened, the more trouble the boys are in.
Within minutes, it’s apparent that the conductor is all right. The sirens of the police and ambulance are getting louder, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone hurt.
And then there is a pig.
It runs through the crowd. And then another runs through the crowd.
A minute later, pigs are running from the derailed cars in every direction. At first, the onlookers are too startled to react. Then we all come to our senses.
“Marcello, run home with Lindo and bring me some rope and a broom. Hurry!” says Mama. “Carolina, help me chase one.”
There is pandemonium. We are all frantically trying to grab the pigs. There are old women in babushkas, policemen, women with their babies, shopkeepers. We all have the same goal—to go home with fresh bacon, ham, and sausage.
These pigs are heavy, and I don’t have any idea how Mama and I will be able to carry one home even if we catch one. Some people are chasing the pigs into the narrow streets to herd them into open doors. There is a terrible squeal, and I see Mr. Labriola swooping one up by the feet. He has a smile on his face and looks triumphant. Mama and I keep chasing pigs, but we don’t know how to actually grab one. They’re fast, and I don’t really want to throw myself on one.
One of the police officers has managed to grab one and is trying to lift him into the police car. There is a little old woman in thick-heeled black shoes swatting another one with a broom. I don’t see where that is going to get her.
We stop to catch our breath and are relieved to see Marcello and Lindo running toward us. They have the rope, the broom, and they have Giuseppe with them!
“We found him sweeping Ninth Street, Mama. He can help us catch the pig!” says Lindo. This is a great adventure for him. I’m sure he thinks we will keep this pig for a pet.
“Al suo servizio, signora,” says Giuseppe, and he makes a sweeping bow to Mama.
“We need to find one, corner him, and tie his feet with the ropes,” says Mama. Her new mission has made her forget the danger of being at the tracks.
Giuseppe is skinny, but he’s fast as lightning. “Vedo uno. Andiamo ragazzi!” (I see one. Let’s go, boys!)
Mama waves the broom at the pig to steer him in the direction of the ramp that leads to the basement of Bernelli’s Market. She also uses it to shoo away some other kids who are going after the same pig. The rest of us try to block the escape routes so that the pig can only run straight ahead.
Once we have him cornered, Giuseppe pounces on him and holds him tight while Mama ties his hooves together tightly.
“How are we going to get him home, Giuseppe? He’s too heavy.” The thrill of the hunt is dampened by the practicality of her question.
In the next instant, Giuseppe produces his street sweeping broom. Like a cowboy, Giuseppe ties the pig’s feet to the broom in tight knots. The boys couldn’t be more amazed if he were a real cowboy.
When he is done, we need to lift this broom at both ends and carry the pig upside down. That means we need to put the broomstick on our shoulders.
Giuseppe takes one end. I try to take the other end, but I can’t lift it off the ground. It takes Marcello and me together to lift and carry the straw end. The pig is swinging back and forth in between us, squealing the whole way, and as we walk home, I feel like we have been on a hunting expedition in Africa. I can’t imagine what Papa would think if he could see us now!
“Mama, I don’t think I can hold this much longer,” I say when we are more than halfway home.
“Me, neither,” says Marcello. “My arms are killing me.”
“Come on, Lindo. We can give them a break, okay?” says Mama.
Lindo is proud to come to our rescue. Giuseppe is taller than all of us, so the broom is actually at a slant. I feel sorry for the poor pig.
When we finally make it home, the pig is carried around back and through the basement door. Mama can kill chickens, but she doesn’t really know how to butcher a hog. That will be Papa’s job.
Dear Diary, July 10, 1926
I think that most of the pigs were abducted within an hour of the wreck. We got one of the last ones. When the railroad detectives arrive, they are going to be very surprised to find not a pig in sight. If they look closely, I’m sure they’ll find lots of rafters full of soppressata salami and sausage.
* * *
One afternoon, on my way home from the market, I’m passing the streetcar stop. Not many people are getting on, but I find myself watching for no reason. Just enjoying the walk and the sights. I’m really not even thinking—not even daydreaming. The sun is hot, and the sky is blue, and I guess that I’m just happy to be outside and by myself.
In a flash, my lazy mood is shaken. When the streetcar pulls away, I find myself looking at a poster on a storefront. The man’s face on the poster is staring back at me. My heart is pierced by his sultry dark eyes, and I feel it jump in my chest. The man is wearing an Arabian head covering, and he’s holding his hands on his hips. His chest is bared, and there is a dagger thrust in his waistband. Valentino!
For several minutes, all I can do is stand and stare. It has been over a year since I saw The Eagle with Giova, but now I am overwhelmed by all of those feelings again. “Rudolph Valentino.” I say his name over and over on my walk home. Is there any name more thrilling?
Mama has enough chores to keep me busy until dinner.
“You are certainly acting strangely, today,” she says. “You’re a million miles away. What are you thinking about, Carolina?”
“Nothing, Mama. Just thinking about my lessons, I guess.”
“Your lessons? It’s summer. You don’t have lessons now.”
“I’m thinking of what I will be learning in the fall with Sr. Norbert.” I wish she would leave me to my thoughts. What I’m thinking of is what it would be like to be Mrs. Rudolph Valentino. Carolina Valentino. What a beautiful name.
By the time Giova gets home from work, I have worked myself into a frenzy. Before he can even hang up his cap, I confront him.
“Please, Giova, if you do this for me, I
will do anything. I will make your bed and bring you your breakfast. I will be your slave for a week—a month!”
“Do what?”
“There’s a new Valentino movie at the theater. I saw the poster in town. Please will you take me? Please, Giova. I will do anything.” I’ve got hold of his hand and am pulling on it up and down.
“Don’t you already make my bed? I think you are already my slave!” he says. He pulls his arm from me and grabs the cigarettes from his pocket. He is deliberately torturing me.
“Giova, you have to take me to the movie.” I’m getting angry.
“Qual e il problema?” (What is the problem?) Giuseppe asks me in Italian. I explain to him that I want Giova to take me to see Valentino.
“Anche’ Io! Voglio vedere Valentino!” (Me, too! We want to see Valentino!)“Please, Giova, please just say yes.” Giuseppe and I are both tugging on his arms now.
“Okay!” he consents in a mumble, trying to hold the cigarette in his mouth. There was never a doubt that he would take me because Giova will do anything that Mama and I ask, but I hate when I have to beg him first.
Giuseppe and I grab each other, and he spins me in a dance around the living room.
“Hey, you two!” says Mama. “Enough dancing. Come eat your dinner.”
I am on cloud nine for the rest of the evening. On Saturday, Giuseppe and I are worse than Marcello and Lindo on Christmas morning.
We take the streetcar to downtown Pittsburgh for the matinee, and Giuseppe is overwhelmed by the magnificence of the theater. I remember being just as taken by it all when I saw the other movie, but this time, the velvet seats and crystal chandeliers are only background for me.
We find our seats, and the theater darkens. After a short cartoon, The Son of the Sheik is emblazoned across the screen. I’m sitting between Giova and Giuseppe, and I slap Giuseppe’s arm, crying out, “Comincia!” (It’s starting!) He’s eating his popcorn, transfixed to the screen. Giuseppe will not be able to read the words, but that won’t matter. What I would give, though, to hear Valentino’s voice.
And suddenly, he appears on the screen. My darling Valentino is lured by an exotic dancer into the hands of thieves who torture him. I find myself crying and realize that Giuseppe needs a tissue as well. Eventually Valentino escapes, and he attempts to take his revenge on the dancer—but it’s a hot, steamy, romantic revenge in a desert tent scene. His hypnotic eyes and his teasing grin sear through her soul . . . and through mine. Eventually, she is captured by the robbers, and Valentino must save her with his daring and graceful rescue stunts.
Two times, the people behind us have to scream at Giuseppe to sit down. He can hardly contain himself during the horseback saber duel and keeps jumping up to tell Valentino to ‘Fare attenzione!’ (Be careful!)
As the movie ends, Valentino rides off with the dancer into the endless desert. Giuseppe is clapping furiously, and I am sighing and flushed. Poor Giova, to be stuck with the two of us. Poor men, all of them. There isn’t a woman in the theater who isn’t dreaming that she could be the one to ride off with Valentino.
All the way home, Giuseppe and I talk furiously in Italian about the movie. Giova occasionally makes a comment, but most of the time he is laughing at us.
“Isn’t he wonderful?” I ask Giuseppe.
“Magnifico! E sa l’amore!” (Magnificent! And he knows love!) He says it with such admiration and tries to strike a Valentino pose and stare. On Giuseppe, it looks so funny that Giova and I crack up laughing.
The smell of the spaghetti sauce comes from almost every window on our street. “I’m getting hungry,” I say to Giova.
“You mean you can’t live on love alone?”
“Very funny.”
As we turn to walk into the house, I hear my name being called.
“Ciao Carolina!” Nicoletta is outside on her porch swing. Her thin dress and long hair blow back and forth while she swings. I am reminded of Vilma Bankey, Valentino’s beautiful dancer.
“Ciao Nicoletta!” I wave back, and Giova waves, too. We’re about to go into the house, and Giuseppe hollers out “Buona sera, bellisima!”
“Buona sera, signore!”
Giuseppe turns to us and, in Italian, makes clear that he is going to pay his respects to Nicoletta. He bounds off toward her house.
“Oh no, Giova!”
“Oh no,” he sighs.
We both know that Mama is going to have a fit if she sees this. Not that Mama hasn’t become sympathetic to Nicoletta—she is still leaving food on her porch every week. But this would not be acceptable.
“Giuseppe, E l’ora di cena!” I need to get him back over here.
“Scusi un momento!” he responds, unfazed by my reminder. I see what is happening here. Giuseppe has been inspired by Valentino. I think he is under the delusion that if he squints his eyes and smiles teasingly, it will have the same effect on Nicoletta as Valentino had on the dancer.
“Giova, what are we going to do?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “I’ll take care of it.”
“How was the movie?” asks Papa when we walk in the door.
“Oh Papa, the best! It was the best!”
“Time for dinner, you two. Wash up and call the boys down from upstairs. Where is Giuseppe?”
“He dropped his cap somewhere on the walk home and went back to look for it,” says Giova very calmly and convincingly. “We would have walked back with him, but I was afraid you’d be worried about us if we were late.”
“Well, I would have been worried about Carolina. You two boys are always late! Come on, now, before it all gets cold.”
Giuseppe comes in halfway through dinner, and I can’t even look at him for fear I will give him away. He is never without a smile, of course, but this smile . . . this is the smile of a man ‘chi sa l’amore’ (who knows love).
“L’ha fatto trova il suo cappuccio?” (Did you find your cap?) asks Mama.
“Mi cappucio?” (My cap?) He looks puzzled. I kick him under the table, and Giova throws him a warning with his eyes.
“Si, si,” says Giuseppe, “Ma non ho bisognodi esso.” (But I don’t need it anymore.) With that, he drapes his napkin over his head and then pulls up the corner to become a sheik. Lindo and Marcello are laughing at him and trying to do the same with their napkins. Giova and I exchange a glance. Giuseppe can get away with anything.
* * *
Eight days after the premiere of The Son of the Sheik, Valentino is dead. Rudolph Valentino, Dead at 31. I cannot believe that the headline is true. I just saw him. I just saw him. He was healthy and strong. It’s not possible.
Giova, Giuseppe, and Pa are at work. The boys are off playing. Mama can’t read and doesn’t know what the paper says. I don’t want to tell her, and I don’t want to talk to anyone.
“Mama, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to bed. Don’t save dinner for me.”
I can tell that she’s alarmed. “I’ll bring you up a mustard plaster and some tea.”
“No! I want you to leave me alone. Just let me sleep.” I’ve never talked so sharply to her, and I can see that she’s taken back by it.
That evening, when I refuse to come down to dinner, there’s a knock at the door.
“Go away.” I don’t answer it.
“Carolina, open the door. It’s me, Giova.”
I open the door just a crack. “What do you want?”
“Let me in, please.”
I would not do this for anyone but Giova, and I don’t even feel like talking to him. “Make it quick.”
“I know what’s wrong, Carolina. I’m sorry.”
Giova hugs me tight, and all the emotion that I have been trying so hard to contain pours out of me. I can’t stop sobbing.
“Don’t tell Mama and Papa, okay?”
“I understand.”
“I know I’m stupid to cry like this,” I sob into his shoulder.
“You’re not stupid,” he says gently and strokes my hair.
“I’ll never see him act in another movie, Giova. I’ll never again dream of being Mrs. Valentino. It’s over.”
Giova stays with me until I have such a headache from crying that I really do want to sleep.
Dear Diary, August 23, 1926
This is the saddest day of my life. Valentino has died, the result of infection from a ruptured appendix and perforated ulcer. He is the only man I have ever loved, and I am sure that I will never love another. I had no idea that a broken heart really feels pain. I feel like my heart weighs forty pounds, and there is an ache in my soul. Rudolph. Rudolph. I will never forget you.
* * *
At the funeral of Valentino, there is mass hysteria. The paper says that thousands of women were there and created riots. Several women have even committed suicide. I didn’t realize, though I should have, that his death would have this kind of effect on anyone but me. I knew that he was a handsome actor and that everyone admired him, but I had no idea that I was not alone in my despair. To think that thousands of women felt the same way.
Fortunately, I am forced to start my lessons a week later. God alone knows how desperately I need to get my mind off my heartache. I throw myself into my studies with Sr. Norbert. Mama is worried about me and thinks I am too sad these days, but I just tell her that I have serious matters to study. After all, I’m not a little girl anymore.
The Creeds that Move Men's Hearts Page 14
