Lina's Many Lives

by Sally Rippin

  ‘But Pa, you’re not going to work tonight, are you? You’ll be exhausted!’

  ‘I’ll doze a little this afternoon in the chair while I’m sitting with your mother,’ he said. ‘I can’t afford to take any time off, especially while your mother’s not working.’

  ‘Why don’t I come tonight and sit with Ma then?’ Lina suggested.

  Lina’s father stopped walking and looked at her. ‘That’s out of the question, Lina. You’ve already missed a day of school today, I’m not having you miss another. You just keep your mind on your schoolwork, okay?’

  ‘I do, Papa. You know I do,’ she said, but felt ashamed when she remembered about the Latin class she’d skipped.

  Lina’s father ruffled her hair. ‘I know,’ he murmured. ‘I know.’

  When Lina arrived home, she was surprised to see they had a full house. Not only were all her family there, but the Campilleris and the Spinellis were over, too, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping sweet black coffee and eating from the plates of hundreds of homemade biscuits they had brought over. All along the kitchen bench were casserole dishes and pots full of food from neighbours and close friends. Nonna was weeping loudly into her big white handkerchief.  When the neighbours saw Lina in the doorway, they all jumped up to ask after her mother.

  ‘She’s good,’ Lina told them, not sure how much they were aware of or how much she should say. Anyway, this is adults’ business, Lina thought, escaping to her room. On her bedside table, next to the library copy of Anne Frank’s The Diary of a Young Girl, was Lina’s notebook. Tomorrow she would be back at school and Lina still had no absentee note for Miss Spring. Her father would be with her mother all day and Nonna couldn’t write in English anyway. There was nobody else Lina could ask.

  So Lina did the only thing she could think of. Carefully she ripped out a sheet from her notebook. Then, sitting cross-legged on her bed she wrote in her neatest handwriting:

  Dear Miss Spring,

  Please excuse Lina’s absence. She had a dentist appointment in the afternoon on Tuesday when she missed double Latin, and yesterday her mother was very sick in hospital.

  Yours sincerely,

  Domenico Gattuso.

  Lina had seen her father sign dozens of forms; it was usually up to her to translate them for him. Sometimes he even asked her to write on his behalf. This was almost the same, she assured herself. But when she signed a wobbly signature that she hoped looked something like her father’s at the bottom of the notepaper, she felt the familiar heavy darkness that bloomed under her skin every time she knew she was doing something very wrong.

  It doesn’t matter! she scolded herself. Miss Spring barely looks at these notes. She folded the paper and slipped it into her library book.

  The sound of Lina’s neighbours noisily chatting together in the kitchen filtered down the corridor into her room. She decided she would wait until they had all gone home before she surfaced again. Her mind was too scattered with worried thoughts to be able to concentrate on reading, so she turned to a fresh page in her notebook.

  Almost without hesitation, Lina began to write a story; a strange story that flowed out of her without her really being sure what word would come next. She wrote about a little girl whose mother was beautiful and strong and as tall as a tree, with a long black plait knotted all the way down her back. Whenever the daughter needed to hear that her mother loved her, or feel her kiss upon her cheeks, she would climb the long black plait like a rope all the way to the top.

  But as the years passed the mother kept growing taller and the girl grew smaller, so the climb became harder and harder, until one day the girl didn’t bother to climb up for her kisses and another day passed the same way, and another and another, until eventually when the girl remembered she needed her mother and went to find her standing tall, tall, tall on the hillside, she was horrified to discover that her mother had turned to stone.

  As Lina wrote, tears began falling from her eyes, spattering across the page and smudging the ink. She stopped writing and tossed her notebook onto the floor. Curling up into a ball, she sobbed for all the unkind thoughts she had had towards her mother and for the little sister she would never know.

  WHEN Lina arrived at school, she slipped into the library and pulled up an armchair by the fire. Sister Rosemary was happy to see her as always and, to Lina’s relief, didn’t ask where she had been the day before; she was more interested in how Lina was finding The Diary of a Young Girl.

  ‘I’m really enjoying it,’ Lina said. ‘And you’re right, she does sound like me. Especially when she talks about wanting to be a writer.’

  ‘That’s what you would like to be?’ Sister Rosemary said, busily shelving the returns.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t exactly mean that . . .’ she stammered. ‘I just like writing, that’s all.’

  ‘I think you’d make a marvellous writer,’ Sister Rosemary said from behind a bookshelf. ‘You write beautiful stories. And you’re always reading. Every writer must be a reader first.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister,’ Lina said shyly. She felt her chest warm with pride. ‘I don’t know if my dad would be too happy, though.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ Sister Rosemary huffed.

  ‘Well, he wants me to go to university. And maybe study law or medicine. Something important like that.’

  Sister Rosemary puffed herself up like an angry peacock. ‘Important? Lina! What is more important than great literature? My goodness! The Italians have a long history of great writers. I think your father should be very proud to have a writer in the family.’

  ‘Maybe . . .’ Lina said, not feeling very convinced, and to show Sister Rosemary she didn’t want to talk about it any more, she opened her book and stared down at the page.

  ‘Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths,’ Lina read, ‘but the final forming of a person’s character lies in their own hands.’

  How true! Lina thought. Gosh, Anne was so wise and she was only the same age as me! I hope I can become as wise as her one day.

  Lina continued reading and was nearly at the end of her chapter when she heard a squeal at the library door. ‘Lina!’ Mary said, dashing to Lina’s side. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Miss Doveton,’ sniffed Sister Rosemary. ‘Is that kind of behaviour suitable for a library?’

  ‘Sorry, Sister,’ Mary said without giving the old nun a glance. ‘Lina,’ she whispered urgently, ‘where were you yesterday? I missed you!’

  ‘Really?’ Lina said, feeling surprisingly glad. She shoved the book back into her satchel. ‘Let’s go outside. I have so much to tell you.’

  ‘Me too!’ said Mary, eyes wide.

  The girls dashed into the courtyard. Now that the weather was warmer, there were more girls than usual milling around in the early morning sunshine. Lina pulled Mary into an alcove, desperate for a private place to share her news. Lina knew her parents didn’t like them to discuss family business outside the home, but she absolutely had to tell someone about what had happened; it was so terribly sad, and Mary was Lina’s best friend. What were best friends for if you couldn’t share your deepest, most painful secrets with them?

  Nestled away from prying eyes and listening ears, Lina opened her mouth to tell Mary what had happened, but Mary launched in first.

  ‘Lina, you’ll never believe it!’ Mary gushed. ‘You remember the variety show we watched together? Well, last night they had a comedian and he was so funny. Father let me stay up until ten o’clock to watch the whole show!’

  ‘Really?’ said Lina, a little surprised. This was Mary’s big news? ‘That’s great, Mary,’ she said, trying hard to sound enthusiastic.

  ‘Oh, you won’t believe how wonderful the television is, Lina!’ Mary continued. ‘It has everything you could ever hope for! Yesterday, Mother even watched a cooking show! And this afternoon they are doing a program on the Olympics. You’ll have to come and watch it!’

  ‘I can’t,’ Lina said, feeling
annoyed that Mary hadn’t even asked what her big news was yet. ‘My mother’s not well . . .’

  Mary’s face contracted in anger. ‘You’re always making excuses, Lina!  You make it sound like your mother has been unwell for months. Sometimes I think you just make up excuses because you don’t want to come over! Well, if that’s the case you should just come out and say it!’

  Lina froze. Was this really what Mary thought? She stood there with her mouth open, gasping like a fish out of water.

  At that moment, the bell rang and Mary stomped off to line up for class. Lina quickly ran to her locker to put her satchel away, her head still spinning. At the last minute, she remembered to pull the hand-written note out of her library book and stuff it in her blazer pocket. Voices clamoured in her head. One told her that Mary was just mean and selfish and hadn’t even bothered to find out why Lina hadn’t been at school the day before; another was whining loudly that Lina was a terrible friend! She had no idea that Mary had become so annoyed with her. Desperate to make up, Lina slipped into the line beside her, but Mary stared straight ahead.

  As soon as Miss Spring saw Lina in line, she marched over, eyes narrowing. ‘Your absentee note, Miss Gattuso?’ she said, palm outstretched.

  Lina pulled the note out of her pocket and handed it to Miss Spring, her heart pounding. Lina had already rehearsed what she would say if Miss Spring showed any glimmer of doubt: My father doesn’t write English very well so I had to help him had sounded like the best explanation she could think of.

  But unfortunately it was worse than she had feared. Miss Spring took one look at the paper and gave Lina a look of utter scorn. ‘You don’t honestly expect me to believe your father wrote this, Miss Gattuso?’ she sneered.

  Lina was taken aback. Was it really that bad? She hadn’t fooled Miss Spring for a minute! ‘I . . . I . . .’ she stammered. But the line she had rehearsed dissolved on her tongue and she hung her head in shame.

  ‘Goodness, I don’t know what has got into you these last few weeks, Lina,’ Miss Spring snorted. ‘I think the Mother Superior will be very disappointed to see you yet again.’

  ‘Oh please . . .’ Lina begged. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll bring another note tomorrow. I promise.’

  But Miss Spring just let the letter drop into Lina’s palm and with a sour look she spun around. Lina looked frantically at Mary for some sign of empathy, but Mary refused to meet her eye. There was no one who could help her now.

  Lina trudged towards the Mother Superior’s office. Twice in one month, she thought glumly as she crossed the wide courtyard, which was silent except for the chirruping of birds. But this time I’m on my own.

  ‘Oh dear,’ the Mother Superior said, looking down at the letter in front of her. ‘Well, this is a little disappointing, isn’t it, Miss Gattuso?’

  Lina hung her head.

  ‘You know that forgery is a criminal act?’ the Mother Superior said severely.

  Lina felt the blood in her head drain down to her feet. ‘A criminal act?’ she repeated hoarsely. ‘You mean . . . you’re going to send me to jail?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think that would look very good to prospective St Brigid’s parents, now, would it?’ she said with a smile in her eyes. ‘One of our own in jail?’

  Lina looked up at the Mother Superior, dizzy with relief.

  ‘But it does make me wonder what would possess you to do such a thing.’ The Mother Superior paused, waiting for an explanation.

  Lina offered none. She had run out of excuses and the truth was too painful.

  ‘Well, then,’ the Mother Superior continued, ‘in that case you might like to tell me why I should keep you on as co-editor of our inaugural school magazine? I had trusted you, Lina, with a big responsibility. And you have let me down. How can I trust you again?’

  ‘Oh please!’ Lina begged. ‘Please give me one more chance, ma’am. Please don’t pull me off the magazine! I’ll do a good, job, I promise!’

  The Mother Superior put one hand up to silence Lina’s rambling. ‘I believe I’ll need to see your parents before I decide, Lina.’

  My parents! Lina panicked. No, that was impossible. ‘But my mother is sick . . .’ Lina stammered.

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘He . . . he doesn’t speak much English!’

  ‘I’m sure we will get by.’

  They can’t know about the magazine! Lina thought desperately. They would never understand her spending all this time on something that wasn’t even real schoolwork. They would be so angry and disappointed. ‘No, please don’t do that,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ll give up the magazine. Just please don’t ask to see my parents. It’s not a good time for them . . .’

  The Mother Superior waited calmly until Lina had petered out. ‘Tomorrow morning at seven-thirty,’ she said firmly. ‘Or I’m afraid we will need to reconsider your place in this school.  Am I making myself clear?’

  Now the Mother Superior looked very serious. Lina stood up, her legs trembling. ‘I understand. Thank you, Mother Superior,’ she said quietly and backed out of her office.

  So that was it. The Mother Superior would talk to her father or she would lose her place in school. Even though the Spring sunshine tossed a dappled light across the courtyard, Lina felt cold to the bones.

  Just as she was passing the library, Lina caught a glimpse of someone drinking at the water fountains. Oh no! she thought. Sarah! And I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.

  Sarah looked up, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. ‘Did the Mother Superior say anything about the magazine?’ she asked.

  Lina shook her head. She wasn’t about to tell Sarah how close she had come to losing her position on the magazine altogether.

  ‘We’re never going to get it done in time,’ Sarah said in frustration. ‘I can’t get Mary to do anything, can you? Ever since her family got that television, that’s all she talks about. It’s like she’s lost interest in the magazine altogether!’

  ‘I know!’ said Lina. ‘And the deadline is next week! What should we do?’

  Sarah sighed and looked at Lina steadily. ‘I think we’re just going to have to work together again. I know we might have our . . . differences. But this magazine means too much to me to let it fall apart.’ She looked down at her shiny black shoes almost shyly. ‘I mean, if that’s okay with you?’

  Lina wasn’t crazy about the idea of working with Sarah again, but she knew that she was right. If Lina didn’t agree, they’d never get it done. She certainly wasn’t going to be able to ask Mary for help after their big fight this morning. ‘All right,’ she said slowly. ‘Bring what you’ve done to the library tomorrow at lunchtime. We can see if we have enough to show the Mother Superior and work out what else needs doing. Maybe we can persuade Mary to help us again once the Mother Superior has approved our first draft?’

  ‘I hope so!’ Sarah said, frowning.

  Me too, Lina thought. But remembering their awful fight that morning, Lina wasn’t sure how they could ever be friends again.

  THAT evening Mama came home. Lina’s father brought her to the door in a big yellow taxi that caused all their neighbours to pour out into the street. The very same neighbours who had gathered when the ambulance had come in the middle of the night. Lina’s father assured them that all was well, that Lina’s mother was fine, would just need a little rest, and yes, a lasagna would be most appreciated, Mrs Pasculo, thank you very much.

  Ma let herself be tucked into bed, pale and trembling, while Lina and her brothers hovered in the doorway. Eventually Nonna shooed them off and told them to get back to their chores. Only little Enzo would not be coaxed away and curled up next to his mother on her bed, stroking her long dark hair as she slept.

  ‘Do you have to work tonight?’ Lina said, trailing after her father as he prepared his work clothes and cleaned his boots.

  ‘Of course I do,’ he said impatiently. ‘A bunch of basil and a basket of chicken’s eggs won’t pay the hospital bill, will it?’ />
  Lina chewed at her fingernails. She couldn’t put it off any longer. ‘The Mother Superior wants to see you tomorrow morning,’ she murmured, hoping that if she said it quietly it would somehow lessen the impact.

  ‘Sorry?’ her father asked, genuinely confused. He turned and gave her his full attention.

  Lina took a deep breath for courage but she still couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. ‘The Mother Superior wants to see you tomorrow morning,’ she repeated, even more quietly.

  ‘Is this . . . because you’ve done something good, Lina?’ he asked, hopeful to the end. But Lina’s face must have betrayed more than she realised because he sighed deeply. ‘I see . . .’ He placed a heavy hand on Lina’s shoulder. ‘You want to tell me what’s going on?’

  Lina shook her head slowly.

  ‘You don’t want to explain your position before I speak to the Mother Superior?’

  Lina curled her lips inward. She didn’t want to talk about this while her mother lay sick behind the bedroom door. Lina felt she had already caused problems enough. Perhaps Mama will never need to know? Lina hoped anxiously. Perhaps Papa and I can talk this through before it gets back to her? Lina knew her father could be very forgiving. Her mother less so.

  Lina’s father sighed again and looked towards his reflection in the blackened kitchen window. A ghost-haggard face gazed back at him. ‘Well, I will meet you in the morning at six-thirty, then. We will go into your school together.’

  For the first time ever, her father did not kiss her brow before he left for work that night. Lina carried his disappointment like a hole in her heart.

  The next morning, Lina woke early, did her chores and dressed quickly. When her father came home from work she made him a coffee and sat quietly beside him while he drank. As he sipped from the little white cup, Lina watched him out of the corner of her eye. He looked particularly old in the mornings, after a full night’s work, as if he had swallowed all the worries of the world in one bitter pill that was slowly poisoning him from the inside out. Only on weekends, with his family and friends around a table loaded with food, and a flagon of homemade wine, was Lina able to catch a glimpse of the other father she knew, the one who laughed and joked and occasionally even sang old Italian songs full of hope and longing.