Bella Fortuna

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  Maybe he’s just thirsty, I thought. I tried to go back to sleep, but all I could focus on was the sound of the running water. Why am I worrying? Ma was sleeping with him on the sofa bed just in case something happened.

  I drifted back to sleep but woke up again half an hour later. I could still hear the water. What was he doing? I lay there paralyzed even though a voice inside me was saying, See what’s going on. But sleep was calling me like the enchanting cries of a siren. I’m sure it’s nothing, I told myself. Just as soon as my eyes closed, I heard my mother speaking in a low voice to Baba, then suddenly a loud thump.

  “Nicola! Nicola!”

  I shot out of bed fast and ran down to the basement.

  As I came into view of the kitchen, I didn’t know what awaited me. My heart had stopped beating. Even my breathing seemed strangled in my throat. I could still hear the faucet running. Splotches of blood dotted the floor. Four blood-soaked handkerchiefs sat crumpled on top of the kitchen counter. Two blood-soaked dish towels lay on the floor. Ma was leaning up against the kitchen sink. Her arms were wrapped around Baba’s waist, as she tried to hold him up, but his weight was quickly overpowering her. I ran forward, placing my hands in his armpits to get a good grip to lower him to the ground. But Ma wasn’t picking up on my cue. She continued screaming, “Nicola!”

  “Ma, help me lower him to the ground!”

  “Nicola! Nicola!” My mother didn’t seem to hear me. Then, Baba’s eyes fluttered open.

  “His eyes opened! They opened!” I never heard such relief in her voice as I did in that moment.

  “Ma, quick! We have to place him on the floor!” I didn’t know how much longer I could support my father’s weight, especially since my mother’s grip had loosened considerably.

  Ma nodded her head as we slowly squatted down, gently lowering him.

  “Hold his head while I go get a pillow and call nine-one-one.”

  “Rita’s on the phone with them right now.”

  Connie was standing behind me with the most terrified look I’d ever seen on her face.

  “Stay with Ma. I’m going to get a pillow and blanket for Baba.”

  Connie’s arms were wrapped around her waist. Her face looked as white as the nightgown she wore.

  “Don’t be scared. He’ll be all right.”

  I tried to reassure Connie, though I really didn’t believe Baba was going to be okay. He’d lost so much blood. And I’d heard that water running for what must’ve been an hour, maybe more. I tried to push my fear aside along with my guilt for not getting out of bed sooner and ran to the sofa bed my parents had been sleeping on. I grabbed one of the pillows and ripped the duvet off the bed. Even though it was the middle of July and quite warm, sometimes Baba would get the chills.

  “They’re coming!” Rita shouted out as she ran down the basement stairs.

  I placed the blanket over Baba, and Rita took the pillow from me, placing it under his head. But Ma still held onto the sides of his head, not wanting to let go.

  “Before your father fainted, he told me his nose was bleeding for almost an hour.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” I asked Ma.

  “I didn’t know until ten minutes ago. You know what a heavy sleeper I am.”

  That was true. If it weren’t for Ma’s cantankerous snoring, we would’ve thought she was dead since it was near impossible to wake her up.

  “When I saw all the bloody handkerchiefs and towels, I knew something was terribly wrong. I told him we needed to go to the emergency room right away. But he kept telling me it was nothing to worry about. The man has cancer and his nose is running like Niagara Falls, and he tells me there’s nothing to worry about!”

  Leave it to Ma to still make one of her wisecracks during a moment of crisis.

  “I’ll be okay. Just help me stand.”

  We all were startled to finally hear Baba speak. His nose had stopped bleeding.

  “You stay right where you are, Nicola DeLuca! I’m tired of you not listening to me and then look what happens!”

  “Valentina, help me up.”

  “Baba, you’re in no shape to get back up on your feet so soon after collapsing. Sorry, but Ma is right this time.”

  “What do you mean ‘this time’? I am always right!” Ma’s eyebrows were knitted furiously together as she gave a sharp nod of her head, indicating she had triumphed.

  Sirens wailed outside.

  I ran to the front door to let in the paramedics.

  “He’s in the basement.”

  I was about to close the door when I heard more sirens. A police car stopped in front of our house. There was no doubt in my mind that most of the neighbors were probably up now and peering out from behind their windows. The thought of having to explain to everyone once again the details of my father’s illness made me feel queasy.

  I escorted the police officers inside, leading them downstairs. Their gazes took in our finished, but somewhat crude, basement.

  Ma must’ve also noticed their observations since she quickly came over and said, “Our air conditioner broke. My husband was sleeping down here because it’s cooler.”

  The police officers nodded understandingly but continued to look around our basement. I could tell they’d seen through Ma’s lies and realized the truth was that we couldn’t afford an air conditioner. My sisters and I went to Catholic schools, and the tuition on top of the house’s mortgage made it necessary for my parents to cut out whatever they could.

  One of the paramedics’ voices reached my ears. He reminded me of Sonny Bono. He had the same thick brown mustache and hair color, and even his voice sounded similar to Sonny Bono’s. Of the two paramedics, he seemed to be the leader even though the other paramedic looked older. Sonny Bono’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “You have CAN-CERRRR? Yes? You have CAN-CERRRR?”

  Why do paramedics seem to have a tendency to talk to people who are ill as if they’re deaf? I guess it is protocol, and they probably need to be certain the patient is hearing them correctly. Nevertheless, it was infuriating. They were talking to him as if he had a limited mental capacity. He’s not deaf, you morons! I wanted to scream.

  “Tell me where it HURTS.”

  I heard Baba murmur something to them.

  “You are feeling BETTER? YES? YES?”

  Again, my father murmured something, but I couldn’t hear. The police had asked us to give the paramedics some space, so we were standing a few feet away. Ma kept straining her neck and looking over, desperate to know what Baba was saying.

  “You think you can get up? You want to get up?”

  “No!” my mother yelled out.

  “It’s okay, Mrs. DeLuca. We’ll be right by his side.”

  The older paramedic held up his hands as if Ma were the one with a gun in her possession and not the police officers.

  Ma chewed on her lip—a nervous habit of hers.

  The paramedics slowly helped Baba come to a seated position first.

  “On the count of three, we’ll stand together with you, OKAY?”

  I couldn’t see Sonny Bono being able to lift my father, even with the help of his sidekick. He was all of 5'5" and looked as though he weighed less than 130 pounds.

  “Here we go, Mr. DeLuca. ONE.”

  “I can hear you. You don’t need to talk so loud,” Baba said. He sounded very weary and frustrated.

  “Just making sure, Mr. DELUCAHHH.”

  The older paramedic who had seemed happy to let his younger partner take the lead finally seemed to be asserting himself. He was also copying Sonny Bono’s annoying habit of talking loudly. On the count of three, both of them hoisted up Baba, who had his arms around their shoulders. We all held our breath as he took two steps. Then a third and a fourth.

  “I feel better. I think I can walk on my own.”

  “Are you SURE?” Sonny Bono asked.

  “Si, si.” Baba gave Sonny his trademark dismissive wave.

  Slowly, the p
aramedics let go of Baba and waited. We all held our breath. Baba took baby steps, and then without warning began careening to the side.

  “Help him!” I yelled, but the paramedics had reached him before I was even done crying out.

  “I told you!” My mother shook her fist at the paramedics.

  Baba’s eyes fluttered closed, then opened again. He was fighting to stay conscious. The police officers scrambled and helped the paramedics carry him over to the gurney.

  “We’re going to take you to the hospital, Mr. DELUCAHHH, OKAY?”

  Baba just stared blankly up at the ceiling as the EMTs began rolling the gurney out toward the back entrance that led to the yard. As they passed me, Baba’s eyes locked with mine. For the first time in my life, I saw fear in his eyes. The father who had made me feel safe when I was a child was gone, replaced by a very weak and scared man. I fought back tears. It was my turn now to be strong for him, to take away his fear.

  As soon as they passed me, I turned around. This time, it was my mother’s hollow stare that greeted me. I walked over to her and collapsed into her arms as we held on to each other, sobbing uncontrollably. Rita and Connie were crying silently as they watched Ma and me. We should’ve held ourselves together for the younger girls, but we couldn’t. One of the police officers stared sympathetically at us. I suddenly remembered I wasn’t wearing a bra. Had the policemen noticed I was braless when I let them into our house? I knew the police were here to help us, but suddenly their presence felt more like an invasion as they became privy to our secrets and observed us in our worst and most private moment.

  Baba had emergency surgery and was in the intensive care unit for two weeks. The cancer cells, which his doctors were hopeful they’d killed, had returned and metastasized. He only had one month left to live. Ma had decided not to tell him. But I sensed that he knew. How could he not?

  We had chosen to have him die at home rather than at a hospice. True to the doctors’ prognosis, Baba died four weeks after he came home from the hospital. But to us, he died that night when the paramedics came to take him to the emergency room. For the father who came home was not the father we’d known. The night he was rushed to the ER, he looked his fifty-five years of age. But when he returned home, his appearance was that of an eighty-year-old man. I saw Baba distancing himself from us. He hardly spoke to anyone. Part of me wanted to believe it wasn’t intentional, and it was a direct result of the pain he was experiencing. But the other part of me sensed he was aware that he was alienating himself. He seemed to have checked out, indifferent to us and the world of living that was going on around him. Mentally, he’d already crossed over to the other side. Sometimes I saw a heavy sadness in his eyes, and sometimes I even saw a fierce anger. Maybe his refusing to talk to us anymore was the only control he had left over an illness that was robbing him of everything.

  And then on a Friday afternoon, at 4:15 p.m., the tremors started. Baba’s broken body rocked softly, almost as if he was cold and was shivering. A ghostly white pallor slowly draped over his skin. His eyes were staring off into the distance as they took on the appearance of gray, glassy marbles.

  My aunts and uncles had been summoned. But only my aunt Mary decided to stay. She insisted we had to eat even though none of us had an appetite, and she sent me to the supermarket to buy her a few groceries she needed. As I walked back from the store, I saw two girls standing in front of my house. Cheryl and Lauren.

  Cheryl Anapolis and Lauren Murphy were known for walking around Astoria looking for kids to beat up. When I was in eighth grade, my friend Sara was coming out of school one day when Cheryl and Lauren decided to pick on her for no reason. They had a bunch of their friends—all guys—hold Sara still against the schoolyard fence while Cheryl and Lauren took turns punching her in the gut and face. I hadn’t witnessed it since I had called in to school sick, but the next day everyone was talking about it. Poor Sara returned to school only two days after the incident, wearing sunglasses to hide her huge black eyes. I didn’t even know how she was able to see the blackboard through those glasses. I was mad that her parents made her go back to school so soon. Couldn’t they have waited at least a week for the swelling to go down? I’m sure her teachers and the principal would’ve understood.

  Now Cheryl and Lauren were standing in front of my house, picking by the handful the azaleas my mother had planted. They threw the petals up in the air, laughing the entire time.

  “Hey, what you got in those bags?” Lauren yelled out to me.

  I ignored her and started making my way up my driveway to enter my house through the back. I silently prayed they’d leave me alone.

  Suddenly, I felt a vise-like grip on my shoulder. Cheryl swung me around so hard I dropped my groceries.

  “She was talking to you. Who do you think you are, ignoring us?”

  “What do you want? I don’t even know you guys.”

  Lauren laughed. “Stop with the act. Everyone knows us. We rule this neighborhood.”

  “Yeah, just like we know you were talking shit about Miriam and her boyfriend. Telling everyone they’re drug addicts. Why would you make up lies like that about your friends?”

  “I didn’t. It’s Tracy. She took what I said and twisted it. All I said was that my neighbors assume Pat must be doing drugs since he hangs out with Brett. It’s a fact Brett’s been stoned since he was in high school twenty years ago. And since Miriam is dating Pat, naturally my neighbors think she’s doing drugs, too. But I know she’s not, and I know Pat isn’t doing drugs either.”

  Lauren and Cheryl looked at each other with a sly smile.

  “We don’t believe you.”

  Cheryl walked over to me, sticking her face right into mine. Her breath stunk. But I continued to stare right back at her.

  “This one’s got some nerve,” Cheryl said.

  “Yeah, I don’t know why. It’s not like anyone knows who the hell she is. You’re a nobody.” Now Lauren was by my side, standing with her arms crossed in front of her super-flat chest. Maybe that’s where her anger issues stemmed from?

  I squatted down to pick up the groceries that had fallen. I’d had it. I wasn’t going to stand there while they harassed me.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Lauren asked me.

  “What does it look like?”

  I ignored them while I picked up my groceries, when a moment later I felt a kick in my back that toppled me forward onto my knees. Before I could even attempt to get up, Cheryl’s fist came crashing into my eye. I’d never felt such searing pain. Lauren yanked my ponytail back so hard that tears immediately sprang out of my eyes. She then gripped the back of my head and slammed my face down to the sidewalk. I felt the gravel on the concrete scratch my left cheek. Pain radiated throughout my body.

  “Bitch! We’re going to teach you a lesson. After we’re through with you, you’ll never spread shit about anyone again.”

  Cheryl kicked my belly. Lauren joined her, slamming her boot heels into my ribs.

  “Hey, bitch, how do you like this?” Cheryl gave me a backhanded slap.

  Somehow I managed to get out, “I swear. I didn’t say anything. Someone is making this all up.”

  “You’re not only a liar, you’re a stupid liar who doesn’t even know how to keep her mouth shut when she’s getting the shit kicked out of her.” Lauren spit at me.

  “Please! Stop! Stop! My father’s in there . . . Ahhh!”

  At the mention of my father, I couldn’t stop the tears that were running down my face. He was dying, and I wasn’t there. Had he died already?

  “So what if your father’s in there? You think we care? Let him come out and see what a loser he has for a daughter.”

  This enraged me. I yelled out, “He can’t! He’s dying!”

  “Man, what a spineless liar we have here. She’s even trying to play the sympathy card with us by telling us her father’s dying. Now that deserves an extra-special punishment. What do you think, Lauren? I think her face doesn’
t look ugly enough yet.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Let me take care of that.”

  Lauren curled her hand into a fist, getting ready to punch the side of my face that hadn’t gotten acquainted yet with her. I shut my eyes tight, tensing my muscles in anticipation of the blow.

  “Get the hell off her!”

  Cheryl fell on top of me as someone tackled her. Lauren started kicking at whoever had stopped Cheryl.

  Thank God, I thought.

  “Get the fuck out of here!”

  My relief turned to humiliation. It was Michael. I didn’t want him seeing me like this, unable to fend for myself.

  “Come on, Cheryl. We’ll finish this another day.”

  Michael got up fast and shoved both Cheryl and Lauren up against a parked car on the street. I heard Lauren grimace in pain.

  “If I ever catch you guys even within a hundred feet of her, you’ll have me to deal with. And don’t think I wouldn’t hit you because you’re girls. In my book, you’re not even girls. You’re filthy trash.”

  He kept staring at them until they were forced to look away, their heads hanging to the side. He finally released his grip on them. They walked away.

  “Valentina! Stop! Don’t get up! You might make one of your injuries worse.” Michael ran to me, kneeling down by my side. I had tried to lift myself up, but I was in too much pain. My head felt very heavy and like it was glued to the concrete. Tears streamed down my face.

  “Thank you.”

  “Hey! You’re going to be okay.”

  Michael brushed the tears off my face with his fingers and pushed my blood-stained hair off my face.

  “Tell me where it hurts.”

  “All over, but mostly my side and back. They were getting extreme pleasure out of kicking me repeatedly in my ribs. My face is hurting, too.” I reached up to touch my swollen face, which felt like a grapefruit.