Tarantella: A Love Story

by Siomonn Pulla

  “You realize that the Church cannot condone this Pagan ritual.” He held his rosary beads in one hand. “I am hear to only observe so that I can prepare a report for the Bishop in Rome.”

  “I thought maybe you came to pray for the one who you think should take Carmella’s hand.” Mama Moccia wasn’t phased at all by the Priest. “We are all God’s children Father. You know as well as I as that the Church has nothing to worry about with la Tarantella.”

  “This is an old and barbaric tradition,” huffed the priest. “And, God forbid, if anyone is hurt, I will see to it that this dance is banned all across the country and it never happens again.”

  The priest turned around and went back to his spot on the other side of the circle, clearly unhappy that he had to spend the night outside in the field watching, and unwittingly participating, in the old pagan rite.

  There was a brief commotion, and a clanging of tambourines, as Marco and La Stregha Vechia arrived and made their way into the circle. Marco looked calm and poised. The old witch carried a small covered basket, similar to the one that Carmella’s mother had also brought with her.

  “Ok now we are ready to begin la Tarantella.” The sun had completed set now. Carmella’s mother walked into the middle of the circle with her basket and a small stick. “I want every one to form a wide tight circle around the two men.”

  There was a momentary shuffle of people, and before I knew it, Marco and I were facing each other, like fighters in a ring ready to go twelve rounds.

  “Perfect.” Mama Moccia took her stick and traced a circle in the ground, creating a boundary between the crowd and Marco and I. “Nobody enters the circle or leaves it until the sun rises and la Tarantella is complete.”

  I could vaguely see nods of agreement from those outside the circle.

  “Tonight we are here to call the Watchers in to intervene this grave matter of the heart. Two men have come to love the same woman, and they are willing to harm each other with the evil eye and other forms of charms and magic to gain the heart of this woman. This is unacceptable. There is only one way to ensure that their love is pure and of the highest vibration. That is why we are here this evening.” Mama Moccia put her hand into the basket and pulled out the largest spider I’d ever seen. She held the tarantula up to show the crowd. “This taranta has agreed to help us tonight. And for that we are grateful to her.”

  Carmella’s mother brought the large spider over to where I was standing. She took my arm and placed the spider in my left hand, saying a few words to the insect under her breath. The tarantula felt warm and very fuzzy in my hand. I could feel its legs twitching as it crawled up towards my arm looking for a vein to administer its venom.

  It didn’t take long for the spider to find what it was looking for. The pain of the bite was intense. I could feel the spider’s powerful jaws gouging my skin and it was only a matter of seconds before the venom started to make my arm go numb.

  Mama Moccia took the Tarantula off of my arm and placed it on the ground. I watched it slowly scurry off into the darkness as Mama Moccia moved her hands quietly in a series of intricate symbols. I was acutely aware that I had started something that I now had no choice but to finish.

  I noticed that La Stregha Vechia was doing the same thing with her own spider. She whispered to it and placed it on Marco’s hand. The insect immediately crawled up his arm and I could see Marco grimace as the spider took a bite of his flesh and injected its venom into his blood.

  The old witch then took the spider and placed it on the ground, where it scurried off into the darkness. As the spider disappeared, La Stregha Vechia moved her hands quietly in a series of symbols, that looked similar, but were obviously different from the ones Carmella’s mother had finished outlining in the darkness.

  As if on cue, the musicians started to play. The haunting melodies of Primo’s mandolin, and the scales of the fiddler blended into the fast-syncopated beat of the tambourines and drums. I could immediately feel the web of the music inside of me, urging me forward.

  “Balli Pietro! Dance for your life!” I could hear Mama Moccia yelling at me over the music. But her voice sounded so far away. The music was so all encompassing, so invigorating, I couldn’t help but dance. I had to keep my eyes closed. Every time I opened them, I felt the numbness of my body, and the overwhelming urge to lie down and fall asleep. I wasn’t even aware of Marco, who was dancing in circles, only a few feet in front of me.

  We danced around and around each other, following the peaks and valleys of the music. At one point, I could hear Carmella singing. Her beautiful voice lifting me higher and higher. There was a touching sadness to her songs that I will never forget. As if she was pleading with the Watchers to grant her the man she loved, that without that love she was better off dead, as her soul would never heal.

  The faster I danced, the more alive I felt. I didn’t notice the numbness of the spider venom in my limbs. The faster I danced, the lighter my body felt. I thought that if I danced faster and faster, I could create enough momentum to fly, to soar above the circle and back to the village. At one point I thought I could easily fly back to Canada and rid myself of all this nonsense. As if I was waking from a long crazy dream.

  But the thought of flying anywhere without Carmella was enough to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground, with a focus on the off beats of the tambourines.

  The more I focused on the music, the more it carried me. I felt safe as if the music was weaving a protective web around me.

  Then I started to hallucinate.

  At first I saw the tarantula return. She danced with me, around and around, following my every step. Then the one spider multiplied into hundreds of spiders. They were everywhere, dancing with me, following the music. I wasn’t afraid. I felt like they were there to support me, to join me in celebrating my love of Carmella. There was a deep feeling of joy, as if the spiders were helping to confirm something that I had buried deep inside of me. That it was ok to feel such a profound love, that it was exactly that profound love that spun the invisible web that connected everything together. Without it, we were nothing. Without it we couldn’t survive.

  As I continued to dance with those hundreds of Tarantulas, their black fuzzy bodies began to fade into the darkness, revealing a sea of small, unblinking, insect eyes, watching me, observing me.

  As the music sped up, the eyes exploded into a million stars, and I found myself dissolving along with them into space.

  The music then transformed into a beautiful sing-song voice, and out of the stars emerged a beautiful light that formed into an androgynous figure cloaked in white.

  “I am the Spirit that lives in everything. I am the voice in the cosmos, in the wind, and in the nature of all that is.” The voice was calm. And there was a clarity to it that has always stayed with me, guiding me in the most difficult of situations. “I am also the voice within you. But you have forgotten how to listen in silence. You’ve denied that part of yourself which is so pure and so full of love. ”

  “Are you God?” I barely blurted out. “Am I dead?”

  “I am the Spirit that lives in all.” Answered the figure. “Do you chose death?”

  “So I am dead.” I was convinced that the spider venom had killed me. I knew it was a risk. Carmella had begged me not to dance la Tarantella.

  “You have much to learn still,” replied the Spirit. “You have seen much death and destruction in your few years alive. You have suffered killing and the fear of death. You are a soldier. But you are also a man capable of great love. I have been called to remind you that love is the most powerful force in the universe. It is the pure vibration of the soul that connects and destroys. It is stronger and more destructive than a million armies. And it is more forgiving and more empowering than anything you can ever imagine. It is what binds us all together in unity.”

  I had no reply. I knew at a cellular level that this was the Truth. That love was the only reason for our
existence. For my existence.

  “Go now. And remember to always follow your heart. Even if it leads you first into darkness. Do not be afraid. If you listen closely, I am always with you. There will always be a light.”

  The voice faded, and the music returned, overwhelming my senses. My legs continued to move with the beat, but I felt strangely disassociated with what was happening. Like my soul had not fully returned to my body.

  Then the music stopped abruptly.

  After a few seconds, I slowly opened my eyes. In the distance the sun was barely visible as it started to rise above the horizon.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Still Standing

  Marco was still standing across from me. I could see he looked tired, but at peace with himself.

  “The music has stopped. The sun has risen and both men are still standing.” La Stregha Vechia walked into the middle of the circle, gesturing first at Marco and then at me. “This can mean only one thing.”

  “Nonsense old woman.” Carmella’s mother made her way into the middle of the circle, with Carmella close beside her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The young woman must chose,” La Stregha Vechia addressed the crowd. “The signs are clear. She loves both men.”

  There was a loud murmur amongst the crowd. Some I could tell supported what La Stregha Vechia was saying. Others accused the witch of magic, arguing that it was impossible that both of the men could still be standing.

  “First we must hear from the two men,” Carmella’s mother yelled over the increasing murmur., motioning to Marco and I. “We must give them the chance to talk. To explain themselves.”

  All I could think of was sitting down on the ground. The exhaustion of the evening’s rite finally hitting me.

  “Speak,” La Stregha Vechia motioned to Marco. “What did la Tarantella reveal to you?”

  Marco considered the question very carefully. The crowd went completely silent. And after a few minutes he finally spoke.

  “I’ve traveled this whole country believing in the power of love to protect and guide me. The love of la Madonna. The love of my family, and the love I felt for Carmella,” he began. “It was that love that greeted me each morning and gave me the strength to get through each day. It was love that kept me going those long days on the road without food or water. Now it’s this equal love of a woman and the love of brother that I must choose between. But if the woman doesn’t love me back, as much as I know my brother does, there is no real choice. It’s simple.”

  The crowd around us erupted in discussion.

  “Basta. Quiet!” Carmella’s mother tried to calm the crowd. “We must hear from the other man before we make any decisions.”

  Carmella’s mother motioned to me to share.

  It seemed like an eternity before the crowd became quiet enough for me to talk

  “I’m far away from a home I can’t remember,” I said. “From family whose faces I can longer picture in my mind. I was only supposed to spend one night in your village. One year later I find myself still here, making one of the most important choices I may ever have to make in my life. I had a vision. A Spirit came to see me.”

  There were loud murmur’s through the crowd. I could see Father D’Angello crossing himself. Marco was smiling at me.

  “I was reminded of the power of love. That without it, we are nothing, that life is insignificant, meaningless. It is the glue that binds us all together. That unites both brothers and lovers.”

  I dropped to my knees and took Carmella’s hands into mine.

  “Carmella will you marry me?”

  The crowd went completely silent. I could feel their eyes observing me, just like the vision of the hundreds of spiders I had earlier that evening.

  “Oh Peter. Yes,” cried Carmella. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

 

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Transformations

  If anything, la Tarantella brought Marco and I closer together. The ritual deepened the bond of our brotherhood to a level that neither Marco nor I have ever been able to talk about. It was a feeling. Something that was difficult to put into tangible terms, but that we both knew was there.

  The tractor also proved to be quite a hit in the village and we had figured out a way to turn it into a wheat thresher for the fall harvest.

  After la Tarantella we all stayed really busy taking shifts out in the fields ploughing and clearing mines. There was a real buzz about getting the village fields back into a state of working productivity.

  The increased bit of cash flow also meant we could enjoy our leisure time that much more. In the evenings Marco, Severino, Primo and I enjoyed sitting around the kitchen table playing cards, and listening to the latest news on the radio.

  “After Carmella and I get married, I’m going to take her back to Canada.”

  Carmella and I had decided early that day that we’d go back to Canada and make a life there for us. It seemed like the right decision. There was a lot of opportunity back home for me. And I could only pretend to be dead for so long. It wasn’t really fair to my family.

  “Why would you want to do that? We need you here,” exclaimed Marco. Right from day one he hadn’t wanted me to go. “You’re the best mine-clearer in a thousand mile radius. We’d be lost without you!”

  “I miss my country. It’s time to go home.” I didn’t really feel like explaining to them all the reasons why I needed to go home. “You don’t need me anymore.”

  “Suit yourself,” replied Severino without concern. “Sure we’ll miss you. But that tractor is going to make us rich. Especially when we get the thresher and combine working.”

  “Hey it’s time for the news,” Primo turned the radio up. “I wonder what’s going on in the world.”

  “Maybe we don’t want to know.”

  Marco didn’t like listening to the news flashes. Every time it came on the radio he reminded us all that he’d seen enough of the war that he didn’t need to hear about it.

  “This is a special news announcement,” crackled the radio. “After six months of intensive strategic fire-bombing of sixty-seven Japanese cities, President Harry S. Truman issued an executive order to the American air-force to drop the nuclear weapon Fat Man over Nagasaki today -the second such attack on Japan in three days. The bomb was dropped by parachute from an American B29 Bomber and exploded about five hundred meters above the ground. It is believed to have completely destroyed the city, which is situated on the western side of the Japanese island of Kyushu.”

  “Mama Mia! The Americans dropped a second A-bomb!” Primo clapped his hands together in surprise. “Che macello!”

  “I guess the war is really over,” observed Severino. “It’s about time.”

  “I guess it really is time to go home,” I said.

  “I guess it’s really true,” added Marco. “The world has just changed in probably the most significant way we’ll ever see in our lifetime. And I’m not sure if it’s for the good.”

  A few weeks later Carmella and I were married in the Church of Santa Maria in Limosano. It was a simple wedding, led of course by Father D’Angello, but guided in large part by Carmella’s mother.

  After the ceremony we danced and ate for what seem like days. The whole village joined in the festivities, and eventually people from as far as Castropignano were dancing and feasting with us.

  Word spread far and wide about la Tarantella. Some people believed that there was a divine blessing of the union. Some thought we were bewitched. Father D’Angello eventually stopped sulking when he realized that the old rite had inspired more and more people to come into church. Not out of fear, but out of respect and a desire to connect with their own Divine source.

  After all of those extraordinary experiences in Italy, I’m still amazed at how serious Italians take to their old “superstitions.” It’s not that I don’t believe in them. It’s just that I still can't figure out where the l
ine is between the real and the unreal. Or if such a line even exists.

  Late that fall, after the wedding party was over, and we’d recovered from all the food and wine, Carmella and I took the train from Campobasso to Napoli. We packed our few belongings into a couple of small suitcases, eager to start our new life together in Canada.

  As a wedding present, Marco and his brothers gave Carmella and I all the money they saved from renting the tractor out that summer and fall. It was just enough to buy two first class tickets on one of the luxury steamers leaving for Canada.

  The year we left, Marco married Stella Sciatta, and soon after they had their first child, of five, Pietro Alexandro.

  Marco, Stella, and their five kids come to visit us in Canada sometimes, and every summer, Carmella and I still travel back to Limosano with our three children to visit the family.

  Marco and his brothers managed to make a good living for quite a few years with the machines they built. I don’t know what happened to La Stregha Vechia. Last I heard she was still in San’Angello making her potions.

  As for our tractor it’s still in the village, and even though nobody uses it anymore, it’s a reminder that with lots of hope, love, and a pinch of ingenuity, anything is possible.

  ****

 

  Acknowledgements

  This story is inspired by the true story of my grandfather, Arturo Pulla, an Italian Air Force mechanic who was captured by the Nazis in 1943 and brought to Milan to be shipped out to a Nazi death camp. Luckily he escaped from the Nazi’s with another Italian soldier. Together they made the long trek back south to Molise against the grain of the northern retreat of the Nazi forces.

  Ever since I was a child this story has intrigued me. Unfortunately, I never knew my Nonno, so I never did hear the “true” story of his harrowing escape. I decided to add the Canadian element here because my Nona used to tell me stories about how the Canadian soldiers liberated Limosano. “They were so friendly,” she’d tell me. “And they certainly liked to drink. But anything was better than the mean German soldiers, who really liked their prosciutto. They would go from house to house taking all the food they could find. And they would also kill any young man they found hiding from them.”