Stella Mia Page 4

  Our glances meet, and we break out into laughter.

  Agata becomes serious once again. “Please, Sarina, don’t ever joke like that.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I am too much of a good Catholic to ever commit suicide. But that does not mean I cannot fantasize about it now and then.”

  “Agata! Dove sei?”

  Agata quickly jumps to her feet at the sound of her father’s voice.

  “Hai trovato la tua figlia?” My father asks his brother if he’s found his daughter. My heart fills with sadness at the thought that our afternoon to ourselves has come to a close.

  Reluctantly, I also stand up. Our fathers wheel their bicycles toward us. Zio Mario and my father had ridden their bicycles up the mountains in search of le lumache, or snails. It rained all of last night, and whenever we’ve had a good soaking, my father treks out on his bicycle in search of snails. A few Mason jars sit in the baskets that hang on the front of their bicycles.

  “Did you catch a lot?” I ask my father.

  “Si, Sarina. We filled every one of our jars except for one.” My father proudly holds up two of the jars. I can see the snails clinging to the glass.

  “I will cook them tonight, Papá, just the way you like them.”

  “Si, Sarina. Be careful you don’t burn any like you did the last time. Maybe you should just let your mother cook them.”

  Though his words are offensive, he does not say them in his usual hostile tone, perhaps because Zio Mario and Agata are still with us.

  “I pulled lots of basil, Zio Salvatore. I’m going to make my pesto sauce that you and Papá love so much.” Agata holds up a bunch of basil.

  “I cannot wait, Agata!” My father smiles at her. My heart sinks. Why can’t he ever utter a kind word to me?

  We make our way to Zio Mario’s car and begin the drive down the mountain. I wish Zia Carmella and my mother had come with us. But they claimed they had too much work to do. Suddenly, the realization comes to me that Agata’s mother and mine might have bowed out of this excursion to the countryside so that they, too, could have some time to themselves and away from their husbands.

  Our fathers are chatting animatedly all the way back home. Their good humor lasts throughout dinner. We say good-bye to Agata, Zia Carmella, and Zio Mario shortly after dinner. Agata is an only child, and that is another reason why she is so close to me and even my younger siblings.

  The long day has tired my father out, and he retires to bed shortly after dinner. I pretend to go to bed, but a few hours later, once I’m assured that my family is sound asleep, I get up and tiptoe to the kitchen. Leaning against the sink, I cross my arms and stare longingly at the stars outside, wishing I were on one of my late-night strolls to the beach. But after my father almost drowned me and accused me of having a lover, I know I cannot risk venturing out again. For I am certain he would kill me the next time. Turning away from the window, I walk over to a crudely made wooden shelf Papá carved for Mama’s plants. He always likes to keep a couple of snails alive for a few days. As soon as he gets tired of seeing them, he throws them outside. This time, he’s only kept one lumaca. I watch the snail crawling on the underside of a turned-over drinking glass. My heart fills with sadness as I watch the trapped creature confined to its narrow space.

  4

  Gattina

  LITTLE CAT

  May 14, 1969

  “Bestia! Bestia!” Papá screams before he throws our cat Tina against the wall of our kitchen.

  “No, Papá! Per favore, lasciala stare.” I plead with him to leave Tina alone. But once more he charges toward her. Tina’s back hunches, and her fur stands on end as she repeatedly hisses at Papá. Though her eyes are filled with terror, she’s also prepared to defend herself.

  I run toward my father and grab his arm, but he shoves me so hard that I lose my balance and fall. That’s when Tina decides to strike, lunging for my father and clinging to his arm with her teeth and claws. He tries shaking her off, but to no avail. She then scratches his cheek.

  “Maledette disgraziata! Ti ammazzo!” Papá curses Tina and grabs her by the scruff of her neck, but she manages to swipe him one last time with her claws, scratching his eye.

  “Aiii!” He drops her.

  Tina runs out the door just in time as Enzo comes home from school. Even though he is just six years old, he walks to and from school by himself. Fortunately, the schoolhouse is only around the corner from our street, so he doesn’t have to cross any roads. Papá forbade my mother or me from accompanying Enzo, saying we couldn’t afford to take any time away from our chores. “Besides, Enzo needs to become a man, and that’s not going to happen if he has the two of you holding his hand,” he’d said.

  “What happened?” Enzo looks from me to my father, no doubt thinking Papá has beat me once again and I have finally rebelled. If only I had the courage to do so.

  I shake my head at my brother, imploring him not to ask any more questions. He stares at the floor and walks quickly to the bedroom, but my father begins screaming anew, causing poor Enzo to freeze in his tracks.

  “You had better hope that wretched cat has run off for good! If she comes back here, I will take her to the beach and drown her! I should have done so months ago when I discovered she wasn’t catching any mice. What good is she? That is the only reason why I’ve kept her and fed her. I’ve wasted my money on that despicable creature.” My father walks over to the kitchen sink and spits into it, as if his words aren’t enough to convey his disgust.

  “But, Papá, she’s been a good cat. She is kind and always looks worried when Carlotta, Pietro, or I are crying. She even licks us to make us feel better.”

  “And you let her? Who knows what germs that filthy beast is carrying?” Papá glares at Enzo, who quickly averts his gaze. His eyes are welling up with tears.

  “Go wash up, Enzo.” I walk over and prod him gently toward the bathroom.

  My father shakes his head, running his hand through his hair as he walks over to the cupboard and takes out a small bottle of grappa. He takes a long swig from the bottle and returns it to the cupboard. He then walks into his bedroom and slams the door shut.

  I know I must act quickly and find Tina. This isn’t the first time he’s hit her, but he’s never come close to killing her as he did today. Maybe she’s too afraid to return home, but I know how loyal she is toward us. We’re the only family she knows.

  I remember the day Agata and Zio Mario brought Tina to our house two years ago. They had found her outside their home. She was only a couple of weeks old. They said she looked as if she were searching for her mother. Agata and Zio Mario already had a cat that helped catch their mice. Zio Mario knew we’d been having problems with mice and thought we might want her.

  “She won’t be ready to catch mice for months,” my father said, shaking his head.

  “Cats grow quickly. Give her a few months, and she’ll be killing mice left and right. Our cat was only a few months old when we got her, and she wasted no time,” Zio Mario said with apparent pride in his voice.

  You would have thought he was talking about some great feat Agata had performed instead of a cat whose sole purpose was to kill pests. They hadn’t even named her. Agata was aloof when it came to their cat and didn’t pay much attention to her.

  My father finally agreed to take Tina.

  “You’ll have to feed her with a doll’s bottle. We tried giving her a bowl of milk, but she almost fell into it! I got the idea to use one of my doll’s bottles.” Now Agata was the one beaming with pride.

  “You still have your dolls?” I asked incredulously. My mother had wasted no time in giving my one doll to Carlotta even though part of me wanted to keep her. Although I knew I was too old to play with her, I wanted my doll for myself. Perhaps because she was a reminder of the childhood I once had, if only briefly.

  Agata’s face flushed at my question. Instead of answering, she took out of her dress’s pocket the doll’s bottle. “I brought mine just in
case you didn’t have one.”

  Zio Mario handed the kitten to me. I gingerly took the kitten in both of my hands. It was the first time I looked into her face, and I couldn’t help exclaiming, “Ahhhh! Cosi bella!” Without a doubt, she was the most beautiful little creature I’d ever seen. And the thought of having to bottle-feed her only made her more adorable. Even when we showed the kitten to my mother, her beautiful smile, which she rarely displayed, showed her admiration.

  Tina grew quickly, and my siblings and I were all disappointed to throw out the bottle when the time came. Enzo still tried to feed her with it, but even Tina knew she was too old and staunchly refused the bottle. We still hadn’t chosen a name for her. Enzo kept calling her “Gattina,” or little cat. Though “Gattina” seemed like a simple name, it was also cute and charming. But Carlotta, at two years old, could only manage to say “Tina.” So we decided to go with this name since it would be easier for Carlotta to pronounce.

  With a sleek, shiny silver coat, a little splash of what looked like milk on her chest, and stunning yellow eyes that resembled a tiger’s eye jewel, Tina possessed a regal feline splendor. I became curious about what breed she was since we’d never seen any of the stray cats in our village look like her. So one day, I went to the library and found a large reference book on cats. About fifty pages into the book, I saw a photo that was a dead ringer for Tina. Her breed was Russian Blue. I knew we had a special cat, not just due to her unique breed, but also by her sweet personality and her complete devotion to me and my family . . . well, except for my father.

  Sometimes, when my parents weren’t home, I would take out of my mother’s jewelry box her thick eighteen-karat-gold rope chain. An oval filigreed pendant hung from the chain and in its center lay a stunning aquamarine gem. My father had given my mother this necklace when they became engaged. It had belonged to a wealthy great-grandmother of his. I called the necklace Mama’s Cleopatra necklace since it looked like jewelry the famous African queen would have worn. My mother promised me that she would leave the necklace for me after she passed away. I loved to drape the Cleopatra necklace around Tina’s neck. “Gorgeous! You are so beautiful!” I whispered to her and imagined Tina’s ancestors belonging to the Russian aristocracy, who would have adorned their cats in the same fashion every day.

  Tina is like a baby to me. And now I must give her up. I’m too terrified that my father will make good on his threat and drown her if she comes back home. With tears in my eyes, I go searching for her, but shortly after I step outside, Enzo follows.

  “We have to find her.” His eyes are red-rimmed. My heart breaks for him. I wish that at six years old he didn’t have to witness my father’s cruelty.

  “I know. I’m going to look for Tina. Go back inside.”

  Enzo shakes his head. “I want to help you.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  It doesn’t take us long to find Tina. She’s curled up in a small opening that has eroded from the bottom of one of the large boulders that sit on the beach. It’s one of her favorite spots. When Tina sees us, she comes running out, meowing and rubbing against our legs. I pick her up lest she run off from us again. Pain pierces through me at what we must do. I shut my eyes tightly, forcing back tears. I can’t lose it in front of Enzo. But now comes the difficult part. I wish I could shield him from the truth, but he deserves to know.

  “Enzo, you know we can’t bring Tina back into the house? Something might happen to her.”

  Enzo nods his head. “Papá might hurt her again and maybe worse the next time.”

  I nod my head. “Si. I need to take her away from here. Somewhere far where Papá can’t find her. I’ll make sure she is in a safe place. I promise.”

  “I want to come with you, Sarina. I want to be able to say good-bye to Tina.”

  “You can say good-bye now.”

  Enzo shakes his head vehemently. “No, no, no!” He begins pummeling my chest with his little fists, startling Tina, who almost jumps out of my arms.

  “All right. All right. Calm down. You can come.”

  With one last glance over my shoulder to ensure Papá isn’t following us, I urge Enzo to hurry as we quickly make our way behind our house where I keep my bicycle. Placing Tina in the basket that hangs in the front of my bicycle, I motion for Enzo to take the seat. I then straddle the bicycle and ride it standing up since there isn’t enough room for both of us to sit. I am accustomed to giving Enzo and Carlotta rides on the bike, so pedaling standing up isn’t difficult for me.

  I ride all the way into Barcellona Pozzo di Gotto, or Barcellona as the locals call it. I’m headed to the veterinarian’s office. Someone had once told me that occasionally he took a few strays in and gave them up for adoption. It’s almost two p.m., and the high sun along with the extremely muggy air we’re having today is unbearable. My sundress is sticking to me. Pulling my dress’s hem up, I bend over at my waist and quickly wipe the perspiration from my face. My ponytail is coming loose. I take out my hair and retie it into another ponytail, tightening my ratty rubber band. Enzo only looks marginally better than me. I lick my palms and smooth down the cowlicks in his hair.

  “Tuck your shirt in. We don’t want to look like some miserable beggar children.”

  Enzo nods and does as he’s told. He then takes Tina out of my bicycle’s basket. Fortunately for us, she’s always loved riding in the bicycle’s basket and is used to it. A cat jumping out of my basket on Barcellona’s busy streets is all I would’ve needed. That’s what I’ve also always loved about her. She’s never been a typical skittish cat.

  Before we walk through the vet’s door, Tina twists her ears, and her eyes open wide. She seems nervous, almost as if she can sense there are other animals behind the door. When we walk in, a large sheep dog tries to lunge for Tina, but its owner quickly restrains him with his leash. Tina nearly jumps out of Enzo’s grip.

  “May I help you?” The receptionist is a pretty blond woman who looks to be in her early to mid-twenties. She smiles kindly at us.

  “We heard that Dr. Lombardi sometimes takes in strays and finds homes for them. Our mother is allergic to our cat, and we were hoping he could find her a good home.” I smile back at the woman, but her pleasant demeanor from a moment ago has vanished, and she’s now frowning.

  “I’ll ask Dr. Lombardi, but our boarding room is getting full. Unfortunately, not too many people have been adopting the animals lately. Have a seat, and I’ll ask him when he’s done with the patient he’s now seeing.”

  “Thank you. Please, whatever you can say to him would be greatly appreciated.” I plead with my eyes to show her how important this is to me. The receptionist glances down as if my begging is embarrassing her. Or is it that she’s embarrassed for me?

  We wait for about half an hour, but it seems like an eternity. I’m sure Papá must be awake from his siesta and looking for us. No doubt, Enzo and I will both have a beating waiting for us. He doesn’t go beyond a few slaps or spanks for the younger children. He saves the more severe beatings for my mother, and especially for me.

  Finally, the receptionist motions to us with a wave of her hand. We follow her to the back of the vet’s office. She leads us into an examination room. The veterinarian has his back turned to us. I see him placing vials of blood onto a tray.

  “Here are the children I was telling you about, Dr. Lombardi.” The receptionist holds her hands out in our direction as if she is presenting prize horses. I can’t help but bristle at her use of “children” since I’m almost seventeen.

  “Thank you, Bianca.” Dr. Lombardi still keeps his back averted. Bianca returns to the reception area.

  Enzo and I wait another minute before Dr. Lombardi turns around and gives us his attention.

  “I’m sorry. I need to focus on what I’m doing so that I don’t make a mistake mixing up the blood vials. I had told Bianca to give me another five minutes, but she doesn’t seem to be able to tell time.” Dr. Lombardi rolls his eyes.

  “W
e’re sorry for bothering you, Dr. Lombardi, but we can no longer keep our cat. Our mother is allergic. We were hoping you could take her and possibly find her a new family?” I hope that my voice doesn’t sound too desperate.

  “She’s a good cat, doctor. Very kind. She’s never scratched anyone,” Enzo says without diverting his gaze from the doctor.

  I’m amazed at how well he can lie, since he and I know what a good job Tina did of scratching my father today. But that’s the only time she ever attacked anyone.

  “Let’s see what we have here.” Dr. Lombardi walks over to Enzo and takes Tina from him. He pets her and begins cooing softly in her ear. Tina looks up at him and then licks his chin.

  “A Russian Blue! I’ve never seen one here in Italy. She’s beautiful.” Dr. Lombardi’s eyes glow. Maybe he wants her for himself? I can’t help wondering.

  He places Tina on the exam table and begins pushing her fur back, inspecting it. At first, I don’t know what he’s doing, but then I realize he’s checking for fleas and ticks. I hear him every so often utter, “Hmmm . . . hmmm.” My heart starts to race. For I know she must have fleas or ticks since she spends so much time outdoors. But surely, Dr. Lombardi is a veterinarian. He can treat her, and she’ll be as good as new.

  “What are you doing?” Enzo asks as Dr. Lombardi turns up Tina’s ears and inspects them as well.

  “I’m looking for ear mites. Earlier, I was checking for fleas or ticks. I’m sorry to say your cat has ear mites and fleas. The ear mites aren’t so bad, but she’s quite infested with fleas. I’m sorry, but we can’t take animals with fleas, ticks, or ear mites.” Dr. Lombardi looks pained as he says this.

  “Please, Dr. Lombardi. You can treat her for the fleas and mites. You do that for the other animals that are brought here.” I try to keep my voice calm, but my anger is beginning to swell.