Last Voyage of the Valentina(65)

“Valentina knows what I’m talking about although she’s as stubborn as a mule.” Thomas wanted to leap to Valentina’s defense but he saw the pain contort Immacolata’s face and took the peaceful option instead. He extended his hand to Falco.

“The war is over,” he said. “Let’s not start a new one here.”

Falco’s mouth tightened but he took his hand. Thomas felt his rough, calloused skin but there was something reassuring about his grasp which was the firm hold of a man in possession of himself. However, he did not smile and his eyes were dark and impenetrable so that Thomas was unable to decipher his thoughts. Immacolata, subdued by the presence of her son, was no longer the omnipotent matriarch she had been before. She was clearly in awe of him, if not a little afraid. However, she was pleased they had called a truce.

“God has brought you together through Valentina. Let us eat and be friends.”



It wasn’t long before the rest of the family turned up. Ludovico and Paolo, who still lived with their mother, were the total opposites of their elder brother. Where the battle-weary partisan was as dark and cold as a winter’s night they were warm rays of summer sunshine. It was difficult to tell them apart, for they were both short, wiry, and athletic with brown eyes like their sister’s and crooked, mischievous grins. They did not possess their brother’s magnetism or his good looks, but they were amusing and their laughter had worn through the youth on their faces and carved out deep, attractive lines. In spite of having fought against the Allies they shook Thomas’s hand and slapped him on the back, making jokes about taking Valentina off their hands and saving her from the motley lineup of poor Italian suitors.

Beata arrived with Toto for dinner. She was a sweet-natured woman who clearly knew nothing of her husband’s wartime activities. She was a simple peasant girl who thought little beyond her child and preparing the next meal. Fearful of the foreigner, she did not even shake his hand but lowered her eyes and took her seat at the long table beneath the vine where Immacolata had presided over dinner the year before. Her son sat beside her and rested his head against his mother’s body, nestled beneath her protective arm. Like a docile, watchful animal, Beata blinked about her, listening to the conversation but contributing nothing. Falco rarely looked at her and certainly didn’t talk to her. Beata had obviously been pummeled into the dust by this overbearing, overopinionated man. Thomas was thankful he had arrived in time to save Valentina from a similar fate.

Immacolata punctuated their discussion with religious references. She seemed to have God’s ear for she knew exactly what His intentions were, why He had allowed the war to happen, even why He had taken her husband and son. God was the only way she could make sense of it all. Perhaps it hurt less to believe in the will of God, like a child who trusts without question the actions of its parents. Thomas was barely able to reconcile the woman who had bellowed at her staff in Trattoria Fiorelli with this soft-spoken, submissive mother who seemed to have shrunk in the shadow of her eldest son. If Lattarullo was able to see her now, he thought with amusement, she would no longer frighten him so.

At the end of the meal Valentina and Beata cleared away the plates, taking the dishes through to the kitchen. Toto followed, carrying the small things that weren’t too heavy. He was a pretty child with wide brown eyes and a full, sensual mouth that curled up at the corners in quiet amusement. He clearly loved his grandmother, who stroked his face and kissed him with solemn affection.

It was dark. Moths fluttered around the hurricane lamps and the chorus of crickets rang out in the bushes and trees. Thomas lit a cigarette and watched the smoke float up on the cool air, twisting and turning as the breeze blew in from the sea. He could hear Beata and Valentina laughing in the kitchen. There had been no laughter at the table and Immacolata seemed to have lost her sense of humor a long time ago. It was heartening to hear their gaiety. He imagined they were talking about their children, sharing the day’s stories or perhaps a joke at the expense of the men, he didn’t know. He noticed that for some reason Valentina incensed Falco. He watched her through narrowed eyes and there was dislike in them bordering on hatred. Valentina, to her credit, ignored him. When he tried to put her down she retorted with amusement and rolled her eyes. Thomas was proud of her. He remembered her dancing at the festa di Santa Benedetta; she had shown surprising spirit then too. He gazed upon her through the smoke with sleepy eyes and realized that she was right; he barely knew her.

Finally the family retired to bed. Immacolata knelt before the shrines to her husband and son and mumbled an inaudible prayer. After crossing herself vigorously she bade them good night. Then she took Thomas’s hand and thanked him for returning. “You will take my Valentina to a better place,” she said solemnly, patting it with soft, doughy fingers. “Tomorrow you shall meet Padre Dino. The sooner you are married the better.”