PE2--Life Changing Event

PE2



The fire was devastating.

In just a few short, destructive hours, it was all gone. The terrifying conflagration erased the tangible; the orchards, the acres of berry and grape stock; most of it irreplaceable, now gone. In its place stood the charred remnants of brittle apple trees, their bare, espaliered branches reduced to thin, black arms that looked like skeletons standing in grotesque poses. The large, finely tended fields of produce were now replaced by blackened, scarred land, layered with soot. The only means of income for many in the villager disappeared in the smoke.

The hot air rising into the angry, glowing night sky also took with it the intangible. It evaporated the dreams, the hopes and plans of families, and all the years of pruning and nurturing. All the years of prodding and coaxing the land to provide a living, the love—was all gone now, evaporating like steam from a pot of boiling water. For Angela there was another intangible that disappeared in the dense, acrid smoke of the fire. The world she had created, the place she visited when she needed to escape to ponder life's sad setbacks. The place she could be found when she needed to think, to settle an unpleasantness, to clear her mind—a place so serene it allowed her to hear what her heart was saying. She had thrown her life into the orchard, her father's orchard, and now it was gone, possibly forever.

It happened suddenly, and with great noise.

"Fume, fume!" The words shouted by people running in the streets woke Angela from her sleep. "Fire! Everything is burning!" The footsteps grew louder, as did the shouts, then faded as people passed her house. She sat up quickly and put her bare feet on the cold, wood floor. The smell of smoke burned her nose.

Angela stepped out onto her balcony and saw the angry, eerie glow as it rose above the burning apple trees. Her apple trees. It had been dry for nearly two months now, not a drop of rain since the first downpours in early spring as the fragrant buds finally peeked out of their tiny, white shells. Everyone worried that the apple crop would be too small to bring enough money to see them through next winter. Miele was biggest cash crop in the valley, the only cash crop. As each day without rain passed, people turned worried eyes to the sky, while words of prayer tumbled from their lips.

Standing in the night air, her hands covering her gaping mouth, Angela saw that a small crop was no longer the cause for worry. There would be no crop now. Below her, on the cobbled streets of the village, the sound of hurried footsteps rose into the air as men and women ran to the fields and orchards hoping to save something. It would be a waste of time.

Angela hurried into her work clothes, a long, brown skirt, her white blouse and work boots, then she hurried down the stairs. On the street she followed the flow of people as they made their way through the haze. Angela stopped a woman who seemed to be walking in a trance, her eyes focused on the smoky light surrounding the village.

"What happened?" Angela asked with a voice filled with dread. "How did this happen?"

"Fulmine," the woman said without a hint of feeling in her voice. "Lightning!"

Angela's gaze slowly rose above the rooftops of her neighbor's' homes. In the night sky she watched clouds of smoke glide past on the strong breeze. She whispered the word to herself, over and over. "Fulmine. Lightning, lightning! A man running to the fire ran into her and nearly knocked her down as he ran to the fire, jarring Angela out of the awe of what she was witnessing. A shudder ran through her when she realized that this fire would change all the plans she and Severino had made. With the orchards gone there would be no job for her soon-to-be-husband. He would now want to immigrate to America—so far from her world.

She was not able to get close enough to the fire to determine how much damage had been done, although she knew it would be extensive. The air was filled with smoke and heat, sparkling embers rose into the smoky sky like fireflies. The awful noise of the burning, popping wood—burning trees, drowned out the shouts of the men gathered at the fires edge. With no way to fight the fire, they would have to wait until it burned itself out. Until then they had to stand and be witness to the devastation of their livelihoods, their past, and their future—their dreams. Angela found her father standing in the haze, seemingly oblivious to anything except the leaping flames.

"Papa," Angela tugged at his sleeve. "We have to move away from the fire. It's not safe here." He turned to her. Sweat and tears soaked his face, reflecting the flickering light of the fire. The fingers of flames consuming not only his land, but also his soul, shone in his dark eyes.

"It is the end," he said as he slowly turned back to stare at the destruction. Angela took his arm and pulled him away from the heat and flames.

. . .

Two days had passed since the fire raged through the mountainside. Villagers held cloth over their mouths and noses to protect themselves from the acrid smell of smoke as they walked the streets like ghosts in the haze, their eyes red with irritation. Santa Maria del' Assunta, the ancient, village church, filled to capacity every day as people prayed for guidance, and coughed dryly into their handkerchiefs. The mood of the people turned as grey as the haze clinging to the village in layers.

"It's all gone, Angela." Giuseppe sat at the kitchen table with his wife and daughter. The rest of the family had just left to return to their homes once it was clear there was nothing more that could be done.

"We will rebuild it, papa."

"Yes, the family will work together to bring it all back." MariaRosa took her husband's hand in hers as she spoke. Angela nodded her head.

"It can't be rebuilt, not in my lifetime." Giuseppe's red eyes had lost their life. He stared down at the table as if he couldn't look his wife and daughter in the eye.

"It will be hard work, papa," Angela said. "We will take up the roots, plant new seedlings, new stock. We will make it grow again." Angela had never seen her father so despondent. He looked as if he had aged ten years since the fire.

Giuseppe raised his eyes for the first time that morning, he looked first to his wife, then to Angela. "It is too much for me to do. There is no money to buy new seedlings. No money to pay for the help that will be needed. I will have to sell the land just so we can live."

"No, papa!" Angela's voice was filled with dread. "You cannot sell the land. It is our heritage, our future."

"Our future went up in flames two nights ago." Giuseppe stood and walked to the window. "Look out there. No one here can rebuild what was once there. It is gone." He lowered his gaze to the floor as he walked slowly from the room.

"He can't sell the land, mama." Angela's eyes followed her father's drooped form as he walked away.

"What else can we do?" MariaRosa said. "We will do whatever your papa thinks is best."

"Severino has said he will help with the rebuilding, the replanting." Angela's voice had turned to pleading.

"Severino would do well to continue with his plan to go to America."

"No, mama, I will not leave my home." Her hands curled into fists. "I don't want to go to leave my home!"

"You are going to marry him in two months, just as it is planned." MariaRosa looked into her daughter's eyes. "And you will go where your husband goes. When you are married, home is where your husband is."

"Don't I have any say about my life once I'm married?" Angela's eyes filled with tears. "Why do I give up my rights just because I have a husband? If I have to go to America to live then I won't marry him!"

MariaRosa reached for Angela's hands. Taking them in her own, she held them and, using her thumb, caressed her daughters trembling, clenched fists. Angela's shoulders sagged and she sighed as her fists unfurled. "Mama, I'm worried about papa."

"Your father will be alright. He needs some time to recover from the shock of what has happened." She looked into her daughter's eyes and took a deep breath. "Mio dulce...your father and I have enough to worry about without having to worry about you. You must marry Severino. And when you do you will be cared for, he will support you. You can still help rebuild what your father doesn't have to sell."

"And how will I do that when I'm living so far away?" This time her voice was calm.

"Does it really matter, my daughter?" MariaRosa's eyes softened and she lowered her voice. When she spoke there was sweetness in her words. "You are my daughter...my oldest. You are twenty-six and soon to be married. You will never have a chance like this again. Marry Severino and let him take care of you. Live where he chooses to live. Allow your father and me to stop worrying about you."

Angela sat silently when her mother stopped speaking. She pushed back her frustration with having been told again that her parents were worried about her. Why can't they just accept that I can take care of myself? Her thoughts ran to love and how fleeting it had been for her. She thought of Dario and the first time her heart had been broken.

Everyone knew that Angela and Dario, a young boy who had grown up in Bresimo with Angela, had been close friends. But no one knew that they had secretly been in love. By the time Angela was seventeen she knew she wanted to spend her whole life with Dario. They would have a house and a garden, and lots of children that they would raise together. They would be happy. Angela knew what it was like to lose the one you love. And she knew how important love could be to a happy life. She wanted to tell her mother now, to make her understand that she would be alright, even without Severino. "Mama, I never told you about Dario. I've never told anyone this before."

MariaRosa looked up slowly as if she was expecting to hear bad news. She sat silently, waiting for her daughter to continue.

"Everyone thought Dario and I were nothing more than childhood friends. But the truth is that we were very much in love." Angela looked down at her hands. "We secretly planned to get married, have children and make a home together here. One night he went to his father and told him of his plan to marry me. His father told him that marrying me was not possible. He could not—would not—give his permission. Dario and his father argued but he could not disobey his father. He was told that a girl from the village, Marcella, had been promised to him many years before. The two families had been linked together by marriage before, and it was a tradition his father intended to keep. He forbade Dario from breaking the promise. He wouldn't allow us to marry." Angela looked at her mother but saw no sign that she had heard a word of what she had said.

"Mama, are you listening?"

"Go on."

"Planned marriages, arranged marriages, it is why I hate the idea. It causes so much heartbreak for those who are not allowed to marry, and unhappiness for those that marry without love."

"Marcella looks happy enough, so does Dario."

"Yes, and that's what caused my heart to break so many times. Seeing Marcella happy with her children reminds me that I could have been her. I should have been her, except for this concept of arranging marriages. If we could have married I would already have provided you with grandchildren...and I would be happy. Instead, I have been alone, no one to love, and no one to love me."

"I love you, mio dulce," MariaRosa said. "So does your father, all of your family loves you."

"Yes, I know, mama." Angela leaned back into her chair. "But I'm talking about a different kind of love. A love I once felt, only to have it taken away from me." Angela's mother sat quietly for a moment, the ticking of the clock on the cupboard filled the room. Finally, with a voice filled with love, her mother looked at Angela and spoke.

"I never knew any of this." Tears formed in the corners of MariaRosa's eyes as she looked at her daughter. "I never knew..."

"I never told anyone, but I am alright now, mama. That's what I want you to know." Angela squeezed her mother's hand. "I want to marry Severino. In my own way I suppose I love him. He's a wonderful man. He treats me well. But I don't want to leave my home, this village, the valley."

MariaRosa stared at her daughter as the tears spilled from her eyes and joined the flecks of grey ash that spotted the white cloth covering the table. "I never knew..."

. . .

"Severino," Angela said as she walked through the village with her fiancé. "It has only been one month since the fire. It is still possible that papa will change his mind and try to rebuild the orchards." Her arm was entwined with his as they passed an older couple out walking for the evening...the customary passagiata. After exchanging greetings with the couple, Angela continued. "If he does change his mind you will be able to work for him, just as he discussed with us. Just as we planned."

"And if he decides no?" Severino looked at Angela. "Then what? Do I start all over to make my plans to go to America?" He paused, then turned to Angela. "My father's business has failed and I lost my livelihood. It is impossible to earn a living here, there is no work." He shook his head back and forth slowly. "No, mi amore, I cannot do that. We will be married in one more month, then we will live together in the house I have contracted to rent in Cis until my boat leaves for New York in March."

"We will only be together for four months before you leave, Severino." Her voice was edged with sadness. "That is not much time."

"You will follow me to America once I have established myself there." He smiled at her. "A job, a place to live...it won't take long. They are looking for men willing to work there. I will earn a good living and be able to provide for you. Then we will be together again."

"I don't know, Severino." Angela turned her eyes away and looked at the mountains ringing the valley. "I don't think I want to go to America."

"Of course you do." He patted her hand as he spoke. "You will see, you'll like it there. I hear the women in America wear beautiful dresses, they go to band concerts in the park. They even celebrate the feast of Saint Genaro with a huge festival."

"I thought the streets were paved with gold?" She smiled as she continued. "It's what everyone says." Severino laughed.

"That is nonsense, Angela." He stopped and turned to her. "We must be realistic. You can make up your mind after you visit, after you see the beautiful house I will have waiting for you, the beautiful clothes, you'll see. You will want to stay even though the streets are not made of gold." His voice was filled with enthusiasm and his eyes widened with hope.

Angela didn't have the heart to tell him how she truly felt. She decided to wait a little longer. Maybe papa would change his mind and decide not to sell the orchard. It wasn't necessary to decide anything now.

She heard running footsteps on the street and turned just as her younger brother ran into view from around the corner.

"What is wrong with you, Gino," she gently scolded. "You nearly ran into me."

Gino stopped directly in front of Angela and Severino. Sweat plastered his dark, curly hair to his tanned forehead. Before he could answer his sister he bent over and put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath.

"Angela, Angela," he said between gasps. "It's papa. Come quick. He was eating dinner and collapsed on the floor."

"The dottore!" She shouted. "Has the doctor been called?" She felt the cold begin in her knees and rise up into her thighs and into her stomach. Her heart froze as she looked up the street, now shaded with the evening light. She saw her mother standing outside of her house on the front step. She was stooped over as if in pain. As Angela came closer to her mother she heard her wail and call her husband's name hysterically.

"Giuseppe! Giuseppe! Mio Dio, Giuseppe!" Her cries were filled with anguish.

. . . . .

Link to story diagram:

Story Diagram: A Letter From Nonna  (E) A story outline #1843583 by Bikerider

Word Count 2942