A Visit to the Cemetery

Tragic love.

Every year since he was old enough to walk, Giovanni accompanied his aunt Anna for the visit to the cemetery on the occasion of All Souls Day. He helped his aunt carry the flower bunches that would be deposited one at a time on top of the chosen tombstones, after the ritual recitation of a prayer and the occasional shedding of tears. This year, aunt and nephew also stopped in front of a new tomb with a marble slab upon which was carved ‘Maria Garofalo’ and the dates of her birth and death. The identity of the departed young woman could not be determined because of the lack of a traditional photo. The last name did not help either because in the village everyone was known by their nickname, which generally bore no relationship to their surname. Her age was clearly determined from the dates on the tomb: she had been twenty years old when she died a few months earlier. A middle-aged woman was kneeling in front of the tomb. She wore a black dress, her hair was covered by a black scarf, and her eyes were fixed on the inscription as if she was attempting to penetrate the marble plate and reach heaven to touch the soul of the departed young woman. Her face displayed emotions of profound anguish, unforgiven guilt, and unquenchable fury. Giovanni and his aunt approached the tomb cautiously, placed the flowers on top of the stone and departed immediately, leaving the poor woman in her personal hell.

“Do you know who the young woman was at the last tomb we visited?” asked Aunt Anna during their return trip home.

“I have no idea,” replied Giovanni.

“You met her,” continued Aunt Anna. “Two years ago, she visited me when you were in my house. I told you then that she was Maria, the daughter of Vincenzo mangrina. You know, the young woman who had gone to the North and had come back to visit her sick grandmother.”

Immediately, the image of Maria brightened Giovanni’s mind like a strike of lightning. Though he had been only nine years old at the time of that brief encounter, Giovanni had not forgotten Maria’s enchanting figure: tall, slim, with brown eyes and a face that emanated deep sadness over a backdrop of peaceful resignation. When she talked with Aunt Anna, the expression of sadness evaporated like fog chased by the sun. One could see the hint of a smile that, though unwilling to unfold its true potential, illuminated that melancholic face in a radiant expression that remained permanently stamped in Giovanni’s mind. His heart now remembered how that vision of Maria stirred emotions he had never felt before as a soft electric charge enveloped his entire body. For a week after that brief encounter he could not shake Maria’s image from his mind. He cuddled in her imaginary arms and felt safe. He even dared fancy a soft caress, ashamed of imagining a closer physical connection than that for fear of desecrating her purity.

“Yes, now I remember,” said Giovanni in a casual manner. Not to betray his emotions, after a short pause, he added, “How did she end up in the village cemetery?” He was unable to utter the word “dead.”

“I will tell you the whole story when we get back home,” replied Aunt Anna, and the two continued their slow and silent walk.

* * *

Maria was the only child of a poor family. They owned a small rundown shack in the village and two small parcels of infertile land that were insufficient to satisfy the physical needs of the family. To escape starvation, Maria’s family cultivated as share-croppers a piece of land belonging to don Nicola Bevilacqua, a middle-aged man who no longer could work it since his two sons had emigrated to France. In a wealthier family a beautiful young woman like Maria would have been spared farm work to avoid having the sun, wind, and daily chores, which would discolor her white skin, roughen her hands, and disrupt her posture. Such a young woman would have been kept at home, protected by her mother, to learn how to cook, clean house and sew, necessary skills for marrying a young man who could afford a stay-at-home wife. Fortune did not smile on Maria’s face, who was obliged from an early age to help her parents with farm work. The daily walk from the house to the land, which required the crossing of half the village, not only left her vulnerable to the destructive forces of the weather in all seasons, but also exposed her to the lustful glances of men of any age.

One of the young men smitten by Maria’s beauty was Marcello, the son of don Nicola Bevilacqua. He had emigrated to France, but returned home every summer for a month. He spent most of the time helping with the chores in the farm near the land worked by Maria’s parents. During the last year, his parents were surprised by Marcello’s desire to spend all the days of his vacation in the farm.

“France has made you into a regular farm boy,” his father joked one day. “You could not wait to leave the village and go to a city. Now that you live in a city you like the country when you come back; mysteries of life.”

“It is lonely in the city,” Marcello replied. “Besides, I miss the whole family and the fresh air of the village. I really love the simple life you have here. As soon as I save enough money I will come back.”

This exchange was repeated on a daily basis because the father loved to hear about his son’s attachment to the village life and Marcello could conceal the real reason for spending all his vacations at the farm.

Marcello spent a large part of his day at the farm in strategic places where he could observe Maria as she went about doing her chores. Marcello had started the previous summer to prepare for contacting Maria and had developed a training program in France. He befriended a young French man who worked in the same factory and together they tested their skills with French girls. Following his friend’s example, Marcello learned first the expressions of introduction and later the manners of courting. This summer Marcello decided to put into practice with Maria what he had learned in France. Each day he prepared an ambush, observing Maria’s movements and waiting for the moment when she was alone and in a place hidden from view of both sets of parents. The training in France was more successful than he had ever imagined. Maria was charmed to the point of infatuation.

“Je t’aime, Marie,” whispered Marcello, and Maria replied, “Say it again,” without having any idea of what it meant. In her fancy, that French phrase was not just a simple expression of affection, but the key that would open the door to a whole new life for her.

While Marcello kept repeating that French expression as he tried to get closer to her, Maria became oblivious to his advances as she was dreaming of her wedding celebration. She envisioned a beautiful white dress, her little cousin carrying the wedding rings and a bunch of flowers, and the walk from her parents’ house to the church accompanied by parents, relatives, and friends. The church would be entirely decorated with flowers. She imagined the exchange of marriage vows, the hard candies thrown into the air throughout the square in front of the church and the swarm of children on the ground hunting for the candies like roosters after corn.

Wife of Marcello, son of the landlord, Maria thought. People must call me signora Bevilacqua; my first name only for friends and relatives.

She also dreamt of her trip to France by train. She would settle in a city. Good-bye to farm work, the dirt of the small house, the scorching sun, and the dehydrating wind. She would become a lady, and would live in a comfortable apartment dedicating her life to the happiness of her husband and children. She would even learn French just to exchange with her husband love phrases that, in the uncommon sound of a foreign language, would express their feelings in a more romantic way. These fantasies engulfed the young woman in an ethereal world that separated her from any physical reality.

While Maria was engulfed in her dream world, sitting on the green grass and oblivious to all around her, Marcello kept staring at her. In his plan he had expected some resistance to his advances, hoping for no more than a kiss at their first meeting. What should he do with a woman adrift in her feelings? Was it right to take advantage of a woman who had lost her consciousness? While his mind was debating these questions, his body could not resist the attraction of Maria’s beauty, right in front of him, ready to be taken.

Marcello returned home stunned. Even with his clouded brains, however, he understood the gravity of the situation. Violating a young woman, especially one still under the age of consent, was an offence forgiven only through marriage. But his father would never allow a marriage with the daughter of a share-cropper even in normal circumstances. The idea of approving a marriage with a girl like Maria, who had demonstrated a lack of feminine virtue, would be unthinkable. Marcello turned his thoughts to Maria’s father. What would his reaction be? Would he try to kill him?

Perhaps it would be better to find some excuse to go back to France immediately, thought Marcello. A year of absence may be enough time for the two families to clear up this mess.

Confused and trembling with fear, Marcello confided in his closest friends, hoping to receive useful advice. His friends instead saw the glory of his conquest, enjoying vicariously the pleasures of his success. For his friends, the tale of such glorious event was too momentous to be kept secret and it did not take long to reach the ears of the two fathers.

The fury in the two households was worse than a gust of scirocco. Marcello endured virulent tirades from his father but was protected from potential physical harm by his mother’s intervention.

“Imbecile,” yelled his father, “can’t you find a w***e in France? You have to come to the village to bring shame to the family. What are we going to do now! Do not even mention the idea of marriage. I could never accept such a disgrace. What am I going to say to Vincenzo? We cannot go on with the share-cropping arrangement. I cannot have the daily sight of that dishonored woman on my land. And if she is pregnant? God take that thought away from me.”

With these words and some cursing, Nicola left the house and went out to the garden to vent his anger in silence.

Maria did not escape her father’s ire, who had to make a supernatural effort not to lay hands on her.

“Daughter, you have ruined us! Who will marry you now that everyone in the village knows that you have been dishonored? If at least the guilty party had been the son of a poor farmer, I would have forced him to marry you. But what can I do with the son of the landlord? You will be a shame to me and the family for the rest of our lives. Every day when I walk up and down the village streets and pass in front of many houses, people will whisper “there goes Vincenzo, the father of that w***e.” How can we hold on the share-cropping arrangement under these conditions?”

And uttering some profanities, like Marcello’s father, he left the house.

When the fresh air had lowered the blood pressure of the two fathers and practical considerations had replaced their righteous indignation, the two men reached the same conclusion. Vincenzo approached the landlord to deliver his decision to leave the village. He put on his best clothes and shoes and walked to the landlord’s house.

“Don Nicola,” he said in a calm and respectful voice, “I have come to discuss the matter of the incident between your son and my daughter.”

“Come and sit down,” replied don Nicola and then called his wife, ordering her to bring two glasses of wine.

“These are strange times, my dear Vincenzo,” said don Nicola. “In our times young people knew their proper places.”

“Don Nicola,” he said, “we know that a broken jar cannot be fixed; we also know that, in our respective conditions, the damage done cannot be repaired through marriage.”

He paused to control his anger and then continued, “I cannot continue to expose my disgraced family to the shame they will feel every day of their life in this village. I have no other choice but to leave the village and start a new life in the North.”

Don Nicola had expected that decision and commended Vincenzo for his honesty and courage, saying, “Vincenzo, you are a man of honor, a good husband and a loving father. You will always have my full respect. This trip will be expensive. I hope that you will accept a small gift as an expression of my gratitude for your honest work on my land.”

And with these words don Nicola got up, not wanting to prolong the painful conversation, gave Vincenzo an envelope containing his gift, and wished him and his family a good trip.

Maria and her family left the village quietly and settled in a city of the North where they had some acquaintances. This move realized two of Maria’s fantasies: a trip by train and an apartment in the city. Life in the city was quite different from what Maria had imagined. With skills limited to farm work in a village, Vincenzo was unable to find steady employment. The mother was afraid to venture outside the apartment and Maria could not help because shortly after their arrival in the North she discovered she was pregnant.

They lived in a small one- bedroom apartment on the third floor of a residential complex in a poor area of town. Maria’s parents slept in the bedroom and she used the sofa-bed in the living room. Very little natural light entered the apartment and most of it was absorbed by walls that, originally off-white, had turned into a depressing grey as dust and dirt settled on them permanently. Artificial light was used sparingly to save money. A small balcony off the kitchen gave access to the outside world, but the smog hovering over the dirty streets and the smell of uncollected garbage reduced its usefulness. Their meals were predictably monotonous, noodles sometimes accompanied by a bit of tomato sauce, some vegetables ready to be discarded by the neighborhood grocer, or with just a few drops of olive oil. Only on Sundays would they sprinkle some grated cheese on the noodles with sauce and would feast on two small meatballs each.

With the passing of days and the arrival of winter, life became even more miserable. They saw only glimpses of the sun that, in the village, would brighten many winter days, and they had to endure temperatures colder than what they were used to. Vincenzo went out every day in search of work and came back in the evening with a tired expression on his face and a few liras in his pocket. The two women remained confined within those dirty walls due to Maria’s advanced pregnancy and the dread of the cold. Even their conversation was curtailed as they slowly realized that every single day they touched on the same subject and even repeated the same words. They sat in the living room on opposite sides so they could at least look at each other, exchanging glances of deep-rooted sadness and poorly veiled desperation.

When Maria gave birth to a baby girl, whom she named Marinella, the family expenses increased but its income did not. Nearing desperation, Vincenzo confided in Barbarino, a street-wise young man from his native village he had met at work. Vincenzo needed advice on how to improve the family’s economic conditions.

One day when Vincenzo was not working, Barbarino phoned him with good news. Vincenzo invited him to his apartment that same evening to share the good news with the whole family. When he appeared in front of their door, Barbarino was treated in the same manner as a priest would have been treated back home. For this special occasion they prepared some traditional cookies and coffee. Barbarino was tall and skinny with a long face, an aquiline nose, and beady eyes. His black hair seemed to extend all through his face as the stubble, even after a close shave, still showed though his skin, and his smile was more like a smirk. Veronica, Maria’s mother, recognized the young man from the days when he lived in the village. He is the spitting image of his grandfather, the one who spent the last days of his life in the lunatic asylum. She refrained from mentioning the family resemblance and instead said, “I remember you as a little boy, Barbarino. You were so cute.”

Barbarino was not interested in niceties and small talk. He wanted to get directly to the business at hand. Ignoring Veronica’s remark, he turned to her husband saying, “Don Vincenzo, as I told you on the phone, I have good news for you. One of my friends has a good job for Maria; she can start as soon as she is fully recovered. The hours of work are irregular and often the work is at night, but the pay is good.”

“Thanks to the Blessed Virgin,” exclaimed Veronica. “My prayers have finally been heeded.”

“We must also thank Barbarino and his friend, mustn’t we, Maria,” added Vincenzo, who wanted his daughter to express her gratitude.

Maria, who had remained silent up to this point, instead wanted to know more details about the job.

“What am I supposed to do in this job? As you know, aside from farm work and cleaning houses, I do not have other skills.”

Vincenzo considered his daughter’s question impertinent and lacking in gratitude, but before he could reprimand her, Barbarino interjected.

“This is secret work and must remain secret. Maria must swear on the souls of her grandparents and on the name of the Madonna delle Grazie that she will never reveal the nature of her work. Even a minimum indiscretion could endanger her life. If you agree, my friend is willing to give you an advance payment while Maria gets ready for her new career.”

“Of course we agree,” said Vincenzo, who had started to envision the improvements in the family’s life.

“I think it is some kind of policy work,” Barbarino said, turning to Maria. “You will be well protected.”

The smirk on Barbarino’s face became more pronounced, but no one in the family noticed it. Having accomplished his mission, he was eager to leave.

“I will pass on this information to my friend and will come by soon to take Maria to her place of work.”

He shook hands with Maria and her parents and, bidding them goodnight, left promptly, the smirk still stamped on his face.

The news of Maria’s new job brought happiness to the entire family and raised their hopes for a better life. Perhaps they could save a few liras per month until they had enough to go back to Sicily, perhaps even to the native village. Maria was particularly happy because she could finally help her parents and repay them for the sacrifices they had made for her.

What father and mother would leave their native village and start life anew in a strange city just to wash away the stain on the family honor created by a daughter's act of stupidity? Maria felt a sense of gratitude for her parents’ sacrifices and to God for his Providence, and she started to prepare herself for the challenges of the new life.

During the summer of her visit to Giovanni’s aunt, Maria had already completed two years of secret work. In those two years, the financial conditions of her family had improved markedly. Her mother stayed home taking care of Marinella, her father continued with his intermittent work, and Maria made a large financial contribution to the family. Still, all three had the desire to return to the village. They discussed this option several times and concluded that the time spent in exile had already washed away the family shame. They decided to minimize their expenses, saving as much as possible so they could go back to the village, fix the old house and live comfortably from their savings.

This arrangement did not last long because Maria’s health began to deteriorate. The color that gave life to her cheeks started to fade and she was losing weight, although she continued to eat the same amount of food. Maria went to the doctor, who ordered a variety of tests.

The diagnosis was incomprehensible to Vincenzo. "The sickness was caused by sexual contact.” These words pronounced by the doctor kept resounding in his head.

“That criminal Marcello,” exclaimed Vincenzo. “First he dishonored my daughter and now he has destroyed her health.”

The prognosis was even worse: Maria had a maximum of six months to live. Those conditions did not allow Maria to continue her secret work and the employer made it clear that her job would be terminated immediately. What could they do now?

“Let’s go back home,” implored Veronica. “My daughter’s body must rest in her native village. Before she goes to heaven, and she will surely be in heaven, I want her to breathe again the fresh air of our countryside. I want her close by so I can visit her often and comfort her and let her spirit comfort me. The family shame is gone. And then what kind of shame! We have nothing to be ashamed of. We have always been decent and honest folks. Even Maria, poor, unfortunate daughter. The shame is on those people without conscience who did evil deeds, who took advantage of her innocence and had neither the courage nor the decency to do what God ordained for those situations. Abandoned because she was the daughter of share-croppers!”

Vincenzo listened to his wife’s tirade without uttering a word. He had never heard his wife speak with such clarity and determination. When she had finished, he replied slowly, almost whispering.

“You are right. There is nothing for us here. In the village we have a small house and some land. What we have saved will do for us until I receive the old age pension. We are left only with this child. I do not want her to end up like her mother. This time if some bum approaches her, I will kill him.”

They put their affairs in order, gathered their few belongings, and boarded the train that would take them back home�"a home they had abandoned five years earlier to protect their daughter and their family from the effects of a youthful indiscretion. Now they would return to give rest to a daughter who had paid with her life for the cruelty of others.

* * *

Several years went by. Giovanni survived adolescence and, as a young adult, left the village in search of fortune in the North. He returned to the village regularly to spend his summer vacations with family and friends. This year, during his usual summer visit, while passing by the village square in the front of the main church, he observed the unfolding of a wedding ceremony. Curious, he stopped to observe and see whether he knew bride and groom. His glance rested on the young bride who was slowly walking towards the entrance to the church, arm in arm with an old man. That scene seemed strange to him. Driven by curiosity, he moved closer. His eyes remained fixed on the face of the bride until she crossed the entrance and disappeared inside the church. He could not see the veiled face of the young woman but, when she turned her head towards the crowd before entering the church, for an instant his eyes met hers and his heart was struck by a jolt.

That image stuck in Giovanni’s mind and accompanied him without interruption throughout the entire walk to Aunt Anna’s house. He greeted his aunt hurriedly, as if he had other business to attend to, and immediately inquired about the wedding.

“You know well who the young bride is,” replied his aunt. “You recognized her face because she is Marinella, the daughter of Maria Garofalo. You remember her, the unfortunate young woman who went with her family to the North and came back to be placed in our cemetery. Sit down, Giovanni,” continued his aunt, “I will tell you the rest of the story.”

* * *

Upon their return to the village, Maria’s parents had settled in the old house, satisfied to lead a simple and quiet life directed exclusively at protecting their grandchild. They rejoiced in seeing her blossom into the image of her mother. They never left her alone and did not allow her to walk by herself through the village. With all their care and protection, however, they could not hide the natural development of the youngster, which became public when they went to church or followed the processions in honor of the venerated saints. As honey attracts wasps, so, too, did Marinella’s beauty attract the attention of the good-for-nothing young men of the village despite her tender age of fifteen. Her beauty struck in particular the fancy of a twenty-one-year-old man named Mario. He was the son of a policeman who, many years earlier, had been transferred to the village. When his father, after reaching pensionable age, returned to his native village with his wife and younger son, Mario stayed behind, living in a room with a friend of similar reputation and taking odd jobs to survive. His main occupation was searching for women, single or married, who would be receptive to his advances.

Mario became obsessed with the desire to have Marinella at all costs, and he bragged to his friends that he would achieve his goal in less than a month. His friends tried to dissuade him with a warning that Marinella’s grandfather had threatened to kill anyone who approached his granddaughter. For Mario, that threat became a challenge. Out of spite and to show his lack of fear to his friends, Mario went to Marinella’s house.

“I have come to take Marinella away. I love her and will take her,” he shouted to Marinella’s grandfather. Vincenzo told him to go away and not return if he had any sense in his head, then slammed the door in his face. Mario turned into a wild beast.

A decrepit old man thinks he can stop me. Now I will teach him a lesson he will never forget. I am going to break his bones and then I will do whatever I want with his granddaughter, right in front of him.

“Open the door, old man,” he kept shouting as he repeatedly knocked on the door.

Vincenzo understood the encounter with Mario was not over and went to the kitchen to fetch the gun he kept hanging on the wall in case of emergency. Mario, infuriated by the lack of response, banged his fists against the door.

 “Open the door, stupid old man, I will show you who Mario Frascati is.”

With his wife and granddaughter locked in the bedroom, Vincenzo opened the door, but before Mario could make a move, he discharged the gun straight into his chest.

Vincenzo went back into the house with calm, hung the gun in its proper place on the wall, then walked directly to the police station, passing Mario’s lifeless body along the way.

At the trial, the sentence was reduced to six years because the jury agreed that Vincenzo had committed a crime of honor.

When he returned home after completing his sentence, Vincenzo wore a more serene expression in his face and spoke with a calmer voice, as if an unbearable burden had been lifted from his conscience. In the village, many now considered him a hero. But nobody in the village knew the pain that tormented Vincenzo and the love that had given hope to his life. When he accompanied his beloved Marinella to church for her wedding, he knew he had kept his promise to his dying daughter: “Forgive me, Maria. I loved you so much but I failed as a father. I promise you and the Almighty that I will not fail as a grandfather even if it costs my life.”

Marinella grew under her grandmother’s watchful eye. She went to teacher’s college in Milazzo and after graduation was offered a job as an elementary school teacher in her village. Soon after, she got engaged to the chief of the local policy force.

* * *

Giovanni completed his university studies and found a job with the regional government in Palermo. The year of Marinella’s marriage, he decided to pay a visit to his aunt also at the beginning of November. Zia Anna could no longer make the one-mile trip to the cemetery on the occasion of All Souls Day. This time he went alone. He went early in the day and stopped by the florist on his way. At the cemetery, he deposited a single long-stemmed red rose on the cold marble slab of Maria’s grave and stood staring as if in a trance. When he turned to depart, he saw Marinella standing next to him.

Startled, he said, “This rose is from my Aunt Anna, the seamstress. She was very fond of your mother.”

“Grazie. Molto Gentile,” replied Marinella, unaware who Giovanni and his aunt were.

Looking a Marinella’s face and listening to her voice, Giovanni, for an instant, felt like Maria had pierced through the marble to greet him with a warm hug. He turned away to hide the tears flowing down his cheeks.