Irpinia - An Italian Story

Chapter 1

When she was little, her mother had been jealous of it, sometimes, her and Nonna. It was just that her nan was so soft, her lap so squishy and her bosom so welcoming; Maria would curl up there as if she wanted to climb into the old woman's womb, amidst Nan's good-natured scolding, stifled laughter: "Too big!" Her scent was sweet floral talcum powder with base notes of soffritto and Nivea, her dark eyes always sparkled back then. She used to walk to the town centre three times a day, used to walk an extra two miles for the best quality passata, to save 15p on canned tomatoes, used to give Maria a fiver on pension day, always stuck up for her when her mother went into one of her rages...

Maria stared out of the window as the bus swung round the corner and made its way up the steep slope towards St Antony's, and felt that familiar prickling at the back of her eyes. On Fridays, she'd get home from school to a kitchen heavy with the scent of deep fried pizza dough, the back door propped open with a broom. On Sundays, cheeks flushed with rouge and hair stiff with lacquer, Nan had gripped her arm proudly as they walked together down to Mass, Maria in her best red coat, and Nan in the navy one with the brass buttons and her best shoes, her handbag slung over her arm. 

The bus came to a halt and a middle-aged woman a few seats in front fumbled with her shopping as she stood to get off. Maria pulled herself up using the seat in front of her for leverage, made her way down the aisle - a hand placed protectively over her stomach - and stepped carefully down through the open doors and onto the pavement.

St Antony's Hospice had been founded sometime in the 1800's and cut a slightly imposing figure in dull grey stone against an equally dull grey sky, despite the modern signage and the newer wing they'd added in the 90's, an abomination in neat red brick. Maria knew where she was going, had been going almost every day for the last two months; pressing the bell on the intercom: "It's Mary-" she didn't even need to finish before a click and a buzz signalled the door release.

As she stepped into Reception, the receptionist cradled the phone in her red-manicured left hand as she gave a little, awkward wave with her right and an exaggerated, wide-eyed look of welcome; mouthing "Alright bab?" as Maria gave her an equally awkward half-smile and wave, slipping though the door into the ward.

The hospice, despite all best efforts, was a miserable place with a sterile, clean negativity; as Maria walked past the lounge she glanced in and spotted a few familiar faces - age-spotted, sardonic Maczek was grunting at the tv as usual, sweet, dozy Pat was cuddled up in her usual chair, legs covered by a blanket, and that air of waiting, waiting for the inevitable hung heavily everywhere. In the corridor, Nurse Tasha, skin and teeth glowing, plump and bustling as a pigeon, was scribbling something on someone's chart as Maria approached.

"Morning babes!" she trilled, without looking up. "She had a good night last night. Slept well. Out like a light at nine!" 

Maria touched her arm in acknowledgement as she walked quickly down the corridor, knocked at the door, then entered one of the rooms.

Nan was sat up, her head propped against the pillows; her curling hair contrasted darkly against the white cotton, bar the good inch of steel grey roots coming in. She smiled in delight as Maria entered. "Weeee, Franch-" her face reddened slightly as a cough took over, and she bent forward with it, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.

"It's Maria, Nan." Couldn't blame her illness for that,  though the medication sometimes made her a little bit fuzzy. She'd always done it - mixing Maria up with her sister, her mother, the cat...

"Maria, Maria. Sit down here. You wanna sweet?" She was sitting back up now, sniffing in her pink and white nightie with the long sleeves, a nightie that had been specially sourced and bought for the occasion of her entering the hospice, as if it was some kind of formal event with a dress code. 

"No, you're alright... how did you sleep?" Maria reached over for her grizzled hand, the knuckles swollen, gnarled and stiff with arthritis. 

"Have one." Nan swatted her away, grappling on her bedside table, which was cluttered with the usual - a box of tissues, a rosary, a picture of her favourite nephew who'd passed the year before, her ancient Missal stacked fat with prayer cards - grabbed a hard boiled sweet from a bag and pressed it stickily into her granddaughter's reluctant hand. "That nurse, she always stealing the sweets, fatty girl." She muttered, shaking her head disgustedly. 

"Did you sleep well?" Maria repeated, ignoring the comment and unwrapping the sweet. She  popped it in her mouth and savoured it as the lemon flavour bit at her tongue. The acidity helped to settle her churning stomach.

The old woman tsked. "How am I supposed to sleep here? I don't sleep at all. Too much noisy." She shook her head again. "Maczek, he always shouting in the night about the communistas, boh..."

Maria arranged her features into an appropriate look of sympathy, smothering a smile. "The communists nan, really? I'd say he's dreaming, remembering...."

"Your mom, she coming today," her grandmother interrupted, peering at her intently. "After the work."

"Is she?" Maria tried to keep her tone light. She hadn't spoken to her mother for almost 4 months, nothing but the bare minimum, but Nan didn't need to know that.

Nan continued to stare at her. "Why she no call you and you come together?"

Maria moved the sweet around in the hollow of her cheek as it splintered and the sherbet began to fizz; in the meantime tried to formulate an answer that wouldn't cause upset and avoid the old woman's probing gaze. "She's busy nan, with the restaurant and all that."

Nan grunted and rolled her eyes. "You think I'm a stupid, Mary. Cà nisciuno è fess. I not a stupid." She tried hoisting herself up by her elbows, which bought on another coughing fit.  Maria hastened for the tissue box and wiped the spittle from her grandmother's bristly chin as she helped her sit up higher, adjusted the pillows.

Nan's eyes flitted to the girls' stomach, gestured with a quick jerk of her head. "I think she not very happy about that, eh, your mamma." Maria kept her eyes down, her cheeks flushing. "Who is the boy, Maria? You get married, yeah?" The quavering voice was hopeful. 

Maria pretended not to hear her, and she grunted. "Your mamma she know very good, this situation." Nan almost gave a little laugh, sarcastically, and half shook her head, half nodded.

The younger woman gave a meek, wobbly smile. She felt awkward, a little ashamed, as if she'd been caught in the act. To diffuse the situation, she leaned forward. "Tell me about when Mom was a girl again, nonna?

Sometimes this question annoyed the old woman, but not today. She was in good form, in the mood to talk. Her eyes got cloudy as they did when she remembered, when she looked inwards, to the past. 

"I tell you about when Nonna was a girl. We start from the beginning..."