(continued from: “The Corsicans“)

Part one

As the door of the restaurant closed behind us, Catharina slipped her arm under my elbow and sisterly we walked towards The “Pensione Mirafiori” (bed & breakfast) that was recommended by the chef, and supposed to be just a few blocks away. The intimacy of the moment was felt by the both of us, but Catherina, obviously having more experience, was more at ease than I felt, at that moment in time. The evening temperature was still very warm, but I was actually quivering with excitement and anticipation of what the next day, or the coming night for that matter, would bring.

After knocking on a huge double door, a small door in the right half opened screeching, revealing a delicate old woman, smiling a most hospitable smile. As she ushered us in, she appeared to be slightly hunch backed. She lit a candle and told us to follow her through a long corridor. The candle flames exposed stunning frescoes on the walls. Their effect, because of the candle light and the echoes of our footsteps, was illusory. The door to our room was the last one on the end of the corridor. ‘Breakfast at 7,’ she spoke softly. After exchanging salutations for the night, she closed the door behind us.

Unexpectedly we heard a loud crashing noise produced by approaching thunder, followed by a torrential downpour of rain. Somehow the sounds of the elements, reverberating eerily in the antique house, were making us cuddle up close together in the large renaissance bed.

Part two
We left the “Pensione Mirafiori” immediately after breakfast and got on a bus to Livorno’s Central Station. We figured out the best connection to Lauredana Colonna’s convent and then we were on our way. On the train we sat next to a Calabrese family that was surrounded by kids and a multitude of parcels which were all tied meticulously with pieces of string. The mother was making sandwiches with olives and garlic and rubbed tomatoes. Then, after having provided for the kids, the father held out a sandwich in each hand and offered them to us. There was simply no way we could possibly refuse, and we joined these wonderful people in an unexpected lunch.

Brunella Colonna was looking down the long entrance road towards the country house from the terrace of her temporary lodgings. She rubbed her unseeing eye under the black eye patch she started wearing shortly after having recovered from the wounds that were inflicted upon her during the raid on her family’s mansion, now one year ago.

After the raid, the gardener of the estate contacted the only person in the Colonna family he knew to be alive and trustworthy; Aunt Francesca. As soon as Francesca learned what happened, she took both sisters to the United States and made sure that their safety and the recuperation of Brunella was guaranteed.

Slowly the sisters started to adapt to their new lives and surroundings, while trusted private teachers taught the girls all necessary disciplines and subjects to befit real aristocrats. Still, as their presence was kept as secret as possible, always on the lookout for potential betrayal and afraid to be recognized, they hardly ever got to travel beyond the boundaries of the large estate of Aunt Francesca.

Brunella, who had just become twelve year old, was two years younger than her sister Lauredana, but was in all respects superior and more confident. Of course she would never say or do anything to be condescending or give her sister the feeling of being inferior, but instead made an effort to give the older sister the respect that was expected of her in accordance with her upbringing.

Catharina cursed softly under her breath and asked me for a Tampax. After which she left the train cabin, leaving me in a linguistic vacuum, alone with the Calabresi. Still, gesticulating and feeling an actor in a pantomime, I got by and realized for the first time I started to be educated in Italian culture.

Part three
We got off the train and asked for information about the last part of our trip to the Convent of San Bonifacio. Unlike me, Catharina seemed to be suffering disproportionately from having her period, and as a result looked ominous during the whole trip. When we got off the bus, we could already see the convent in the outlying valley. We walked the remainder of the distance, and at long last we rang the bell on the gate that gave way to the entrance of the premises.

A smiling, elderly nun answered our call and asked how she could be of service. To my surprise, Catharina was obviously well prepared for this encounter, and asked to speak to the Mother Superior on an urgent family matter. It only took a second and the large gate opened as in a dream. ‘I’m Sister Felicitas, please follow me’, she said still smiling her compassionate smile, as she preceded us through the garden leading up to the monumental entrance of the convent.

‘We are honored today to have the bishop Tarantino in our midst. He comes and visit us twice a year, but he’s actually just leaving us right now.’ We heard a car door slam shut, and after a few moments a large Maserati Quattroporte limousine drove right past us, and I could clearly make out the bishop’s balding head with surrounding white hair, sitting in the rear of the car, as it quickly disappeared into the distance.

With a sudden frown Sister Felicitas kept on leading the way and finally asked us to wait in the hallway in front of what appeared to be the Mother Superior’s office. ‘I’m sure Mother Ferocia will be calling for you in a few minutes, I’ll see you ladies afterwards. Bye for now…’ she said as she walked away, still looking troubled.

Waking up through a veil of pain and confusion, Lauredana looked apprehensively at her eight and a half months pregnant belly, while gripping it in a surge of panic from both sides. But then she felt a reassuring kick from her unborn baby. Slowly the trauma of the accident started to take shape in her mind’s eye. The worst loss imaginable had come upon her. For a year now, since her twentieth birthday, she had been deeply in love with a boy called Michael. They had married, she became pregnant, and the world was smiling its broadest smile at them.

But now, in what turned out to be Lauredana’s worst nightmare, they had been involved in a car accident during her first visit to Italy since her departure to the US as a child. It had killed Michael practically on the spot, and had left her in her advanced pregnancy, miraculously, although seriously bruised and scratched, very much alive.

‘My name is Father Tarantino, and you are here in the care of the nuns of the Convent of San Bonifacio.’ A deep sounding voice resonated from the side of her sickbed. She couldn’t make out his face, because he stood exactly between her and the sun that flooded her bed with light, through the only window in the ward. ‘You will need some time to recover, and we are here to make sure that you and your baby will receive all the care you need. We understand, of course, that the loss of your husband will only become bearable with the passage of time, but please rest assured that you are in capable hands, and your soul is guarded by the love of Jesus himself. So don’t hesitate to ask for counsel. We all pray for you and your baby’s health.’

After these words, the dark silhouette of Father Tarantino left the room, only to make place for a pleasant looking young nun, carrying a tray with a single dish and water can with a glass. On the basis of the tray the number 25 seemed to be painted, but when it was placed on her lap, it appeared to be the number 52*.

The young nun smiled her youth as she introduced herself as Sister Felicitas, and without hesitation started to explain what the dish contained. ‘This is a specially made “Cacciucco alla Livornese” (Livorno’s Zesty Stewed Fish)’, she beamed, and continued her explanations; ‘Cacciucco is a fish stew made in the Tuscan port of Livorno, from whatever the fishmonger has that’s fresh and inexpensive. It has a healthy jolt of red pepper, and will sell you on fish if you don’t like fish already. The fish was brought in this morning from the port of Livorno and prepared brilliantly by our dear cook, Sister Clementia.’

Lauredana felt the need of nutrition for her unborn, and the amazing smell of the Cacciucco forced her pain and trauma somewhat to the background, and she started eating as if in trance.

*52, according to the “Smorfia Napoletana”, means “The Mother” (La Mamma)

Cacciucco alla Livornese
Serve 4-6 persons:
Preparation Time: 1 hour
Cooking Time: 30 minutes

Ingredients:
• 1 1/2 to 2 pounds of mixed fish
• A half a medium onion, minced
• 2 cloves garlic
• A bunch of parsley, minced
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 3/4 pound sliced peeled or canned plum tomatoes
• 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar diluted in 3/4 cup of water
• Salt and crumbled or minced hot red pepper to taste
• Toasted Italian bread rubbed with garlic

Preparation:
The Fish: Whatever is in season (it needn’t be expensive), for example, sole, mullet, catfish, dogfish, goby, squid, octopus, fresh shellfish, and shrimp. Chop the large fish, but leave the small ones whole.

Procedure:
Sauté the onion, parsley, and garlic in the oil in a deep bottomed pot. Once the onion has turned translucent, stir in the chopped tomatoes and season the mixture to taste. This is one of the few hot North Italian dishes, so don’t feel you must be sparing with the red pepper. When the tomatoes are done, stir in the water and vinegar. Simmer the sauce for a few more minutes and remove the garlic. Blend the sauce and return it to the fire with the fish, and, if you wish, sprinkle another tablespoon or two of olive oil into the pot. Simmer the Cacciucco until the fish is done, 10-15 minutes. Meanwhile, toast several slices of bread and rub them with a crushed clove of garlic. Once the fish is done, line the bottoms of your bowls with the toasted bread, ladle the Cacciucco over them, and serve boiling hot.

Wine suggestion:
Goes well with white wine, either a Bolgheri Bianco or a Bianco della Val di Cornia would do just fine.

(to be continued in: “Uncle Salvatore – part one”)