This is my first published fanfiction. I wrote it for my English class. Nonna Katia is such a fascinating character! She has so much passion and hope, but she denounces anyone who feels the same. I thought it would be interesting t write about Christina's "betrayal" from Katia's POV, particularly since Katia committed the same "sin" years earlier. Most of this fic is based on the book, but the "curse" was taken from the movie. Rated for some of the names Francesco calls them.
Family Traits/Continuing Curses
"Arivederci Patrizia"
"Arivederci Katia, and try not to be so hard on Christina, time has changed. And Pia Maria's children have their secrets as well, you know," my sister tried to comfort me. Poor consolation when she had no idea of the problem.
"Yes I know, sister, but they're family is not cursed." They only propogated our own.
"Katia, time has changed. Her actions are not so dishonourable now. Francesco has gone'" she said with a quick cross over her chest on Francesco's name, "there is no curse."
At that moment I was tempted to speak like Josie, with a flip 'whatever', but Patrizia did not deserve that.
"Maybe Jozzie will save us…" I conceded, giving voice to my hopes.
Patrizia looked kindly at me. Despite being the younger of us, she was the wiser, but I was more beautiful.
"You will be surprised at what she will do, you will see, she is just young."
With that my sister joined her husband in their car. Before I closed the door, I saw Ricardo give her a kiss and my chest ached all over again. Francesco and I never had affection or love. Just marital duty. Even my beauty could not touch his heart, and beauty was all I had, except for… well… M… duty. In fact my looks only enraged him further.
However, today it was my rage that threatened to scorch the sofa I now sat on. My curse, my honour, my daughter, all lost to the son of a trusted friend. Lost to that devil-child, Michael Andretti!
Oh, how I groveled and crawled to his mother! In the hopes that she might make some passing comment to Francesco that might allow him to forgive my past actions! That my daughter's life might be vindicated! Instead…. Instead her son sends my daughter to hell, before she has truly lived!
The day that I found that my daughter, my Christina, my bellissima belle, was with child, I wept and beat my chest and repeated my rosary until I was almost sick. All the while Francesco sneered down at me.
"I told you, Katia. The child was born from your sins, from your lust. I told you! You were a disgusting slut! A gypsy! I was the only one who would take you as wife and how do you repay me? By being a whore! Worse because you were married and looked after, now the slut upstairs follows in your footsteps! This is it! I won't have the half-bred bastard in my house any longer! She's out! And it's only due to my goodness that I don't kick you out as well!"
No matter what we did, Christina would not tell us the name of the father. She would not get rid of the child. Her only explanation was love. Seventeen years old and in love with an Australiano! For that was all he could be. An Australiano boy would think it was the best thing to do. He would think that leaving the girl behind and avoiding her would minimize the pain and allow her to recover. An Australiano boy would not have the same honour that an Italian boy would have!
Now, after all this time I discover that the father was Italian! He was a friend and neighbour, and he allowed my daughter to carry the shame herself, while he became a respected Adelaide barrister. I despised him. I lost my daughter's love because of him and Josie is growing up all wrong. She is not respectful, not dutiful. A daughter's behaviour reflects her mother. More than I ever thought…
Nothing has gone right for the women of this family since Francesco dragged me here, before the second big war. I could speak no English, I had no friends and the Italian women told me I was different. No one saw my beauty or respected my status. Francesco worked in Cairns and I was just north of Brisbane. Miserable Brisbane was all that passed for a city in this dry dead country. My life was as dry and dead as the land until the day I met M… After all this time I still cannot say his name, even in my thoughts. It's as though Francesco can read my thoughts from beyond the grave…
I took a deep breath.
"M…Marcus Samford…" The only man I ever loved. An Australiano man. My first Australiano friend. He taught me English. He reveled in my beauty. He loved me. He was one of the few secrets I had from Francesco.
All of my life I had searched for belonging. I found it in only two places. With my sister and in Marcus' arms. There is a song Christina enjoys. At one part it says 'I've never been held before like honey to the bees'. That was how Marcus made me feel. Special, loved glorious. Back then even Australianos had honour. When I became pregnant, Marcus tried to do the right thing. He did not run, I sent him away. He was better than that monster, that Michael. Who let me invite him in and treat him well, when I should have been denouncing him, spitting on him!
But still…they're names are so similar…Perhaps, perhaps Christina too felt alone. Perhaps she belonged with him. They were best friends. But, still, it was not love, or she would have been ecstatic to see him again, rather than reluctant, even angry. The anger I feel will never go away. The place that I worked so hard to achieve in this community was thrown away by two selfish, foolish teenagers.
My poor Christina. She suffered through so much, I sacrificed her happiness for her, I sacrificed mine, so we could both fit in. I failed. We both searched for belonging, for a place, we both found it in the wrong places. We both suffer. At least Christina does not care for what the Italianos say, but I suffer doubly for it as well. Josie suffers for it. We Alibrandi women are so similar. I gave up who I am, what I wanted, what I could've had for a place for my daughter and my own reputation. Christina gave up her reputation for who her daughter could become, so her daughter could live.
Josie. Josie is so strong. She does not give herself up for tradition or for old fashioned concepts. Yet she is not a bad person. She is everything I wanted and couldn't be. Everything Christina wasn't allowed to be. She is smart, she has honour, she overcomes most temptations. She is my scholarly gypsy.
Josie will end our curse. She will not crumble for anyone. I have hated and loved my daughter with equal passions. My granddaughter has made me cry and repulsed me, she has hurt me and scared me and shamed me. Most of all she has made me envious, but always I have loved her. I have spent her time and mine complaining that she is losing her culture, but she is part Australian. She has never realised that she is really embracing both her cultures. I have made her feel guilty and small. I have hurt her back. I have made myself sick over it. It started out as vengeance against my daughter, but it has become more like testing her. Making sure she will not fall because of cruel words and selfish outdated expectations.
Yet I wish I could say she is going to save the Alibrandi women, but she's not.
She will save me, Katia Torelli who became an Alibrandi.
She will save Christina, who lives as an Alibrandi, but should have been a Samford.
She will save herself. The girl who calls herself Alibrandi, but knows she should be called Samford and should have been an Andretti.
The Alibrandi women have never fit in anywhere. Perhaps the only place we truly fit is with each other. The mythical trio - the sharp-tongued crone, the loving mother and the strong maiden. Ironic that in the end, despite my amazing beauty, I should be the crone and more so that I should be comfortable there.