Chapter 1 : The Prelude
My body is failing me… I'm dying, losing the battle with cancer like so many before me had and so may after me will… But I'm not afraid, neither am I sorry – I've lived my life and I've done it my way, just like Frank had sung in one of his songs… What I do regret is that the failing body and the pain I suffer make me give in more and more often and allow the medics administer the morphine shots. On one hand it does help to forget the pain, not relieve, no - the ever-persistent-pain is always there, at the back of one's senses… However - as I do not want others to see me in pain, I have to resort to giving in and accepting those injections. But on the other hand – the morphine does tend to play with my mind and my memories and there is so much to remember and ponder upon…
Some of the memories are wonderful and sweet, others not so much – above all I strive to, I HAVE TO remember how terribly and utterly I had failed my daughter's trust that she put in me from the very first day of her life. I had sworn to always be there for her, to protect her, to keep all the evils at bay, to fight her dragons… And I had failed… I failed to keep this promise. I totally, wretchedly, selfishly and cowardly deserted my daughter at the times she needed my guidance most…
…My daughter visits often, my wife not so much… She is busy as ever with her friends, her gossip and her Bridge Club… But I'm not complaining - I have my Cara coming here every day, Mia Piccola Principessa. Well – not so piccola any more, but Mia Cara Carolina is still as much my Principessa as ever. She used to complain that I named her Carolina on purpose, so that it would be easy for me to just call her Cara. But little did she know that her name came from the trusty old Neil Diamond's song – the "Sweet Caroline" – the only reason I had insisted on changing the English version of the name to Italian was that even though all my love for anything and everything American was so huge, somehow my ears much better preferred the sing-song sound of Italian Ca-RO-li-NA to the nice but rather insipid Ca-RO-line of American pronunciation…They somehow always managed to lose a syllable or two, those Yanks.
Lucille, my wife, did not care much for Neil Diamond. She much preferred the refined dulcet voice of Bing Crosby, so I came up with a story about great-great-aunt Carolina, who cursed our family and its firstborns unless they should be give names after her – Carolina for the girls, Carlito for the boys. I told my wife some stupid stories about my older sister, Bernadetta – the firstborn of my immediate family, whom bad luck would follow all the time as the result of my parents not appeasing the said great-great-aunt. None of that was true, of course – but Lucille ate it all up. For all her WASPish ways, she is more superstitious than any Italian women known to me… At that time that Cara was born, my patience for Lucille's stuck-up nose, mighty airs as general WASPish manner started to wan and I was not as keen as I used to be on giving in to her and her whims. The woman was just not cut to enjoy her life. She was always more concerned about what the neighbors are going to say about this or that than set to live as free as Dio wanted us to. But I cannot complain – she gave me the Love of my Life, my Tesoro, mia Cara, mia Piccola Principessa…
I was born in Italy, in a small village aptly named Capezzano Inferiore. The name could be translated as "Lower" Capezzone as well as "Inferior" Capezzone; and if you take into account that capezza means halter – well, you can understand why I had always felt as if I had been slowly suffocating with the stale air of the small village that seemed to be falling to pieces as soon as it came to existence. Life was just so boring there. Or so it appeared. At least to me. Granted – there were some good things, like the sun, the food, the always present smell of herbs and flowers, the warmth of people, their quick and loud talking accompanied with gestures, the songs. Oh, the songs - the music of my childhood and youth – I will always carry it in my heart. It was what prompted me to try and discover if there are other kinds of music in the whole wide world as sweet as the music of Italy and my village. And so I discovered American music and later American films. I was hooked from the very start: the musicals, the westerns, Hitchcock suspense thrillers, the romantic comedies… And the music! I have always loved opera and will always argue no other language but Italian is set to sound right for Opera… But the musicals, jazz, blues, rock, rock and roll, even pop… all modern music… no, no other language can do but English… Or rather American English – Dean Martin, Elvis Presley, Doris Day… Oh, Doris Day… She seduced me from the word "go" as soon as I saw the first film she had stared in… One may say that she was solely responsible for my fascination with America…
And so as soon as I had finished school, I packed and immigrated to the US. The old Head Mistress of our Village School predicted disaster on the very first word she had heard about me leaving. She was adamant I would turn even worse that she had expected: forsake the God and his Saints, contract some unspeakable disease or worse still – join the Mafia… I was so scared her predictions could turn true that (even though I really, really wanted to see Big Apple) I never dared to set my foot in New York, Brooklyn and its little Italy…
I settled in one of the smaller towns on the East Coast and soon met Lucille, who later become my wife. Once again – I have to blame Doris Day for that – Lucille was very much her look-a-like and being DD's fan for so many years I fell for her looks hard - hook, line and sinker. What she saw in me is a bit more difficult to say. Maybe it was the Italian endearments I whispered softly in to her ear while kissing, fondling and stroking her great body?.. Never underestimate the power of a foreign language when speaking words of love. Be it Italian, French, Polish, Russian or whatever, it always works like the most potent aphrodisiac… I have always wondered why is it so? Maybe because the other lover not understanding exactly what you are saying can loosen the reigns of his/her imagination and fantasy? Well, never mind – let's just agree it does work…
So I came to the US and in just under a year managed to acquire all I wanted – I had my first car, a great job, a girl – well, wife now as well the white picket fence in front of my dream house. Soon I was to discover all of that did not really matter. I was to learn the real depth of my heart. I was to meet the greatest love of my life – my daughter.
Both Lucille and I were not too keen on starting the family early. I wanted to get established in my job, to earn more money, to buy a better car… Lucille never pressed me to start the family either – later I was to discover she was not a very motherly person. How it happened that she got pregnant is still the greatest mystery to me, but some 4 years into our marriage I was informed that I should start getting more responsible and dependable, quit driving too fast, spending money on cars and accessories for them, stop living with my head in the clouds because I would have another mouth to feed. Was I ready to become a father? Of course not! What man ever is? But – I was Italian and bambini are the blessing, or so our Italian Mammas tell us and we Italians always believe our Mammas. So as it happened – I was awaiting the new arrival with due eagerness – secretly hoping for a boy whom I could teach all there is to know about cars and about the fun that one can have in life.
And then one day early in spring – she came to this world. My Carolina, Mia Cara, Mia Bambina, Mia Piccola Principessa. Life was never the same after that.