Sicily on My Mind

The day of the departure came sooner than I had hoped. It had been drizzling all night. Dark clouds covered the sky and the sea was in an angry mood. Restless waves urged by the wind kept chasing each other across the length of the bay.

The house, no longer our home, was empty. During the early morning hours, the remaining pieces of our furniture had been shipped by freight train to our new address in Palermo.  The place looked depressingly bleak. We were waiting at the bottom of the staircase, next to our bulging suitcases, while Father and the new owner were making a last check of the house to make sure that everything was in order.

As soon as Father gave the signal, we all took hold of our assigned bags and started to walk toward the railroad station, a short distance from the house. Father led the way, puffing on his crooked pipe.

When we got there, Father went to the ticket window and bought six one-way tickets to Palermo. He stuck them into his pocket, checked his finances, sat down, and started to puff on his pipe again, filling the room with the sweet scent of his American tobacco.

Mother, with her eyes closed and the rosary beads hanging from her hand, seemed oblivious to what was happening. But it was only her outward appearance. Her mind was in turmoil. Her strong faith in God was the only source of her inner strength.

My two brothers, half of their bodies leaning out the window, were talking and joking with their friends who came in large number to say farewell. Anna stayed by Mother’s side, joining in the prayers.

The station’s bell was clicking at an intense pace. It felt as though a hungry woodpecker was picking at my brain. When it finally stopped, the train came into view. Father sprang to his feet, picked up his suitcase and headed for the door. We all followed him to the platform.

Through the drizzle, I saw a huge, dark shadow slowly lumbering toward me. I prayed that before it came to a full stop, all of its wheels would fall off and the engine would catch on fire.

As I finished my prayer, I put a hand inside my pocket and started to finger the seashells I had picked up the day before, on my last walk on the beach.  I wanted to take with me something familiar that I could touch, something to comfort me when I felt sad and lonely. 

O how I wished that I could take with me the color of the sky, the soothing murmurs of the sea, the fragrance of the orange blossoms, the sound of bagpipes at Christmas time, the joyful ringing of the Church’s bell at Easter Sunday, the happy smiles of all the people I knew and loved!  All I could take with me were the memories. I kept them in my heart, where they still linger, fresh and real.

A loud shriek interrupted my daydreaming. The black monster had just arrived, spewing foul smelling soot from its nostrils. It had all of its wheels on, and the engine didn’t catch on fire.

We climbed on, placed our belongings on the racks and sat down on hard wooden benches. We were the only occupants of the compartment. Anna and I sat next to Mother. Taddeo and Andrea started to play cards. Father sat in front of us, checked his finances once again, made himself comfortable and kept his eyes staring out the window. Mother kept on fingering her rosary beads. The drizzle had become a driving rain.

Finally, the train blew its departing whistle, long and mournful, and slowly left the

 station. I watched the rain rolling down the windowpane like huge tears scattered by the wind.

Another whistle blew. It sounded like a wail as the train slowly disappeared into the darkness of a tunnel.