We just finished an incredible meal and needed to stretch
our legs. “Fascemu una caminata” (we’re
going for a walk), I stated to our gracious host Ignacio. He responded quickly, “a pedi ?”(on foot ?)
as if this was such an unusual request. He
quickly pulled keys out of his pocket
stating “lets go by car”. After some
explaining, he finally conceded .
Our cadence was brisk as we walked on this cool day . As we approached the church in the center of
town just steps from the house where my mother was born, we noticed an old man
following us. My children, being seasoned
New Yorkers, increased their pace to distance themselves. His pace increased as well and his cane
started to drag along the pavement. I
smiled at my wife and we stopped. The
children drew closer as I began to speak.
“Bon Giorno”, I said to the man who stared at me in
amazement. He wore a cliché Sicilian cap
and darkened Fellini-type lenses that partially covered a squinting right eye. The wrinkles on his face spoke of years of
hard work in the fields. Sicilian farmers,
un-affectionately called “veddani”, once tended the food resources that sustained
great civilizations.
After a few moments of inspection, he said in a most certain
manner, “ma yo ti canusciu”. Now this is creepy, I thought. This old man, meeting me for the first time,
knows me! He then stated emphatically “You
have the eyes of an Attardo” . After a brief conversation and exchange of
pleasantries, I explained to my puzzled children that this man knew my grandfather,
nonnu Ciro. When I bid him farewell, I
noticed his eyes were a bit glassy. It
could have been the cool breeze. Or it could have been the fleeting remembrance
of an old friend he would never see again.
From the piazza in front of the church I could see the house
where my grandparents lived. I remembered
the photos from my parents wedding album and I triangulated our position. Without explanation, I suddenly felt an
unexpected pang of nostalgia. Perhap it
was some form of prenatal memory that triggered an emotional connection. We turned the corner and saw a street
sign “Via Attardo Ciro” on the wall of a building. My son called out “Dad, there’s a street with
your name on it” and then snapped photos to document my celebrity.
My wife noticed my eyes were glassy. Perhaps it was the cool breeze.
We started our walk
back to our gracious hosts Frensi and Ignacio.
We smiled contemplating the
assortment of desserts that awaited us.
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