- When Nazzarena met Padre Pio - Nazzarena sat at the end of her bed, eyeing the room around her. It was her wedding night and for the first time she was permitted into Vincenzo’s room. Vincenzo closed the door and looked seductively at his new bride. Nazzarena was nervous, she could feel his passion and tried desperately to ignite hers, but the gaze of the multiple saint statues which surrounded his room left her feeling too ashamed to give in to her feelings. Vincenzo began to kiss Nazzarena passionately on her cheek and neck; his course, thick mustache sending sharp jabs of excitement into Nazzarena, slowly bringing down her defenses. He placed his hands on her bosom but was quickly directed to take them off. Chi ai?” Vincenzo replied. Nazzarena turned her head and looked at the large statue of S.Vincenzo opposite the bed. Vincenzo smiled at Nazzarena and took off his shirt, covering it over the statue. “non ha bisogno di guardare,” he giggled and resumed kissing Nazzarena. Before long, he could feel her being distracted once more. This time she was looking at a statue of Mary which watched from the corner of the room. Vincenzo ripped off his singlet, exposing his bulging belly and knotted-hairy chest, and flung it over Mary. “E ura dorme,” Vincenzo whispered, biting down on Nazzarena’s earlobe. “Vincenzo, cara mia, e loro?” Nazzarena responded, eyeing the smaller statues adorning Vincenzo’s dresser. Vincenzo decided to settle these distractions once and for all. He removed his socks and placed one on a statue of S.Antonio and the other over a statue of S.Anna. He took off his pants and tossed them over the statue of S.Bernado. He turned the pictures of S.Sebastiano and S.Lucia around and took down his picture of the Pope, placing it under his bed. “Ecco, tutto aposta?” he asked, smiling again at his bride. Nazzarena unbuttoned the top of her bodice and beckoned Vincenzo over. Vincenzo began to kiss Nazzarena wildly as she slowly relaxed. He once again placed his hand on her bosom before a knock at the door interrupted. “Vincenzo? Hai fame?” Vincenzo’s mother called from the other side of the door. “Ciavimmu nu pocu di prosciuttu e cotalette ristatu da festa si woi mangiare.” Vincenzo dashed over to the door and opened it a sliver, knowing it wasn’t beyond his mother to swing open the door and ruin the moment. Soft whispers between Vincenzo and his mother continued a prolonged conversation as Nazzarena sat impatiently. She thought it was intrusive for his mother to disturb him on his wedding night, and wondered if she would have to deal with a meddling mother-in-law in her new life as Vincenzo’s wife. The whispered conversation finally concluded with Vincenzo now holding a platter of prosciutto and cotolette. Biting a cotoletta in half and slurped a piece of prosciutto, he sat on the bed next to his bride and offered her large slice, trying to place it in her mouth. Nazzarena, not really interested in eating a cured pork product in the middle of the night, turned her head, sending the prosciutto down her neck into her bodice. Vincenzo’s eyes ignited with passion and he dove his face in after it, kissing and scratching at her chest. Nazzarena giggled as Vincenzo resurfaced, the prosciutto now in his mouth. His playful nature was what she had fallen in love with and was now urging her to let go of all of her inhibitions. She grasped his bottom and drew him closer, Vincenzo still chewing the prosciutto. She kissed at his dancing mustache as he continued to chew, but soon realised he was having difficulty kissing back. There was something stuck in his mouth, making it hard for him to swallow. He put his fingers into his mouth and pulled out a small piece of brown fabric. “O dio dio dio,” Nazzarena yelped, A reliquia! Mu scurdaiu ndo ringipietto!” She couldn’t believe she had forgotten about the Padre Pio relic her mother had pinned to her bra before the ceremony. “Chi é?” Vincenzo asked, catching his breath. Nazzarena took the cloth from Vincenzo’s hand and wiped it clean with the sleeve of her dress. She looked down at the relic and began to think back to the journey this little cloth had. She remembered back to when she was only eight years old. The journey to San Giovanni Rotondo, Foggia had been long and tiring for her and the pilgrims. After picking up her Nonna Rosalba in Messignadi; Nazzarena’s mother, Mariella, looked down at her two sleeping daughters as the train pulled into the final station. “Nazzarena, Rosa, alzatavi! Ammu arrivatu,” Mariella called, poking the sleeping girls. Nazzarena pouted, producing a small fungia as she protested at being woken up. “A sbrigatevi! E giá tardu!” Nonna Rosalba said, hastily gathering her belongings from the overhead compartment. The pilgrims began the long walk from the station to the church where Padre Pio was due to begin a service in just under an hour. It was mid-summer, and morning sun had already begun to beat its unrelenting heat. Rosalba and Mariella continued to spit polish both girls as they reached the church steps and prepared to enter the already crowded mass. They had come in the hope for a miracle, to cure Rosa from her wandering eye condition which she had been plagued with since birth. Rosa, still half asleep and unenthusiastic about the whole trip, dragged her feet behind. “Rosa, vieni prestu. Simmu ca pe tia. Nessunu ti uole spusare cu su occhiu stortu.” Mariella said, grabbing Rosa by the hand and pulling her along. “Sentu caldu Mamma,” Rosa whined, flapping her hands and trying to cool herself. “Perchi non poi sire comu to sorru Nazzarena. Varda come brava!” Nazzarena gave a superior smile. Rosa had always been jealous of Nazzarena. Although younger than Rosa, Nazzarena was favoured by the family. The women entered the church and forcefully pushed their way to the front of the pews. The church was hot and humid, the parishioners fanning themselves with whatever they could. The choir begun to sing the opening psalm as an entourage of alter-boys lead the famous priest down the aisle. Nazzarena jumped up on the pew, desperate to get a view of Padre over the mass of worshipers. It was then that she caught a glimpse of a shiny metal object concealed under her Nonna Rosalba’s sleeve. Rosalba, without hesitation, retracted the scissors from her sleeve and snipped a segment of cloth from Padre Pio’s garment as he walked past. The cloth floated gently towards the floor as one of the alter-boys raised the alarm. “Chiama a polizia! Stannu mannazannu u prevete!” he yelled. As though pre-choreographed, Mariella began pointing at random people, claiming it was them. Rosalba, seeing the relic resting by Padre’s foot, picked up Nazzarena from the pew and placed her in the aisle. “Pigghia a reliquia Nazzarena, fai presto!” Nazzarena dived between the alter-boys who had formed a wall around the priest. She reached for relic and grabbed it. With the relic in hand, she suddenly realised there was no escape. She was frightened, what would he do to her? Would he grab her and turn her into the police? She looked up at Padre Pio, expecting the worst. What she found surprised her. He smiled at her and made the sign of the cross on her forehead. For that moment, Nazzarena was alone in the room with him; the maddening screams of the church around her and the screaming of her mother and nonna were silenced. Her serenity was short lived as Mariella grabbed her and hoisted her up over her shoulder. The pilgrims pushed passed the crowded mass and headed for the nearest door. Before leaving the building, Rosealba grabbed a bottle from her bag and dipped it into the font of holy water by the exit. She felt Nazzarena’s gaze and turned to her. “Non e peccato se e pe carita,” she whispered and pushed the large doors open, making her escape. Before long the carabinieri had been summoned and were ruthlessly searching the train station for the group of women who had allegedly attacked Padre Pio. Mariella began to panic, convinced she’d be recognised. She had hidden the relic in her bag, but noticed the police were searching bags before anyone could get on the train. Nonna Rosealba reached into Mariella’s purse and took the relic, handing it to Nazzarena. “Tu sei benedetta fighia. Hai a benedizione di Padre Pio. Ura, pigghia sta reliquia e metatillu nda buggia che non te scalianu.” Convinced the police would not search an innocent child, the four pilgrims began to board the train. Before they could step aboard, they were stopped by two carabinieri. They took Mariella and Rosealba’s bags and turned them inside out. They then turned their attention to the two girls. “Non ci do feducia a questa qua! Mi guarda con locchio storto!” one of the carabinieri said to the other, disturbed at the funny look Rosa was giving him with her lazy eye. “No signore, e malocchiata...” Mariella replied. The carabinieri were not amused, and searched Rosa’s pockets and belongings. They then turned their attention to Nazzarena. “Che bella questa qua...” they said to each other. Nazzarena smiled and the Carabinieri let her pass without searching. Nazzarena realised what her Nonna had said to her was true; she was the blessed child now, blessed by Padre Pio. She put her hand in her pocket and thanked the saints for this honour. “Nazzarena,” Vincenzo called, “Nazzarena?” Nazzarena snapped out of her flashback and placed an empty glass over the relic. The relic was sacred to her, and couldn’t bear any impurities could spoil its significance. She turned to Vincenzo, and grabbed another piece of prosciutto. “Proviamo di nuovo,” she smiled, dropping another slice down her bra. Vincenzo lunged face-first into Nazzarena’s bosoms again, kissing her chest and searching for the prosciutto. They kissed passionately and landed back on the bed, the giant rosary beads above the bed head rocking and jumping to the increasing pace of the passion. More and more layers of Nazzarena’s dress dropped to the floor as Vincenzo’s thick mustache continued to sweep across her body, searching for new places to kiss. A banging on the wall opposite once again interrupted the moment. “Ow, finisti ora? Non ponzu dormire!” Vincenzo’s mother yelled from the other side of the wall. Vincenzo, embarrassed, looked at Nazzarena. “Ma scusare cara mia. Domani, a prima cosa, cercu nautru postu wune abbitare.” he whispered. Nazzarena knew Vincenzo was referring to moving to Australia, he had mentioned several times of the great opportunities for a new life there. Another thump on the wall affirmed the need to move. Nazzarena whispered back to Vincenzo “Faccimula incazzare di ciu!” she snickered, determined to give Vincenzo’s mother something real to complain about. She grabbed another piece of prosciutto, and placed it down into her underwear. Vincenzo’s eyes widened and he smiled as he went searching for his midnight snack.
Posted on: Mon, 25 Nov 2013 05:44:04 +0000
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