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CHAPTER THREE
It was in this setting that I was born, just as 1884 was spending its last breath.
In his biography, Benevenuto Cellini said: “I take much more pride in having been born humble and having laid some honorable foundation for my family, than if I had been born of great lineage and had stained or clouded that by my base qualities.”
I was told that I came into this world during a night of blizzard when wolves, driven by hunger, were known to creep into the town, in search of domestic game.
The wind was howling and beating with all its fury against the unshakable mountains, when my father was rapping nervously at the door of the town midwife, a scrawny, cranky, kindly old woman who started to swear like a trooper at being aroused in the midst of such a devilish night. She cursed the little brat for not waiting at least until morning! Had that happened, I would have been rated a year younger all through my life.
Finally, the old crab sprang out of bed, bundled herself from head to foot and came rushing to her destination. Continued invectives at the yet unborn little me, much fuming and snorting. But, a cup of hot brew, well laced with raw rum, soon calmed the prima donna and she got down to her job, in which she had the reputation of being quite skillful.
Anyhow, I came out alive and screaming. I was fully wrapped in a veil (amnion) which caused much jubilation, it being considered a great omen of good luck. anyhow, I was born with “my shirt on.” The amnion was carefully folded in a small satchel which my father carried with him as a sort of talisman. He lost it in America, where he came on a short business trip. Was I drawn later to this continent by the amnion’s magic power?
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I understand that for the first month after birth I was an amiable little fellow, but suddenly developed a belligerent disposition.
Day and night, my poor mother tried every means to appease me, without success. At night, wrapped like a papoose, that being the custom to prevent the twisting of limbs or for easier handling, I was placed in a low wooden cradle next to my mother, so that she could pick me up and nurse me whenever I squealed. But, after brief intervals of truce, the rumpus went on as usual.
One nigh, after one of the repeated nursings, my mother, sleepy and tried, laid me down – she thought – in the cradle. Not a peep from me for such a length of time that my mother sensed there was something wrong. She reached into the cradle and found it empty. She jumped out of bed, called my father in fright and, after a panicky search, they found me under the bed where my mother, unconscious from exhaustion, had dropped me. Apparently, the hard brick floor had been a pleasing change, for I was sound asleep. From then on, there was less coddling and I started to behave, much to the relief of my parents and neighbors.
I was the second born in my family. My elder brother, Michele, died at the age of twelve. After me, a couple of years apart, came my sister Maria, then Alfredo, Luigi, Michele again, Armino, and Carolina. It is traditional to name the children after the father’s and then the mother’s parents. Therefore, the recurrence of names.
Let it now be noted that some of the details in this review may seem trivial and unessential, but they faithfully portray a past which I am re-living in all its phases and facets, with inevitable sentimental undercurrent. It being a true and mostly unknown story of my life, intimately addressed to my children, grandchildren and perhaps great-grandchildren, did not intend to artfully display colored spotlights. I want to be seen in actual retrospect.
My family was more or less in the upper middle group. My father’s father, Michele, had a good size farm, a rather fertile vineyard and some woodland, producing lumber and charcoal. He also owned a flour mill and a stone quarry, from which he himself carved archstones, flagging and tombstones. His wife died at a young age leaving eight children. the poor man had hard sledding, but lived to the age of eighty-six, which is deemed by our people average life expectancy.
Next: Chapter 4
