Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [97]
“Your parents are alive because they live under Santa Maria di Porto Salvo. The church couldn’t save itself, but it saved your parents. The foundation of the church remains, but nothing else.”
“The murals are gone?!” exclaimed Giovanna.
Enrico practically snorted. “Signora, not only are the Scillese practically wiped out, so is our history! Do you not know the extent of the devastation? Pieces of Castello Ruffo are in the sea. Scylla’s rock that inspired Homer is gone! Do you think because your family is alive, Scilla is not devastated?”
Giovanna felt terrible. “I’m sorry, Enrico, I didn’t mean…”
“No, no, it is me who should be sorry. I apologize. Sometimes I think I will lose my mind, and it will be a blessing.”
Rocco rose from the table and got more wine, which he poured into Enrico’s glass, muttering, “Drink, drink.”
“Yes, the murals are gone, but your parents’ house is intact with practically no damage. They were sleeping at the time, and thankfully they stayed in their house, because if they had come outside they would have been in greater danger—much collapsed around them.”
Thinking of Nunzio’s house only a few yards away, Giovanna asked, “And my aunt Marianna Pontillo?”
“She was trapped for two days.”
Giovanna stifled her gasp.
“Your father and a few other men heard her cries and dug her out.”
“Is she alright?”
“I didn’t see her. She was in the hospital that the French made from tents. But your mother thinks she will recover. Her house is gone, though.”
“And Marianna’s daughter, Fortunata Arena, and her husband, Giuseppe?”
“This story I heard even before I knew it was your family! They were in a boat, all of them, on their way to Messina, and they managed to survive.”
Mary dropped her spoon. “But how?” In Mary’s mind, their boat was teetering on the top of the gigantic wave like a magic carpet.
“I can’t tell you how, little one. No one wants to speak of survival.” He turned to Giovanna. “They are living with your mother. Their house was not totally destroyed, but the top floor caved in. When I called on your mother, Giuseppe Arena and his boys were out digging through the rubble of their neighbors’ homes looking to find the bodies to bury. Your cousin, she had no interest in speaking about what happened. Her daughters-in-law were there, and they lost their families.”
Giovanna brought her cold, full plate of pasta to the sink. It was hard to stay in her seat. She had to fight her instinct to rush to the nearest dock, sail to Italy, and dig with her hands if she had to.
“My brother will sail for Scilla. I must go with him.”
“Signora, your mother was clear with me. She said to tell you she forbade you to come. Disease and pestilence are sweeping the area, and she said you and your brother could do more for them by staying here. The armies are beginning to show up, and they will do the digging and rebuilding.”
Giovanna put her head in her hands and cried at her helplessness. Mary and Angelina went to her side.
“Zia, you can’t go. I don’t want you to get sick,” whispered Mary.
“Mamma, don’t cry,” pleaded Angelina.
“Enrico,” said Giovanna, wiping her tears, “there are many more people I must ask about. Maybe you know them. The midwife, Signora Scalici?”
“Signora Scalici brought me into this world. No one has found her.”
Giovanna twisted and knotted the napkin in her hand. “Father Clemente?”
“He survived, but then died in the hospital.”
“My cousin Pasquale Costa?”
“Where did he live?”
“South of my parents in the Chianalea.”
“In the stretch beneath the castle?”
“Yes.”
“Signora, that entire enclave of the Chianalea and the people in it are gone. There is no trace. Even the land is in the sea.”
Giovanna quickly did the death calculations. That would mean Zia Antoinette