‘Oh, my goodness, how beautiful you are. Come here and let me take a closer look at you.’ Estere Coglione placed both hands on Anya’s shoulders, holding her at a distance, then pulled her into her ample bosom and smothered her with kisses on both cheeks. ‘Welcome home. I’ve been waiting all day to meet you. You must be hungry and tired. There are some specially baked fresh cakes inside for you. Come upstairs out of the cold. There’s a good fire in the hearth.’ Anya did not understand a word of the rapid-fire Italian, but knew from the gestures and smiles she was welcome.
‘Mamina, this is Anya,’ Luca said after giving his mother a warm hug and a kiss. ‘I hope you will like her.’
‘Then you take good care of her. Don’t leave her in the cold, she will get sick.’
Luca laughed and smiled at Anya. ‘It’s good you don’t understand Italian,’ he said jokingly. ‘You need to quickly reconcile yourself to one thing while we are living with Mamina, we’re going to be suffocated with care and attention. It’s Italian, and it’s my mother. She still treats and talks to me as if I never left home.’
‘Leave the baggage, Luca,’ Estere continued. ‘Carlo and Neri can take care of everything. Help Anya up the stairs. Hold her hand carefully. Mind she doesn’t trip on her coat. It’s starting to snow again. Sit her in front of the fire. Make sure she’s comfortable.’
As the road from Zurich airport descended into the Ticino valley with snow falling heavily, the views were breathtaking. Anya reached over and took Luca’s hand. Her head swam with a thousand nervous thoughts about meeting his family, especially his mother about whom she had heard so much, but also about this beautiful place that she would soon call home. She had seen nothing like this in Ireland or Nigeria. She was also anxious, wondering how she would manage not speaking Italian.
Estere Coglione was a strikingly lovely woman who looked a lot younger than her sixty-one years. With long plaited gray hair pulled back and wound on top of her head in a bun, there was an elegance and simplicity about her. Her tanned face spoke of the outdoors. Although living alone, she provided enough fresh vegetables to feed most of her large extended family. She also managed a small section of a vineyard, together with her one helper, Neri, who did a little of everything.
The middle girl of five sisters, who all lived locally with their families, Estere had spent the whole of her life in Bellinonza. Surrounded by her late husband's family, he had two brothers and two sisters, she never felt alone. Hardly a day passed, without one or two relatives passing by for a glass of wine and one of her famous baked pastries. Fervent Catholics, the two families were pillars of the local church, and eager and curious to see what a former nun looked like.
As Luca helped her take off her topcoat, Anya was surprised at the size of the family room and dining room combined. It was huge. At one end near a kitchen was a large oblong wooden table with ten matching chairs. The rest of the space was set up with comfortable furniture arranged around an open fireplace where a log fire was crackling. It felt warm and cosy. Off to the side was a dresser, with trays of food and next to it, a six-feet-tall beautifully dressed Christmas tree.
‘What do we do with the luggage?’ asked Carlo as Neri struggled into the room with three suitcases and a large leather bag.
‘Both bedrooms are ready,’ replied Estere, ‘and you know where Luca sleeps.’
‘Please,’ she called to Luca, ‘have something to eat. Look after Anya. She must be hungry. We’ll not have dinner until about 8 o’clock and the family is coming over. They all want to meet her.’
He translated for Anya and said, ‘Just nibble something if you're not very hungry or she will not leave us alone. And I'm warning you now, when the families arrive, each will come with enough food to feed the town and you'll not be able to escape,’ he said with a laugh. ‘She is on the phone now, calling them, letting them know we’ve arrived. It’s all good, but you will soon see just how crazy my family is. Are you ready to be the center of attention, Italian style?’
‘I really don’t know,’ she replied hesitantly, ‘but if they're as welcoming as your mother, I’ll manage. How will it be for them having a former nun as a relative?’
Drawing her close, he whispered, ‘Anya, my love, it will be fine.’
The bedrooms were on the top floor, reached by an interior staircase from the family room. Luca entered his old room, immediately walking over to where he could take in the view through the French windows. Even through the heavily falling snow, it was breathtaking.
Anya stood for a moment, arm in arm with him, then looked around for her suitcase and bag.
‘Luca,’ she said, ‘I only see your suitcase. Where is mine and my bag?’
Knowing what had happened, he said, ‘Just wait a moment,’ and left the room. Seconds later, he returned with them. ‘I’m so sorry, darling, but I should have told you, in the Ticino culture, it’s not normal for an unmarried man and woman to share the same room, let alone the same bed. Putting your things in the other room was my mother’s way of not wishing to be seen as condoning our sleeping together, even though she knows we will. She understands, but will never mention it in conversation. That way she can still go to church and feel good.’ He could see that Anya was frowning so continued, ‘Think of it as a sort of Catholic sex game,’ and burst out laughing. ‘I’m sure your Irish culture is not much different. And isn’t there an old saying, ‘What the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve for?’
Lying together relaxing before changing for dinner, Luca talked about his family, their names and relationships, trying to help Anya remember them. Finally, it was just too complicated, and he gave up.
‘Is there something wrong, darling? You’re very quiet’ he asked. ‘Are you anxious about the evening? It’s just a family get-together.’
‘Maybe just a little. But I’m wondering about you. How will you feel having me share this bed tonight? The last woman to do so was your wife.’
Drawing her close, he gave her a long, passionate kiss. ‘She died many years ago, my love. You're the only one I want. You are the light of my life.’
The evening was a chaotic mix of meeting people, sampling many new kinds of food, noisy children running around, and people almost standing in line to get an opportunity to meet and talk with Anya. She could feel their eyes on her as they entered the room, sensing that they didn’t know what to expect or how to address her.
Once he felt most people had arrived, Luca decided to speak, and after greeting everybody, introduced Anya, and told them how to pronounce her name. ‘Think of it as ‘AWNYA,’ he said, ‘in Gaelic, it means splendor or brilliance.’
Two of Luca's cousins, Issepa and Marsilia,who were schoolteachers, spoke reasonable English as did another cousin, Renata, and so helped translate. It was fun telling Anya what people were saying. People were amazed at her attractively cut, flaming, curly red hair which showed off her face and green eyes. They admired her engagement ring, asking where Luca had bought it and where he had proposed. Marsilia had a great sense of humor, burst out laughing so loud that most folks turned around to see what was happening. She was explaining to Anya that the family was very familiar with nuns and actually supported a local convent. ‘When they heard that Luca was to marry a former nun, they tried to imagine what you would be like, what you would be wearing. Some really funny things were said without meaning to be so. But you are so beautiful. Luca told us how you worked with him in Nigeria and how talented a nurse you are. And for a family that normally has a lot to say, it is stuck for words. They’re not ready for you, for such an elegant, sophisticated person. But they will quickly get over the shock, and in no time, you’ll simply be one of the family. I'm so happy you are engaged to Luca; he needs somebody like you.’
The next day, Carlo drove Anya and Luca to the airport. The other car was driven by Issepa accompanied by five female cousins, all of whom spoke some English and refused to be left at home. From the moment they left the house, Luca could sense Anya’s tension and anxiety.
‘Can you share it with me, my love?’
‘You know, the last time I saw my mother was six years ago,’ she said softly. ‘It was in Ireland. Since I entered the convent, she’s only ever seen me dressed as a nun. I just wonder how she really feels about me. I’m sure it’s a lot for her to handle emotionally. We had become very close, and she shared a lot with me about her relationship with my father. She’s an unfortunate woman, locked in a destructive relationship by her religion. I so want her to be happy and to be back in my life. I’m thrilled and grateful you invited my sister Moira with her husband Tom for Christmas, and also my mother. I never dreamed she would come.’
As the passengers began to emerge, having been given descriptions, the girls eagerly began calling ‘Moira, Tom,’ as each couple exited. Suddenly, they appeared and waved. The girls rushed to welcome them. Walking alongside them was an elegantly dressed older lady. She gazed at the waiting crowd as if looking for someone in particular, then her face lit up. Dropping her purse on the ground, Nuala opened her arms wide as Anya ran towards her mother and held her tightly against her breast. Neither spoke, as their tears of love and affection mingled and slowly washed away their pain.
The rest of that morning passed like a dream for Anya. Wrapped in heavy coats, she sat next to her mother on the deck overlooking the valley and the vineyards. The snow had stopped, and the winter sun reflecting off the white landscape almost blinded them. They held hands as they talked, catching up on the years of separation and longing. Nuala let her heart speak, her tears flow, in sharing the pain and struggle of staying with her husband. Especially how helpless she had felt in protecting her daughters. But also, how much more tolerable it was now, since his stroke. He hadn’t fully recovered his speech, spent most of his time in a wheelchair, and couldn’t drink alcohol or abuse her. Anya spoke about her time in Nigeria, how much she enjoyed the work, and how she fell in love.
Finally, Anya felt it safe to ask how she felt about her, not just leaving the Order, but intending to get married.
Turning her head to face her, Nula said, ‘I was surprised but not shocked.’
‘Please tell me more,’ Anya begged. ‘I need to know.’
‘When I saw you take your vows and enter the convent, I was proud of you, of course, But I had very mixed emotions about it. I worried for you, and I was sad that you’d decided to enter an Order where your every movement would be controlled or have to be accounted for during the remainder of your life. You are a free spirit, Anya, my darling. You’ve been like that since you were a little girl and suffered for it at home and in school. If only I could take time back,’ Nuala said. ‘If only I could undo the past. When you entered the convent, I saw you like a beautiful bird wanting to fly, but having its wings clipped. That day I went home and spent the night weeping. I felt I was losing you.’ As her tears steadily flowed, Anya asked again, ‘and how do you really feel about my getting married?’
There was a pause and a slight hesitancy before she replied, as if struggling to find the right words.
‘I just want you to be happy, to be fulfilled, to be the free spirit you are. You have so much to offer the world. I want you to be with a man who will respect, love, and cherish you. Who will be to me a son and to you a husband, who will treasure you more than anything in life?’
“Mama,” she replied, “you have no idea what your coming here means to me. I just love you so very much,” and getting out of her chair, reached over and held her.
Christmas celebrations were different from anything she had known. After just a light meal on Christmas Eve, with no meat since it was considered a fasting day by the Church, they went to midnight Mass. When they arrived, everybody was gathered outside the church. As the bells in the steeple started to toll, Luca with his arm around her shoulders, told her to look up at the snow-covered mountain, glistening in the moonlight. She watched mesmerized as a long line of skiers started to descend in sweeping curves, holding lighted torches in their hands. ‘This is our tradition,’ he explained. ‘They are bringing fire for warmth and light to the church so that the Mass can take place.’
After returning home, they all enjoyed a hot chocolate before retiring. Luca explained to Anya, ‘In our culture, couples give each other one gift after midnight. So here is yours,’ and handed her a narrow box.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ she exclaimed. ‘This is so beautiful Luca, thank you darling,’ and held out a gold chain and pendant. ‘But now, I don’t have one for you.’
‘Then you can surprise me once we are married,’ and gave out a little laugh.
Christmas day started early as Anya could hear Estere working in the kitchen. By the time they came down for breakfast, the house was full of women. Eight of them were involved in preparing food for what they called the ‘lunch,’ an afternoon meal that would begin about four o’clock. She would later discover no family member would ever dream of missing it, and would bring with them their musical instruments, flutes, accordions, and mandolins.
Once the party started, it seemed to Anya that everybody could sing and had beautiful voices. Late into the night, they drank, sang, danced, and played games. After explaining that where she came from in the west of Ireland, every girl learned traditional dancing, Issepa begged her to show them. Anya refused. ‘It’s ten years since I danced,’ she said. ‘I can’t do it. And these are the wrong shoes.’ Marsilia felt she now had a close enough relationship to tease her and insisted. Anya sat back in her chair, afraid of making a fool of herself.
Finally, they pulled her into the middle of the floor while the families encouraged her. Embarrassed at being the center of attention, she asked Luca to interpret for her as she spoke to Uncle Leonardo with the accordion. At first, she clapped her hands in rhythm, then gave a short beat with her feet while looking towards him. As she danced several steps, he picked up the tempo and beat, playing an Italian tune. The other musicians tentatively joined in, extemporizing. In seconds Anya was back in school in Roscommon, as she closed her eyes and performed an Irish step dance. Then, speaking in Gaelic, she invited Moira, Tom, and her mother to join her. Everybody looked surprised but waited expectantly. As Tom gave a beat with his foot, all four suddenly danced together, showing the quick intricate movements and foot patterns of an Irish jig. The family was entranced. When it was over, they wanted more. Nuala, wiping the perspiration from her forehead, signaled with a smile she was too tired, her heart was ready to burst with love and happiness. The others continued dancing, with reels and hornpipes, finally having fun trying to teach the cousins a few steps. Everyone was overjoyed and agreed, Christmas was always a wonderful family experience. This one was special and never to be forgotten.
‘How was Christmas Day for you?’ asked Luca, as they were preparing for bed. ‘Was it too much, a little overwhelming perhaps, with so many people?’
‘No, not at all,’ Anya replied. ‘In fact, I'm starting to put some names to faces.’
‘Well, you were wonderful,’ he said, drawing her close. Looking down, he kissed her tenderly on the forehead. ‘Today, you showed me something I didn’t know about you, and it was lovely. My family was thrilled. But you’re in for another surprise later on today. We can expect almost everybody to come back in the afternoon, to finish off what food is left over,’ and let out a deep belly laugh. ‘But they’ll also bring even more food, eat, drink, sing, dance and probably stay until past midnight! It’s just what we do. It’s how we celebrate Christmas in Ticino.’
About the author
Michael Barrington has written eight historical novels. Passage to Murder is a thriller set in San Francisco. Magic at Stonehenge is a short story collection. Take a Priest Like You is a memoir. He has published more than 60 short stories and also blogs on his website: www.mbwriter.net.
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