Pietrina’s emotions swirled –– she was going to America! Absolutely giddy with excitement, she fluttered around the bedroom, her hand lightly swatting a small collection of dresses hanging in the wardrobe, her eyes scanning the three modest pairs of shoes lined up neatly on the floor. One at a time, she picked up several frames of family photos from the dresser and stared into the brown eyes watching her. She peeked inside of a small wooden jewelry box, imagining it – and all of her belongings – packed efficiently in one
valigia
, the new piece of luggage purchased for the voyage. She never before had owned a suitcase – where could she and her humble family possibly afford to go?
But now ... onto America.
Two more weeks.
Too early to pack.
Butterflies took flight in her stomach. Mostly, excitement ruled over her fear, feeling as thrilled as she ever had about anything in her 26 years. (Perhaps not more than her beautiful wedding day to her beloved Mario two years prior.) When the fear crept in, so did doubt ...
No-no-no, how can I leave Mamma e Babbo? What if I never see them again? Dio mio, America is SO very far from our beautiful Sardegna. What are we doing?? Is this truly the right thing??
Yet as the Mossa family’s plans unfolded during those months in 1929, Pietrina’s elation won as she listened to the stimulating details, living arrangements, and ship information. She and Mario would travel by boat to
Napoli
on the mainland, with her sister Antonica, and husband Giovanni, Mario’s brother. They had purchased passage to America aboard the
Conte Biancamano
.
Zia
Amelia and
cugina
Olga – an aunt and cousin who lived along the same cobblestoned street in the village of Luras – also would be in their entourage.
Pietrina’s mind skipped ahead to departure day ...
What would the ship be like?
Would the journey be demanding? Is New York City as grand as they’ve heard? Just how tall is the Statue of Liberty? How will I learn English?
So many mysteries ... so much to visualize.
Once in Brooklyn, New York, the Sardinian Mossas would reunite with another Mossa brother who had emigrated two years before. Amelia’s husband Antonio had worked long hours as a carpenter to save enough money to send for his precious wife and 10-year-old daughter.
By airmail, the family had received good reports from Antonio and his
paesani
who boldly had crossed the ocean and settled into American life.
Antonio’s letters were encouraging. Certainly, Italians would not continue to migrate if not for having found the riches and opportunities expected in the United States, sì?
Pietrina’s thoughts flooded her uneasy mind. She could scarcely sleep.
Gazing into a small mirror into her large brown eyes, brushing the curly black hair from her smooth face, Pietrina stood in the third-floor bedroom of her parents’ home and wished – for the hundredth time – that her parents were going, too. But that hopeless idea was crushed. Stubborn
Mamma
Rosa refused to discuss the topic with her daughters.
Oh, that woman was as stubborn as their farm mule Lupini, when he didn’t want to walk a step further!
“Non io,”
the sturdy five-foot Rosa firmly answered, as Antonica and Pietrina repeatedly pleaded.
Per favore, reconsider, Mamma ... per favore?
Non io.”
Rosa’s words echoed through the kitchen in every conversation that erupted about the subject, adding nothing more to each discussion besides,
“Sono nata su quest’isola e morirò qui!”
... I was born on this island and I will die here.
The sisters knew it was hopeless.
Mamma
and
Babbo
would never change their minds. Their lives were entrenched in this crumbling antique village, toiling fields on their nearby farm, tending to the old house, barn, and animals; they existed to provide for the family. No grander dreams, no desire to upend their lives, not even for the grandiose land of America. The life they know and understand is
qui
– right here. At the ages of 68 and 72, they were not exactly primed to begin again in a strange country, finding work, adapting to another culture, and learning a new language.
No.
Yet deep down,
Mamma
Rosa’s heart was torn in two. Her daughters were leaving her? Leaving their village, giving up this beautiful island? Leaving Italy! How could she possibly bear it when the time came? She
wanted
to understand her children, wanted to offer support. But she did not comprehend this yearning to flee. Was theirs a hard life here?
Sì.
Was it flawless? No. Yet did they not also have some pleasures: music, food, faith, surrounded by stunning panoramic views of mountains and clear azure seas.
Sardegna
is one of the most beautiful islands in
Italia
...
nel mondo
... in the world. Most importantly, the Mossa and Cabras families experienced together the key and vital part of life ...
la famiglia
. Family.
Miserably, Rosa knew she could not prevent her daughters’ departures. They are married women; her sons-in-law had the final say.
Yes, they were leaving for America – a continent away. Our family will be divided ... possibly forever. God comfort me.
Pietrina examined her third-class ticket behind black-framed eyeglasses she didn’t actually need. Her shoulders were covered with a black cape, her suitcase at her feet, the strap of a worn leather satchel hitched over a shoulder. A white scarf covered her black curls. In line to be examined by health officials before embarking, Pietrina’s nerves were frayed. A week earlier, an infection had developed in her left eye, now bloodshot. Further proof disclosed the problematic eye by swelling underneath, a reality of its soreness.
No! Why this week, why now?
“Non preoccupata, cara,”
Mario assured his wife. “Don’t worry, my darling. It will be okay. The inspectors are checking for major health problems: noticeable illnesses, coughs, symptoms, and other signs of diseases. They will not stop you for this, not for only a small eye infection.”
Her sister’s and brother-in-law’s tickets had been already stamped
visto al controllo
by an immigration inspector – seen at the check. They had been cleared of any health issues, indicated by the words on their documents:
Ha espletato le operazioni sanitarie
(has completed the health care operations). Amelia and Olga had not yet been processed, waiting eagerly behind Mario and Pietrina.
Her turn. She wanted to vomit. The stomach butterflies were in flight, but for a different reason ... not elation now –
fear
. She could barely look at the health inspector as she clutched her ticket, passport, and ship documents. Mario stood behind his wife. He watched as a small light was shone into her eyes. The lids were pulled up, down, sideways. He could see Pietrina trying not to flinch in discomfort.
What unfolded next was nightmarish.
CHE ... WHAT???
Had she heard the Italian inspector correctly?
They were not allowing her through? How can that be possible??? Twelve months of planning, saving, deciding, uncertainty. Being willing to uproot their lives in Italy ... for niente ... nothing? America, the land of hope and promise, was not to be? No, No, Nooooo!
Infection or no infection, thick tears pooled in the young Italian’s eyes. Her vision blurred. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t hear. Only the words,
“Mi dispiace, Senora ... mi dispiace,”
drummed repeatedly in her head. She felt dizzy, nauseous. She needed to sit down before she fell over. She half-saw her husband rush forward; half-heard his rapid Italian pleading with the inspector, asking questions, explaining, convincing. But the port employee shooed him away impatiently, motioning with his hand for the next in line to step forward.
Mario caught his wife as her legs collapsed. Pietrina allowed him to guide her away from the mass of people, his arm wrapped around her waist, as he struggled with their luggage. He pointed her in the opposite direction from where Antonica and Giovanni waited on the other side of the inspector’s stand. But not before he caught his brother’s widened frightened eyes.
Mario’s face was stone. At home, rumors had found their way into the village – countless Italians had been turned away at the ports of departure during processing: some were too old, others too infirm, and in some cases, people were merely the victim of an irritable immigration processing clerk.
Is this man one of them?
Those poor villagers who had finally made the wrenching choice to escape Italy for improved opportunities in “the promised land,” then abruptly turned away like pieces of cargo set to the side ...
a horrible fate! And now it is happening with my wife. Dio mio, this cannot be real.
Against a wall, the Mossas stood motionless, stunned, in shock. Activity and noise swirled around them as hundreds of other passengers moved through the line, laden with luggage, babies, trunks, and satchels; mothers clutched small children’s hands. Mario had no idea what to do next; this was completely unbelievable.
What of our lives now? Please, Dio, do not let this be happening – God, hear me. Let someone tell us this is an enormous mistake. We need to, we MUST, get on that ship! We are going to America! Help us.
Morning sun sliced across Pietrina’s face, her cheeks streaked with tears from days of crying. Unwillingly, she opened them and automatically reached to the empty side of the bed where Mario normally laid. The realization hit her again, like a punch in the stomach.
My husband truly left without me? He left without me. They all did: Antonica, Giovanni, Amelia, Olga – all of them left me! What will I do now?
Fresh tears flowed. Profound disappointment pinned her body to the bed. She was literally unable to lift herself up, nor did she have the will. This outrageous situation was beyond comprehension.
Mamma Rosa
and
Papà Giacomo
were as completely shocked as anyone when their daughter returned to Luras the following day, led delicately into the house by neighbors who had accompanied their families to Naples; they had taken over the care of Pietrina after the ship left the port. Barely able to extract the details from Pietrina, they merely watched helplessly as she hid in her room grieving day after day. She was inconsolable.
Was there an iota of relief, Mamma Rosa wondered, for her daughter not to leave the only life she knew? She was so young. But oh Mario. How could her son-in-law have had the willpower and strength to depart without her? What kind of journey would it be for him, for Antonica, for the rest, after the despair of parting ways during that horrible port scene?
It was unfathomable to Pietrina’s parents how difficult it must have been. The well-organized plan had been ruined, not only for their daughter – for all of them. She had been deserted. Surely, the situation was insufferable for her. It felt that way for Rosa, without having witnessed it.
That day at the port was the last Pietrina saw of her family. They were on their way to their new lives in America.
Mario never gave up the vision of bringing his wife to the states. He worked long hard hours in the Brooklyn restaurant, a job he had arranged prior to leaving Italy – that was the reason he was forced to leave his wife behind. The decision had to be made quickly. Mario could barely process the situation – there wasn’t time to think. He and Giovanni had discussed it hurriedly and privately away from the women, agreeing on the inevitable – Mario
had
to go without Pietrina. He could not surpass a job opportunity when many Italians had great difficulty finding work once in America. He
had
to begin. There was nothing in Luras for him, for any of them, to secure a brighter future. He would send for Pietrina later.
Leaving behind his wife was the single hardest thing he ever had to do in his 37 years. He promised her over and over – and over again – he would send for her as quickly as possible. He encouraged her to be patient, assured her they would be reunited again in no time.
Oh, but for the terror in his bride’s eyes ... the frightening sound of her wailing ... he could not shake it. It haunted him while awake; it spooked his sleep.
Controllore stupido!!
Idiota!!
(Stupid inspector. Idiot.) What should have been a thrilling voyage had been replaced by anguish. He could hardly get out of bed. His family felt the same and were quiet during the sixteen-day passage. Their sorrow was unlimited; the journey tainted.
Mario kept his promise. How could he possibly be happy living in another country without his dear Pietrina? He did not want to only
send
for her, to force his sweet wife to make the journey without him,
no
. He returned to Sardinia to accompany Pietrina to America himself.
Sono il suo marito!
I am her husband and we will do this together. This time it will be okay. I will fix this for her – I will help my wife forget that dreadful day on the port last year.
Yet fate has other ideas for us sometimes,
sì
? The best plans are interrupted, postponed, some never to reach fruition. This time, by the happiest of news. Mario reunited in Luras with his wife, yes –
and
their daughter Tina, a beautiful chubby
bambina.
His first sweet child!
The talk of returning to America faded more and more as the Mossas settled into life, with Mario accepting what he considered temporary work as Pietrina became pregnant again ... then again ... and eventually bearing four children. Their days broke into routine with the small children and work. The vision of America seemed further and further away.
It is almost impossible now. I cannot afford six passages.
As much as was doable in those days of slow communication, the separated family stayed connected across the ocean through letters and static-heavy phone conversations. Pietrina wanted to feel happy hearing about Antonica’s life in America, and yet the dread of “that day” haunted her, and probably would forever. Brooklyn babies were born, apartments were rented, houses were bought, money was earned, English words and phrases were learned. Tidbits of news slowly drifted between New York and Sardinia.
And that was the way it remained. Pietrina never recovered from the abandonment. Dying too young of heart complications, this time it was
she
who left behind her beloved Mario. This time ... forever. Perhaps on that terrible day at the Naples port, Pietrina’s heart had actually broken in half and was unable to mend itself.
A broken heart ... along with her broken dream ... a dream of living in America.
