Free Worn Masks by Phyllis Carito Page A

out the information from Italy,
and a second letter that came from Elena, written mostly in English.
    Elena talked about “our beautiful village above the town of
Pistoia, casa en Pescia .” She sent photos of the Piazza del
Duomo , and the San Zeno Cathedral.
    How much did Mary Grace need to know from this woman, this Aunt
Elena?
    Elena was born when Mary Grace’s mom was twen ty-six years old,
and Mary Grace was born when her mom was thirty years old. Mary Grace tried to
get it straight in her mind. Elena was her
mother’s half sister, her aunt, born about four years before Mary Grace
was born.
    There were also photographs of each of the
eight chil dren of Giovanni Giordano, living and dead, Giovanni’s proud
brood.
    The one of Teresa must have been taken before she left for
America. She was standing at the door of their house, her head tilted to one
side, and she was squinting into the sun. Mary Grace thought maybe she looked
uncertain. Her hair was long and wispy around her face. Mary Grace had never
seen her mother’s hair not cropped short and combed flat. She had on a long
patterned dress and pumps. She wished the picture was in color, not in black
and white, and yet she could tell this dress was not the dreary black that she
always knew her mother to wear.
    She pinned that photograph above her desk and looked at it for a
long time.
    Che cosa fai?” What are you doing? She could her mother’s voice.
    Mary Grace heard the words so many times. “ Che cosa fai ? Go
sweep the steps.” or Che cosa fai ? Go wash the socks in the sink.”
Always commands mixed with words she never really understood.
    Che cosa fai?
    I’m finding out who I am mother. Mary Grace de clared to herself.
    She felt strengthened by the way Elena spoke in her letters, and
awkward about the way Elena encompassed her as if they had been always been
connected. The way Elena spoke about her own mother, Momma Christina, with such love and respect, in some strange way it
consoled Mary Grace, and in other ways it was so for eign to her this
show of love. This was not a concept comfortable to Mary Grace.
    A new set of letters arrived from Elena’s younger brothers Francesco and Giovanni, Jr. They were in
Ital ian and from what Mary Grace could decipher they were welcoming her
into the family, as if it had only been too long since they had spoken, not
that they had never met her before. 
    The photographs included the family house with the Colline
Montalbano rising behind it. There were two other photographs of the inside
of the house showing the open living room and kitchen. And, a poor copy of an old black-and-white photograph of Momma Chris tina
as a young woman, and on the back she, or the brothers had written “ Benvenuto—sei
famiglia .”
    It all made Mary Grace feel anxious, the way
that change drives you to new places and brings fear of those new places that
tries to pull you back. It was like she waiting for someone to catch her, “ Maria
Graziella how dare you talk to my sorella ?” Of course it would be
her mother warning her not to engage. Mary Grace reverted to being an observer, taking in the details from these new exchang es, but not participating emotionally. Using a magnifying glass, she
looked at the photographs, moving around the room seeing modern and old mixed
together. There were flowers, squashes, and herbs, hanging upside down from the
beam in the kitchen over a worn butcher block. On the walls were beautiful tapestries, and on in laid wood tables were stunning vases and other ceramica.
    What an amazing and beautiful place, so well kept. Mary Grace was
challenged by the warmth and brightness of this place. She was struck by the
feeling of family in the letters and even in the photographs. Could Mary Grace
ever feel a part of this family?
    She had to admit she did look forward to
their let ters. With dictionaries and
translators she spent hours poring
over them. They told her about Papa, their fa ther, and her