One Woman's Journey From Sicily to America: Historical Women's Fiction by Carmela Cattuti ➱ Series Tour with Giveaway
Between the Cracks
One Woman’s Journey from Sicily to America
By Carmela Cattuti
Excerpt:
Prologue
Across from Italy’s mainland sat the city of Messina like an
indomitable fortress. Proud of its solid presence, Messina was the travelers’
first encounter with the island of Sicily. The earthy colors of the buildings
and landscape signaled to the visitor or returning Sicilian that Messina and
its people belonged to the island, not to any outside political force or
cultural tradition. The clang of the donkey-drawn carts and the voices calling
out to customers to buy wares in the market added to the music of the city’s
sounds. Visitors marveled out loud at the cathedrals and ancient artwork
throughout the city, but the locals walked and spoke softly, especially near
the narrow slits between the buildings.
Visitors delighted in the snake-like movement of the
streets. Most led directly to a famous church or street market but then would
slowly veer off in a different direction. They seemed to be designed to
intentionally confuse. The city offered no help in arriving at a specific
destination.
Ancient buildings were so close together that air barely
squeezed through. Residents believed that between the buildings old mysteries
sat, holding the true essence of Messina. Townspeople walking close to the
openings felt a whisper—not a sound you could hear with your physical ears but
heard in your mind. The whisper seemed to convey a yearning that had been
imprisoned for hundreds of years. When this happened, people scurried past,
heads down.
Hopelessness was the disease that plagued the citizens of
Messina during the early twentieth century. The city was so congested with
ancient energy it felt like it could explode—and small eruptions did occur.
Whenever some of the dark energy needed release, outbursts took place between
the locals who were often surly with one another. Their interactions were
always based on scarcity, and not just in terms of money. If a resident didn’t
show enough respect to a compatriot, there would be a confrontation. If someone
had more stylish clothes than another, there would be jealousy over their lack
of quality clothes. If a citizen had more leisure time than the next person,
there would be gossip about how the person with more time for pleasure was lazy
and didn’t deserve the extra time. Daydreaming was frowned upon. What was the
point of daydreaming when it was just fantasy and would never come true?
The city’s poor were especially vulnerable to the local
mafia and thieves. Many of the men met an early death at the hands of
murderers, accidents from factory jobs or shoveling coal, or disease. Women
were left to raise children who would most likely not move above their family’s
social status. The lack of light between the buildings prevented transcendence
or change. This cycle had repeated itself for hundreds of years.
The dark energy of Messina was relentless in its hunger for
the human spirit. Feeding off people’s dreams, it left them with doubt, fear,
and misery. This shadowy energy prided itself on soul theft. Once the soul was
stolen, an overwhelming amount of energy was required to retrieve it—and few in
Sicily were familiar with the practice of soul retrieval.
The neighborhoods were filled with children running,
playing, singing, and giggling. Youth were not affected by the dark energy.
They nourished each other with joy and playfulness; qualities that the
malevolent force could not penetrate. The children breathed deeply and dreamed
blissful scenarios of the future, but when they returned to their homes, a grim
reality met the physical eyes of many: parents yelling, often with a blow or
two to a mother’s face or stomach from a drunken father. Imperceptibly, like a
slow death from a chronic debilitating disease, the children played less and
gave up their bliss and dreams to the heavy energy between the buildings.
The cycle of poverty and abuse branched out through time
like a spider unconsciously spinning its web. No police force protected the
women or the poor, so the residents lived in fear of everything. Unconsciously,
they feared the small spaces between the buildings. At times, a glimmer of
light seeped into the locals’ fear. This usually took place in their
conversation around sunset, when many would gather in the town piazza.
There was talk of freedom and protection in America. The
townspeople heard it was a country where anyone could become rich—but more than
that, one could become happy. America equaled happiness. They didn’t know what
happiness felt like, but they were sure they could find it if only they could
go to America. However, few had true hope of leaving Messina. The spark of
light ignited by these conversations flickered but was extinguished at the last
spoken word.
It wasn’t that the townspeople couldn’t find a way to get to
the New World; there just wasn’t enough determination or will. When the energy
between the buildings took their will, the residents were left with despair.
While the Black Plague of the Middle Ages had been cured by an awareness of
sanitation techniques, the town’s hopelessness could only be cured by cleansing
Messina of the dark, heavy energy. This would require a belief that they could
reclaim their stolen individuality, comprised of their dreams and hopes. In the
end, it was easier to cure the Plague.
The shadowy energy became so thick at times that it took on
form. It was a master shape-shifter that became stronger as it gathered human
dreams. From the corners of their eyes, the residents would perceive a shape
leaning against a building—but when they looked directly at the form, it would
vanish. This energy frightened the residents into thinking that they had to
stay in the city to remain safe.
The dark energy took whatever it could from the city’s
residents. But for 13-year-old Angela Lanza, neither her dreams nor her
distinct presence could be stolen. Her awareness had never allowed it.
Different from her contemporaries, as she entered adolescence, she was
increasingly able to communicate with the unseen. She hadn’t been afraid of the
lurking, mysterious force between the buildings, as visions while she slept had
instructed her how to oppose this force.
One night, during a dream, two beings appeared to her. Both
had shoulder-length, wavy, light hair and faces glowing with a radiance that
compelled her to look away at first. Angela realized she was dreaming and
looked back at the faces of the beings, with light streaming toward her. These
creatures explained that they were infusing her with light for protection
against the dark power of the city. If she paid attention to their guidance,
she would live to manifest her dreams and aspirations and use her will to do
so.
When she awoke, she felt special. Whenever she was sad,
alone, or ridiculed, Angela would think of the two friends from her dream and
know everything would be all right. She maintained the integrity of her
internal space and knew she could not be violated by the shadowy energy. She
stayed away from certain buildings without really knowing why. At times, her
body seemed to be guided by an unseen, gentle sensation or a distant voice
inside her head. She sensed that her time in Messina would be short—that she
wasn’t supposed to stay here.
Angela no longer attended school, which was typical of girls
of her age. The oldest of three children, it was her responsibility to help her
mother. One day, she came home to learn her father who had been a silk trader
was killed on the silk trade route and would not return. A few weeks later, a
man moved into their house. Her mother explained that he would help with the
rent. After a few months, Angela noticed her mother’s belly protruding beneath
her homemade, faded smock. Angela pretended she did not notice. She thought of
her dream friends and felt less alone.
In December of 1908, the earth made a decision that would
change the lives of Messina’s inhabitants forever. The amount of pressure
caused by the malevolent energy between the city’s buildings seeped under the
earth and into the surrounding area. It nestled itself under Mt. Etna, an
active volcano.
After Mt. Etna erupted, causing an earthquake, the city
moaned. Screams from the undead, buried under debris, echoed off the skeletons
of structural remains. It was as if the earth released a scream that resounded
through time, releasing a millennium of abuse and maltreatment.
The morning the earth exploded; Angela was awoken from her
sleep. She and her younger brother, Antonio, jumped out of their second-floor
window and ran to the edge of the city, where she blacked out and started to
drift. She floated above the earth, peering down onto the city. She saw people
running, buildings collapsing, and gaping holes in the earth.
Copyright © 2013 by Carmela Cattuti
All rights reserved.
Published by Three Towers Press
An imprint of HenschelHAUS
Publishing, Inc.
By
Carmela Cattuti
Excerpt:
Alice came to a fork in the road.
‘Which road do I take?’ she asked.
‘Where do you want to go?’ responded the Cheshire Cat.
‘I don’t know,’ Alice answered.
‘Then,’ said the Cat, ‘it doesn’t matter.’
Lewis
Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
PROLOGUE
Nelsonville, NY-1930
Angela stood in
the kitchen of her fifteen room Queen Anne Victorian home on Morning Glory
Avenue. It had been twenty-two years since she had experienced the 1908
earthquake in Messina, Sicily. Her sister, aunt, and grandmother had perished
in the disaster. At the time of the earthquake Angela had been an orphan; both
parents had died in their early twenties. Angela and her brother, Antonio, were
sent to live with their grandmother, while her younger sister, Maria, was sent
to live with an aunt. The earthquake had finished her family and now she was
standing in a big house without a family to fill it. A few years after she had emigrated from
Sicily, Angela had fallen ill with a high fever. Her uterus had ruptured, and
the doctors had to remove it, ending her dream of having children.
Angela moved to
the dining room and surveyed the dining room table as if it were an artist’s
canvas. The white linen tablecloth made the room feel fresh and hopeful. An
empty crystal bowl with white candlesticks on either side stood in the center
of the table like place holders, waiting for the next gathering to occur. She
walked to the buffet and gazed at a photograph of her sister-in-law, Speranza;
a tall thin young woman with sunken cheeks peered out from underneath a 1920s
style hat and dress. A holy card of the Blessed Mother leaned on the side of
the framed photograph. Angela had placed it there so that Speranza was
protected by Mary. She had made the ensemble for Speranza’s engagement party
ten years ago. When Angela came to America in 1913, Speranza was nine years old
and in need of guidance. Angela had lost her sister, so she set her intentions
on caring for Speranza, in turn, Speranza helped her learn English.
A few months ago, Speranza suddenly died from
a heart ailment. It was a blow that would stay with Angela until she passed
from this life. Angela removed the card and leaned it on a nearby crystal bowl
and picked up the photograph. Next to Speranza was her husband Salvatore. He
had a vacant stare that communicated to the viewer that he was either occupied
elsewhere, or he hid who he was. Angela still had Speranza’s three children to
care for, but they were not her blood. Angela returned the photograph and holy
card back to its original place. Franco’s chair was to the left of the buffet.
Angela had made the chair cover with a rose motif material. Franco’s body had
made an impression on the worn cushions a ghost of his form that Angela
sometimes mistook for Franco. Pipes encrusted with tobacco dangling from a pipe
holder like small sculptures sat on a table next to the chair. The room reeked
of stale tobacco.
Angela turned and
admired the black marble fireplace and two sets of sliding oak French doors.
One set lead to her sitting room and the other opened to a spacious hallway
with a winding staircase. She gazed at the tapestry of Vatican City that hung
over the fireplace; St. Peter’s Basilica stood in the center like a fortress.
Franco had purchased it on their 1929 trip to Sicily. They had returned to
Messina hoping to find out what had happened to Angela’s sister Maria.
Unfortunately, there was no documentation about her death or survival, so
Angela returned to New York without any closure about her sister’s fate. Every
time she looked at the tapestry, she was reminded about the nebulous part of
her life, and the lingering sense that her sister existed in a space between
life and death. This is God’s version of purgatory for me, thought Angela. She
was not allowed the heaven she thought would befall her once she came to
America.
Angela opened the
French door to her sitting room. A couch with billowing cushions sat in front
of another marble fireplace. Sewing baskets, dress patterns, and cloth remnants
were neatly stacked on a worktable. The house had been built for a physician in
1888. There was a large oak cabinet at the end of the room where he had kept
medical supplies. Angela now stored material, thread, and knitting needles. She
liked that it had been a healing space that served the community. Maintaining
good health was a priority in Angela’s life. She made sure her food was fresh
and walked every day regardless of the weather. Angela especially liked the
walk to St. Mary’s school which sat on top of a hill over-looking the Hudson
River.
Next to the
sitting room was Franco and Angela’s bedroom. It too had French doors that
opened into a light filled room. Over the top of the bed was a half-moon shaped
stained glass window and when the light spread its rays through the window
Angela felt it was a kiss from the sun. Green, red, and blue rays engulfed the
room, giving it a feeling of connection with heaven itself. A third dark marble
fireplace, with decorative interlacing gold spirals, stood next to the vanity
like an anchor for the light. A multi-tiered wrought iron candle stand stood in
front of the dark fireplace. When Angela survived her illness many years ago,
Franco had prayed to the Blessed Mother to heal his young wife. This was on a
Friday, the next day her fever broke, and she was sitting up in bed when Franco
came to visit. Every Friday, Angela lit candles to Mary in appreciation for the
miracle.
Angela moved into
the spacious hallway. Two large stained-glass windows lined the winding staircase.
Bright light penetrated the multi-colored stained glass, casting a rainbow of
color on the steps and floor. Under the front window sat her sewing machine. A
full-length mirror hung on the wall to the right; a small platform waited in
anticipation of the next customer.
Across from the
staircase the largest fireplace of them all greeted anyone descending the
stairs. It was the same color and design as her bedroom fireplace, but the
spirals were intertwined with circles creating a rhythm that reminded Angela of
music. Antique gold clocks lined the mantle with figurines depicting eighteenth
century dress; ladies with ornate fans shielding their lips and nose, men with
white wigs and handkerchiefs dangling from one hand. During the holidays a
roaring fire was lit and the aroma of oak and cedar filled the downstairs
rooms.
She stood at the
bottom of the staircase with her hand on the railing. The rooms upstairs were
vacant. There were not enough people to fill them. They had bought the house
with the expectation that Speranza and her family might one day live with them.
There was another kitchen and bathroom on the second floor; an apartment that
waited for occupants that might come one day. After Speranza’s death, Franco
had wanted to rent the rooms for extra income, but Angela opposed it.
“Someone will come
if we leave the rooms empty,” Angela told Franco.
“No one will come,”
Franco said. “We need to ask our friends if they know of a family who needs a
place to stay. The extra money will come in handy.”
“Speranza’s
children will want to stay with us,” Angela said. “Besides, why have strangers
live in our home?”
Since his stroke,
Franco did not have patience with children. He favored his nephew, Nunzio,
Speranza’s first child. Nunzio was vociferous and more than disruptive at
times. Angela tried to tame him, but Franco delighted in Nunzio’s boisterous
behavior. When Nunzio played with toy guns, Franco taught him how to shoot. He
was amused by his nephew, but Angela felt Nunzio’s behavior, while amusing at
age six would be offensive as a teenager, and dangerous in adulthood. If Nunzio
lived with her, he would have to change. The two younger children were sweet
and needed a mother. Their father was often out-of-work and Angela felt he
relinquished his obligation as a parent to his sister Paolina. His sister had
catered to Salvatore his entire life. He relied on her to cook his meals, wash
his clothes, and clean his house.
Salvatore rarely interacted with his children and relied on others to
care for them.
Copyright © 2019 by Carmela Cattuti
All rights reserved.
Published by Three Towers Press
An imprint of HenschelHAUS
Publishing, Inc.
5
Reasons Why I am Writing a Trilogy
Greetings Readers,
Writing is a challenging and frustrating activity. It is
creative, but sometimes it is difficult to show up at the computer every day.
The most onerous part of writing is letting go of the extraneous paragraph
or pages; if they don't move the story forward, then they need to go.
Writers do not like to delete their hard work and I am one of them. It is
common knowledge that writers over-write; it's part of the process.
I had to cut one hundred pages from my first novel. It was
becoming impossible to keep dates and characters consistent and there was so
much more I wanted to include. My characters seemed to protest when I had decided
to write one book. I was finding writing one novel wouldn't bring clarity to
the story.
In this blog post I will share 5 reasons why I chose to write a
trilogy to deal with the anxiety over over-writing and the disorienting process
of deciding what to cut.
1) Sometimes what you cut from one novel can
be used in the next book.
There were passages from my first book, Between the Cracks, that
I rewrote and used in my next book, The Ascent. This also applies to characters
that don't fit; sometimes you can re-purpose them for a future novel. I found
this to be encouraging since I felt that the passages I had to cut were usable
in the future. Nothing is ever wasted.
2) Get to know your
characters on a deep level.
I found this to be tremendously satisfying. As you bring
characters from one novel to the next you will find that you automatically know
their mannerisms, likes, dislikes, and quirks. Don't get me wrong, you need to
ensure that they grow, but some characteristics don't change. You want your readers
to recognize them when they appear in the second or third book. While I knew I
had to let go of certain characters when writing one book, I could see room for
them in the next.
3) There is no need to tie
up loose ends.
I found that some things couldn't be resolved by the end of my
first novel, but I had the freedom to explore these issues in the
next books. This encourages the writer to slow down and accept that he or she
doesn't have all the answers. This embraces the mystery of the writing process
and the reader will be hooked.
4) More room to play.
A writing life can be serious, with very little play. When you
write a trilogy, you have space and time to play with timelines and characters.
If you would like your character to experience a different time or place, you
can creatively work that into your plot. If it doesn't fit the characters
will let you know, but you have revealed the realm of possibilities.
Again, the timeline change may not be appropriate in one novel, but will
in another.
5) Easier to market and sell
a trilogy.
Readers love trilogies and a major benefit of writing a
trilogy is selling all 3 novels together. I also wrote my novels to stand
on their own; it is not necessary for a reader to have read the first
novel to follow and benefit from the second. I found that doing an author
signing with books that are connected to each other makes for a more
streamlined experience. Chances are if the reader is interested in one of the
books, they will eventually buy the others.
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