You Are With Me

• William Pietracci, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2016

Dark, pulpy, smooth-skinned berries suspend, bunched from the vines, ready for harvest. The field was full of life.
“Mrs. Calogera, it’s time to go,” Cousin Anjanette said.
At 57, Mrs. Calogera was a recent widow. Her lace veil covered a withered, tanned complexion. A simple funereal dress framed her shoulders, padded to hide her slouch, leather gloves and flats held tiny hands and feet. Together the women trekked through the vineyard behind Mrs. Calogera’s home. The village of Montone shared their condolences. Bowls of fruit, desserts and wine, gifted by neighbours, engulfed the tables. Standing beside the abundance was her first born brother, Enzo, a tall man with slick dark hair and freshly shaven yet toughened, scarred skin, memories of the Red Army at Don River. He wore the indented crown of his black fedora, a Gucci three piece dress suit, elegantly buttoned, and a 10 carat diamond watch. He greeted her, left cheek then right.
“It’s been a week, have you chosen what you’ll lay to rest with him?”
“His silver saffa lighter. He was so fond of it,” replied Mrs. Calogera with a faint smile.
Father Dominic started the service in prayer. Hunched, Mrs. Calogera observed the cluster of men and women around the deceased. The purity of white silk and the fresh fragrance of chrysanthemums bloomed around his casket.
“I call upon Mrs. Calogera to give her final words,” closed Father Dominic. She rose without ease, vulnerable to her weeping heart. Yet she concealed her grief and performed for all Montone. Her eulogy was full of raw, unfeigned stories about her love.
'Mi accompagni ovunque io vada.’ You are with me wherever I go, she sighed and placed his saffa in the casket, feeling its edges one last time. The mourning period was over, no longer would she say his name.
Outside in the noon sun, she stood beneath the dappled shade of the mature ‘il melo’ he’d table grafted, smiling absently at well-wishers. She loved the scent of the deep red apples, their bite so crisp. As the cars drove away, she slowed and stepped through the dense heat inside, her hands caressing the smooth cool stone arch. Enzo walked in with her, giving a smile as he headed into another room. A package lay on the tiles. Staring at the brown cardboard, initialised M.C, she pondered why it wasn’t with the others and placed it on the kitchen bench before she withdrew to privacy. Sitting on her linen trousseau, she felt a sense of security. His presence.
‘You chose this embroidery on these sheets. Our wedding linen. But you knew we would be for a lifetime,’ she paused and thought, ‘your lifetime?’ Lying down to rest she continued, ‘You had many important friends, strange how they knew me so well... did you speak of me often? Mussolini’s war took you from me. But we were young then and nothing was simple. Not the time, nor our love, nor hope in right and wrong, nor the sun and moonlight that passed by without you. But to me, you always came home.’ The corners of her lips rose with sweet remembrance.
‘Mi accompagni ovunque io vada.’ You are with me wherever I go.