continued her dancing and opened a small dance studio in an empty Kosher deli that Irving and Sofie opened for a short time, hoping that Kosher food would catch on. They moved to the US to a place called the Villages where they heard any type of restaurant would be busy.
Mary did well with her twelve students of all ages considering she drew from the limited population that weren’t on walkers, in wheelchairs, or limping around. Money was slow as many residents couldn’t see any sense in learning how to dance a combination of the Neapolitan saltarello and Irish jig. Yet they came to get out of their houses, and it was an entertaining few hours out for small change.
Unknown to Mary, most met at Ima Jally Aler before going to her studio. Mary was convinced (not being overly streetwise) that they were just having a good time!
Emilio was walking by Mary’s studio on his way home from a two swine rub down and venting his sty smell when he heard the music. It was absolutely the finest, ear-pleasing mellow tones he had ever heard. Keep in mind that this is a man who rubs pigs.
As he slowed down to hear more of the music, he looked in the door and saw an angel blowing into a tube. Emilio had never seen any instrument outside of a wheezing accordion.
Was this love at first sight or simply an erotic event? He had to find out since he knew very little about eroticism! Through the door he went, lulled by the music and forgetting that he just came from a pigsty on a very warm day.
Fortunately for Emilio, Mary had a severe cold and couldn’t smell anything. She saw Emilio enter and, for the first time, felt a stirring.
The locals in Pissaccotta did not appeal to Mary as her father, Patric, warned her about men with greasy hair who were dressed in tight pants, open-fronted shirts, and zipper boots. He also told her that what she may consider a fascination with her music could be a nasty leer.
Emilio was different; in Mary’s eyes, he looked, well, natural. With him staring, she continued to play and instruct the seniors class on the simple moves of the dance she devised—the Neapo-Irish jigg—to keep them coming. She could not keep her eyes off this incredible man, even as she knew he did need a little help in the laundry department.
Emilio realized that participants were looking at him and holding their noses. Most knew him and his father, Piero, as their smells preceded them. They were tolerated, as the pork from Pissaccotta was getting a pretty good price at the area’s pork belly market.
Emilio, sensing that something good could come out of this, ran home and dove into the nearby stream to clean up. Borrowing his father’s fine clothes, he ran back to the dance studio where Mary was just finishing.
Chapter 4
The wedding was memorable between Emilio and Mary. There hadn’t been a wedding at the local church in over ten years, but there were plenty of funerals.
Between the swine smells and nothing to do, very few young people stayed around town after reaching puberty long enough to get married. If they did, they went to the bigger towns such as Caperrioli for the air-conditioned church, beach, and restaurants.
The local friar, Geovani Ranieri D’Angelo, who was responsible for eight small-town churches and chapels, officiated. He has been a friar here for eighteen unrecognized years, and he was pleased when he was assigned to this circuit—few weddings.
His problem with weddings was that he was emotional and always cried at weddings. Not at funerals, just weddings. He did so many funerals, he was void of any emotion, just waiting to collect the “honoria” from the family.
There were a lot of profitable funerals. Friars have needs too!
Both Emilio’s and Mary’s parents met for a very brief period, and both had work obligations and figured the marriage wouldn’t last anyway.
They also didn’t have any money for the reception, not knowing that in town, all the neighbors chipped in to make it a celebration that would be remembered until the next one, most likely years away.
Mary and Emilio’s celebration ended with a reception hosted by the locals since they were primarily a swine city. The menu consisted of their favorites—bacon macaroni; pork-skin potatoes; pork choppettes; pork-rind pizza; pork rounds wrapped in bacon; pork belly mountain oysters wrapped in pork tongue; and in honor of Mary’s heritage, corned pork and cabbage. It was a short reception as most people where typically in bed by ten.
Mary and Emilio spent the night in the two room B and P (Bed and Pork) that seemed to always have a vacancy. Picked because it was upwind from the slaughterhouse and swine farms, it also had hot water and a shower, with B-and-P provided soap and towels. Yes, they took the soap and shampoo when they left but not the towels.
After a successful night with minor conversation, they decided to take their few money gifts and put it toward the repair of Patric’s and Aideen’s truck, mainly to get them out of town so that they could settle in without the “mother-in-law” spending her days in Mary’s small studio, clapping her hands and trying to sing along.
And it wasn’t soon after that the truck was fixed and Patric and Aideen left, in tears, to continue their music and missionary journey through Italy, with the promise that they would be back. Mary and Emilio told them not to rush, make sure they enjoyed their newly repaired truck and few extra Lira.
Chapter 5
The early years, the “adoption” of Luigi and Guido
Emilio and Mary McFadden-Banafasi’s parents weren’t happy with no grandchildren and certainly let them know their feelings. Martina, Emilio’s mother, was the most vocal.
“You know that your wife’s biological clock is tick, tick, ticking away, and soon you must have children to keep our family name going. It is your responsibility, as a true Italian, to have many children!”
Emilio, nearly in tears, said, “I know, Mama, it’s not me. I should have tried the merchandise before I married her to make sure she is capable of keeping the proud name of Banafasi going. I will continue to do my best. Maybe I should drink more to make sure the fluids are flowing the next time I come home late from the Ima Jally Aler.”
Mary overheard this conversation and felt guilty and prayed that there would be a sign. That night, they talked together in the sanctity of the bedroom.
“Mary,” started Emilio, “I know that we have tried for weeks now to get you pregnant. What is your problem?”
Mary, with her Irish hair now raising on her neck, answered, “Emilio, why is it that every Italian male blames the woman for all their problems?”
“I really don’t feel that it’s my biological workings.”
“Why don’t we get one of those fertility tests we read about in one of your porn magazines?”
Now it was Emilio’s turn for hair on the neck raising. “First of all, why are you reading my literature, and second, the tests are mail order, and I don’t want to spend the money on some dumb test that will tell us what I already know! Let’s stop talking about this for another week and then we will visit the medic, Giacomo, in town and see what he says, even though I know he will say it’s your problem!”
Mary, stuttering, said, “I don’t like your attitude and accusing me, a fine Irish
