RUDIMENTS, pt. 539
(stateless and indifferent)
My family was always a
bit wacky. Lots of surprises.
One time, about 1966 I guess,
one of my aunts comes strolling
in with this little old man I'd
never seen before, nor even
heard of He was visiting this
country, from Italy, and I
suppose - staying with her
family - he was getting the
grand tour of sorts, or at
least of other distant USA
relatives. Which meant us
too. Of course, that meant
my father, proud as a peacock,
had to show off all 5 of his
American kids. Yep, there
we were, in front of this
old, little, maybe 5' 2" guy,
in a workable dress suit, not
at all American looking, nor
did he know any American
language - which led to my
aunt as translator and his
grunts and accented groans
acting as our messages from
a distant place. I had no idea
what he was asking or saying,
and there was really little
interaction for the perhaps
hour I stayed there. It was a
but awkward and actually
uncomfortable too. Remember,
in late '66 I'd just bailed on
my entire future as a member
of the 'priestly class' - which
to an Italian is mostly considered
as a get-out-of-jail card for
free, and a passport to Heaven,
for the entire family, kith,
kin and distant relatives too.
I don't know if he'd been
clued into the facts about the
renegade Guido Sarducci in
his lineage. All he ever seemed
to be doing was smiling.
-
In any case, this Uncle Luigi
guy seemed satisfied with
everything and to be enjoying
himself. Meatballs, spaghetti,
olives, and the rest - all the
Eyetalian table-craft stuff
and the requisite stuffing the
face that went along with it,
even the red wine, which was
like 'Bargain Bobby's Country
Red' from the Two Guys liquor
store. All went off OK, and
that's pretty much all I remember.
The point was, whoever this guy
was and who had sprung him
and why and how he got here,
apparently alone, all baffled me
and nothing was ever said. As
for my family's origins, I guess
some of it was Italian, but I had
my own hunches about things.
From the studied behaviors and
blue eyes, noses, and the rest
I detected as well a definite
Aegean component as well as,
frankly, North African black
in the mix. The city of Bari,
whence my father's wailing
claim to origins, is/was a
seafaring town across from
Albania, with all those horny,
crossing sailors back and forth.
My father's entire bearing,
stature, ire, fury and outlook,
to me was always more King
Zog of Albania like than it
was anything Italian. And that
was only when looking east. On
my mother's side, her mother
had numerous broad-nosed
black North-African traits,
and the same back and forth
cross-Mediterranean stuff
prevailed. Call me stupid,
but don't call me dumb.
-
Another time, in an even
stranger fashion, this time
on my mothers side of the
family, this really odd little
guy, referred to by everyone as
'Uncle Johnnie' (?) showed up.
Unassisted. He was maybe 70,
I'm guessing, still strong and
spry. The little I gleaned about
him was that he was a cousin
on my grandmother's side,
not often seen around the
USA, and hailed from Florida,
with many other ports of call.
He was veteran Navy guy,
a world sailor who'd taken
to the sea some 45 years
ago and never stopped. His
ports of call were legendary -
Bali, Tahiti, Goa, all sorts
of crazy places. He showed
some Navy pass - an ID
thing that got him anywhere
he wanted, perks, entries,
discounts, places on ships,
boarding privileges, and the
rest. I guess it was all real;
he sure talked the fight, and
everyone else vouched and
backed him up. Visually, I'd
say he was a near likeness to
what you think of as Popeye
when I say it. That's really
it. He hung around a good
week, different visits, etc.
It turned out and I didn't
even know it, that he blew in
for the wedding of my sister.
It was a big reunion-time, and
then he was gone. Just like
that. The echo he left behind
was like a ringing toll-bell that
never stopped. And then he
was back again! One more
visit! Then off to Vegas, and
then there began a series of
postcards - from around the
world, all sorts of places; he'd
write messages, weird stamps
and postages. A year or three
went by. And then I heard he
was dead. End of that story.
-
Goes to show, I guess, how
you can't really tell about
anything; or shouldn't anyway.
There's a hidden story-side to
every batch of words you ever
hear. Skeletons in the closet
is but one way of putting it. In
my own paltry life, the decided
line is that I am descended from
a scheme of killers, thieves,
reprobates, and 'mysterions,'
on both sides - as well as
men, in each case, who rudely
abandoned their broods. In my
mother's mother's case (maternal
grandmother) it was because she
had girls (3) and no boys. That
was enough to blow top off of
Grandpa Vesuvius. On the other
side, the matching legion of
bad things equaled the same
level of familial mirth - both
entering, eventually - the
journals of prison, murder,
and death too. I gave up the
trying on all these matters a
long time ago. Now I just nod
and say, 'Yeah, tell me about
your 'real' problems. Go ahead.
You go first.'
-
I never got on much with what
were still called 'foreigners. As
in the auto-repair field, the single
distinction was made - 'foreign
car repairs,' as if that specific
quality mattered. It did, and it
didn't. The linking idea was,
as it was taught that this was
the modern world, and all
those distinctions had been
dissolved. They had and they
hadn't. We were all one people,
all wearing the cloak of one
Humanity. Yeah, Italians liked
their pasta, and Hungarians their
goulash, and 'Orientals' their
bok choy and lo mein. No one
ever said it was all premised on
some bullshit inner United Nations
within each of us that we were
supposed to cultivate. Just the
same way as some guys loved
banging French girls, or the way
Spanish ladies adored American
men, the meshing had its own
advances and reasons and purposes.
I could see that most clearly with
situations like the Italian Uncle
Luigi scene, and Uncle Johnnie's
stateless and free-form way of
(womenless?) life. Global went
wherever you wished to take it,
I guessed. At that point I started
getting weird ideas myself : I was
going to hop a freighter, take a
job, stowaway or not, until caught,
when I'd work my fare and get me
to Hamburg or Rotterdam and never
be seen nor heard from again. I
never figured any legal-problems
angle, just figuring once they
found me out on the open seas
I could 'fess up and work my way
across the Atlantic. I had dreams
of living in a room where my bed
was a hammock, suspended up,
off the floor, which floor I'd
have covered in three or four
inches of a clean beach sand.
My new way of living was
going to be a dream. When I
needed food, I'd find it; money,
I'd work it; women? I never
figured that for a problem,
except maybe the language.
-
See what I was up against? Dream
haywire, my cup runneth over,
way to much intensification of a
logic that didn't exist. My world
was going to be no different than
a changeable moon, shifting as
the phases came and went.
I was going to be stateless and
indifferent to everything I saw.
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