Given Away, a Sicilian Upbringing. 10th Anniversary Edition

By Marianna Randazzo

"Given Away, A Sicilian Upbringing" is a heart-rending tale of two sisters, Tina and Lena, in 1935 Sicily. The 10th-anniversary edition revisits their story of separation, resilience, and enduring love, inspiring you. Tina was separated from her sister at the tender age of four and had to face unimaginable hardships and abuse. In contrast, Lena, one year older, had to take on new family responsibilities in a nearby town. However, their indomitable spirit and loyalty to family led them to make incredible sacrifices, culminating in a transatlantic voyage and ultimate survival. This gripping narrative is a testament to the power of love, resilience, and determination as it unfolds amidst the shadow of fascism. Be prepared to be moved by the remarkable lives of these two sisters, whose story is marked by separation, sacrifice, and an unbreakable bond.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marianna Randazzo
• Release date: Jan 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9780989481960

Marianna Randazzo

Marianna Randazzo, is recognized as an experienced educator; having taught students for over 30 years in New York City. A prolific writer, Marianna has been featured in popular magazines such as Staten Island Parent Magazine and Odyssey Science Magazine. In addition, she has won writing contests for InStyle Magazine, among others. In addition to her countless years of public service, Marianna is known for her speech and grant writing and her involvement in numerous professional development, writing, and reading organizations and fund-raising efforts. She is a great follower and lover of Italian traditions and culture. She also speaks the Sicilian dialect fluently.

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Introduction

Sicily, 1935

Four-year-old Tina squirmed restlessly—she was always restless!—next to her great-aunt on the wooden bench of the crowded train car. They were traveling from her hometown of Ragusa to the small town whose name her great-aunt bore: Vittoria. Although she was exhausted, she couldn’t stop the thoughts from running through her head recapping the day’s events and how she got to this point. This morning, she and her sister, Lena, had been outside playing. They stood side by side; arms wrapped around each other’s waist and practiced their funny walk. Left leg, right leg. Left leg, right leg. Stepping over the other sister’s leg, they tried to see how many steps they could take without messing up. Their highest was fourteen steps. Today, they couldn’t get past nine without falling to the ground laughing. She loved when Lena acted silly with her.

When they went home for their afternoon meal, their mother’s aunt Vittoria was in the kitchen with their mother, Sarina, talking quietly. The rest of the day went by in a blur, and now here she was jouncing along on her first train ride with Zia Vittoria. She wished Lena was with her. Even though Lena was only one year older, she was much more mature. No one ever had to tell her to be still, to behave, to stop acting like a baby. As a matter of fact, Lena was allowed to help take care of their baby brother. She hoped Lena was not mad at her for being chosen to go on this vacation with Zia Vittoria to the country. She hoped her father would not be angry when he came home from work and saw that she had left without saying goodbye. She wondered if her mother would miss her. All this wondering made her head hurt. The headache made her miss her mother— and she wished her mother was missing her too.

A moment later, Tina’s thoughts turned to the adventure ahead of her. She was excited to see Zia Vittoria’s house in the country. She was looking forward to playing with the animals, especially the baby bunnies that Zia told her about.

The rabbits had little, little baby bunnies, she told Tina. They hop around like this. Gesturing a bunny hop, she looked so silly that Tina began to laugh aloud. They both ignored the inquisitive eyes of the other passengers.

Can I play with them? she asked. Of course, figlia mia. Of course, my child, of course.

Lena would love to play with the animals too, thought Tina. Then she remembered the stern look on Lena’s face as she lingered by the open door with her arms crossed tightly over her chest while Zia Vittoria helped Tina gather some clothes to pack for her trip. Vittoria fashioned a knapsack from a blanket and a string, centering the clothing inside.

You want to stay with me a little in the country and play with the little dogs and the rabbits, yes? Vittoria asked nonchalantly. Lena’s eyes squinted and she pursed her lips together. Tina retaliated by grabbing one of her sister’s sweaters and placed it in her sack.

Put it back! Lena shouted, her face turning red, while she balled up her fists and shook them in anger.

Leave that here, figlia mia. Zia will buy you pretty clothes, Vittoria said.

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Vittoria was childless, unlike her own mother, who had borne eighteen children. By the age of twelve, Vittoria’s mother, Rosaria, married a farmer twice her age. In a time when matchmakers arranged marriages between families, no matchmaker was needed for Rosaria. Her father, in his greed, brokered a deal with a local farmer, a burly man with rough, calloused skin and a bit of land, who was not quite as poor as he was. The farmer would take Rosaria as his wife for the promise of livestock and an abundance of produce that her father would sell. Rosaria was not quite twelve years of age, shy and uneducated about life.

The twenty-four-year-old farmer with a proclivity for young girls sought a wife he could train— much like his hound dogs. Rosaria’s body was not mature enough for motherhood, but that did not stop her husband from expecting her to perform her wifely duties. Terrified, Rosaria married the man in a church ceremony arranged by the local pastor. It was one of the first times the child wore shoes. During the ceremony, her hands shook so badly that her mother had grasped them to hold them still while her husband placed the ring on her finger.

While her husband worked, Rosaria, still a child with the mind of a minor, played marbles in the street, digging holes in the dirt and rolling the shiny balls into them. When the sun went down, she panicked realizing it was getting late and that her husband would be expecting a meal on the table and his house swept clean. Her mother had prepared her for housework but nothing more. Terrified, she hid under the marital bed, silent as a mouse when she heard him approaching. Convinced that she had run away, her husband gathered the villagers and searched for the child. The older men warned the farmer that he must straighten out his unruly wife. Give her a good kick in the ass, his own father-in-law advised him. Teach her how to behave. They did not find her and gave up their search for the evening.

Feeling powerless and alone, Rosaria began to whimper, and her soft cries were heard from beneath the bed. Despite her naive behavior, her husband took the opportunity to teach her wifely duties, the ones her mother had not prepared her for.

Over the years, Rosaria’s husband grew meaner and more irritable. When his daughters were old enough to be paid attention to, he cast off his wife. Slowly, she retreated into the shame that had become her life. The guilt of her helplessness cocooned her until she was no longer able to care for or protect her children. By the young age of six, Rosaria’s sons were responsible for tending the fields and working long, hard hours under the watchful eye of their father. There were no rules for loving a child.

One of the older boys, who was behind the others in learning, was sent away to the town of Carini to live with a man and his wife who could not bear children. He was to apprentice as a shoemaker in exchange for his father receiving used plowing equipment. The boy had only lived three years with the couple before the family donkey, which had become his closest companion, was startled by nearby loud noises and accidentally trampled the boy, killing him. Rosaria was distraught at the loss of yet another child.

By then, Rosaria had given birth to her tenth and eleventh children, twin boys. Neither survived the trauma of birth. From that day on, she cursed the day she married her husband. She also cursed the priest, her parents, her God, and all that she once held dear to her heart.

Vittoria was Rosaria’s fifteenth child. By that time, Rosaria birthed but no longer reared the children. The older ones were denied even a primary education and were fully responsible for raising their younger siblings. Not yet forty years of age, Rosaria had been with child over twenty-five times and fell into deep sadness when she remembered her children who died along the way.

An expert in agriculture, Rosaria’s husband treated his livestock and crops better than his own family. Those of his children he deemed useful were granted attention; the rest he discounted. Unfortunately for Vittoria, she fell into the latter category. Being tiny, unhealthy, and expressionless in so many ways, it was believed Vittoria would not live too long. Little stock was put into keeping her strong; little kindness was wasted on her. Don’t waste the breast on this one, Vittoria’s father often reprimanded his wife, demanding that she preserve her continuous flow of mother’s milk for the older children, who seemed more vigorous.

Although Vittoria was strong and loving with a gentle disposition, she was slow to learn new things. Her parents did not have the patience for such a child. She seemed mostly invisible to the rest of the family. She watched, carrying increasingly more family responsibilities, as her siblings married and bore child after child.

Chapter 2

Vittoria worked hard cleaning and farming, desperately wanting to be noticed and appreciated by her family. Her sister, Carolina, was a talented seamstress and was able to earn money at a young age. She attracted many suitors with her beautiful, uncharacteristic blue eyes and yellow hair. But it was Nunziella who dominated most of the children. She was a child with an iron will, and she had no fear of her father. At times she even intimidated the tyrannical man. This child is possessed by the devil himself, he often cursed. While Carolina often harassed young Vittoria, Nunziella protected her.

Nunziella was not interested in a farmer for a husband. She would not capitulate to her father’s ways and marry a peasant or allow him to show her any unwanted affection. Her sights were set on America, and she planned to take her sister Vittoria with her one day.

By 1909, Nunziella had two brothers who had immigrated to America. The brothers made arrangements to bring Nunziella over to the United States, but Nunziella would not leave without Vittoria. The two sisters traveled from their hometown to Messina, and then to Naples where the ordeal began. Immigration officers in blue uniforms were stationed at the port in Naples to check passports and documents, and screen each passenger for signs of illness or diseases. Nunziella and Vittoria had never seen such severe-looking men. They demanded answers to a barrage of questions, most of which Vittoria didn’t understand. They were questioned about their marital status, where they were going, and how much money they had. Money? We have no money, thought Nunziella, and if we did, they probably would steal it! Thankfully, she was smart enough to keep these thoughts to herself because it seemed that the officers enjoyed making people uncomfortable. Vittoria was easier to rattle, however, and she began to cry.

Nunziella’s inspection was swift and she passed through the line. She warned her sister not to cry, but Vittoria couldn’t stop shaking as the inspector officer scrutinized her eyes. A medical examiner then performed his examination with a bright light, pulling down her eyelids with his dirty hands. Nunziella tried distracting him with conversation, but he put up his hand, commanding her to stop talking and wrote down his findings of redness, swelling and discharge from her bulging eyeballs.

"Denied! This girl has conjunctivitis. It is very contagious. She cannot board the ship," he announced to the recorder behind the desk.

There’s nothing wrong with her. Her eyes are always red—she has allergies. She was just crying because she had to leave her boyfriend. We have to go to America; our father is dying, Nunziella claimed as she desperately spewed out any reason she could think of to change his mind.

"Signorina, we have strict public health policies in place. We cannot allow your sister to travel to America with an eye disease. It is highly contagious," the immigration officer explained to Nunziella.

This can’t be! I already booked this trip. It is paid for. My brothers are waiting for us in America. My father will die without seeing his daughter! Nunziella shouted to the officer. Not to be deterred, he shoved her aside and let her know that until her sister’s condition improved, she would not be traveling to America. Nunziella shouted, "Figlio di Puttana!" (Your mother is a whore!) She spat on the ground and walked away.

With a heavy heart, on August 31, 1909, Nunziella left Vittoria behind at the port while she sailed away to America. It was never her intention, and she promised her sister she would return for her. Vittoria had no choice but to return home, her dreams of life in America abruptly ended.

Once back home, despite a matchmaker’s effort, it was many years before a husband was found for Vittoria. At age twenty-seven, she wed Gianni, a man who was so emotionally scarred by war that it left him unfit for most women and incapable of loving properly. While he initially disguised his foul temperament, Vittoria soon saw that he was brutal and cruel to anyone who tried to love him. As in her childhood, Vittoria fell victim to a ruthless man like her father. Nonetheless, she accepted her fate, escaping her impervious mother and abusive father. She believed her future held more promise with Gianni than with the life she had been born into. And so, the ill-fated Vittoria, having so few choices, accepted Gianni, a broken and damaged man no right woman would agree to tolerate as a husband.

Like her mother, Vittoria quickly learned the burdens of married life to an uncouth, angry, and uncivilized man. Unlike her mother, she never experienced childbirth, not even a stillborn. Vittoria knew Gianni’s parents had died from the Spanish Flu, a disease she herself had also contracted. The illness left her face slightly distorted, and even more devastating (she would later discover), it left her sterile. Her inability to conceive brought her tremendous grief; she so yearned for a child and Gianni’s indifference brought her even more sorrow.

Ironically, before fighting in the Great War, Gianni expressed disdain for war, violence and aggression. He was unprepared for the magnitude of death and destruction he experienced as a soldier. His devastation was compounded when he returned from war and discovered his parents had succumbed to the Spanish Flu, as had many others in his town.

Your parents died. Such good people. Rest in peace, rest in peace, the neighbors told him as he approached his house, blessing themselves with the sign of the cross. It was influenza, so many villagers were taken. God rest their souls, they said, blessing themselves over and over. He entered his house to find not only his parents gone, but most of their possessions gone as well. We had to sell the furniture to pay the gravedigger, they told him as they tried to follow him into the house.

Out! Everyone out! Everyone out! He pushed the door shut on the villagers and refused to believe it was true. Later in the night, he convinced himself he was to blame. If he had been home, he could have cared for them. It was days before he visited the church and sought out the gravedigger who tended the church grounds. The only sign of their existence was a modest, unembellished marker labeled Giovanni and Maria Caldaroni. Carini.

For weeks, Gianni spent his nights walking restlessly around the one-room house where he grew up with his loving mother and father. He saw no one for days at a time. His sleep was haunted by dreams of trench rats carrying the bubonic plague that killed so many fellow soldiers– more so than the bullets and shell fragments of the war. After months of drunken fits of rage, destroying whatever little furnishings remained in the house, he emerged a different man, one who was pitiful and contemptible at the same time. He urinated in the town square against the sacred statues without regard to public scorn. When he met a face that did not please him, he would antagonistically push them, bumping his elbow or shoulder into them.

Eventually, he returned to the fields where he had worked as a boy. He sought the services of the old town matchmaker. It was through her sympathy for his kind parents, whom she herself had matched, that she agreed to arrange a marriage for him.

Chapter 3

As years passed, Vittoria watched her nieces and nephews grow and become parents. She became especially attached to Sarina, the daughter of her sister, Carolina. Beautiful and artistic, Sarina possessed all the qualities Vittoria dreamed of in a child. Her love for Sarina could not have been stronger had Sarina been her own daughter.

The future had been filled with hope and dreams for young Sarina. She envisioned a life filled with love, happiness, and dancing. She dreamed of designing frivolous dresses. Indeed, her fairytale wedding led everyone to believe life would be grand for the lovely Sarina and her handsome, dashing spouse. However, the burdens and responsibilities of raising three small children, accompanied by the misery of being the object of mean-spirited gossip, took its toll on Sarina’s carefree spirit. The small island town relished in other people’s sorrows, pretending to care for each other on the steps of the church on Sundays and then changing faces as Mondays arrived. The gossipers looked for the flaws and imperfections in other people’s homes to make them feel better about themselves. Despite what they said about her negligent and flamboyant husband, they could never condemn Sarina’s housekeeping. Sarina pursued cleanliness with religious zeal, the endless tasks were almost therapeutic, a distraction from a deepening sadness that would not leave her soul.

Sarina named her first daughter Emanuela and called her Lena. It was to honor Francesco’s deceased mother. When her second daughter was born just fifteen months later, Sarina’s mother, Carolina, insisted the baby be named after her deceased sister, Concettina, who had tragically died at four years of age. Carolina was haunted by the memory of her frail little sister who suffered from a congenital heart defect. One day, a vagabond– dirty and disheveled with missing fingers and gray whiskers– pounded on the door of their home looking for food. His sudden and loud appearance startled Concettina so badly that she began gasping for air. The intense fright triggered an episode, which stopped her weak heart. On December 17, 1931, Sarina pleased her mother by naming Tina after the fragile little girl whose loving memory remained in Carolina’s heart as a smiling, innocent angel.

Like so many other children, Tina was scrawny, refusing to eat even when food was scarce. In spite of the hard times, she was so full of life. She sang and skipped, hardly ever wanting to walk. The two sisters, Lena and Tina, were inseparable playmates– so opposite in looks, demeanor, and stature, yet they were so attached to one another that most times they even walked as one, arm in arm. They wanted to play even when the days for playing were no more. It was as if they knew their childhood would not last long. Between wars, youth did not exist. Babies were born and died in the same breath, replaced and sometimes given the same names as their brothers and sisters before them.

Chapter 4

Stop running! Sarina yelled distractedly at Lena and Tina. On the rooftop of their apartment building, she hung her laundry to dry in the hot sun while her two daughters entertained themselves, running dangerously close to the roof edge. Her newborn son, secure in a cushioned wicker basket between her legs, happily sucked on his finger. She worked methodically, attaching clothespins to the wet diapers and linens first. Next, shaking out her husband’s pristine white shirts, she carefully inspected each one for any potential stains. As she draped each item on the clothesline, she wondered what happened at the cafés her husband frequented without her. The thought troubled her, but it did not stop her from doing her job perfectly. In Sicily, you were judged by your clothesline as well as by your behavior.

She knew her family was fodder for the gossipers’ chatter. It had been that way since the birth of her first child, the same time her husband began to stray. Or was it before that, she often wondered. Then came the second baby and the third. Because Sarina never fit in with the gossipmongers, they despised her more. She knew their husbands were no better than hers, but she would not be a part of their malicious rumors and lies. On her afternoon walks to the well to fetch water, Sarina encountered the village women with their heads covered with scarves to protect them from the blazing Sicilian sun. She could hear them whispering quietly to each other. When Sarina passed, they slowed down and fell silent, grinning a fake smile at her. Lowering her bucket into the well, she felt the stares on her back and shoulders. It was obvious by the way they shared glances and whispered that they were gossiping about Sarina’s husband. She never thought to retaliate; it did not make her feel better to hurt other people. She preferred the solitude of her home and her holy rosary beads. Sarina tried desperately not to look back; regrets and indignities were too painful. She found the rigors of raising three young children overwhelming, and it pained her to be a devoted wife when she felt betrayed. She began to blame herself for expecting too much.

Francesco once promised Sarina a life of excitement, fabulous dresses, hats, music and dancing. He was well-bred, sophisticated, debonair and charming— all things that made Sarina’s parents distrust him.

You think too much of yourself. It will bring you trouble, warned Sarina. Her premonitions were disregarded. And you, my dear, think too little of yourself, he responded. He was a man accustomed to having things his own way, and Sarina was a woman unaccustomed to being courageous. Surrounded by capable, hardworking laborers, she was never made to feel overly important. It was as if she had no idea how beautiful and talented she truly was.

Francesco’s mother was warned about childbirth. The midwife that had handed her stillborn babies in the past cautioned her that bearing another child would be disastrous, but her desire for a baby surpassed her own fear of death. She knew the risks and took them anyway for the want of a child.

I’m sorry. The mother has died, said the midwife, Rest in peace, rest in peace, she repeated as she blessed herself, wrapped the newborn baby, and handed him to his wailing aunt who attended the birth. Your wife was strong and courageous, she told the father. Now you must focus on taking care of the baby.

Francesco’s overindulgent father and two aunts spoiled him. An only child, Francesco grew up as if he were a blue-blooded boy of noble or aristocratic ancestry. Only he was neither noble nor wealthy. He was, though, an educated man in an uneducated town, and he didn’t always follow the rules. His bad habits would eventually consume his family.

As an adult, Francesco was a proud, card-carrying Fascist. Fascism’s popularity was based largely on a passionate and highly nationalist philosophy, the central belief being that one was superior to others because of where one had been born, or one’s ethnic identity. Like so many others in Europe after World War I, Francesco yearned for national unity and strong leadership. Benito Mussolini used his charisma to establish Italy’s powerful fascist state. Men like Francesco yearned for the attention and notoriety this political movement brought them. He learned quickly that if he had any aspirations of being successful, he had to go with the political flow. Mussolini was adamant that only card-carrying Fascists would prosper in his Italy. Special treatments were paid back with loyalty.

The fascist movement had one clear leader who held absolute authority: Benito Mussolini, who took the title of Il Duce (meaning the commander or leader) of Italy. In the event of a war, Il Duce was the decision maker. In times of peace, Il Duce also ruled. He catered to the masses by awarding free goods, services and advantages to those who were a part of his group. It was only when public opinion turned that Il Duce would no longer be looked to for leadership. In the end, the ideology of fascism suppressed freedom. Francesco learned that harsh lesson during World War II, when his beloved country and all that he held dear were in peril.

In Sicily, it was not what you knew but whom you knew, and Francesco knew the right people. His involvement with the fascists procured him a job in the hospital as an administrator. His job in the hospital gave him the privilege of allowing his wife to deliver her third child in a sterile delivery room– something Sarina appreciated tremendously. Unlike her first child, Lena, born with the help of the midwife, Mammagranni, in the house, and Tina who began to emerge even before Mammagranni arrived, Giuseppe would be born in a delivery ward by a real doctor!

When word reached the town that Francesco’s wife birthed her third child in a hospital, tongues began to wag. A rich woman’s privilege, said the villagers, as if Sarina thought she was something special. They could not hold their tongues long enough to even see if the woman would survive the child’s birth or to be sure the infant was not stillborn.

This one is a boy, predicted the elders. They had hung threaded needles over her belly and measured the circumference of her stomach. Stupid things, she thought, but superstition was almost as strong as religion in Sicily, so she never stated her doubts aloud. They were right; a male was born. After two girls, she was sure her husband would be content, although he never showed any disappointment over his girls. I was happy when God sent me one girl and even happier when He blessed me with two, he bragged. Nevertheless, boys were valued more highly than girls were. Sarina knew women had no rights in fascist Italy; she also knew a boy would fare better.

Before the birth, Sarina took great pride in showing friends and family her collection of booties, bibs, and silk baby blankets that she had lovingly knitted for her children. They were clean and preserved in the bottom drawer of her big armoire. After this birth, however, her enthusiasm waned.

This baby fusses too much, she lamented. It was both frustrating and exhausting. She was still recovering from all the blood she lost while giving birth. Two months earlier, she almost died birthing this baby. Hemorrhaging, they called it. Her own mother begged the doctor to let the child die and save her daughter, having witnessed too many motherless babies in the world. It was the doctor in the sterile hospital who was able to control the high fevers, low blood pressure and Sarina’s continuous loss of consciousness. Miraculously, both had survived, but Sarina was different. Something about her was not right.

Thank the Lord she was in the hospital, said the villagers. "At home, they both would be morti, morti — dead, dead," they said repeatedly the way Sicilians spoke when they wanted to make a point. Hearing the villagers talk like this frightened Sarina’s daughters. It was clear to them that their mother was not well when she remained in the hospital for fourteen days.

Momma is dead, Momma is dead. I’m scared! the girls began to say. They cocooned each other in their grief, never separating, even as they were shuffled from one relative to another. When she was finally released, Sarina was brought home in an ambulance with a driver. She sat on a bench with her newborn in her arms. It was the pre-war years and Sarina had never been driven in an automobile. They rode through the poorly maintained Sicilian roads but it was still better than the horse and buggy ride that brought her to the hospital two weeks earlier. Still, people impudently talked. Look at her, being escorted in an ambulance like a baroness! Two weeks earlier they pitied the young mother, now they forgot the hardships she had endured. They did not know how truly humble Sarina was. My God, Sarina thought to herself, "they had no mercy for a mother and