Eighty men had to now carry this heavy platform across the entire town for four hours. Resting on a pole ten meters high, the cross of the Savior was majestically illuminated from the full moon and street lights. About one hundred fifty additional participants augmented the visual experience by pulling along their thin, white “fasce,” which were attached to the top of the pole and exuded a dome-like effect. As the marching band lead the way, the religious confraternity followed behind, dressed in white hoods and blue tunics. Unique not only for the esthetically appealing nature of the procession, the immensely strong, religiously devoted, pietrini performed an intermittent lowering and raising of Il Signore. Each movement symbolized a particular station of the cross. Because of the sheer size and weight of the structure, Il Signore stopped at intervals as it traversed up and down the hills, through the squares, and past the churches. Vincenzo was allowed to help carry the float for about fifteen minutes, soon grasping what it must have felt like to lift a Volkswagen. Once it ended, he was content in knowing that he had become part of the history of Pietraperzia, however small it might have been.
Pages could be written about the unequivocally blissful Easter Sunday which fell symbolically on the three-month anniversary of Enzo’s arrival in the realm of his antecedents. Vincenzo’s first time celebrating “Pasquetta,” or little Easter, could also intrigue the reader, but those stories will just have to wait to be included in the book currently being written due to obvious space limitations. Suffice it to say that five days of Easter in Sicily awakened a deeply responsive chord in his heart. It was one of the most spiritually gratifying periods in Vincenzo Traina’s life. It could only have been better if his family were there also.
By the time the weather became typical of Sicily in May, his adult students kindly brought their teacher back to the towns in the southwest where his family had originated. In the car ride to Scoglitti, the group listened to “That’s Amore” by Dean Martin, a favorite of Vincenzo’s father. As he looked out at the sea, he thought, “This is where my ancestors fished to survive for hundreds of years.” Passing by a shepherd with a flock of sheep in Santa Croce Camerina, his spirit continued to be nourished by the beautiful countryside of his family’s birthplace. Driving along the coast, a sudden calm came over him. Was it the refreshing Mediterranean breeze, the crispy salt air, or some sort of mystical phenomenon? Whatever it was, it was powerful enough to strengthen his Italian American identity. This was truly an irreplaceable gift.
Desiring to express his appreciation for the hospitality he had received, Enzo threw a farewell party in late June. Nearly one hundred people came. Paolo, Giusy, and Agnese helped serve the guests with pizza, tortillas, coca-cola, and beer. Surprised with a large white cake spelling, “Arrivederci da Pietraperzia,” it was the most touching moment throughout his entire stay in Sicily. Likewise, the most comical moment was when he noticed that it was decorated with British flags because the pastry shop didn’t have American. He knew that the party was special for everyone. It was surely meaningful for the host because it was a fruition of six months worth of assimilating back into his Sicilian birthright. Articulating himself in the best Italian he could muster, Vincenzo gave a speech about the ways in which the town had become a part of his life, heart, and soul. This was a fact he could never change, nor would he ever want to.
