“You cannot say a person from Connecticut is from New Jersey,” I said. “Why?” My cousins asked.
I had to, a small person in a large chair, stare into a crackling fire.
“Maria, speak,” Franco said, “what is this place…Connecticut?”
“I do not know,” I paused.
“But this is real, this I know…”
“In what sense, Maria?”
“Sspp….”
I began whispering.
“Sssppssspp..”
They were taken aback.
“There is an expression in America that the people from Connecticut speak like this…”
“They do not use words, Maria?”
“Please, Carmine,” I called in my right-hand cousin for assistance.
“The word for this.”
“But what is this?”
“When you speak,” I pointed, “down.”
They couldn’t grasp it.
“Shush,” I put my finger to my lips.
“SHOOSH,” this was nonsense.
“They whisper when they talk?”
“In church, in public areas…?”
“If there’s a meeting?”
“A funeral?”
“Why are they whispering?”
They were scared.
“Maria, where?”
“Is something wrong?”
They were concerned.
“You don’t know—they do not express their sentiments.”
Franco couldn’t handle it.
“What do you mean they do not express their feelings? How can you not express this? SPEAK.”
“You don’t see it,” I whispered, “you see? I myself do not understand it.”
“I knew two people,” I leveled with them. “Same generation, same commune.” And they liked that, a Neapolitan getting inside, getting the inside information. I scanned around with my pointer finger, got crafty.
“This was my second Mama and a professor. When he heard that she was from Connecticut but was in New Jersey, he became the silence. He said to me that you cannot call someone from Connecticut from New Jersey, and she cannot live in New Jersey…”
“Ma,” confused, but, Angela laughed, “she lives in New Jersey…”
“Maybe she likes New Jersey,” they stood by that possibility.
“No, this man said no, impossible. It is in the most profound levels of her. Si, si, in the dramatic sense. Yes, myth. If she sees this,” I tapped my temple, “I don’t know, but she cannot remain in New Jersey. She must return to Connecticut.”
“New Canaan,” I gave them an empty palm.
“This commune is very important, he spoke like this.”
“You see?” I continued. “This is a real culture…but I do not know what it is…”
“Si, si,” remembering, “a cake of apples, the brands with two names…”
“What?”
“Si, si, Williams e Sonoma, Crabtree e Evelyne, Dooney e Burke…”
“Si like Dolce e Gabbana, Maria…”
“Si, si…”
“So it is rich…?”
“I don’t know…I believe so…?”
“Americans can…” I made the appear hand “…like they have money.”
“Ah, yes, yes,” we all understood that.
“This is the fantasia, the American dream …no?”
They followed that, they did.
“Very interesting.”
And through two fingers, I peered for “appear.”
“This is society,” I pointed high and low.
“Ahhhh, si si.”
“But I don’t know the difference between Connecticut and New Jersey…”
“I am from California,” I mean.
“But there are,” they asked, “affluent towns in New Jersey?”
“Si,” I said. “Some are accepted.”
“MA,” with a hand, “it is not sure.”
“I cannot spligiar,” I cannot explain.
“SPIEGARE Maria SPIE-GARE…”
“And people LOOK AT ME…”
“Si si, why, why do they LOOK AT her.”
“LIKE I KNOW.”
“Here here.”
“Brav.”
“Keep going. Brav. She’s telling them.”
“TELL EM MERI.”
“This also becomes confuso, OKAY?”
“ME INSIDE THIS DREAM.”
“Dante.”
Franco’s point.
“This sounds like Dante.”
“Si, si,” they saw it, they did.
“I had the sac from the store,” I pinched my fingers together.
“Si si, a shopping bag,” I tapped the fireplace, “here.”
“…That became a real Christmas stocking.”
“Si si,”
“You see?”
They did.
“Consume, buy, the symbol…”
I squinted.
“This is America, no?”
“Si, si, Dante. This is Dante. The Inferno family universe…”
“Si si, you had another mother?”
“Si,” I said, looking into my glass of liquor, blueberry.
“From Connecticut.” I couldn’t.