Bana Fine Irish Pizza. T. STRAHS
found a door that said, “Private. No Visitors. Wheelhouse authorized only.” Luigi and Guido took this mean it was where the captain is.
They reached the inside doorway to the bridge, and as they approached the captain, he was laughing and yelling at the ocean as he took long drinks from his bottle, just like his grandfather.
Luigi spoke first, “Capt. Thirda, we very scared about the storm outsida. When you drive us to a smooth water like you promised?” Their English, after all these years, was improved!
He stated laughing loud and yelling, “I told you goombahs that this would not be an easy trip. I take shortcuts to save fuel. Get back to your box and stay there until I say it’s okay to come on deck. If you don’t, I will send you up the mast to watch for whales and icebergs,” sounding the same as his grandfather did years ago!
“Get your Italian asses out of here, and hold on when you get back to your windowless cabin. There’s more to come!”
Two days later, the sea was finally calm. Luigi and Guido spoke to each other. “Do you think we can go up and talk to Cap3 about some food and how much longer?” asked Guido.
“I donno. I have had nightmares about this same trip all those years ago. It explaina why we haven’t traveled much, only to the pizza and beer convention in North Carolina.”
“I think we should give it a try.”
Again, weaving/wobbling, they went up the rusted staircase, now soaked with seawater. They approached the wheelhouse, knocking lightly to carefully alert Cap3 and possibly avoid another drunken tirade.
From inside the wheelhouse, the booming voice, resonated with authority—one that they hadn’t heard before—invited them in.
“Cap3,” meekly stated Luigi, “we hava little questions about this trip. Would it be okay to ask?”
“Yes, my fine passengers, no problem. I welcome your interest in this fine ocean-going ship,” Cap3 stated with clear eyes. He was drinking a cup of what smelled like fresh coffee.
He continued, “Have you had breakfast and coffee yet? If not, I’ll ask McGurne to bring you some breakfast sandwiches and coffee. Please make yourself at home on this fine sailing day.”
Guido, not sure of what was going on, asked, “Cap3, are you okay? Luigi and me see a big difference in you since yua kicked us out.”
Cap3, looked at them straight on. “Well, guys, the truth is, I am petrified of bad weather, always afraid that the ship will break up. I also get seriously seasick, and the only way to settle my stomach is with gut bad liquor, your man, Demtria something gave me a few bottles of this piss-poor stuff that worked well. So now I am as sober as a day-old baby. Why don’t we sit down, and you can tell me all about yourselves. My grandad told stories of The New Sole and the journey of his most interesting passengers, you two. We still have four more days, so let it out, boys. I love a good story.”
Luigi started, “We actually met some college kidas who gave us our first idea on coming to the US.”
Guido continued, “It’s a long story, and we’ll both tell sections of it.”
“If you don’t mind, we tell it from a narrative, that’s what we was told to do, ifa asked.”
Guido started, “I start tellin’ you about our papa, adoptive dad.”
Chapter 1
Emilio Banafasi
In Pissaccotta, a small town in Italy that is well known for its fine pork products, Emilio was a professional hog massager, following in his father’s vocation. He is the only son of Piero and Martina Banafasi.
According to Piero, Emilio’s father, massaging a hog meant going into the pigsty and gently rubbing the sows and swine to make sure their meat was tender. Although a dirty job, he was paid well.
It wasn’t an easy job. He had to soooey (traditional way of calling the pigs in the area) the pigs first to calm them down and convince them to come to him at his massage cage. Once he had them in the cage and calmed down, knowing that pigs are near the top of intelligence, he felt it important to talk to them to let them know that he wasn’t the butcher that they would see soon.
The local swine owners’ farms were known for the tender meats, especially the bacon. All credit went to Emilio and his magic hands.
Swine owners from farms around the area heard of Emilio and hired him on weekends to massage their swine before the Monday butchering. Business was good, although the house did have a bit of smell!
Emilio’s training consisted watching his father rub the swine before butchering them. His dream was to open the world’s first swine massage school. He felt he would have to wait once he was settled down and successful.
Chapter 2
The McFadden clan, about Mary
Mary’s parents were from Ireland and claimed they were descendants of St. Patrick.
Her mom, Aideen, and dad, Patric, where on a dancing Irish pipe whistle-and-fiddle tour of the smaller towns in rural Italy, both promoting Irish customs and being missionaries for their Irish Catholic Church, the Lady of the Walled-in Garden Annex.
Mary, an only child, was created after a very successful night of Patric and Aideen dancing, playing and praising at an Italian wine festival.
It was late at night, and the audience was well lubricated to donate. Patric was invited to join the festivities, and as the sun rose, he weaved his way to their Lada Largus home for a sweet time with sweet Aideen…where he made his donation.
Mary was soon to begin her life on a cold winter night in Pedesina, a town of about thirty-five residents. She was demanding from her first breaths—“a true Irish lassie” her dad would say. Fire red hair, deep blue eyes, and a red dimple on her cheek.
In a town this small and the nearest hospital hours away, delivering babies was not a primary occupation. One resident, Stella, was an animal midwife with experience delivering a human baby three years before. Stella was confident that she could do a great job with Aideen’s delivery.
After a short labor, Mary was presented to the world at about eight thirty of a snowy, overcast morning. The town went wild both for Stella in delivering the baby while drunk and Mary for being the first child born in Pedesina in three years.
Mary had a hard glare from day 1 that was fierce and demanding. She was the first redheaded child to be born in Pedesina ever, and most felt it was a good omen for the community, only to find out later how feisty she is!
As was the custom in Pedesina, when there was a human birth, the residents thought they remembered that they needed to celebrate with a token of love, prosperity, and some money. Since this was the first human birth in many years, they had a great selection of semi-useless items and a few lira.
Since she was traveling with her parents, Mary grew up on the road. She learned to walk early as she was responsible for taking collections. Mary would stand on a box by the small tent door and look up with her big green eyes after putting a little glycerin in them for tears and tremble her lips when the people left.
Living in the Lada truck with very little money, she was homeschooled by her parents and the women in the towns where they performed who took a “fancy” to her.
Mary was very young when she first performed on tour. Her act was a short jig and bad music on the pipe whistle. Patric told the attendees that this was authentic Irish music and dance to try to elicit more donations!
Their religious portion of the tour was anything but successful. It seems that most Italians were already nonpracticing Catholics and didn’t need another church not to go to.
Yet out of curiosity, the locals went to the shows, mainly as the word of the pretty Irish girl with an Italian birth certificate (handwritten by Stella) was worth seeing.