Daniela

Another attempt to come out of my usual comfort zone of autobiographical writing. I hope it works.

Castelvetrano, Sicily, September 1971. The girl stands in the olive grove, the sun warming her honey coloured skin through her white cotton nightdress. Daniela is six years old today.

Not for her the wait in bed. She is up as the light peers over the distant brown hills. There will be a party later today and the excitement is already building inside her.

Bare feet on brown earth as she walks down the rows of olives, green, plump and almost ready for harvest. She picks one, enjoying its sweetness on her tongue. It will be a good year, her Papa says, if the late rains don’t come.  But it will not rain on her birthday, Daniela is quite sure of that.

As she walks, Daniela grabs the hem of her nightdress, waving it in imitation of the women in their dresses at the dances in the village square. She tries to copy the way those women walk, swaying their hips extravagantly as they try to catch the eye of a suitor.

But Daniela has caught the eye of somebody. Giuseppe, the orphan boy, who sometimes takes shelter in her Papa’s shed, even though he is chased away with a stick. Giuseppe whistles but Daniela ignores him, practising her haughtiness for later life. She has better things on her mind today than the attentions of an urchin.

Perhaps Father Antonio will come to her party. Why wouldn’t he want to come to see the prettiest girl in Castelvetrano? But they say he only visits the families who are devout. Daniela doesn’t quite know what the word means, though she isn’t sure that Papa kissing his overseer’s wife (Daniela caught them) was devout. But Papa gave her Candied Orange not to tell Mama and to keep his daughter’s love.

By now, the sun is higher, bathing Daniela’s ringletted hair in a golden glow. She basks in the warmth, eyes closed. She opens them to find Guiseppe right beside her. He leans his dirty face towards her to kiss her cheek but Daniela turns and runs back towards the house, her feet kicking up dust with every stride.

She runs straight into her Mother’s arms and cries pleadingly. “Mama, Mama”, you won’t let dirty Giuseppe come to my party will you? The reply is soothing. “No, of course not, my caramellino. He won’t come.” And Daniela feels safe and comforted as her Mother closes her arms around her, protecting her with a love as old as time.  

Reviews

[Dilan Gray]

I love how descriptive this story is. I could imagine the entire thing. Great story!

[Les]

Thank you Dilan. That’s very kind. I don’t really know where the idea came from as I’ve never been to Sicily, though I’d like to go one day.

[Dilan Gray]

Well, it was beautifully worded.

[Adelina Keith]

I love this story! You wrote it so well that I could envision every detail. It should definitely have a sequel. Very good work:)

[Les]

Aw, bless you Adelina. I did do TWO sequels to this story featuring Daniela as she made the transition from childhood to womanhood. I can’t remember if I’ve posted them here. I’ll check. Thank you for your kind comments on this instalment.

[barleygirl]

WOW! WOW! And WOW! This feels like the writing of one of the old classics! Everything about it feels perfect & brilliant. Rarely am I at a loss for words, but your little vignette is banging on all cylinders! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Les]

Margie, you're very kind. It was a piece created for a writing course task where we were asked to create a character in a manner or setting that didn't come naturally. Somehow, after a small bit of research for factuality, this just seemed to flow from the pen. I wish it always worked like that. Warmest regards.