Christmas Eve was the real holiday for the people of San Donato. It was the day they ate the most and spent time with their neighbors. Christmas Day consisted of church, presents, and a small dinner, but not much else. They’d usually prepare and eat seven different types of fish on Christmas Eve and on Christmas Day, it was much simpler with just lamb. Lucia had been too young to help with the seven fishes before the war took away any access to fish, but she remembered how hectic it was on Christmas Eve to make sure all the fish was prepared, cooked, and then served. Ma spent most of the day counting and recounting, losing one fish, suddenly having an eighth fish, or mixing them all up. Somehow, in the end they’d always end up with seven perfectly cooked plates. But this year, it was no use mentioning the fish for no one in San Donato had seen a single fish in years. It’s not Christmas without the fish, the whole town mourned all month. But they just couldn’t do anything about it, so had to make do with what little food they did have. Christmas Eve supper would look very much like a regular day’s supper this year. Ma tried to make the table pretty, at least. She put some leaves and candles in the middle. She put some of their ornaments on the table, too.
“Might as well use them even if we can’t put them on a tree,” she had told Lucia. Lucia thought it was a wonderful idea. At least it would look as close to Christmas as they could get even if it couldn’t taste like Christmas.
Even without the fishes, there was still plenty of food to prepare. Ma never had a shortage of jobs to hand out to the girls. The day passed quickly as they ran around the house and to the shops for last minute items. Ma sent Papa to get the bread and Papa asked if Lucia wanted to come with him. Despite Ma’s protests that she needed Lucia’s hands, Papa ensured her that he’d come back with both Lucia and the bread quicker than she’d notice them gone. Ma huffed and turned away not willing to continue the argument. Lucia gladly skipped behind Papa to go to the piazza. She bundled up as she could already feel the cold air seeping through the cracks of the tightly locked windows and and door. When Papa opened the front door, the cold air hit Lucia’s face harder than she remembered it could. She thought perhaps she’d change her mind and stay home. But a quick glance outside revealed the entire town was also running errands. She wouldn’t dare miss seeing friends out and about, so she ran after Papa and pulled against the wind to shut the door behind her.
“We have to get the bread, but I have to stop somewhere else first, Lucia,” Papa said as he buried his face in the cuff of his jacket.
“Where?” Lucia asked.
“It’s a surprise for Ma. You have to promise not to tell her,” he replied.
“Oh, yes, Papa! I won’t say anything!”
“Not to your sisters either, alright?
“Yes, Papa!” Lucia could not believe that Papa would trust her with a surprise over any of her sisters. She couldn’t wait to see their faces when Papa revealed it to Ma. She suddenly realized Papa hadn’t told her what it was either.
“What are we getting, Papa?”
“You’ll see. Hurry up.” Papa led her past the piazza and up a side road. They stopped in front of one of Papa’s friends houses. He knocked on the door and quickly returned his hand to safety of his pocket. His friend, Romano, answered. His small children all gathered by the door peeking out. Lucia loved playing with them and she grinned at them. Papa didn’t seem to suggest that he and Lucia would go in, though, so Lucia didn’t say much to the children.
“Here, Luigi. Let me show you. It’s beautiful,” Romano said. Papa leaned in as Romano opened a small box and lifted something out of it.
“Oh, si, perfecto,” Papa said. “Lucia, do you like it for Ma’s locket?” He turned around to show her a gold chain dangling from his fingertips.
“Oh, yes, Papa. It is.”
“Romano fixed it old chain up with a new clasp, Lucia. He made it look like new.” Romano began to pack it back into the box.
“Was nothing, was nothing,” Romano waved his praise off. “Here, let Loreta cherish it.”
“Grazi, grazi.” Papa put the small box in his coat pocket.
“Prego. Buon Natale, Lucia!” Romano pulled his children back as he began to shut the door.
“Buon Natale,” Lucia smiled as she and Papa turned to head back to the piazza. He hastened his pace to reach the bakery. He walked in put up two fingers to imply wanting two loaves of bread and had coins in his hands ready to hand over. Angelo, the baker, wrapped up two freshly baked loaves and handed them to Lucia as he took the money from Papa.
“Grazi. Buon Natale,” Papa said. Lucia responded likewise as she balanced the two loaves in her mittened hands. Papa didn’t slow down out the door and down the hill back home. Lucia followed as quickly as she could with the bread blocking her view.
“Why so long, Luigi?” Ma met him at the top of the steps, angry the bread hadn’t arrived before they did.
“There were too many people out. The line was long.” Papa fibbed and winked at Lucia when Ma was busy pulling the bread out of her arms.
Lucia got busy following Ma’s endless orders. All four girls bustled alongside Ma in the kitchen. Papa settled himself with his pipe and a month-old newspaper in the far corner. Lucia was jealous that Papa didn’t have to do any of the preparation work and could still enjoy all the food. Ma said it was because he worked all day, but so did Ma and she still have to prepare everything. It’s the way things are, Lucia. Ma would say and remind her to be glad they had a family who could have enough to stay busy preparing all day long. Lucia thought it was a strange but kept her thoughts to herself and counted down the number of tasks they still had yet to do before Christmas Eve dinner was ready.
The sun set in its late December haste leaving Ma know choice but the light all the candles they had. They simply wouldn’t get through Christmas Eve dinner if they couldn’t see what was in front of them. Lucy had forgotten how bright and homely the room looked when there were candles on every empty surface. She loved seeing the room as if used to be. The scents of each of the homemade candles mingled with one another. The kitchen corner smelled of pineapple and lavender. A horrible mixture, Lucia thought. The living room mixed scents of berries and limoncello. Lucia could almost taste the scent and wanted to stay in this corner with Papa to enjoy it, but Ma called her back to the stove. They were finally starting to reach the end of the list and the table began to grow full with the food. For such limited options this year, Ma still managed to find too much food to fill her family’s bellies with. Even without fish, the table really did look like a Christmas Eve table.
As if led by the scent of pasta, bread, and wine, Papa got up from his chair and sat at the head of the table without being told that supper was ready. He put his napkin in his collar and waited patiently for the last of the food to be placed around him.
“Seven pastas?” He counted and recounted the bowls all around.
“Si. We have to have seven of something,” Ma said. “I have pasta to last a lifetime.”
“Well, I don’t know where to begin,” Papa said as his mouth began watering.
“How about with a prayer, Luigi?” Ma was quick to interrupt his hand reaching for the closest bowl of pasta.
“Of course, Loreta,” Papa bowed his head and folded his hands but not before he gave her a look of feigned shock that he would have to pray on Christmas Eve. Ma didn’t find it funny, but Lucia did, so she stifled her giggles.
Papa said grace and then unfolded his hands as he finished and adjusted his napkin, ensuring that it was secure in his shirt.
“Buon Natale,” Ma said.
“Buon Natale!” The girls repeated in response as they started digging into the pasta. There was spaghetti, gnocchi, lasagna, linguine with pesto, ravioli, soup, and baked ziti. And a large bowl of steaming meatballs to top it all. Everyone got a scoop of each type of pasta on their plates. Lucia went one by one around her plate, finishing each type of pasta before moving onto the next. She saved her favorite, the simple spaghetti for last. The sauce tasted as fresh as if the tomato had just been picked off the tree on its first ripe day. The steam fluttered over Lucia’s face and stuck onto her hair. It gave her warmth that couldn’t reach her from the fire, so she ate slower to allow more steam to cover her. But the pasta was just too good not to twirl on her fork and dive into the second she had finished the last forkful. Luckily, Ma let the girls have more, so Lucia picked up a large scoop of spaghetti and started over.
“Only because it’s Christmas,” Ma said. On any other day, they’d be lucky if there was any food left when they all had filled their plates the first time. They all finished their second plates as quickly as the first and sat enjoying the fullness of their bellies: something they had so dearly been missing.
Lucia glanced towards the window, hoping to see snowflakes landing on the glass, but in between the curtains drawn slightly, the windowpanes revealed the darkness of the late December evening. The darkness didn’t hold the same intensity it usually did; Christmas Eve brought a coziness even wartime darkness couldn’t bury. Lucia eagerly glanced at the fireplace. Ma would let the girls each hang a stocking on the mantle after dinner and Santa Claus would hopefully fill them when tonight. Ma had reminded them for weeks that Santa might not have enough because of the war. She told them not to expect anything. Lucia would add an extra prayer before she went to bed that Santa would find a way up to their mountain even with just a small present for each kid.
“Lucia!” She snapped back into the little room and noticed Ma standing above her with the empty plates and bowls in her arms. “Help me clean up.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lucia said. She jumped up, haphazardly gathered hers and Pa’s plates and utensils. Despite it being Christmas Eve, the supper time chores never stopped. Lucia wished for a Christmas miracle that the sink would be empty and remain so. But of course, Lucia only added to the pile that Donata was working on. She tried to prevent a sigh from coming out, but failed. Nella playfully slapped her head with a wooden spoon she had been drying and handed her the towel so Lucia could keep drying while Nella helped Ma with the coffee.
While Papa, Ma, Donata, and Nella all had their espresso, Lucia and Clarice enjoyed a pizzelle from the small dozen that Ma had managed to make. They each took small bites to savor the cookies for as long as possible.
Lucia enjoyed the chatter of her family but didn’t join in. She wanted to remember this Christmas Eve. It was peaceful and warm. The darkness didn’t scare her when Papa was next to her. Her family’s voices lightened up the room despite the few candles reaching the ends of their wicks. She finished her pizzelle and laid her empty hands on her lap. She let the chatter surround her and slope into her ears. She’d usually join them but tonight, she just wanted to watch from her end of the table. Despite the lack of seven fishes, the small presents, and the want of decorations, Lucia was happier than she had been in a long time. She didn’t want for any of those missing pieces of Christmas. All that was around her was enough. Her sisters and parents piled around the table brought her more joy and security than she thought she could ever need.
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