WITH NERVES OF STEEL
Some people called her feisty, some called her cheeky and then there were the usual descriptions — courageous, determined, fearless. But what she really was, was a woman made with nerves of steel. Yes, her family knew her as ‘la donna dai nervi d’acciaio’.
She was Giulia Marcuzzi. She was my grandmother. I never knew her well, and I remember very little of her, but her story sits deep in my blood. The details of her life have been gathered through time from my mother, Lea, Giulia’s daughter, and my two aunties — Naomi, Giulia’s youngest daughter, and Ines, Giulia’s daughter-in-law, who both still reside in the town where this story begins and ends.
Giulia’s eyes filled with tears.
The tears quickly turned into rage; her cries turned into bone-chilling screams of desperation.
Lasciami uscire!
She didn’t know how in God’s name she got here, but here she was, locked up in the city jail. What she did know is that the malocchio, the evil eye, had been following her for a very long time — ever since she was forced to marry, forced to leave her beloved life in Italy, and forced to cross the Atlantic Ocean to a country still alien to everything she had ever known.
Giulia’s inmates felt nothing but pity for this woman who knew no English. She wanted out – out of jail and out of this new life of misfortune.
This wasn’t the first time that Giulia’s screams filled the air. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
1.
It all started when Giulia’s father demanded that she return home. It was 1908. She was 17 and working as a nanny in beautiful Egypt. She loved her new life there and hoped against hope that it would never end!
Her sister, Tartizia, worked alongside her, and on Sundays, on their day off, they would often sit at the beach together, gaze at the turquoise waters of the Red Sea and dream of la bella vita. Other times they would go on camel rides in the Arabian desert with their employers. On one of those rides, with Giulia sitting courageously on a camel’s back, a photo was taken, and this was the beginning of the end for her.
Giulia sent the photo to her family in northern Italy. It was hung on the wall of her father’s barbershop — her beauty there for all to see. And Leonardo Fabbro was one of those who did. He had come in for a hair cut just after returning from the elusive streets of America — ‘paved with gold’. He was 24 years old and looking for a wife. When he saw the photo of Giulia, this woman with dark deep set eyes revealing a heart full of love, he immediately knew he wanted her as his wife. And that was that!
Giulia’s parents, Valentino and Maria, were struggling to make ends meet with their 11 children. Leonardo’s offer was a welcome relief. Valentino sent word to Giulia to come home immediately.
Giulia was devastated. Other girls in her village were being ‘sold off’, but she didn’t want any part of this. Not her! She wanted to help her family, but she certainly wasn’t going to marry someone sight unseen! Her father reminded her that she had no choice. Non hai scelta!
Giulia’s story soon became very much like that of many other Italian women at this time in history.
difficult in the beginning, difficult in the middle, and difficult in the end.
2.
…difficult in the beginning…
On September 22, 1910, for better or for worse, Giulia Marcuzzi married Leonardo Fabbro. And very soon after, they began the arduous journey to Canada. Their families accompanied them from Fagagna to Udine, but they continued on alone to Milan and onward to Le Havre, France, where they boarded the steamship, La Lorraine. Giulia had never been on a steamship, but she soon realized she was luckier than so many others. Leonardo had enough money to secure a small berth cabin, and even though she had to share the toilet and sinks with far too many others, at least she didn’t have to sleep in the bowels of steerage, like other ‘lassoed’ Italian women.
The worst part for Giulia, even worse than the stench of the toilets, the grime of the sinks, even worse than all the vomiting caused by the rough seas, was the arrival — the waiting, being lined up like sardines on the gangplank, waiting to disembark, waiting to be ‘processed’ by the authorities — first, at Ellis Island in the USA , and then again, at the Port of Quebec City in Canada. This was the first time she had heard her new name spoken, Giulia Fabbro! Everyone was forced into quarantine for days on the island of La Grosse. The only thing that drowned out the cries of the children, hungry and cold, was the fear that lived hidden inside each and every person there.
Exactly one month after Leonardo and Giulia were married, they set foot on Canadian soil. It was in October, 1910. From Quebec City, Giulia and Leonardo travelled 1900 km. by train and arrived at Leonardo’s brother’s doorstep in Sudbury, Ontario only to find him long gone. Dead in Montreal. They said he had died of pneumonia, but no one knew for sure. His wife, left alone now with seven children, didn’t want any more people in her home. Giulia didn’t understand completely, but rejection was the same in any language, in any country.
Giulia and Leonardo were taken in by Mrs. Pellis. Giulia helped her in her convenience store and as they worked along side each other, they would speak Italian together. Giulia tried her best to be happy.
Soon after, Giulia and Leonardo moved north and opened their own store where they sold alimentari italiani, Italian food imported directly for the many Italians working in the South Porcupine mine. Giulia was pleased with Leonardo. It was apparent he knew what he was doing.
3.
But in 1911, true tragedy struck! The whole township was quickly engulfed in flames! Giulia was set on fire! Leonardo dragged her to the lake to put out the flames stuck to her body, but she was already so severely burned that the doctors wanted to amputate her legs. Giulia would have none of this. She refused to be a victim of fate, again.
Through her sobs, she begged, she screamed, No! NO! Il mio bambino! She still didn’t know the word for ‘baby’ in English, but her screams were well understood.
She was forced to spend a year in the New Liskeard hospital. She won the battle to save her legs, but lost the battle to save her child. At six months, her first born, Walter, died of dysentery.
After this, Giulia was determined to control her destiny. Her nerves hardened. No one would take advantage of her ever again! She returned to Sudbury with Leonardo to open their own convenience store inside the Nickel City Hotel, a hub for the Italian community. She was ready to work. Hard.
4.
Within three years, Giulia and Leonardo became parents to Amelio and Lea. The children brought her some comfort. But not for long. In 1915, Leonardo announced that he would return to Italy to fight for his country. It was WWI. There was fighting along the Italian-Austrian border, and the Isonzo River was witnessing massacres! Leonardo just up and left, alone, to fight for his paesani.
Customers at the Nickel City were familiar with Giulia’s moments of despair, and they could hear her calling on Jesus for courage. Gesu, dammi la forza di portare la mia croce! It was Leonardo’s idea to come to Canada in the first place. Without hesitation, Giulia packed up the children and followed him.
On arrival, a black cloud hung over Giulia’s entire family. Her father, Valentino, had died and now her family was in danger. People were running to other towns for protection. At one point, in the panic, her own child, Lea, went missing for a day. A soldier on horseback rescued her from the riverbank and brought her home. No, she wasn’t an abandoned orphan as many passersby had thought.
At the end of the war, Leonardo was awarded a medal for his service, and Giulia finally shared a happy moment with him. The family stopped in Modena to be vaccinated before returning to Canada and stopped at the piazza centrale to feed the multitude of orange-eyed pigeons beside the water fountain. For the rest of her life, a photo of this day sat on Giulia’s bedside table.
5.
…difficult in the middle…
Back in Canada, Giulia and Leonardo continued with their life at the Nickel City Hotel. Work was what they knew best. And by now, la donna dai nervi d’acciaio could manage anything — almost.
It was the time of prohibition. Most Italians were secretly making wine in their basements, but some wanted hard liquor. A trainload of rum arriving from the USA via Windsor, would satisfy their fancy, and Giulia agreed to meet that train.
But, as luck would have it, Giulia was caught loading cases of liquor into the trunk of their Model T Ford. Someone had tipped off the police.
Giulia couldn’t believe her bad luck. This would absolutely never have happened in Italy!
At the court hearing, Leonardo wanted to take the blame, but the judge would rather make an example of Giulia. With four little children at home now — Emilio, Lea, Beppe, and Naomi — Giulia was sentenced to one month in jail. Imagine, being a woman imprisoned in the 1920s!
Alone, abandoned, crying. Giulia just could not ward off that evil eye. The malocchio was not going anywhere, anytime soon.
Lea, still a child, became the designated family member to visit Giulia in jail. She would bring her younger sister, Naomi, with her. Naomi was usually in a disheveled state, coat buttons askew. Giulia would cling to Naomi. And weep.
Giulia’s crying never stopped. She was separated from her children. She couldn’t bear it and once again her screams rang out loud and clear throughout the local jail. Still in Italian. Non c’è niente da fare. She had nothing to do. I miei poveri figli. She wanted to be with her children.
The warden’s wife, Mrs. O’Leary, couldn’t bear the screaming. So she snuck Giulia out of her cell and let her work. Anything to keep her quiet. Giulia, without hesitation, got down on her hands and knees to scrub the floors of the inmates’ cells and the private apartment of Mrs. O’Leary on the precinct grounds.
For the rest of her life, Giulia never forgot Mrs. O’Leary’s kindness. On every special occasion, she would send Naomi, with her famous Italian pastry, crostoli, to her. Naomi had to troop off in her galoshes to the city jail just a few blocks away.
6.
After her release, Giulia and Leonardo used every penny they had and bought the Nickel City Hotel. Because of Giulia’s jail time, the hotel ownership was put in the name of their eldest son, Emilio.
Giulia gathered all her strength and took full charge! She shopped, she cooked, she washed dishes, she served meals. From the kitchen, to the beer parlour, to the cigar counter, to the dining hall, she ran.
Giulia’s legs, once scheduled for amputation, now never – stopped – running.
People came from miles around to eat Giulia’s homemade cooking. They sat at long refectory tables on bentwood chairs and drank carafes of red wine with their meals. Oh! Her sugo pomodoro! Its aroma filled the air. All her handmade pastas — her Cjarsons, a Friulian stuffed ravioli her mother used to make, her gnocchi, her spaghetti with meatballs — were smothered in this tomato sauce. Giulia’s cooking called her people, just like the ring of the campanello called its people to church in her old country.
Giulia was finally feeling grateful for her life, and every Sunday, with the older children doing double duty at the hotel, and with Naomi at the cigar counter in the front lobby, Giulia was able to carry her gratitude to the Church of Christ the King. Ringrazia il signore!
7.
But soon enough, WWII arrived right at Giulia’s doorstep. Literally.
It was June 10, 1940. There was a knock at the door. The dogs were barking! Whoever it was showed no patience. Giulia opened the door, and the police pushed their way into Giulia and Leonardo’s hotel apartment. They were looking for signs of ‘enemy aliens’. They searched her home high and low, rifled through prayer books, scattered holy cards on the floor. A photo of Mussolini dropped out of her bible, but he went unrecognized.
It was true that Giulia had sent her wedding ring and other gold jewelry to Mussolini, but that was long before Mussolini joined Hitler. She had just wanted to help her Italia.
She stood there, fearless, alone, hardening her nerves of steel.
They left without taking anything.
Later in the middle of the night, the phone rang. It was her daughter, Lea, in Timmins. Her husband, Tom, had just been taken away by the RCMP. He had been called down to the town hall for a ‘meeting’, handcuffed and taken away. No one knew where. He was disappeared. Five months later, he was released.
Everyone Italian was a suspect. Giulia wept, distraught, and again her cries turned into screams. Tradito di nuovo! Betrayed again!
In 1952, Lea, Tom, and their children left Timmins and its prejudices behind and moved into the Nickel City Hotel for a short time. I was their youngest at the age of five.
I remember Grandma Giulia leaning out the 2nd floor window of the hotel, calling me, Viene qui! Viene qui! But I ignored her calls and tried to catch up with my sister as she ran down the back alley in the opposite direction towards the brewery. We loved that back alley. And I remember the little white dogs Giulia always had as company. Her last dog, Ginger, “a hairless mutt”, had been abandoned on the hotel doorstep and now always slept at Giulia’s feet on a Persian carpet. It was easy for Giulia to identify with the abandoned.
8.
…difficult in the end…
Eventually, they bought property in Naples, Florida, a swamp land with a growing community of Italians. On Leonardo’s first visit, not anticipating the temperatures of Florida, he wore a fur coat. People joked with him about his teddy bear look.
The Nickel City Hotel was sold, and the North Way Motel was purchased on the outskirts of town. Giulia knew they would be lonely without the hotel, especially Leonardo, but it was important to keep Beppi, their youngest, out of the center of town, and out of the center of trouble.
Grandpa Leonardo sat at the reception desk all day long, usually in silent unhappiness. But Giulia, the woman with a force that could not be stopped, spent her days in the kitchen still filling cookie tins with her baked crostoli. There was always a definite buzz around her. When we visited, we were always treated to generous amounts of everything in sight, but mostly to her love. To this day, the smell of spaghetti and meatballs triggers my mind with memories of my grandmother.
On occasion, Grandma Giulia would visit us in southern Ontario. During one visit, she was stopped by the police and handed a ticket for her reckless driving. With my sister and I in the back seat of the car, she had taken a corner so fast that we did a 360-degree full body turn. Rather than taking the ticket, she drove off and laughed at the police officer, “I was driving before you were born!” When we arrived back home, that same police officer was waiting on the veranda with my father. Italians would say that Giulia certainly had become una donna tosta!
9.
In 1962, Giulia’s Leonardo, an asthmatic, passed away at age 76. At his funeral, Giulia sat with her children and grandchildren in a silk-curtained black limousine leading a procession of an unending number of other black limousines as they moved through the city. Giulia Marcuzzi and Leonardo Fabbro had certainly made a name for themselves in their adopted country.
After Leonardo’s death, Beppi passed away. Giulia felt abandoned yet again. Painful memories of earlier betrayals filled her mind and faded into a dementia. Her dark deep set eyes looked out at the world in confusion. She was invited into her children’s homes. She knit skeins of wool all day long, genuflected at photos of Jesus all day long, gripped at locked china cabinets all day long, and walked the dark streets alone all night long – until the police brought her home.
The writing was on the wall. The time had come. And at the age of 90, Giulia, the 16-year-old who had sat so courageously on a camel in the Arabian Desert, finally had to be placed into a care facility.
With her nerves of steel soon restrained in a straight jacket, Giulia was no longer able to protect herself, her family, her heart. As the screams of la donna dai nervi d’acciaio subsided into whispers, her body curled into a ball, and she slowly faded away.
Bio:
ELOISE CARBONE explores her life experiences through poetry and creative non-fiction. Her poetry has been published in the USA: The Paterson Literary Review, Issue 48, Voices from the Attic, Volume 27 and 28; online: Ovunque Siamo, and Marco Polo; in Italy: Celebrating Calabria: Heritage and Memory, and in Canada: Pocket Lint. Eloise is a member of the Italian Canadian Writers Association and lives in Vancouver, Canada.
OVUNQUE SIAMO 