Five Women: Rewriting the Stars (Part 2)

Five Women: Rewriting the Stars



- The Conclusion





A Short Story by Charles E.J. Moulton



***



Continued from

"Five Women: The Journeys"



***



Valentina, a young literature and art student in Sorbonne, returned to Sorrento to heal a childhood quarrel with her parents. Lea, a waitress in London, returned to Sorrento with her new boyfriend because of a dream. Laila, a female boxer from Spain went to Sorrento with her sparring partner to see the church where he played the organ. Saphira broke up with her boyfriend to return to Sorrento, where her father still lived. Olivia returned to Sorrento with her husband to recreate old memories.



All five of them followed a inner calling that led them to the Basilica of St. Anthony, the patron of lost causes.



What they found was a miracle.



Saphira spent most of the morning here at the Basilica of St. Anthony, breastfeeding Eloé. The child slept, cooed, blubbered and even sang. Just sweet lines of ooh's and aah's, inspired by songs Saphira had sung to her child the last six months. It felt good not being close to Roberto and that toxic atmosphere of hide and seek. No threats anymore. That was over.



The water splashed against the shore in soft Mediterranean turquoise, the sun tingling on her skin. It felt good. What also felt good here under the Italian blue sky was that her brain produced good thoughts, very much like Peter Pan before he became Peter Banning, the lawyer. The panic dwindled away like ice in the sunshine.



And all the memories came back, the time before Roberto, back when she was as an immigrant kid of a Nigerian car mechanic, playing in the sun up on the viewpoint above Naples. She could see the viewpoint over there. It was almost as if she still was that happy-go-lucky kid.



Why had she followed the sexy macho that came and ordered the macchiato in the café at the Galleria? It had been his eyes, his bedroom eyes and that wild sex in his hotel room. It had been dreamy and wet and completely fantastic and the first year back in Rome had been marvelous until Roberto started drinking.



Oh, well, Saphira shrugged. He was like her panic attacks. An illusion.



Saphira had told her father this morning that all she wanted was to sit in front of the church and watch the ocean. Abioye had been happy to have his daughter back and swore not to ask any questions, but he was worried about how suddenly she had arrived. How incredibly adamant she was never to return to Rome.



The father had felt that about Roberto, his mafia like appearance, his extraordinarily smooth walk and rehearsed phrases. Telling him he only drank in the evenings and would treat her well. Saphira had assured her father that she would be well in Rome, but Abioye felt very suspicious of Roberto. "This man is no good for you," he had told her. Of course he was right. She knew that. And as she watched the waves gently crash against the pier, she knew she was back where she had to be.



The little girl in her arms told her that. The perfection of the beauty and love.



The woman that arrived that noon was more elegant than any woman she had seen before. Her black hair and elegant nougat skin made Saphira think she was Italian, but in her heart she felt this woman was not a local. Or maybe she was. Who knew?



In any case, this woman stood looking at the church for quite a while. There was wonderment there. As if she hadn't been here for a bit. Saphira couldn't keep her eyes off her. No idea what it was, but it felt different. Quite different than what she felt for Roberto. New. Fun, somehow.



The woman looked over at her and smiled, her hair hanging to one side. "That's a beautiful baby," she said.



Saphira nodded, her face lighting up. "Eloé is my pride and joy," she nodded.



The woman seemed impressed by the name. She walked up to the bench and sat down next to her. Reaching out her hand gently and touching the baby's blanket, she whispered: "Beautiful name."



Saphira felt that feeling again. Friendship. "It's a French-Haitian name meaning self-reliance. A tree that produces nectar for the honey bees."



"Lovely." There was a pause. The woman looked up at Saphira. "My name is Valentina. I came here from Paris yesterday."



"Ah," Saphira answered. "Are you Parisian?"



Valentina shook her head. "No. Barcelona. Just study literature there at the Sorbonne." She looked over at the church. "Here to heal some wounds."



Saphira sighed, looking down at the baby. "Same here."



There was a moment of silence.



"You don't have to tell me your wound if you don't want."



Saphira laughed, sensitively. "I don't mind. You seem nice."



"You, too."



Friendship. There it was again.



"My ex-boyfriend," she began, pointing at Eloé, "her father, he became really abusive, so I left Rome to come back here. I told my parents I would be sitting here and feed my girl while my Dad works. He will be back at one. I think my Dad is happy I broke up with Roberto."



Saphira laughed again, a rather insecure laugh. "I left Naples to be independent, but I guess I prefer dependence to my boyfriend's alcoholism."



"Oh, my," Valentina shivered in spite of the warm weather, "did he ever hit you?"



Saphira nodded. "I had to leave."



The Nigerian woman cocked her head, her dreadlocks hanging to one side, a warm feeling coming into her heart. "In my mother tongue Yoruba, we say Omo when someone is friendly. You are Omo."



"In Catalan, we say Amigable. So you are Amigable."



Saphira had made a friend. That was a good sign. "What's your wound? If you don't mind me asking."



"We can share wounds. Maybe that will heal them."



"It's been known to happen."



Valentina chuckled, searching for words. "Psychological damage."



Saphira felt a wave of compassion rolling over her like an ocean breeze from the Pacific caressing a Polynesian swimmer.



"Parents?"



Valentina nodded. "It started in Sorrento." She pointed to the ground. "Here." My folks took me here to create this perfect vacation. A kind of a repetition of a vacation my Mom had experienced as a child. She saw us all on the beach together, laughing and playing. I, on the other hand, befriended a Chinese guru who told me about spirituality, so I was hardly on the beach at all. I spent the two hours talking and learning the greatest things in the universe. Afterwards, my parents blamed me for being a bad girl and ruining the family vacation. It came up on every family outing after that and became so bad that it turned to obsessive-compulsive disorder."



Valentina looked out across the ocean, a distant look in her eyes. Saphira saw the pain in the woman's eyes and put her hand on her lap. Valentina took the African woman's hand and smiled.



"I was sitting writing my thesis for Sorbonne in June in a Montmartre café, wondering how to solve the incredibly insanity of my panic attacks." She chuckled, nervously, a slight hysterity in that laugh. She made the gesture of a diva, hands in the air. "Me, the gorgeous Spanish Brit, whose frame is inspected scrutinously as she walks to her table, she is left alone in her bed after that one-night-stand because the guy suddenly sees the real person behind the charades and pretty lies. The one who twitches when she has to choose between nylon stockings in the drawer."



"You poor thing."



The two women gazed out across the water toward the horizon from a battlefield of scars. The only sounds that could be heard were the waves, the seagulls and the smacking sips of Eloé at Saphira's breast.



"My parents fought over how to treat me after the incident here and the only reason why I never solved my pain was because I never went back here where it started. So ironic that the place that launched my spiritual awakening actually also fed my deepest guilt. It actually made me feel guilty for having deep thoughts."



Saphira understood Valentina's pain. It was as if this woman had reached into her soul and showed her that they were pretty much alike. "Your mother was afraid for you. At least that's what I assume."



Valentina nodded. "Frightened I would be making the wrong choices. Fearing she would miss recreating the perfect vacation when her daughter spent the afternoon with some stranger. Who wasn't a stranger, by the way. He was an associate of my Dad's who just happened to tag along, but my Mom tended to go nuts if she didn't know what I was doing. I was the child that almost didn't make it. The girl who lay in intensive care for a week because she had water in her lungs. The girl whose head was cut by the doctor's knife with the Caesarian. The girl who was told that blank spot on her head was a birthmark and just by chance heard it was a cut from the doctor's knife. My Mom was petrified of bad things happening to me because she had already had a miscarriage. I became truly obsessed with fear. It was insane. She warned me of everything, especially of sex. So naturally I went out and shagged everything without a skirt, save the bagpipers."



Saphira laughed. "I'm glad Eloé doesn't understand English yet."



Saphira could almost see the word resting on Valentina's tongue, waiting to get out. There was a smile on her face, one that conveyed she had a different perspective on sex than most women. "We search for love. We crave tenderness. We want connection. We need touch. We make love. We make children. And those who lack love and touch become criminal. And yet we have a problem with something as fundamental as lovemaking."



Saphira looked down on her breastfeeding baby and sighed. The look in her eyes must've conveyed trust. Faith. Love. Truth. Completion. She saw Valentina gazing at her with admiration. It wasn't penetrant. Just sweet. Warm. Like a warm wind on a summer night. "I want a baby, too."



Saphira looked up at her new friend, her eyes glittering in the sunlight. "You have the right man?"



Valentina shook her head. "The men flee once they see that the dishy girl is a neurotic."



Saphira gave her friend a silent "Ah" but then shrugged, pursing her lips. "Welcome to the club."



"Your hubbie should have treasured his girls more," Valentina whispered. "Has he called you?"



Saphira shook her head. "He doesn't dare."



There was one moment of togetherness. Neither Valentina, nor Saphira understood intellectually what was happening, but in Valentina's mind the words unity consciousness came to mind. What did they have in common? Valentina wanted a child. Saphira had one. The nuckling baby on her breast was a sweet sound. She was her future. Valentina was her past. Together they were the now. In this surrounding, sun shining brightly on her face, the waves on the way to Capri glittering in the rays of the sun.



Valentina had no idea why she had arrived here, just booking the hotel close to the church where her trauma had kicked off years ago. No preparation. No plans. Just five days off from Sorbonne and a flight. Now she sat here in front of that church speaking with another traumatized woman.



And suddenly, out of nowhere, she heard another female voice speaking very softly, almost inaudibly to a man close by her side. Valentina looked up and saw them holding hands. It was not clear if they were new together or if the red-haired girl had known this man for a long time. What was clear, though, was that something flabbergasted the girl. She halted, her stride stopping, bringing her left hand to her mouth.



"Do you recognize the church?"



She leaned against the railing surrounding the statue of St. Anthony. Her hands seemed to reach downwards toward the grass, her gaze drifting up toward the red flowers and toward the base of the statue.



"Lea?"



The girl looked up at her boyfriend. "It's the church in my dream, Luigi," she said. "I have never been here, but ... it's the place."



Lea came and sat down at the bench next to Saphira, just steps away from Valentina. Luigi walked up behind her, caressing her shoulders. Lea seemed to be in another world, which is why he probably gazed over at Saphira, who had taken down her blouse and was now singing a song. It was an enchanting melody and the little African baby seemed mesmerized by the sound. Lea, who seemed to have disappeared into the mystery of seeing the place of her dreams in real life, listened to the beautiful voice of the calm Liberian woman.



"I wo ni oolorun eledumare o ga ogo, iwo ni o lorun o, awima yehun, alagbara, kato da aiye, leyin tiwa, kato da orun, letin yoba."



Now, there were three people magically thrilled by the lullaby that had been softly sung by a mother that apparently had not even realized that she had an audience.



She looked up when the gang applauded. Lea, of all people who had been so lost inside mystery, applauded the strongest.



What language was that?



"I grew up in Liberia," she spoke very shyly, "but that was a lullaby in Yoruba, my mother tongue. My mother Adunni sang it to me. Adunni means daughter of the sweet ones."



Luigi now became interested, his head leaning toward one side. "What does it mean?"



It was that moment that Valentina felt a shift in consciousness, as if the traumatic place of her past now was transforming into a place of love. This was now a place of love, of connection, not of misunderstanding.



"You are God Almighty, great in glory, You are God, unchanging, mighty, before the world, after us, before the heavens, you have reigned."



The snore of the little baby in her arms put on and smile on everyone's face. Valentina felt that neurotic fear in her not dissolve, but certainly turn into something new as she looked over at the statue of the patron saint of healing lost hope. The conversations of the new friends went on, in the back of her mind she heard words like: "London" and "latte" and "dreams" and "synchronicities" and "matchmaking mother" and by the time she returned to reality the gang had transformed into a dimension.



Valentina smiled. "New friends."



"Where are you staying, Valentina?"



"Oh," Valentina chirped, "sorry, I was gone. Oh, Gran Hotel Excelsior Vittoria."



"Do they have a bar?" Lea chirped.



Saphira cackled. "Eloé doesn't drink anything but breastmilk."



There was enthuastic laughter as Valentina continued. "I think something, but there is a nice Pizzeria called Passo nearby."



Energy is a strange thing, Saphira thought to herself as she cuddled her baby to sleep. Not long ago she had wondered if she ever would rise to the surface. Now she found herself at the centre of an assembly of new friends. She smiled fondly as a new couple arrived, obviously a Calabrian girl named Laila and her friend Pedro, an organist from the church. Did she hear that right? They were boxers back in Spain? Valentina and her, the exchanged fond expressions. It was a gaze of mutual understanding. Unity consciousness. One soul. Hey, was that possible? Two incarnations, one soul? Two people who had placed themselves here first now found themselves surrounded by loads of new friends.



The conversation must have continued for at least fifteen minutes, laughter echoing across the piazza. And as the assembly wandered past the statue of the patron saint of lost causes, that only Valentina seemed to notice, they all chatted about how they recognized this place without having been here before.



A woman called Olivia stood by the entrance to the basilica and immediately felt connected with those words. She was a hefty woman with a very bright Melissa McCarthy-kind of face.



The church itself must have been the greatest revelation. Because the five women all mutually ahh'ed when entering it. The decorations, the statue, the mid aisle, the seats, the high ceiling. It all seemed so familiar.



"God," Olivia whispered, holding on to her husband Kevin, "I recognize this place."



"Me, too," Lea said, wandering up to her new friend.



Kevin, Luigi and Pedro, the three proverbial outsiders could have sworn they saw a glow surrounding the five women standing in the middle of the aisle, as if a very long painful road was coming to a close. They were holding hands? Yes, they were. The universe obviously had created a possibility for these five souls to reunite.



And then, as if the cosmos had arranged it, Pater Angelo was there, telling the congregation that the Basilica of the Patron Saint of lost causes had always been saved from all calamities. Eventually, everyone who had ever been associated with the church would be healed. Pirate attacks in the 16th century, world wars, they could have no effect on the congregation.



As the charming mid fifty something Neapolitian walked the assembly around, showing them artworks by this artist, paintings by that artist, bible stories from that passage, windows with that scene from St. Anthony's life, he very carefully and subtly came to a story from the church's past. In his great uncle's time as a pastor in the church, there had been five girls here. All girls from Sorrento and they had been best friends who had shared their way to school every day. Their fathers were all voluntary workers for the Basilica and so the girls all helped in preparing festivities and getting money for charities and the like. His great uncle had told Angelo at great length how happily the girls had spoken of their future here in Sorrento. They called themselves "the sisters".They all had boyfriends in the local communities and envisioned a beautiful future here. Angelo remembered how his great uncle cried, calling the incident the only time Anthony failed the congregation and hoped that time would restore what war had destroyed.



On June 10th, 1940, Benito Mussolini declared war on France and Great Britain, sending all of their boyfriends into war. All of them died on the battlefield. The girls, in order to help their fiancees, all went and worked as nurses.



The girls were all scattered in all directions, except for one whose father had arrived here after the first world war from Valencia in Spain. She married a Chinese merchant who owned a washing shop here and whom she married. The man died of tuberculosis in 1970, but Angelo could still remember the woman sitting here every day at the park bench by the statue until her death in 1980. He remembered her sitting on the bench, wallowing in her own self-pity, listening to her late husband's favorite song, an old composition by Handel that simply said: "Let me cry!" Lascia chi'o pianga had been Olivia's favorite song from her childhood and even Saphira had heard it from time to time.



None of the new friends could describe the atmosphere and obviously the Catholic priest had no words as to why five women, who all had been strangers to each other before, had felt the urge to go to Sorrento at the same time and have him tell them about five other women who lost each other 85 years earlier.



Valentina had to think about why this strange woman Angelo spoke of had a father from Valencia and had married a Chinese man and had a traumatic experience at the exact place where she had experienced trauma as a child. And why the affinity with Saphira.



After hearing the story, the happy-go-lucky atmosphere was gone, at least for a few hours, but the assembly knew why they all been called by the universe to come here. It was about eleven o' clock at night when 8 fulfilled people sauntered out intoxicated out of Pizzeria Tasso, filled with tomatoe soup, pizza, tiramisu, red wine, grappa, amaretto, cognac and calvados. Kevin, Luigi and Pedro had been at the sidelines all evening, but the girls felt as if they had returned to heaven. Angelo had even copied one of old Luisa's last letters to Angelo's great uncle in 1979 and given them the names of the girls. Susanna, Gloria, Francesca, Paula and Luisa. The five women, of course, all knew who they had been in their previous life. If it was true was all a matter of perspective.



But one thing they all knew: getting to know each other had been the most fulfilling experience of their lives.



Christmas of 2025 was celebrated in Sorrento and the rest, my dearest, is history. On the playlist, they included "Torna a Sorriento", "Dream A Little Dream", "Eye of the Tiger", "Liberian Girl", "Hopelessly Devoted to You" and "Rewrite the Stars". It was during that stay that Valentina bought a sweater with the writing "Build bridges, not walls" on it. She organized the reunion and ended up dancing in the streets.

St. Anthony always comes to the rescue.