A Nonna and the Padre

In my great nonna’s day, when the 90-year-old widow was seen on the arm of a younger man, the padre warned that she could be denied a church burial. Our older relatives were outraged since priests in Italy were long rumored to have their own young companions. (Recently, the Italian newspaper La Stampa reported that some 26 mistresses have written to the pope wishing to marry the priests they love.)
By age 104, the health of Zia Dolce, my great nonna, began to fail. Her daughter-in-law, my Gram, talked about it with Gram’s philandering brother, Albert. Uncle Albert vowed to travel to the old country “to make things right.”We can still hear his wife, Aunt Georgia, ranting at Uncle Albert: “This is another excuse for you to go charm those village girls with your smiles and your roses. The woman who is dying is the mother of your aunt’s husband. And her husband, Zio Pasquale, died 10 years ago.”
He said, “Georgia, out of respect for the fathers in this family, I need to see that Zia Dolce is buried next to her husband.”
Gram raised her eyebrows, but, thinking of her husband, whispered, “It will make Papa happy.”
So, Uncle Albert traveled to a hillside village in Campania. After heading straight to the church, he wrote, saying, “The priest defended the Commandments too vigorously. My mission begins.”
With his smile and roses he chatted with the villagers who knew Zia Dolce. Eventually, he attracted a saucy gal who said “no” to the roses, but happily accepted some vino.
Overhearing him re-enact the story to his brothers, it seems that many drinks, secrets and kisses later, he dramatically rose to his feet. Then he cried out to the heavens: “Mamma mia. I will surely be punished for coveting the padre’s comare.”
She just giggled, “No. I’m not the one. It’s the girl from San Gregorio Magno. We call her Anna Maria de Tarantella because she leads the dance to music from the zampogna” (Italian bagpipes).
Uncle Albert returned to the padre asking that he visit Zia, forgive her, and honor her husband — father of their 12 children — by burying her next to Zio Pasquale in the church cemetery. The padre protested, “She does not believe that she and Antonio are living in sin.”
Handing him a funeral donation, he said, “If your conscience and the church forbid this, maybe Zia can be buried next to Anna Maria de Tarantella.”
Within the week, my great nonna’s funeral was celebrated. Her final resting place next to her husband was covered with flowers. Antonio, her 80-ish grief-stricken companion, was consoled by the village widows. And Uncle Albert, pleased that he brought respect to a good husband and father, treated himself to an extra week in the arms of the woman who helped him “to make things right.”