The Sicilian Woman- English Edition only – Part 1



Nota d’introduzione

Desidero presentare ai miei lettori italiani questo inedito racconto per voi. E` parte dei miei primi lavori di un certo rilievo, scritto nella lingua Inglese, che molti di voi capiscono e che sempre potete trovare aiuto con un traslatore automatico, incorporato su Internet.

Scrissi questo racconto all’inizio degli anni 2000. In quel periodo cercavo ansiosamente argomenti interessanti sopra riviste, cronache di stampa, e così pure internet. Fu in questo modo che su un sito, trovato navigando sul net, che divenni amico con una giovane ragazza, che viveva in Miami, e che poi seppi era di discendenza italiana, e che desiderava migliorare la sua scarna conoscenza della lingua Italiana.

Un giorno trovai Angelina, la mia giovane amica americana, giubilante e in trepidazione mi disse ‘I’m so excited, I have finally discovered that I am a Sicilian!’

Attraverso varie occasioni che parlammo assieme venni a conoscere la sua storia e quella della sua famiglia, che ebbe inizio al principio del novecento, quando il nonno materno emigrò assieme alla propria famiglia a Cuba, meta allora molto popolare da parte di emigranti Italiani.

Il mio racconto ha pure un pizzico di fantasia ma nell’insieme ha pure valore storico, poiché con esso vi faccio rivivere la vita passata dell’immediato dopoguerra, portandovi nei luoghi in cui visse l’allora celebre “Bandito Giuliano”.

Inoltre di quei tempi, attraverso il racconto di Angelina, faccio rivivere l’importanza, da parte delle donne Siciliane, l’importanza di conservare la loro verginità sino alla notte del matrimonio, come era costume di quel nostro passato.

Vi auguro una piacevole lettura.



This is Angelina’ story.


The Sicilian Woman

Part One



With trepidation, she held in her hands the yellow envelope. The sender’s name was visible, the people she wrote to and asked to trace the origin of her roots, and where she came from. She was hesitant, and turned the envelope from front to back. Twice she nearly opened it, and then gently she dropped it back in her lap.

“It is better to wait,” she thought, “It is better that I say a prayer and take a deep breath. It will help.”

Finally, she found the courage to open the envelope. Inside there were two neatly typed pages. The first few lines were a pragmatic introductory greeting. Then finally she read,

“…Our researchers clearly indicate that you are descended from the Accana’s family from Sicily. They sailed from Palermo in the last months of 1902 and landed in Havana, Cuba …”

Tears ran down Angelina’s checks. She had never felt so happy in her entire young life. She was right. She really was what she had always wanted to be.  She could now jubilantly tell the world she’s Sicilian.

But was she really? Would her inherited mixed blood over the past three generations diminish such a claim?

Angelina’s mother could hardly remember her younger days in Havana. Those days were only a nebulous vision of a time gone by. She was born in Cuba but then, when she was five, her family moved to Puerto Rico.

    “Right,” Angelina thought, “People tell me I’m a Puerto-Rican because that is where I took my first steps and my life started. But I can claim I’m American. I have lived in Miami most of my life, since the day my parents chose to establish their home in Florida.

     “I am a Sicilian, because my roots came from there. I will return to Sicily as soon as I can because that is where the Accona family belong to,. ”

Angelina was only 23 years old. Quite stubborn, and when she made a decision she followed it through to the end. She was reasonably tall with straight black hair and large fiery hazel eyes, characteristic of her atavistic Sicilian origins.

Like many other young American women, she had an active life between college, work, and sport. Naturally the weekends were always the busiest, going out with her friends. There were really so many, and many more parties around Miami’s beaches where she had grown up, the district where her parents had settled in the city.

Her circle of friends, boys and girls, were mostly descendents from Latinos parents speaking mostly Spanish, but with the younger generation, had remarkably adopted the habit of speaking between themselves in English. They only spoke a few Spanish words, voiced occasionally at home in the family.

Angelina, as the other girls of her age, had a boyfriend. There was really a list of them, one boy following another. It was nothing serious. She needed someone to go out with, have a chat, a laugh and finish at a disco, dancing under the rotating multicolored lights.

Only if they entered into a more intimate relationship, kisses were exchanged but never overstepping the point of decency, and that was exactly what Angelina had promised herself and her mother.

Since the early days when she had developed into the young attractive and sexy women she was, she felt attracted toward her male companions. Many times, only a look or accidental body-contact with a young man created in Angelina a tingle down the crevice of her legs, igniting warm sexual desires. That was a natural reaction of any healthy young woman, responding spontaneously to the kissing exchanged with the partner of that day. She had always responded at the touch of his aroused hardness through the light material of her dress. She couldn’t deny that was such a sensation that gave her hot shivers and made her body crave to share more intimate moments with him and only at that thought she found to be completely aroused.

Nevertheless she had learned to control her impulses and never lost her coolness and in her mind could always hear the voice of her mother warning her,

“Angelina, don’t forget our old traditions that impose on a woman to maintain her virginity. That is the gift owed to your future husband on the night of your wedding. Remember Angelina, betrayal is not allowed, if you do it would cost you dearly and you’ll be disgraced from the family.”

Of course, she had thought a lot and considered the restrictions that virginity imposed to her young life. Angelina thought,

“There is something archaic in today’s life. It belongs to the past. How can this tradition possibly survive? We now live in the twenty-first century and from my knowledge, living in the States of America I know that it has become an unwritten rule between young women, to lose their virginity in their early days when they are still in high school.”  

She had learned about the argument exchanging confidentialities with her many friends and in the many hours spent in classes, about the risks of sex and the consequences of it.

But Angelina willingly in the end accepted the family rules. She accepted the archaic law of the country where they had come from, and mentally she fixed the time of waiting until the age of 25. At that age, she would graduate from college, and be free of family obligations. It would also be time to find a husband and have a family.

Reaching this compromise, she felt more at easy and became easier to control the primitive instincts of desires in her body. She also learned how to act with those young men’s exuberance and how to control them in overreacting in their amorous approaches, and not overstep the imposed code of her chastity.

But how many times had she been able to stay in the imposed parameter? She remembered that at least twice she had to fight hard to control the male dominance. She could say that on those occasions she escaped rape, and was forced to use her physical strength to stop in time her companion overstepping the limit imposed.

But at that moment Angelina’s thoughts were absorbed by different matters and she was not so much depending on her urgency to be together with a young man.

Over the last months she had found an imperative desire to find more about the Accanas and she had felt the need to return to her roots.

With the investigator’s letter, she had finally enough proof indicating that her family had originated in Sicily. But that was just the beginning of the road leading her back to her origins. She felt the need to find them and be able to contact them, and meet those unknown members of her family. She had to find where they live, and what they really do…It had become imperative for her to return to Sicily and if those people were real become part of their lives…Yes, more then ever she wanted now to be a Sicilian and think and act as they do.

She could see a million answers for her future, and could see them written in capital letters in the pages enclosed in the yellow envelope she had just received.




Published by carlogabbiwriter

Italian born, and living in Australia. I'm writing for the past 15 years in both Italian and English language. I pubblished my first book in USA and it's available with Amazon. I also wrote several long stories which are grouped under the name "A song of Love" and several other works available in my blog in Rosso Venexiano.

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