Giovanna
Skrmetta, Sylvia Smith
Seven months after the death of my father, my half-brother Renzo, then twenty-six-years old, delivered me to the nuns at the convent in Tripoli. I remember Renzo crying, but I can't remember my reaction to this life-changing event. Although I was leaving my home, my mother, my baby brother, and all that I called my life, the feelings of that day are gone. Perhaps after my father's death, I ceased trying to feel anything." As World War II encro...