“What’s in a Sicilian Surname?” from Page to Stage 2025
Page to Stage 2025 is a project where the St. Charles Writers Group collaborates with a local theatre company to perform short works by our writers. This was my fourth time overseeing the event, and our second time partnering with Kane Repertory Theatre at the Hunt House Creative Arts Center. This year, there were 14 writers’ pieces performed by 8 actors, directed by 2 directors, in 4 performances over 2 days: February 1st and 2nd!
It was a fantastic success (Check out more here on Instagram)!
Below is the piece I submitted: “What’s in a Sicilian Surname?” I was honored to have my husband’s family attend and watch a significant moment in our lives reimagined on stage. I hope you enjoy, and please share your thoughts with me in the comments!
What’s in a Sicilian Surname?
A Play in One Act
by Lisa Macaione
CHARACTERS
LISA Late thirties, mother of two. Asian American.
ANTHONY LISA’s husband. Late thirties, father of two. Half Sicilian American. Son to VINCE
VINCE Late sixties, father of two, including ANTHONY. Sicilian American
ELENA Middle-aged. Sicilian.
SETTING
The streets of Cefalù, Sicily, Italy.
TIME
Early afternoon. October 2017.
For Tony, Sally, and Carl
ACT I
A narrow street in Cefalù, Sicily, Italy. Outside an apartment in the middle of the block.
LISA
Here, use my phone. You can type what you want it to say and it will translate it into Italian. Then I’ll write the message on my notepad and we can leave it in the mail slot.
(Hands phone to VINCE)
VINCE
(Taking phone, typing slowly)
Rosa Maria Macaione, hello. We are Macaiones from the United States. Our grandparents are from Cefalù. We just want to say hello.
LISA
(Takes the phone back, speaks in poor Italian as she copies onto a notepad)
Ciao. Siamo Macaiones dagli Stati Uniti. I nostri nonni sono da Cefalù. Volevamo solo dire. Ciao. Okay, I added your email address and phone number, too.
(Hands paper to ANTHONY)
ANTHONY
(Takes paper, puts it in the mail slot)
That’s great, Dad. Let’s ring the bell one more time, just to make sure.
(Presses the buzzer to an apartment door. LISA, ANTHONY, and VINCE wait expectantly)
LISA
In October of 2017, three generations of Macaiones traveled from Chicago, Illinois to Cefalù, Sicily, to visit the homeland of my husband Anthony’s grandparents. His dad Vince and his mom, Vince’s sister Ro, Anthony’s sister and her boyfriend, plus Anthony, me, and our two kids, who were only five and not yet two years old, made the trip. Vince and Ro had visited once with their mom in the 1970s, not imagining they’d ever return. The family they had met before were no longer living, and contact had been lost with the younger generations. Thus, we set out on a mission to find any remaining Macaiones.
The city of Cefalù rests on the central northern coast of the island of Sicily, which is the ball being kicked by the boot of mainland Italy. Cefalù consists of stunning mountains rising straight up from the tropical turquoise waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. It has densely packed ancient avenues, stone buildings rising three stories high on both sides with laundry hanging from balconies, mopeds whizzing by, and a towering Norman cathedral nestled into the shadow of a flat-topped cliff named La Rocca. We started at the corner grocery which Ro recalled a relative might have owned. In very poor Italian, we inquired about the Macaione name, and communicated well enough that they told us to try asking at a nearby gelato shop, Il Café di Ruggero. The staff at the gelato shop guided us to the address 17 Via Seminario, where they said a woman named Rosa Maria Macaione resided. All nine of us walked a minute down the street to find the name on the door to the apartment.
ANTHONY
All right, we’ve rang a few times. I guess that’s all we can do.
VINCE
Well, thanks for trying, kids. Let’s go.
LISA
We turned to leave, and then the door behind us opened.
ELENA
(In Sicilian)
Se?
LISA
Oh! Hello—uh, I mean, Ciao!
ELENA
(Raises an eyebrow)
Soccu voi? Sunàsti lu campanu?
ANTHONY
Si, si!
(He retrieves the note from the mailbox, hands it to ELENA)
VINCE
(Slowly)
My name is Vince Macaione. This is my sister, Rosemarie Macaione.
ELENA
(In accented English)
Okay?
VINCE
We are from America. Are you Rosa Maria?
ELENA
No, no, is my mother. Is very old, cannot use stairs no more.
VINCE
We would like to ask her if she remembers some of our people.
ELENA
(Shaking head)
No.
LISA
No?
ANTHONY
No?
ELENA
Ciao.
(Goes to shut the door)
VINCE
(Takes a step forward)
Please, we have traveled a long way.
LISA
Ro rattled off as many family members’ names as she could recall.
ELENA
(Opens the door again, steps out)
I cannot help you. I am sorry. We are not related.
ANTHONY
I guess we better get going.
VINCE
(To ELENA)
Well, Grazie.
ELENA
Sulu nu minutu! Eh . . . you see, in Cefalù, Macaione (pronounced Mahk-ay-OWN-ay) name . . . so many of us. Everyone is Macaione.
(Waves her arms wide)
But we are no family.
ANTHONY
Oh. Well, that was unexpected.
ELENA
Have a nice time in Cefalù.
VINCE, LISA, ANTHONY
Grazie.
ELENA
Ciao.
LISA
The nine Americans walked back down the cobblestone street, joking and laughing, but all carrying the weight of our own thoughts. My maiden name, before I married Anthony and became a Macaione, was Lipipipatvong. It is a name my Chinese grandparents created from their original surname, Lim. Lim means “calm forest,” and is represented with two tree-like figures. When my grandparents immigrated to Thailand from China, they changed their name to fit in. “Lipipipatvong” means “peaceful forest, prospering family”—Thais like to embed as much good fortune into a name as possible. Growing up with a name like that, people always told me I should marry a Smith someday—if I took my husband’s last name. Instead, I married a Macaione! And its meaning is a mystery, even to Anthony’s family. I couldn’t discover anything online about it. I thought while we were here, we could try to find out. Anthony and I were excited to bring our daughters to Sicily; we wanted them to know as much as possible about where they had come from, who had come before them. To feel connected to family.
(beat)
I’m sorry, Dad.
ANTHONY
Yeah, Dad, we’re sorry.
VINCE
Oh, it’s okay, kids. We may not have found any related Macaiones, but to be back here, with my wife and sister, kids and grandkids, in the place where my mom and dad’s family came from, is a dream come true. This is our connection. We are Macaiones from Cefalù, Sicily; you are the future of the Macaiones, and this is something I’ll never forget. That’s what matters.
ANTHONY
That’s true, Dad. We’ll always remember this trip we took together.
VINCE
I’m glad, son. And who knew? No one can spell our name back home, but over here we’re as common as Smiths!
THE END.
© 2024 by Lisa Macaione