The Shoemaker's Wife / Жена башмачника. Книга для чтения на английском языке

«You don’t even have to direct him. He knows the way,» Ciro observed.

«Papa takes this route when business is good.»

«And how is business?»

«Terrible. But the summer is coming, and it’s always better then.»

«Will I see you this summer?» Ciro asked.

«We go up to Lake Endine.»

Ciro sat up. «You do?»

«We stay with our cousins. You could come with us,» Enza offered.

«I would never impose,» Ciro said.

«My brothers would love the company. They go fishing. They hike and go in caves. Battista says that there are caves with blue sand up on the mountain.»

«I’ve heard of those caves! Do you go fishing?» Ciro asked.

«No, I cook and clean and help my aunt with her babies. Just like your nuns. A lot of work, and I’m paid in fresh figs,» Enza joked.

Enza took the turn onto the piazza in Vilminore. Afew of the townspeople were out after la passeggiata. Old men played cards on small tables on the colonnade as a mother pushed a pram, soothing her baby. Cipi’s hooves clicked across the piazza as Ciro took the reins and guided the carriage to the entrance of the convent.

«Thank you for the ride,» Ciro said. «I wish you didn’t have to go back alone.»

«Don’t worry about me. Cipi knows the road. Remember?»

«I’d better go,» Ciro said, yet he didn’t move. He wasn’t ready to get out of the carriage, or for this night to end.

«I’m not going to kiss you again,» Enza said gently.

«But. .,» Ciro said.

Enza gave him the moppeen with the food.

«Good night, Ciro. Remember, Sant’Antonio will take good care of you if you take care of Spruzzo.»

«When will I see you again?»

«Whenever you want. You know where I live.»

«The yellow house on Via Scalina,» Ciro said.

He climbed down from the carriage, his arms full of Spruzzo and the remnants of supper. He turned to say something more to Enza, but Cipi had trotted out into the piazza and was heading for the road.

Enza’s dark hair flew behind her like a veil. How small she looked, high on the driver’s bench! As the carriage turned off onto the pass, the lamplight threw a sheen on the wooden side of the carriage. «Wait!» Ciro called out, but she was gone.

I know that carriage, he thought.

It looked like the carriage that had taken his mother away. Could it be the same one? Ciro had felt there was something fated about meeting Enza, and now he knew. He couldn’t wait to tell Eduardo, who might remember the carriage in more detail than he. Or maybe he was just imagining things on this day of grave-digging and tears.

The smattering of clouds over the moon floated away, leaving a gold coin in the sky. Lucky moon. Tonight, Ciro thought, life was pretty good. If he were the praying kind, he might even thank God for his good fortune. He had a lira in his pocket. He had met a pretty girl, and he’d kissed her. It wasn’t like any of the other kisses he’d ever had, nor was she like any of the other girls who had come before her. Enza listened to him, and this was a gift sweeter than any kiss. But it would take Ciro many years to realize it.

Ciro pushed the convent door open and entered the vestibule. Eduardo jumped up from the bench. «You’re back. Grazie Dio.[125]»

«What’s the matter?»

«What is that?» Eduardo looked down at the dog.

«This is Spruzzo.»

«You can’t have a dog in the convent.»

«He’s for Sister Teresa. She says there’s a rat in the kitchen.»

Ciro turned to head out to the workhouse. Eduardo stopped him. «They’re waiting for us in the kitchen.»

«They?»

«The nuns.»

Ciro followed Eduardo. «What’s going on?» he asked. A sense of unease displaced the contentment he had felt moments before.

The kitchen door was closed, but light spilled through the cracks in the doorjamb. Ciro told Spruzzo to stay outside as Eduardo pushed it open.

The nuns had gathered around Sister Teresa’s worktable. Some sat on stools, while others stood. Sister Teresa stood off to the side, a look of worry on her face.

«Are we taking a vote?» Ciro asked. «Because if we are, I vote to plant more olives next year than grapes.»

The nuns, who usually appreciated Ciro’s jokes, were in no mood for them tonight.

«Okay, before you punish me, for whatever I’ve done—» Ciro took the lira from his pocket. «For you.» He handed it to Sister Domenica, whose white hair stuck out of her wimple, a sure sign she’d been in a rush to get to this meeting.

«Thank you,» she said. The sisters murmured their gratitude.

«We have a very serious problem,» Sister Ercolina said as she adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses and stood tall and reedy, like a palm frond on Easter Sunday. She crossed her arms across her chest inside her sleeves. «We have loved having you boys here. Eduardo, you have been a wonderful student, and Ciro, we don’t know how we would have handled the garden and the chickens and the maintenance of the convent and the church without you—»

«This is about Don Gregorio, isn’t it?» Ciro interrupted her, but his mouth was so dry, he could barely swallow. He picked up the pitcher and poured himself a glass of water.

«He has asked to have you removed from the convent immediately,» Sister said.

Ciro looked at Eduardo, whose face had turned as white as the flour in the enamel bin. Ciro placed his hands on the table and nodded his head in disbelief. The Lazzari boys had lived in two homes in their young lives. The first had been taken from them because their father had died, and their mother could not build a life for them alone. Now, it was Ciro’s own actions against the village priest that had caused them to lose their home. The boys had grown accustomed to their role in service to these good and poor nuns. They felt long work hours in exchange for their room and board was a fair trade. They had become part of this community, and grown to feel affection for it. The nuns were purposeful in their motherly care of the boys, making certain they celebrated holidays and feast days as they might have with their parents. Now, the security that had given them confidence and a place in the world had been taken away.

«I hope you told Don Gregorio to drop dead,» Ciro said.

The novitiates gasped.

«He’s a priest,» Sister Ercolina said.

«He’s also a fraud who takes advantage of young girls. You press his vestments, but he is not worthy of them. You—» Ciro turned and searched the eyes of his family of nuns. «You are worthy. Every single one of you. You serve. Don Gregorio takes.»

Eduardo gripped Ciro’s arm.

«My brother and I»—Ciro’s voice broke—«thank you for taking us in. We’ll never forget you. You should not suffer because I was honest with Don Gregorio. My brother and I will pack up and find another place to stay.»

Sister Ercolina’s eyes filled with tears. «You won’t be together, Ciro.»

«Don Gregorio has seen to it that you will be separated,» Sister Teresa cried.

«Ciro, he has arranged to send you to the boys’ workhouse in Parma,» Sister Domenica began. «I argued that you had done nothing wrong, and that you don’t belong there with boys who steal and do worse, but he was vehement.»

«So the infidel punishes us instead of doing penance for his own sin. And this, dear sisters, is the man who represents God on earth? I have no words.»

«He deserves our respect,» Sister Domenica said, but the steady look in her eyes told Ciro the words were bitter in her mouth.

«Sister, you can give him yours, but he will never have mine.»

Sister Ercolina looked around, then fixed her gaze on Ciro. «I am not here to debate the power of the village priest, I am here to help you. We have all gathered to help you.»

«That’s why we meet in secret in the kitchen.» Ciro looked around at their faces, the same sweet faces with whom he and Eduardo had shared dinner since the first night they came to the convent. He could not imagine his life without them, nor could he accept the loss of his brother. Fury rose within him. «He would never think to look for us here. The saint of pots and pans is not one he calls upon. No, the saints of gold, frankincense, and lire are more his style.»

«Stop it,» Eduardo said sadly. «Listen to Sister.»

Sister Teresa stepped forward. «Ciro, we have a plan to help you.»

«What about Eduardo?»

«Eduardo is reporting to the seminary of Sant’Agostino in Rome.»

Ciro turned to his brother in disbelief. «You’re going into the seminary?»

Eduardo nodded. «I am.»

«When were you going to tell me?»

Eduardo’s eyes filled with tears. «I’ve been thinking about it. And now I will leave the convent when you do.»

«So you’ve been sacrificed on the altar of the priesthood in exchange for me?»

Sister Teresa stepped in. «Don Gregorio insists you both leave the mountain.»

«Of course – I saw too much.»

«But we have a plan of our own. Sister Anna Isabelle has an uncle who is a very good shoemaker.»

«Oh, come on,» Ciro blurted.

«Ciro—,» Eduardo warned.

«It was either apprentice with him or go to the workhouse in Parma. That’s not a place for a fine young man with a good mind and a good heart.» Sister Teresa began to cry.

«We have to protect you,» Sister Ercolina said. «We promised your mother.»

The weight of what had transpired on this day finally settled on Ciro. This wasn’t really their home, and the nuns weren’t truly family. The security they had provided was only on loan.

«Is this shoemaker in Rome, so I can be near Eduardo?» Ciro asked, accepting his fate. Ciro would work anywhere, for anyone, as long as he could be close to Eduardo.

«No, Ciro,» Sister Teresa said.

«Milan, then?»

«America,» Sister Teresa said, as her voice broke.

The cot creaked as Ciro rolled over in the dark. «You awake?»

«I can’t sleep,» Eduardo said.

«Probably a good idea. Keep your eyes open. Don Gregorio will come in here and stab us in our cots,» Ciro said. «No, he wouldn’t. He’s too much of a coward.»

Eduardo laughed. «Do you take nothing seriously?»

«It hurts too much.»

«I know,» Eduardo said.

«Do you really want to be a priest?»

«Yes, Ciro, I do. Though I’m not worthy of it.»

«They are not worthy of you.»

«Well, either way, they’re about to find out.» Eduardo’s wry tone made Ciro laugh.

«I suppose there were signs. You served every morning mass, and you never missed vespers. And I saw you read your missal every night.»

«I’ll do my best to be one of them. I’ll become a priest, and then I’ll be able to help you should you ever need me. It doesn’t hurt to have a brother with an education and a good position in the church.»

«I would have been proud of you no matter what you became.»

«You are pure of spirit, Ciro. You always have been.»

«Right,» Ciro joked. «And what does it say in the Beatitudes[126]? The pure of spirit inherit what? The shoes?»

«I didn’t think you knew what the Beatitudes were.»

«I guess some of your dogma soaked in after all.»

«There’s another reason for me to become a priest. I can find Mama and take care of her. The church provides for the families of the clergy.»

«You’re going to give up everything for the chance it might help Mama?» Ciro asked.

«Yes, Ciro. It’s the first vow I ever took.»

«If I could, I would help. That was always our plan. But now the Holy Roman Church has ruined that, too,» Ciro said. «I miss her.»

Eduardo got up, went to Ciro’s cot, and lay down on the floor next to him, as he had every night when they first arrived at the convent. The nearness of Eduardo was all it took to soothe Ciro. And tonight, it still did.

«When you find her, no matter where I am, I will come home to you,» Ciro said.

Spruzzo jumped up on Ciro’s cot and nestled at his feet. Ciro lay back and crossed his arms behind his head, staring at the wooden beams on the ceiling, with their spikes and hooks sticking out where pots and tools and loops of rope once hung. He wondered how soon the nuns would put all the equipment back into this room after they had left. The sisters reconfigured the space inside the convent like wealthy women in the city changed their hats.

This old room wouldn’t be empty for long.

The winter bulbs asleep in pots, the urns, the buckets, the wreaths of wire, the spirals of rope, and the bowed wooden frames of the grape arbors would find their way back onto the shelves, as the trowels, rakes, and shovels would dangle from the hooks once more. It would be as though the Lazzari brothers had never lived at San Nicola.

One day, when Ciro took a walk up the hill to Via Bonicelli, he had seen that a new family had moved into the house where he and Eduardo were born. Sometimes Ciro would climb the hill just to look at the house, so as not to forget the details of the only place his family had ever lived. Eventually, he stopped going, and now he knew why.

Memories take the place of rooms. The sisters would fold up the cots, roll the rug, and put the lamp back into the office. The ceramic washbasin and pitcher would be returned to the sisters’ quarters in the guest room. Will the nuns even think of us when we are gone? Ciro wondered as he lay in the dark.

Ciro knew every street in Vilminore, every house and every garden. He would study their architectural details, creating his own perfect home in his mind’s eye. He’d imagine a staircase here, a veranda there, windows with small panes that swung out, a garden with an arbor for grapes, and a patch of sod to grow a fig tree. He preferred a house built of stone to one of stucco and pine. He’d live at the end of the street, high on the mountain, with a good view of the valley below. He’d open his windows in the morning and let the fresh breeze through, as the sunlight filled every room, as bright as the petal of a daffodil. Light would fill every corner, and happiness would fill every room. The love of a good wife and children would fill his heart.

All Ciro knew of America was what he had heard in the village. There was a lot of boasting about the potential there, the money to be made, the fortunes to be built. But for all its promise, America had not returned their father home to the mountain. America had become, in Ciro’s mind, almost like heaven, a place he could only see in his dreams. He had longed for his father and pictured him alive still, imagined their reunion. Maybe his father was filling his purse to return to the mountain to buy them a fine house. Maybe his father had had a plan, and something had prevented him from seeing it through[127]. Anything but death in the mine, anything but that. Ciro still believed his father was alive. He vowed to find his father and bring him home. Maybe his father had grown to love America and didn’t want to return to the mountain. That particular thought always brought Ciro pain. Ciro imagined America loud and crowded, and wondered if there were gardens and sun.

Southern Italians had flocked there to America to find work; fewer had emigrated from the Alps. Maybe that trip down the mountain was long and treacherous because it should be made rarely, if at all. It seemed to Ciro that a man had all he needed in the shadow of Pizzo Camino, so long as he was lucky enough to find love and a job to sustain his family.

Ciro was sure of one thing; he would only stay in America until the scandal blew over, not one day more. He vowed that he and Eduardo would return to Vilminore together, someday, to live on the mountain where they were born. Nothing would separate them, not even the Holy Roman Church. The Lazzari boys were blood brothers, and as their mother left them on that winter day, together, so they would remain, even when an ocean separated them.

Chapter 7. A straw hat

Un Capello di Paglia

The nuns kept Ciro out of sight for two days as they plotted to save him from the work camp in Parma. As the sun set behind the mountain, Sister Domenica, Sister Ercolina, and Sister Teresa carried trays across the piazza from the convent to the rectory.

Sister Ercolina shivered as they approached the rectory. «What did you make?» Sister Ercolina asked Sister Teresa.

«Veal,» said Sister Teresa.

«It’s his favorite meal,» Sister Domenica said softly.

«Of course it is. It’s the most expensive meat.» Sister Ercolina sighed.

«I know. I bribed the butcher,» Sister Teresa said.

Sister Domenica unlocked the door to the rectory kitchen. Sister Teresa lit the oil lamps, while Sister Ercolina placed a tray on a butcher-block worktable in the center of the room. The marble floor was pristine, the walls painted bright white. Fine copper pots, a deep stove, and a double enamel sink filled the wall under the windows. The rectory kitchen had the scent of fresh paint. Only rarely was food cooked here; the nuns bussed every meal over from the convent.

Sister Teresa placed Don Gregorio’s dinner on the counter. She gathered the china, silver, and cloth napkins from the open shelves and pushed through the swinging doors into the dining room. Sister Domenica followed her, lighting candles in silver holders. The formal dining room was splendid, its walls adorned with a wallpaper of pale green stripes, staggered with oil paintings in gold-leaf frames.

The mahogany dining room table, which seated twenty, was polished to a mirror shine. The nuns had embroidered the seats of the chairs by hand in a pattern of lilies of the valley[128], surrounded by ivy vines, on a field of navy blue.

The nuns worked silently and swiftly, setting a place for Don Gregorio.

Sister Ercolina entered the dining room, checking her watch. «May I call Don Gregorio to supper?»

«Yes, Sister.» Sister Domenica folded her arms into her habit sleeves, took her place by the sideboard, and looked straight ahead.

Sister Teresa entered the dining room with Don Gregorio’s meal, warm under its silver dome. She positioned it on the starched linen place mat and took her place next to Sister Domenica.

Sister Ercolina entered the dining room and stood on the opposite wall, facing Teresa and Domenica.

Don Gregorio entered. «Let us pray,» he said without looking at the nuns. He made a sweeping sign of the cross, his hands cutting a swath through the air as he said,

Benedice, Domine,nos et haec tua donaquae de tua largitate sumus sumpturiper Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.

The nuns made the sign of the cross with him, and Don Gregorio took his seat as Sister Teresa moved forward to serve him. She lifted the silver dome off the plate, and Sister Domenica took it from her. They returned to their stations by the server.

«What a beautiful cut of veal,» Don Gregorio said.

«Thank you, Don Gregorio,» Sister Teresa said.

«Why am I deserving of such an opulent meal in the midst of Lent[129]?»

«Don Gregorio, you must keep your strength up during Easter week.»

«Have you set the schedule for the house blessings, Sister Ercolina?»

«Yes, Father. We have the LaPenna and Baratta boys accompanying you. We thought you should begin in Vilminore Alta this year and work your way down the mountain. Ignazio will drive you in the carriage. We have the silver polished, and the urns ready for your blessing of the holy water.»

«Have the palms arrived?»

«They were shipped from Greece, and we expect them any day now,» Sister assured him.

«And the linens for Good Friday?»

«They are pressed and stored in the sacristy.»

«And my vestments?»

«Hanging in the chifforobe in the sacristy.» Sister Ercolina cleared her throat. «Are you expecting any visitors during Holy Week, Father?»

«I’ve sent a letter to the priest in Azzone to concelebrate Easter mass with me. I understand the choir has been practicing.»

«Yes, they sound wonderful.» Sister Ercolina motioned to Sister Teresa to refill Don Gregorio’s wineglass.

«Sisters, I’d like to speak to Sister Ercolina alone, please.»

Sister Domenica and Sister Teresa nodded and left quietly through the door to the kitchen, closing the door behind them.

«You may sit, Sister Ercolina.»

Sister Ercolina pulled a chair out from the table and sat on the edge of it.

«Have you taken care of the Lazzari boy?» he asked.

«Which one?» Sister Ercolina said innocently.

«Eduardo.» The priest was impatient.

«I sent the letter to the seminary weeks ago. They are willing to take him now. Eduardo is a very pious young man,» Sister Ercolina said.

«I can see that. I believe he’ll do very well there.»

«He has been a great help to us at the convent.» She added, «And I know you will miss his expert planning of the liturgy and music for Sunday mass. He really is quite talented.»

«I agree with you. That’s why I recommended him,» Don Gregorio said.

On the other side of the door, Sister Teresa and Sister Domenica listened to the conversation.

«What are they saying?» Domenica asked.

«They’re talking about Eduardo. Don Gregorio is taking full credit for Eduardo’s admission into the seminary.»

«Really? He applied months ago with Sister Ercolina’s recommendation.»

Sister Ercolina folded her hands on her lap. Don Gregorio tore a bit of bread from the loaf and sopped up gravy, made with butter, red wine, and mushrooms.

«And the other one?» He bit the bread and chewed.

«They are willing to take Ciro at the workhouse in Parma.»

«Good.»

«But we need a little help from you.»

«What do you need?» he asked grudgingly. He picked up his glass of wine and sipped it.

«We need one hundred lire.»

«What!» Don Gregorio placed his wineglass on the table.

«There is usually a waiting period at the workhouse, and they are willing to waive it, but we have to pay them for the privilege. Itold them the matter was urgent, and that you want Ciro off the mountain as soon as possible—»

«I do,» Don Gregorio said defiantly.

«They won’t take him without it. I need the money tonight.»

Don Gregorio eyed her suspiciously.

«Father, you asked me to make the arrangements quickly, and I was not to question you,» Sister Ercolina pressed. «I have done as you have asked.»

«Yes, of course, we must do what’s right for San Nicola.»

Sister Teresa and Sister Domenica entered to clear the plates. Sister Domenica carried a silver tray with a dish of baked custard for dessert.

«If you don’t mind, I am going to skip dessert tonight,» he said. «Sister Teresa, I need to speak to you alone.»

Sister Teresa looked at Sister Ercolina nervously.

The older nuns nodded and retreated into the kitchen, closing the door behind them.

«Did you get the money?» Sister Domenica whispered frantically.

Sister Ercolina nodded. «He said he would give it to me. I hope that Sister Teresa corroborates what I’ve told him.»

«Don’t worry about her. She’s as smooth as custard.» Sister Domenica lifted a spoon and ate Don Gregorio’s dessert.

In the dining room, Sister Teresa stood in front of Don Gregorio. She folded her hands and stared straight ahead.

«Sister Teresa, I would like to know why you went to Signora Martocci about their daughter.»

«I was concerned, Father.»

«You believed the little story that the Lazzari boy was spreading about me?»

«He has been at the convent since he was a boy, Father, and I’ve never known him to be dishonest.»

«He’s a liar,» Don Gregorio said.

«Father, if you’re trying to upset me, or cause me to doubt my own instincts, you won’t succeed.»

«You upset the Martocci family and caused them great distress. The sin of envy has swept through this village. Or perhaps it is you who has embarked upon an inappropriate relationship?»

«I assure you that is not the case. He’s like a son to me.» Sister Teresa raised her voice defensively.

«I would call that an inappropriate relationship. You’re a nun, not his mother. Had I been the priest here when their mother dropped them off, I wouldn’t have allowed them to stay. You’re not running an orphanage over there.»

«We minister to the poor in whatever capacity they need us.»

«You’re here to service the church, Sister Teresa. Now go and send in Sister Ercolina.»

Trembling with rage, Sister Teresa bowed and exited to the kitchen.

In a moment, Sister Ercolina stood at the table, facing Don Gregorio.

«I want you to transfer Sister Teresa from our parish.»