Адриана Трижиани – The Shoemaker's Wife / Жена башмачника. Книга для чтения на английском языке (страница 13)
Concetta frowned.
«I’m just joking. Don Gregorio is a holy man.» Sometimes Ciro was happy that he actually paid attention to things his brother Eduardo said, so he added, «A
She nodded in agreement and pulled a string of white opal rosary beads from her skirt pocket and held them. «I’m here for the novena,» she said, looking up at the rose window behind the altar.
«Novena is on Thursdays,» Ciro said.
«Oh,» she said. «I’ll just say my rosary alone, then.»
«Would you like to see the garden?» Ciro asked. «We could go for a walk. You can pray in the garden.»
«I’d rather pray in church.»
«But God is everywhere. Don’t you listen in mass?»
«Of course.» She smiled.
«No, you don’t. You whisper with Liliana.»
«You shouldn’t watch us.»
«I’m not watching Don Gregorio.»
«Maybe you should.» She slipped back off the kneeler and sat on the pew. Ciro did the same. He looked down at Concetta’s lovely hands. A slim, plain gold bracelet dangled from her wrist.
«I didn’t invite you to sit with me,» she whispered.
«You’re right. How ill-mannered of me. May I sit with you, Concetta Martocci?»
«You may,» she said.
They sat in silence. Ciro realized that he hadn’t drawn a deep breath since Concetta entered the church. He exhaled slowly, then took in the wondrous scent of Concetta’s skin, sweet vanilla and white roses. He was finally, at last, grateful to God for something, the nearness of Concetta.
«Do you like living in the convent?» she asked shyly.
Ciro’s chest tightened. The last thing he wanted from this girl was pity.
«It’s a good life. We work hard. We have a nice room. Don Gregorio loans me the cart whenever I want it.»
«He does?»
«Of course.» Ciro puffed up with pride.
«You’re very lucky.»
«I’d like to take a ride to Clusone sometime.»
«I have an aunt there,» she said.
«You do? I could take you to see her.»
«Maybe.» She smiled.
A
«
«You’re very beautiful,» Ciro whispered.
Concetta grinned. «You’re very dirty.»
«I won’t be the next time Isee you,» he said. «And I
Ciro stood and exited the pew, remembering to genuflect as he left. He looked at Concetta a final time, bowing his head to her, remembering the manners the nuns taught him to use in the presence of a lady. Concetta nodded her head before she turned to the gold tabernacle, which Ciro had spent the greater part of the afternoon buffing to a high polish. Ciro practically skipped out of the church into the piazza.
The afternoon sun burned low, a purple peony in the powder blue sky. Ciro ran across the piazza from the church to the convent, noting that the colors of his world had changed for the better. He threw open the front door, grabbed Sister Domenica’s parcel for Signor Longaretti, and made his way up the hill to deliver it.
Ciro passed folks who greeted him, but he did not hear them. All he could think about was Concetta and the possibility of a long ride to Clusone alone with her. He imagined the lunch he would pack, the way he would take her hand, and how he would tell her all the things he had stored in his heart. His nails would be smooth and round and pink, the nail bed as white as snow, because he would soak them with a little bleach. Concetta Martocci would only see Ciro at his best going forward.
He would kiss her.
Ciro dropped the package at Signor Longaretti’s door. When he returned to the convent, Eduardo was busy in their room, studying.
Eduardo looked at Ciro. «You run around the village looking like that?»
«Leave me alone. I cleaned San Nicola today.» Ciro flopped onto the bed.
«You must have done a good job. Every bit of dirt is on your clothes.»
«All right, all right, I’ll take a good soak.»
«Use lye,» Eduardo said.
«What’s for dinner?»
«Roast chicken,» Eduardo replied. «I’ll tell Sister Teresa how hard you worked, and she’ll make sure you get extra. I need the keys to the chapel. I finished the mass cards for Sister.»
Ciro reached down to hand his brother the ring of keys. «Agh,» he said, «I left them at church.»
«Well, go get them. Sister wants these in the pews before dinner.»
Ciro ran back to the church across the piazza. The evening had a chill to it, and Ciro shivered, thinking he should have grabbed his coat. When he got to the church, he found the front entrance door locked, so he went around to the side entrance to the sacristy. He pushed the door open.
He could not believe what he saw.
Concetta Martocci was in the arms of Don Gregorio. The priest kissed her ravenously. Her gray skirt was lifted, exposing the smooth calf of her tawny leg. Her delicate foot was extended as she stood on her toes. In his arms, Concetta looked like a dove caught in the black branches of winter. Ciro stopped breathing; he swallowed air and choked.
«Ciro!» Don Gregorio looked up and let go of Concetta, who glided away from him as if she was on ice.
«I… I left my keys in the vestibule. The entrance door was locked.» Ciro felt his face flush.
«Go and get your keys then,» Don Gregorio said calmly as he smoothed the placket of buttons on his cassock. Ciro pushed past them and into the church. Embarrassment quickly gave way to anger and then fury.
Ciro ran down the center aisle, not bothering to bow or genuflect. When he reached the vestibule, he grabbed his key ring and the rag from behind the statue, stuffing both in his pockets, wanting to break free of this place as quickly as he could. The church’s grand beauty and the attention Ciro had lavished on every detail that afternoon meant nothing to him now. It was plaster, paint, brass, and wood.
Ciro had unbolted the main door to go when he felt Don Gregorio behind him.
«You are never to speak of what you saw,» the priest whispered with contempt.
Ciro turned to face him. «Really, Father? You’re going to issue an order? With what authority?» Ciro took a deep breath. «You disgust me. If it weren’t for the sisters, I’d take an ax to your church.»
«Don’t threaten me. And don’t ever come back to San Nicola. You are discharged of your duties here.»
Ciro stepped forward, within inches of Don Gregorio’s face. «We’ll see about that.»
Don Gregorio grabbed Ciro by the collar. In turn, Ciro grabbed the soft black linen of Don Gregorio’s cassock with his dirty hands. «You call yourself a priest.»
Don Gregorio loosened his grip on Ciro’s shirt, and dropped his hands. Ciro looked him in the eye and then spit on the floor at Don Gregorio’s feet. To think that all of Ciro’s hard work had been for the honor and glory of this undeserving shepherd of a most ignorant flock! Ciro unlocked the entrance door and walked out into the dark. He heard Don Gregorio bolt the church door behind him.
Don Gregorio looked down at his cassock, the chest placket rumpled and smeared with dirt where Ciro had grabbed it. He dipped his fingers in the holy water font, brushed the clay-colored smudges away, and smoothed his hair before turning back up the aisle to the sacristy, to his Concetta.
Concetta leaned against the table, her arms folded across her chest. She had twisted her golden hair into a knot on the back of her head, and buttoned her sweater over her blouse.
«You see why you cannot speak with boys?» the priest said sternly. He paced back and forth across the floor.
«Yes, Don Gregorio.»
«He took your conversation as interest in him,» Don Gregorio said angrily. «You encouraged him, and now he feels betrayed.»