Адриана Трижиани – The Shoemaker's Wife / Жена башмачника. Книга для чтения на английском языке (страница 19)
But it didn’t matter what he was, or where he came from. Enza was sure he had a good heart, raised as he had been by the sisters in the convent, and he filled a yearning within her. There would be time later to wonder why she had let a boy she hardly knew kiss her on Via Scalina. For her, there was no hesitancy, because there was no mystery. She understood him, though she wasn’t sure why.
In this small village, though, there were rules about courting. The thought of a neighbor seeing her, here in the open, kissing a boy quickly brought her to her senses. As usual, her practical nature won over her romantic heart.
«But you love someone else,» she said, making an excuse to step away from him, even though she didn’t want to.
«Sister Teresa says that when one girl breaks your heart, another comes along to mend it.»
Enza smiled. «I’m the best seamstress in Schilpario. Everyone says so. But I don’t know how to help you mend your broken heart. I have one of my own, you know.» Enza ran up the stairs of the rectory and rang the bell. Ciro bounded up after her.
Father Martinelli came to the door. He seemed so much smaller in the doorway than he had at the altar. His white vestment robes and gold sash had made him seem like a giant, but in his black cassock, he had shrunk to the size of an ink blotter.
«Your cloth, Don Martinelli.»
«
«Ignazio Farino says you’re to pay me two lire.»
«You’re an expensive grave digger.»
Father dug in his pocket and handed Ciro two lire. Ciro handed one lira back to Don Martinelli. «For the church.» Ciro said. Don Martinelli took the money, grunted, and closed the door.
«That was kind of you,» Enza said.
«Don’t think highly of me. That was the deal,» Ciro said.
Enza looked up at the night sky, an expanse of lavender with streaks of gold that looked like embroidered threads. A beautiful heaven had welcomed her sister’s soul tonight.
«Where did you stable your horse?» she asked.
«I walked.»
«From Vilminore? You can’t possibly walk over the pass when it’s dark. You could get trampled, or worse.»
Spruzzo wheezed.
«And what about your dog?»
«He’s not my dog.»
«But he follows you everywhere.»
«Because I couldn’t get rid of him. He followed me up here over the pass. I made the mistake of feeding him.»
«He chose you.» Enza knelt down to pet Spruzzo.
Ciro knelt down next to her. «I’d rather
Enza looked into Ciro’s eyes, and couldn’t decide if this young man was the type who said pretty things to all the girls, or if he really liked
«You know this church is named for Sant’Antonio di Padova, the saint of lost things. That’s a sign. Spruzzo was lost, he found you, and he meant to. You have to keep him.»
«Or what?»
«Or Sant’Antonio will forget you. And when you need him most, when you’re lost, he won’t help you find your way.»
When Enza spoke of the saints, Ciro almost wanted to believe in them. He couldn’t imagine such a personal faith, where saints were at the ready to do the bidding of those on earth. Ciro had buffed every statue at San Nicola, and never once felt the power behind the plaster images. How did this mountain girl know with certainty that the heavenly hosts were watching over her?
«Come with me,» she said. «I’ll take you home.»
«You can drive a carriage?»
«Since I was eleven,» Enza said proudly.
«This I have to see.»
Enza and Ciro walked up Via Scalina together, following Spruzzo, who trotted ahead as though he’d been officially adopted. Oil lamps lit the path to the entrance of the Ravanellis’ old stone house. The yard was filled with small groups of visitors who had come to be with the family. Inside, the house overflowed with more neighbors and friends, who had brought food and comfort to the family.
«Let me talk to my father,» she said. «I need his permission.»
Ciro followed Enza into the Ravanelli home while Spruzzo waited outside on the grass.
Ciro’s mouth watered as he looked at the table, filled with an array of homemade breads and rolls, fresh cheese, prosciutto, cold polenta, and platters of tortellini, small purses of pasta filled with sausage. On the mantel over the hearth, he saw several cakes in tin pans, reminding him of the holiday baking at the convent. Ciro delivered Sister Teresa’s rum cakes throughout Vilminore every December. An enamel pot of coffee rested on a trivet, and a pitcher of cream was set nearby. Every bench and chair was filled with company from the village.
There were children everywhere, climbing the ladder to the loft, running under the table, playing tag as they ran through the house to the outdoors. It occurred to him that a terrible day had been made whole by the laughter of children after the loss of one of their own.
Ciro felt the sudden sting of regret for all that he had missed in his own home, with family and friends filling rooms and making a life. The simply furnished house was clean and welcoming, and the friends seemed devoted. What more does a man need to be happy? Ciro wondered.
A woman around the same age as Giacomina poured her coffee, while Marco stood in a circle with several men who tried to keep his mind off his grief with stories from the mines. Ciro remembered them at the foot of the altar that morning, a lump forming in his throat.
Enza made her way to her father. She whispered in Marco’s ear, and he nodded and looked over at Ciro, sizing him up, as Enza went to her mother and knelt before her. She patted her mother’s hand and kissed her on the cheek.
Enza collected two pears, several small sandwiches, and a
«Before we go, may I pay my respects to your parents?» Ciro asked.
Every feeling Enza had in her heart had been expanded that day. She was surprised by Ciro’s grace and also moved[124] by it. «Of course,» she said quietly.
Enza tied a knot in the moppeen and placed the food on the table. She took Ciro to meet her father. Ciro shook his hand and offered his condolences. Then Enza took Ciro to meet her mother. Ciro repeated his kind sympathies and remembered to bow his head to the lady of the house.
Ciro followed Enza down a stone path to the stable as Spruzzo barked outside the stable door. Enza grabbed a small oil lamp and went into the barn, where the light turned everything inside a milky gold – the hay, the walls, the trough, the horse. Cipi stood in his stall, covered by a blanket.
«You can pull the muslin cover off the carriage,» Enza said, lifting the blanket off Cipi. The horse nuzzled her neck.
«You want me to hitch the carriage?» Ciro asked.
«I can do it.» Enza led Cipi out of his stall to the carriage hitch. «You can feed him.»
Ciro lifted a bucket of oats from the feeder trough and positioned it where Cipi could gobble it down.
Enza opened the stable doors and attached the oil lamp to the hook on the carriage. She went to the water pump outside the doors and pumped fresh water for Spruzzo, who lapped it up hungrily. Then she washed her hands and face, wiping her face on her apron. Ciro did the same, wiping his own face on his bandana.
She climbed up onto the carriage bench. «Don’t forget supper.» Ciro picked up the food and climbed next to Enza, who picked up the reins as Spruzzo jumped up on to the seat and sat between them.
Enza snapped the reins; Cipi trotted out of the barn and onto the main road that weaved through Schilpario. The heart of the village, a corridor of buildings that lined either side of the road, was drenched in pale blue moonlight. The carriage passed through the narrow stone street until the walls of the town gave way to the entrance of the Passo Presolana.
The road unspooled down the mountain before them like a black velvet ribbon, the carriage lamp throwing a strong beam of white light into the darkness to guide them. Ciro watched as Enza deftly controlled the reins. She sat up high, with perfect posture, guiding Cipi through the night.
«Tell me about your ring,» Enza said.
Ciro twisted the gold signet ring on his smallest finger. «I’m afraid I’m going to outgrow it altogether.»
«Have you had it very long?»
«Since my mother left. It belonged to her.»
«It suits you.»
«It’s all I have from my family.»
«That’s not true,» Enza said. «I’ll bet you have her eyes, or her smile, or her coloring.»
«No, I look like my father.» Whenever anyone else asked about his mother, Ciro changed the subject, but Enza asked about Caterina in a manner that didn’t feel like prying. «My brother looks like our mother.» He added, «I’m not at all like her, really.»
«You should eat,» Enza said. «You must be starving.»
Ciro took a bite of the bread and cheese. «I’m always hungry.»
«What’s it like, living in the convent? When I was a little girl, I thought about becoming a nun.»