Адриана Трижиани – The Shoemaker's Wife / Жена башмачника. Книга для чтения на английском языке (страница 26)
«That’s the idea, Ciro.» Eduardo smiled. «Jesus wasn’t known for his embroidered vestments.»
«And what will become of me?» Ciro asked quietly.
«Sister Anna Isabelle’s family will take good care of you.» Eduardo’s voice broke, hoping what he said would prove true. It had always been his job to take care of Ciro. How could he trust anyone else to do it? «It goes that way, you know. There isn’t anything they can do for her as a nun who has taken a vow of poverty, so instead they will do for you, because she asked. We’re very lucky, Ciro.»
«Really? You would call us lucky?» Ciro believed fate had been against them at every turn. Had he remembered his keys that night, he would not have discovered Concetta and the priest, which had set all these horrible events in motion.
«Yes, brother. We’ve made it this far.» Eduardo looked up and down the tracks, trying not to cry.
The Lazzari boys stood on the platform, having never been apart, not for a day or night of their lives. Little had gone unsaid between them. They had been one other’s counselors and confidants. In many ways, Eduardo had been Ciro’s parent, setting his moral compass, helping him navigate convent life, prompting him to study, all the while encouraging him to see the good in people and the possibilities of the world beyond the piazza in Vilminore.
Eduardo was now seventeen, and he possessed a contemplative air and a humble attitude. For a young man, he was unusually solemn, as well as empathetic.
Ciro would turn sixteen on the ship to America. He was over six feet tall, the pugilistic stance and comedic expressions of his youth replaced with a grown-up masculine prowess that made him appear much older. Eduardo sized up Ciro and was reassured that his younger brother could take care of himself physically. But he worried that Ciro was too trusting and could be taken advantage of by people less honorable than he. It was always the young men of gentle natures who acknowledged the worst in the world; strong boys like Ciro never did.
«You know, Ciro,» Eduardo began slowly, «I never felt I really lost Papa, because you look so much like him. Sometimes when I was studying late at night and I would look over at you sleeping, I would remember him lying on the grass, taking siesta. And I would swear Papa had never really left us because he was alive in you. But you are like him in more ways than your appearance. You have a mind like him too.»
«I do?» Ciro wished he could remember more details about his father. He remembered his laugh, and the way he held a cigarette, but beyond that, very little.
«You always tell the truth. You stand up for the weak. And you’re not afraid of taking chances. When the sisters told us that we had to leave, and they told you that you had to go to America, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t cry. You didn’t try to make a better deal for yourself, you just accepted their offer.»
«Maybe that makes me a pushover,» Ciro said.
«No, it makes you wise. Like Papa, you aren’t afraid of trying something new. I don’t have that kind of daring in my nature, but you do. I’m not going to worry about you in America.»
«Liar.»
«Let’s put it this way, I’m going to
«Well, I wish I could say the same.» Ciro said. «Keep your eyes open, Eduardo. Holy men sometimes aren’t. Don’t let them push you around or make you feel like you’re not one of them. You’re smarter than the keenest of their lot. Take charge. Show them what you can do.»
«I’ll do my best.»
«I’ll work hard because it’s all Iknow,» Ciro said. «But, everything we do, everything we make, is done so we might return to the mountain.
Eduardo nodded in agreement. «Pray for me.»
«Papa said something to me the night before he left, and I wrote it in my missal, so I would never forget it.» Eduardo’s eyes glinted with tears as he opened his leather-bound black missal to the first page. He handed it to Ciro. In a young boy’s measured script, Eduardo had written:
Ciro closed the book and handed it back to Eduardo. «You’ve never been without this missal. It belongs to you. Keep it.»
Eduardo placed it in Ciro’s hands firmly. «No, it’s your turn now. When you read it, you will think of me. Besides, Iknow you aren’t one for daily mass—»
«Or Sunday mass.»
«Or any mass!» Eduardo grinned. «But if you’ll read the missal, I think you’ll find some comfort.»
Ciro closed the missal. «The sisters of San Nicola, my brother, and the world conspire to turn me into a good Catholic. To all of you, I say, good luck.»
The whistles of an incoming train pierced the air. An attendant climbed a ladder and wrote the new arrival on the station’s giant blackboard:
«I have to go,» Eduardo said, his voice breaking. «That’s my train.»
The brothers embraced. They held one another a long time, until Eduardo straightened his back and gently released his brother.
«You go to track two for the train to Venice—»
«I know, I know, then the ferry to Le Havre. Eduardo?»
Eduardo picked up his satchel. «Yes?»
«I’ve never been to France.»
«Ciro?»
«Yeah?»
«You’ve never been to Venice, either.»
Ciro put his hands on his hips. «Do you think anyone can tell? Do I look like a goat herder from the Alps?»
«Only when you wear lederhosen.» Eduardo slung his satchel over his shoulder. «Be careful in America, Ciro. Don’t let anyone take advantage of you. Watch your money. Ask questions.»
«I will,» Ciro assured him.
«And write to me.»
«I promise.»
Four young men, similar in countenance and age to Eduardo, each carrying a single satchel, boarded the train for Rome. Eduardo turned to follow them. «Your new brothers are waiting for you,» Ciro said.
«They will never be my brothers,» Eduardo said. «I only have one.»
Ciro watched as Eduardo slowly disappeared into the crowd.
«And don’t you forget it!» Ciro shouted, waving the missal, before he, too, crossed the platform and boarded a train to take him to his new life.
Part two. Manhattan
Chapter 9. A linen handkerchief
Un Fazzolletto di Lino
Two days after he left Eduardo at the train station in Bergamo, Ciro made his way up the plank of the SS
There was no one to see Ciro off on his journey. For an ebullient young man who had never known a stranger, he was subdued and sober[141] as he made his connections. Ciro bought a meal of cold polenta and hot milk before boarding. He skipped the sausage, so the hearty meal only cost him a few
The attendant took Ciro’s ticket and directed him belowdecks to the men’s third-class compartment. Ciro was relieved the sexes were segregated on this ship, as Sister Ercolina had told him about grim steerage accommodations where men, women, and children stayed in one large room, separated only by squares drawn on the ship’s floor with paint.
Ciro pushed the metal door to his cell open, dropped his head, and stooped to enter. The room was five by five feet, with a small cot jammed against the wall. Ciro could not stand up in it, and there was no window. But it was clean enough, with a scent of saltwater.
Ciro sat down on the cot and opened his duffel. The fragrance of the convent laundry – lavender and starch – enveloped him, fresh as the mountain air of Vilminore. He snapped the satchel shut quickly, hoping to preserve the scent; this was all he had left to remind him of his life in San Nicola.
The ship creaked in the harbor as it floated in place, rubbing against the pilings. For the first time since he’d boarded the train in Bergamo, Ciro exhaled. The anxiety of changing trains, meeting the ferry in Venice, and processing his ticket once he arrived in La Havre had kept him in a state of highest alert. During the day, he dared not nap or let his mind wander, for fear he would miss a train or ferry and bungle the trip entirely.
The first night, he’d slept in a church in Venice; on the second, he found a spot between shops on the boardwalk in Le Havre. Now only the ocean kept him from the start of his new life. He had avoided conversation with strangers, having been warned about the swindlers who preyed on unsuspecting passengers. He would like to see anyone try to get his money. He tucked it carefully in a pouch around his neck, then pinned it to the inside of his undershirt for safekeeping.
Ciro’s heart ached for all he was leaving behind, especially the company and counsel of Eduardo, the person who had made him feel safe in the world. None of the events of the past week had seemed real as they were happening, but now that he was alone, Ciro felt the finality of all of it. Ciro had been punished for something he had seen, not something he had done. He was aboard this ship because he had no advocate and was an orphan. The nuns had spared him the work camp, but the priest had levied a far worse punishment when he separated one brother from the other. Ciro buried his face in his sleeve and wept.