“Dante knows?”
“Of course. It’s his child, too. Once the baby is born he will buy us a place to live, and one day, when he’s independent of his father, we will marry. God will forgive us for having a child out of wedlock—and anyway, it is His gift, so He can’t be cross.” She smiled excitedly. “I’m so happy, Signora Bruno.”
The old woman frowned. How was it possible to feel happiness in her situation, her future being so uncertain? She didn’t believe for a minute that Dante would ever marry her; that kind of happy ending did not happen for girls like Floriana. She chewed on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “Well, that’s as much as we can hope for.”
“I’m going to be a mother.” Floriana sighed dreamily and flopped into a soft chair. “It’s a boy, I just know it. A beautiful little boy. I talk to him all the time.”
“I doubt he has ears to hear you.”
“He hears me with his soul.” Floriana’s smile was peaceful, as if she wanted for nothing. Signora Bruno couldn’t help but admire her optimism, and fear the moment life would disappoint her and snuff it out forever.
“Are you hungry?”
“No, I’m living off air and thriving.”
“You look skinny.”
“I feel sick in my stomach but well in my heart.”
“You’ll harm the baby if you don’t get something down you. Come on, I’ve made soup.”
Reluctantly, Floriana followed her into the kitchen. The smell of onions was overpowering. “I don’t think I can eat anything. Perhaps a cracker. Do you have a cracker?”
“And some cheese.”
“Just a cracker.”
“I’ll butter it.”
Floriana grinned at her fondly. “You’re acting like a mother.”
Signora Bruno scowled to hide her emotion. “You need a mother.”
“How lucky then that I have you.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell Elio?”
“Of course not. One day he’ll wake up and find me gone.”
“You really feel nothing?”
“Nothing.” Floriana turned away and picked up a piece of onion peel. “He’s no father to me.”
“Perhaps being a grandfather will set him on the straight and narrow.”
“No, it won’t. Nothing will. He’s well and truly lost. No wonder my mother left him. Sometimes I think she must have hated me very much to leave me at his mercy.”
Signora Bruno was horrified. “You don’t believe that?”
Floriana shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. They’re all losers because they’ll never know the precious little child that I am going to bring into the world. I need nothing, Signora Bruno, nothing and no one, because I’ll have my son. I’ll never be alone again.”
Signora Bruno found her bravado heartbreaking.
Dante remained in Milan, confident that his child would be born in secrecy. He no longer felt that clawing fear in his stomach because the burden had been lifted and arrangements had been made. His father wouldn’t find out. Floriana would be safe and cared for. They could continue their relationship in a new town where no one knew them. As for the future, he didn’t have to think about it yet. For the time being things were fine. However, in the quiet moments before he fell asleep at night and when he awoke in the morning, he shuddered at the thought of how close he had come to ruin.
Floriana’s pregnancy was a delicate issue, and Father Ascanio didn’t want to speak to the Mother Superior on the telephone. He arranged to go and see her instead.
As he drove through the Tuscan countryside he mulled over the unfortunate situation. Floriana would give birth within the safe walls of Santa Maria degli Angeli, then Dante would whisk her away to some far-off town, to start a new life where she knew no one. Of all the people in his parish, Floriana was the least well equipped psychologically to cope with that sort of change. He feared for her, all alone with a small child and no daily support. Perhaps Dante would arrange for help, but still, she’d be emotionally close to no one.
He wrestled with anger when he thought of Dante’s foolishness. One moment of pleasure and he had potentially destroyed a young girl’s life. Of course, Floriana wouldn’t see it that way. She loved him and trusted that he would look after her and possibly even marry her one day. But Father Ascanio was old and wise, and had instantly recognized the weakness in the boy’s demeanor, having seen it so many times before in others. The way he hadn’t been able to look him in the eye, the way his shoulders had slumped in defeat—and Father Ascanio knew the boy. He had watched him grow up beneath the forceful authority of his father. To break that kind of influence took a will of fire and a courage of steel, neither of which Dante possessed, for all his charm and geniality.
He arrived at the imposing gates of the convent and hesitated before getting out and ringing the bell. Once Floriana walked through these gates he might never see her again. His heart contracted, and he was stunned by the sudden rush of emotion. Only now that he was on the point of losing her did he realize how deeply he cared.
Floriana telephoned Dante often from the public telephone in Luigi’s. They couldn’t speak for long, but Dante’s voice was enough to reassure her. In her free time she’d wander up to La Magdalena and find Good-Night. Together they’d walk through the fields, and she’d tell him of the future she was going to have with Dante. They’d sit on the beach as the water gently lapped the rocks, and she’d sing to her unborn child, and the dog that had grown to love her above all others.
Father Severo took another swig from the bottle he had hidden beneath a floorboard in his bedroom. Many times he had told himself that this swig would be his last. He knew that if he was caught, Father Ascanio would throw him out, being a man of the highest principles. But he was unable to stop, and Father Ascanio’s poor sense of smell enabled Father Severo to continue undetected.
Tonight Father Ascanio was out. He had disappeared in his car that afternoon and hadn’t come back. Father Severo wondered whether the outing had anything to do with Floriana. He felt the slippery fish of his secret and relished the pleasure it gave him, knowing something that he shouldn’t, not having weakened and told anyone. His discretion gave him a buzz.
He took another swig. It was a beautiful evening. The light was mellow, the air warm and autumnal. The sounds of children playing echoed off the ancient stone walls and made him think of his own isolated childhood and the boys who refused to play with him because they sensed that he was different. He decided to go for a walk and get some air. He considered Father Ascanio as he weaved slowly up the narrow street towards the piazza. How he admired him. But he could never rise to such heights, being the inadequate man that he was. He knew his failings and was content living in the shadow of a great man of God, giving his life to the service of others, hoping to redeem himself through his work. He repressed the sexual feelings he had for other men and prayed daily to be cured. But the pain persisted, and only the alcohol helped stifle it.
At the end of the street he saw a man crouched on a doorstep, head in hands. He recognized him instantly.
“Elio,” he said as he approached. “Are you all right?” The man looked up at him, and the suffering on his face yanked the sacristan out of his internal world with a jolt.
“Father, help me.”
The sacristan sat beside him. The stench of alcohol seeping from Elio’s pores was pungent. “How can I help you?”
“I have lost my wife and son, and now I am losing my daughter, too.”
“What do you mean, your daughter?”
“She doesn’t care for me. I have let her down. I should be working to support her, but here I am, a slave to alcohol. I have hit the bottom, Father, and I don’t know how to lift myself up. I want to take care of her, but she won’t speak to me anymore. I know that one day she will leave me, like her mother did, and I’ll die alone like a common tramp.”
“Elio, you have taken the first step to recovery. By acknowledging that you have a problem, you have already
moved towards resolving it.”
“I won’t drink ever again.”
“That takes a very strong will,” Father Severo said, thinking of his own weakness and once again vowing to overcome it.
“So, what am I to do?”
“You need something to live for, a goal that will keep you from the bottle and inspire you to get back to work and live a clean life.” He felt the slippery fish in his throat and a sudden bolt of excitement as it slowly worked its way up.
“I have nothing but Floriana, and she despises me.”
“You have to prove to her first that you can do it. It’s no use telling her over and over that you will give up drinking because you have failed to do so countless times in the past. You have to show her that you seriously intend to change.”
“She doesn’t love me anymore. Once love is dead it cannot be revived.”
“Nonsense. Father Ascanio says that love is always there, at the very heart of all of us, even those who don’t know it. We just have to let go of all negativity.”
“I don’t deserve her love. Look at me.”
“Of course you do. It’s human to make mistakes. Jesus taught forgiveness. Floriana is a good Christian. She loves you in her heart, even if she is not aware of it. You’re her father and the only family she has.”
“And what have I done for her?”
“Don’t ask yourself what you have done, but what you can do.” The slippery fish was now on his tongue and wriggling about so furiously it took all his strength to hold it there. The pleasure was overwhelming, and he began to sweat little beads onto his nose and forehead. Never before had he had to wrestle with such a big one.
Elio lifted his chin. “I’m no fool, you know. I am aware that she has a boyfriend. She thinks I don’t know, but I have eyes and ears like everyone else. She won’t tell me, of course. She doesn’t tell me anything these days. Once, when she was a little girl, she used to share her thoughts, but I didn’t listen. I didn’t take any notice.” He crumpled again into a heap of self-pity. “What sort of father am I? She’ll marry one day, and who knows whether she’ll want me there at her wedding. I should walk her down the aisle to give her away, but what man is going to ask for her hand from me, when I have no right to give it? I have failed her.” His shoulders began to shudder.
“Let’s get you home.” The sacristan got to his feet. The slippery fish slid enticingly onto the tip of his tongue.
Elio gazed up at him forlornly. “I have nothing,” he said, and with that final declaration of despair the fish glided out.
“You’re going to be a grandfather, Elio,” announced the sacristan. To his surprise, he discovered that the pleasure of divulging the secret far outweighed the pleasure of keeping it. Elio stared up at him in astonishment. “Yes, Floriana is pregnant,” he repeated gleefully.
“Pregnant? Floriana?”
“It is Dante Bonfanti’s child.”
Elio sobered up as he digested the news. “Are you sure?”
“Trust me, I know. You see, you do have something to live for.”
“But she’s so young.”
“She is young, but I suspect the boy will marry her.”
“He’ll take her away.”
“Surely not.”
“Of course he will.” Elio struggled to his feet.
The sacristan gripped his arm to steady him. “Now, you mustn’t say a word to anyone, do you understand?” Elio barely heard him. “I shouldn’t have told you, but when you looked up at me with such misery, I felt you needed something to live for. Now you have it. You are going to be a grandfather. Floriana will need you. Now is your chance to make amends.” The sacristan felt a sudden sense of satisfaction at doing something good.
“Dante Bonfanti?” Elio muttered, scratching his head. “Beppe Bonfanti’s only son?”
“Yes, that’s the one. Now remember, I told you not to say a word!”
“Not a word,” Elio repeated vaguely.
“Good. Let’s get you home. I want you to give me all your bottles, and we’ll pour them down the lavatory. From now on you are going to be a different man. No more drinking and feeling sorry for yourself. God has given you another chance. You have it within your power to change your life and be the father you’ve always wanted to be.”
Elio stumbled over the cobbles, leaning heavily on the sacristan. Did he really say Floriana was pregnant by Dante Bonfanti? Was it possible? He grunted and nearly tripped. The sacristan caught him before he fell. In his inebriated state much was unclear. However, there was one thing that shone out from the mist as clear as quartz: Beppe Bonfanti would never allow his only son to marry his daughter.
The following day Dante spoke to Floriana via the public telephone in Luigi’s. “Everything has been arranged,” he explained. “I will drive down on Friday the nineteenth of November and pick you up Saturday morning. I think it’s best that we meet at the wall. We can spend the day together, then I’ll drive you to the convent.”
“Will you be able to visit me there?”
“Of course I will. It’s not a prison, you know.” He paused a moment. She could hear him breathing down the line. “You’re not frightened, are you, piccolina?”
“No. I’m excited. At the moment he’s not showing at all. If I didn’t feel nauseous all the time, I’d wonder whether I really was pregnant.”
In spite of her excitement, Dante dearly wished it was a false alarm. “Once you’ve seen a doctor we’ll know for certain.”
“Oh, I know for sure. I can feel him inside me although he’s just the size of a seed.”
“And you think he’s a boy?”
“For certain. I’m going to give you a son, Dante.” When he didn’t reply, she grew anxious. “Are you frightened?”
He didn’t want to admit his fear. “I feel guilty for having got you into this mess in the first place.”
“Don’t feel guilty, my love. No child comes into the world by accident. God wouldn’t be so careless. Every child is precious however he is conceived. Our son is more precious than most, because he was conceived with love.”
Dante couldn’t help but smile at her idealism. He wondered whether she’d be so carefree once the child was born and crying through the night. “I love you, Floriana.”
“And I love you, too, Dante.”
“Do you remember that day on the bench, when I took your hand and asked you your name?”
“Of course. I’ll never forget it.”
“I sensed then that you were going to be a part of my life. I didn’t know how, but I just knew we’d somehow be connected.”
“I sensed it, too.”
“You were lost, and I wanted to look after you.”
“I’m not lost anymore.”
“As long as I live, my piccolina, you’ll never be lost.”
Elio watched his daughter like a lion watches an unsuspecting gazelle. He watched her come in humming to herself, and he watched her leave with a skip in her step. Then he sat down and wrote a letter: the letter that was going to transform his fortunes forever.
The sacristan had poured all Elio’s bottles down the toilet. There wasn’t a drop of alcohol left in the apartment, but Elio didn’t care; his thoughts were on a higher goal, and for that he needed to be focused and alert. For the first time in years he had woken with a sense of purpose. A tingling sensation rippled over his body as he considered his daughter’s predicament and what use could be made of it.
Beppe Bonfanti was one of the richest men in the country. There was simply no way that he would allow his son and heir to marry a local girl from an obscure little town in Tuscany. She might have deluded herself otherwise, and Dante might have convinced himself that they could run away together and live happily ever after, but the reality was blatant to anyone who had lived as long as he had. It wasn’t going to happen. So, if his daughter wasn’t going to become the wife of a millionaire, he had to take what he could from the situation.
He chuckled as he wrote
his letter to Beppe. He’d never been within sights of such easy cash in all his life. He had been a terrible father, but now he had the chance to make it up to his daughter. He couldn’t demand that Dante make an honest woman of her, but he could demand money to support her and their bastard child—with a little extra for good measure.
Floriana decided that she wasn’t going to tell anyone but Signora Bruno that she was leaving. She would simply go. Signora Bruno could inform her father that she had moved away to start a new life somewhere else, and he could tell Aunt Zita. However, she was deeply indebted to Father Ascanio, and it was right that she should go and thank him for his kindness.
The day before she was due to leave, she skipped over the cobbles with a light heart. Her future didn’t frighten her at all. In fact, she looked forward to moving to a new town and starting over. There, no one would pity her for the mother who had left her and the father who got drunk every night and cheated at cards. No one would know anything about her. She’d reinvent herself as a mother with a small child and a handsome young husband who worked in Milan—no one would have to know that they weren’t married. No one would have to know anything at all. She’d create a whole new identity.
That cold November morning Father Ascanio was giving Mass. Floriana sidled into the back of the church and waited until it was over. The usual party ensued in the square, and it was another half hour before the last stragglers dispersed. Father Ascanio smiled warmly at the sight of her. She stood a little apart, a coat wrapped tightly around her shoulders, arms folded against the autumn chill. Her hair blew about her face, which was pale and thin, and more beautiful than he had ever seen it. She no longer looked like a child.
“Floriana,” he said, taking her hands.
“I’ve come to thank you.” She lowered her eyes and found to her surprise that they were welling with tears. Father Ascanio and his church had been home to her. Now she was leaving; she didn’t know when she would see them again.
“Don’t cry, my child. God will always be with you wherever you are in the world.”
“You have been so generous and understanding and wise. I realize only now how much I have depended on you.” Her voice thinned, and she couldn’t go on.
The Mermaid Garden Page 33