The girls stare at him. They haven’t understood much. Serena smiles through her tears because she knows that he is speaking to her about her renewed courage. His face smiles now so openly that even the others end up thinking that, no matter what he’s said, it must be true.
Chapter 29
That same day, when the light cautiously moves across the surface of the sea like a cat on a roof and the waves are paws that toy with their prey, turning it over and over, the boy and Lucia walk in silence. The sea stretches along the coast with the peacefulness of someone who doesn’t hurry because he knows what he is doing. The boy observes the expanse of water frayed with blood by the tired sun as it sets. The reddish light flares up. No one has ever invoked something small as his witness for big promises. No one has ever declared his love in a garage, unless he was forced to.
Those who love each other hold each other’s hands as they walk along the shore. They whisper secrets and say ‘I love you’ as the horizon, uniter of sky and earth, watches on. And thus the boy turns toward Lucia, who watches him and waits with the mixture of fear and astonishment that every woman feels the first time someone tells her ‘I love you.’ When it happens, all women would like to grab those words with their hands and put them inside their hearts and keep them there for the rest of their lives.
‘I want to love you, Lucia,’ says the boy as he fixes a lock of her hair that has been moved behind her ear by the wind. He meant to say ‘I love you’, but this was the sentence that came out of his mouth.
She turns for a moment toward the sea, toward the sky, toward the sand, toward the mountains. And she calls them as her witnesses. Then she gazes again into the eyes of the boy, marked by his longing. They are clear eyes, the type that belong to those who seek truth. But they are also fragile eyes, the type that belong to those who are fearful and those who would like to experience everything in life without being crushed by it.
Like a rose in bloom, she puts her head on his chest and in the suspended silence of things at dusk, she answers him: ‘Never leave, and I will be the summer that never ends.’
An anchor and an encore. A be still and a still be.
The boy squeezes her in his arms as if he could circumscribe life inside a circle where he could protect her from every attack and failure. And everything around them becomes timeless and frozen in all of her senses, as if they were elements of happiness in the periodic table: Sand, rocks, undertow, wind.
It’s September. The month that has within it the end of summer and the budding of fall. The sea isn’t capable of containing both of those spirits, and so sings them together.
‘Tell me the most important thing about you,’ she asks him suddenly with a black gust of her hair.
‘My heart is full of desires, dreams, beautiful things. But I don’t have any armor,’ he answers. He immediately regrets having foolishly offered his essence so immodestly, as if that were his fragrance once his life has been distilled and his peel has been thrown.
Lucia smiles.
She wants to be my armor. And my amore.
I’m that boy.
Federico.
Chapter 30
Then the day of Don Pino’s birthday arrives. September 15. It’s the day dedicated to Our Lady of Sorrows. A mother who cries for the death of the fruit of her womb. She longs for him. The grains of time are finished and there are prayers that are like premonitory dreams.
You always wanted me to call you by your first name. Now let me do that.
I gave up a woman for you. I gave up a family and children.
For a family, you gave me this wretched neighborhood of delinquents, misfits, and saints. And children.
You promised me that it would be enough.
Where are you?
Inside of them?
How do you love someone who spits in your face?
How do you love someone who kills you?
Loving your enemies is the craziest thing I’ve ever believed in.
People call them and me the same thing. Don.
Don Giuseppe Puglisi. Don Giuseppe Graviano. Parrinu, the godfather and the priest. The same word for all of us.
Where do you think these people are heading? To those who have strength, or to me with only my books and words? God of armies? God all-powerful?
Weak and silent God.
Is this how you treat your friends?
That’s why you have so few of them.
I’m not abandoning you. You have given me everything.
Now take me. Take me up high into the light and the air and let me unfurl my wings.
Let me be the way I was when my mother would hold me in her arms and cover me with kisses.
Let me be the way I was when my father, surrounded by a mountain of shoes to repair, would put me on his shoulders and let me see everything. You could even see the sea from those shoulders.
Put me on your shoulders and let me see the sea.
From up there, I’m not afraid of that dark sea to cross.
I don’t have heaven inside of me but I will go to heaven.
I am not afraid of death.
I am afraid of dying.
I look for your face. Don’t hide it from me.
Now and at the hour of my death.
Chapter 31
Birthdays are for celebrating the fact that we are not immortal. At twenty years of age – so they say – you still have the face that they gave you. But at fifty, you have the face that you deserve. He’s turning fifty-six and his face has a clear-cut geography: The dark rings under his eyes carved from exhaustion and the soft, plentiful reliefs of his smile. Just this: Love and giving. Otherwise, he has the face of a child.
The light is perfect on September 15. No dark thing can escape it. There are strong shadows destined to wear out. But they are just illusions. Darkness triumphs when light is taken away. But it’s only the appearance of victory and it’s only temporary.
The blue shines in the gold ‘marvelously’ as the first of the poets wrote. He belonged to a land of endless colors that occur naturally here: Amaranth, orange, vermillion, ivory, lilac, almond, mint, coral. But if you look closely enough in the city of men, enamel and debris overlap, like heaven and hell. And while a mother caresses a baby and a newlywed kisses his wife, others break their backs, lives, and faces.
In the afternoon, Lucia and the children are busy with dress rehearsals for the show. Excitement, fear, and concentration come together on the stage. They generate the same feeling of being lost that students feel when they believe they have forgotten everything they have learned right before an exam.
But where there are children, happiness always prevails, free from judgment and regardless of the performance. What counts is being there, everyone together. They all look forward to the pizza to celebrate Don Pino’s birthday after the show.
‘We’re going to surprise him. We’re going to sing “Happy Birthday” outside his house,’ explains Francesco to the others for the umpteenth time. They know full well that’s what they’re going to do but he loves to roll surprises around in his mouth, just like candy.
‘Seriously, don’t tell him anything,’ reiterates Lucia.
Besides my role as Charlemagne, there’s also Wizard Pipino, aka Don Pino. He doesn’t know it yet but he’s the surprise guest.
Totò announces my entrance with his pretend sword.
Little Orlando wails at this late hour.
The evil Ganelon, back at his lair,
Has locked him up in the castle tower.
That cuckold, stinking betrayer!
Desperate to be saved, he’s a sorry sight.
In that cell, he will die of hunger, he fears.
But a light reawakens the knight
And suddenly Wizard Pipino appears.
I enter the scene with a fake beard that makes even my teeth sweat. And I have a Merlin’s wizard-hat that droops over my eyes. And I burst out laughing.
‘I can’t do it. I just can’t stop laugh
ing. “Wizard Pipino!” ’
‘That’s true. It’s a strange name!’
‘Oh, come on. It’s meant to poke a little fun at Don Pino.’
‘Exactly.’
Lucia scolds the children and they all stand at attention again.
‘Take it from the last two lines, Totò. And you, stop laughing!’ she warns me.
But a light reawakens the knight
And suddenly Wizard Pipino appears.
I try to keep from laughing by pinching myself on the thigh.
‘Don’t be afraid, little boy. Here I am.’
‘But who are you? I don’t know you. Are you here to kill me?’
‘Kill you? What are you talking about? Do you think that someone with a beard like this could hurt you?’
‘I don’t know if I should trust a beard.’
The wizard leans down and Little Orlando touches his beard.
‘I’m here to free you from Ganelon’s clutches.’
‘But even if I escape and my life is saved, I’ll still have to go away.’
‘No, you won’t. You just need to be brave and let your friends help you. Together you will set a trap for Ganelon and you will become the true and only heir to Charlemagne.’
‘Really?’
‘Come closer.’
Little Orlando moves toward him and cups his ear to hear him more clearly. Old Pipino tells him something that the audience cannot hear. Little Orlando’s face lights up. But just at that moment, Ganelon enters and engages in a terrible duel with the wizard.
‘Run away, Little Orlando! Run away! Don’t worry about me. I will always be here.’
Little Orlando is hesitant.
‘Go on! Now is your chance. Don’t waste it. Do what I’ve told you to do.’
Little Orlando exits.
The duel continues and Ganelon wounds the old man with his sword. The wizard is armed only with a stick and it’s no match for the knight’s steel blade.
Ganelon chases after Little Orlando and follows him off stage.
The wizard’s body lies inert in the center of the stage.
The children stare at him in silence, as if he has really died.
‘Excellent! Now the lights come down. Pipino exits the stage. Now it’s up to Little Orlando to rally his friends and to share with them the secret that the wizard told him. They all follow him off stage astonished and excited. The audience will be dying to know what their plan is.’
When a pack of wolves can no longer find any prey; when it can no longer find a prize to gnaw and to nourish itself; when a pack of wolves loses its hunting grounds and the burrows where it feeds; when it loses its strength . . . It reacts by slaughtering the weakest animal in the pack. It feeds on its own flesh. Man-wolves do the same thing. They sacrifice those closest to make them feel strong. And they choose the weakest one. In doing so, they regain control and recoup their power. But among men, it happens that the sacrifice of the weakest reawakens those who are standing to the side, those who are indifferent or those who are afraid. The blood of the weakest nourishes them even more than the wolves that devoured it. On September 15, a pack of hungry wolves roams Brancaccio. Its only purpose is to satisfy its hunger.
Don Pino arrives late. The couples in his pre-marriage course have been waiting for a half-hour. It’s a day like any other. He’s already officiated at two weddings and he also attended the umpteenth meeting at Palazzo Aquile for his request to use the spaces on Via Hazon.
‘My apologies.’
‘Were you late the day you were born?’
‘I know you’re joking, but do you know that my birth certificate says September twenty-fourth when, actually, I was born on the fifteenth? I have nine bonus days. That’s why I’m always late.’
‘If you ask me, you used up your bonus a long time ago . . .’
Don Pino looks at them carefully. He’s thankful to be there. He has been working with them for months to guide them toward the sacrament of marriage, which is now around the corner.
Then, clearly absorbed by his purpose, he tells them: ‘The most important thing isn’t the dress or the reception. The most important thing is that the two of you become Christ. That the life of Christ enters into you and, from that moment onward, love rises again every time it dies. It’s not magic. It’s what actually happens if you make space for Him in and with your lives.’
The future wives and husbands listen to him with the eyes of those who dream of a love that never tires.
‘When you live it like this, human love – with its weaknesses, its imperfections, and its setbacks – can be a true corner of heaven. Many have marriages that are like hell. But this won’t happen to you. Hell is when you don’t love each other. Will you promise me that you’ll love each other?’
‘Of course! Why else would we be here?’ says one of the future husbands. He moves over to Don Pino and whispers something in his ear as he slips an envelope into his jacket pocket.
‘This is our contribution for the Holy Father Center. It’s not much but it’s what I can swing with my job.’
Don Pino hugs him.
‘Thank you, my son. Little by little we are doing something big. We are going to find the 300 million, one piece at a time, just like the mosaics in Monreale.’
‘How far along are we?’
‘More than halfway there. But the work in the church has been paused. I have a feeling that the construction company gave into some kind of outside pressure. What can we do?’
His words remain suspended in the air, but they are swept away by a chorus of birthday wishes from the couples. Don Pino has given them everything he can, including his smiles and even a scolding now and then. They are joined by some of his closest friends with a tray of cannoli and cassatine, little candied cakes. One of them has a candle in it.
Don Pino stares at it with a smile as wide as an open port.
He looks at them.
‘Thank you.’
And he blows out his fifty-six years.
You can’t see even a centimeter of moon in the sky. The next day will be a new moon. There’s only room for the stars and the vague glimmer of headlights in that still-incomplete darkness. The night inks the sea as it caresses the immense port. It seems that anything could happen, that some sort of creature could come out of that black liquid in the shape of a mermaid, a triton, or a sea monster. Four of them head out from the night like hungry wolves, knights of a provincial apocalypse. A pack of hump-backed demons in the blinding darkness. They rush to pay their debts with the sirocco god. The sea slows down and almost becomes marble. It prepares to listen to the demons’ sabbath between the deserted streets of Brancaccio and the light gait of a small man. The streetlights yellow the dark without managing to wrest away any of its senses.
The demons advance to interrupt, to impede, shatter, trample, crush, and rupture God and to derail his plans. To break his bones. To peel away his muscles. To dig out his eyes. To put iron into his flesh. To close his mouth. To stop his heartbeat. To throw him a birthday party.
One cigarette leads to another and helps to dilute the tension. They just need to sniff out the priest’s tracks and follow him. They need to study his movements so they can find the right moment. But the right moment is now because those movements, those footprints, and those tracks are something special: The priest is going home, walking through the streets of the neighborhood. Then he goes into a telephone booth.
‘Let’s do it now,’ says the Turk.
‘Without a motorcycle?’ asks the Hunter.
‘What do you need a bike for? He’s all by himself. It needs to seem like a robbery.’
They hurry to the warehouse. The Hunter surveys the weapons. A .32 Automatic would do the trick. They don’t need a shotgun or a .38 Special or a .357 Magnum. A birthday party calls only for a tiny little candle.
And he’s going to be the one doing the shooting.
He stops for a moment and asks himself why. And the answer is simple: Becaus
e he was ordered to.
They don’t even bother using stolen cars. They use their regular rides. This is going to be a stroll in the park, too easy, really, for one of the most ruthless Mafia crews in history. What could this weakness be? Aren’t they about to hurl themselves against it like an angry mob?
‘Maria, listen to me. You simply have to find a job. I’ll give you some money for the moment. But you have to promise me that you are going to stop selling your body. No, Maria. You have to promise me. Now, yes, now. Do it for Francesco. No, please don’t cry. Listen to me! Go to that center that I told you about. You can stay there and they’ll feed you. And they will help you find some sort of work. I received a donation for you. The next time I see you, I’ll bring you the money. It should last you until you find work. You can do it. You are a strong girl. You are a splendid mother with a splendid child. I have to go now. Don’t cry. I will always be here for you. You’ll see that everything is going to be okay.’
He exits the phone booth and heads toward home. The last person he meets is Riccardo, who wishes him a happy birthday and kisses him on both cheeks.
‘Don Pino has grown old!’
‘What is that supposed to mean? I’m still a kid.’
‘Happy birthday, Father.’
He winks and hurries off.
They are waiting for him with two cars. Their arms dangle from the window so as to let the smoke dissipate and the ashes fall to the ground. Two of them are in one car, the other two in another car as backup. The two passengers get out at the same time.
Don Pino is almost at the front door and he searches for his keys in his bag. But he doesn’t manage to open the door.
A man he’s never seen before blocks his path. He’s about to ask him if he can help him with something. But the man beats him to it.
‘Father, this is a robbery!’
‘I was expecting this.’ Don Pino smiles at him.
What Hell Is Not Page 24