by Seth Coleman
“Peppino, you have dinner with your pope, and he stays at your home, and you don’t believe in Hashem? What are we going to do with you?” He smiled. “I was told once the Catholics have a saint they pray to for lost causes. Now I understand why.” He poked his friend good-naturedly. “Peppino, you do not have to believe in Him to have Him work in your life. I do believe in Him, and I do see Him working in your life, so I will help Him help you.
“Abramo, you are the lost cause. You sound just like my friend, Silouan.”
“Who is Silouan?”
“He is my friend from the monastery who believes as you do. Well, not exactly the same thing, but the same God; you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do. It means that you have three people who believe in Hashem praying for you.”
“Who is the third?”
“Nicola, of course.”
“Yes, I forgot he thinks like the two of you as well. I never could see him as someone who believes in God. I mean, until now he has been an outlaw.”
“Peppino?” Abramo asked, shaking his head back and forth while waiting for a response. “Did you ever get the feeling someone is tapping you on the shoulder?”
“No, not really,” he said more firmly than he intended. “I just feel that I finally accepted my position as a baron, then lost Elisabetta, my family, and friends, and have people wanting to throw me in jail because I saved Nicola from being stabbed. That’s all that I feel right now. That and resentment of a God who would do this to me.”
Abramo shook his head again, this time with sadness in his eyes, accepting his words. “Well, so be it. Now you both have work to do. After you find a place to live, you will join us every Sabbath for dinner. OK?”
“Yes.” Peppino smiled at his friend as Emilio nodded in agreement. “Abramo, I do respect what you believe.”
“I know you do, and I accept your belief as well, but I know that is not all Hashem wants from you.”
“Well I’m afraid He is going to have to wait if He wants more. There are a lot of people in line who want something from me right now.”
Notes
* Jewish word for God.
Chapter 20
The rain was falling in a downpour, and with no hats the two were getting drenched. They dodged into doorways as much as they could, but by the time they reached Saint Chiara they were soaked. The church was run by the Poor Clares, a Franciscan order that dates back to the 1200s; although it was centuries old, it remained an imposing structure on the small square it dominated.
The two were out of breath by the time they ran into the sanctuary. “Excuse me,” Peppino whispered loudly as he saw a priest exiting his confessional.
The priest turned and smiled while walking toward them. “Good morning. How may I help you?”
“My name is Peppino, and this is my friend Emilio. We know a girl who is living here, and we would like to talk with her.”
“I see. If you wish to see any of the novices, you must first speak with Sister Clare. She is the abbess. You can find her in the convent around the corner, but I doubt you will be able to see your friend. The nuns and novices have strict rules. But you can try if you wish.”
“Thank you.”
As they exited the church, Emilio stopped Peppino. “Listen, if the nuns are going to make a stink about us seeing Elena, maybe it would be better to not say anything and see if we can find her ourselves.”
“Good point. If they say no, they will be watching for us.”
The two walked around the corner to the abbey. The convent was a simple four-story wooden building, with its entrance on the plaza and a ten-foot brick wall encompassing the rest of the property. The side facing Piazza del Gesù was solid brick, while the side bordering a narrow alley was inset with bars between its columns through which they could see a large courtyard. Some of the nuns were leisurely walking the paths that wound through the lawns and shrubbery, while others sat on benches with their heads bowed, rosary beads in their hands. From where they stood, Peppino and Emilio could hear water cascading between two angel statues atop a gurgling fountain that stood as the centerpiece.
Emilio walked to a marble sign placed on the column. “Peppino, look at this. Can you read it?”
Peppino walked over and read aloud. “‘The Poor Clare life is one devoted to prayer, giving oneself entirely to God and being consecrated for a life of poverty, chastity, obedience, and enclosure.’”
“What does chastity mean?” Emilio asked.
“It means not having sex.”
“You are kidding. They really do that? We’ve got to get her out of there.”
Peppino gave his illiterate friend an irritated glance. “Look, I think I just saw her walking into that door.”
“Where, which one?”
“Over there, the part of the building facing the side street.”
They went around the corner and found a large ground-level window covered with bars that looked down into a kitchen. Inside were the cook and two novices busily preparing the noon meal; the younger girls were dressed differently.
Elena noticed the two young men looking in the window, then took a second look before it dawned on her who they were. They both had changed a lot, but so had she. She turned her back to the window so they would not let on that they knew her. If the head nun knew about it, she would not be allowed to speak with them. She bowed slightly and then softly told Sister Grace that she was going into the pantry to peel potatoes. Picking up a large pot, she turned back to the table facing them, making sure to keep her head lowered. Grabbing a peeler, she then looked up at Emilio and Peppino so they would recognize her. Without smiling she quickly tilted her head sideways indicating that she wanted them to meet her at the next window.
Emilio understood immediately and pushed Peppino out of the line of sight of the nun and pointed down the street. The two boys turned away and acted as if they were continuing their walk down the street.
Elena went into the small room and closed the door behind her. She unhooked the latch and pulled the small window open. “Emilio, Peppino,” she said, obviously happy to see them. “What are you doing here?”
“We are here to see you,” Peppino said, smiling.
“I am so glad,” she said. “You both look so grown up. How is Nicola?”
“He is well. We were just with him in Brancaleone a few days ago.”
“You went home? How did you do that? I didn’t think you were ever going to be able to go there again.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Listen, I am not allowed to speak. If I get caught, I will be in trouble.”
“OK, we will be quick then,” Peppino said, picking up the pace. “We are planning to go to America after we earn some money for passage. Would you like to come with us?”
“I don’t know; I have been planning to become a nun.”
“You are serious?” Peppino asked a bit too loudly.
“Shhh, keep your voice down. Yes, I am serious. It is a much better life here than in Bovalino.”
“Elena, we want you to come with us,” Emilio urged. “We will watch out for you.”
“You two watch out for me?” She laughed quietly.
“Funny,” Peppino said. “Really, you can start a new life with us in a new country. It will be great.”
“When are you leaving?”
“As soon as we can find jobs and save enough money. We are going to look for a flat today.”
“Check the monastery next door; I hear they have rooms they rent out, and they may have some work for you.”
“What do you think about America?” asked Peppino.
“I’ll think about it and let you know, but I am not sure; I like the life of a nun. Look, I have kitchen duty on Wednesdays. Come back next week, but I can only talk to you if I can get away unnoticed, like now. If I do not acknowledge you, come back the following week.”
“Understood,” Peppino nodded.
“It’s really good to see
the both of you, and I promise I will think about it. I must go now; Sister Grace will check on me any minute.” She closed the window and sat on a stool and hastily started to peel potatoes.
They checked the monastery, and there was a tiny room with two cots and a candle available, and for a small additional fee they could share simple meals with the priests. While they were talking, Emilio’s attention was drawn to another door across the hall. The priest noticed and pushed it open a bit. It was stuffed from floor to ceiling with boxes of Catholic trinkets and memorabilia, some inscribed with the name of the church. He explained they were supplies for a small gift area that at one time was located in the narthex. It hadn’t created much income, so they closed it several years before. Now everything was stored there collecting dust.
They agreed to take the room, and Emilio pulled out his entire pocketful of money and paid for a week in advance with meals except for Saturdays. Then, holding the wad in his hand, he told the priest that he would give him the rest of it if he would sell them all the trinkets in the room and lend them a cart.
Peppino’s eyes widened in shock but then relaxed when the priest said he would have to ask the friar. He left and the two returned to their room and sat on the cots.
“Emilio, are you nuts? You were about to give all of our money away for some junk jewelry.”
“It’s not junk jewelry; it’s our fare to America.”
“Right!” Peppino said, exasperated. “Just how do you figure that?”
“There is a lot of stuff in that room, and the only place it was being sold was in the church. I didn’t see any vendors selling Catholic stuff in either of the plazas we were in. Naples is just about as religious as Rome, and we can sell all that stuff for much more than we paid for it. Maybe we can make enough to pay the fare for all three of us.”
“Cortez,” Peppino said, thinking out loud.
“Who is he?”
“I studied about him in school. He invaded Mexico to steal the treasure of the Aztecs.”
“What has that got to do with this?”
“It does; just listen. He had something like eleven ships, and when he got there, he burned all of the ships.”
“What for?”
“Don’t you get it? He forced upon his men a total commitment. Either they won the battle, or they didn’t go home. What I am saying is that I like your idea. You invested all of our money. We have no choice but to sell everything.”
“Peppino, you got too much schooling at that monastery. I just want to make some money and go to America,” he complained, not fully understanding. “So what happened?”
“They won the battle and went home on Aztec ships.”
“Great, we’ll steal a ship and sail to America. You are nuts, Peppino.”
Peppino gave his friend an exasperated look. “Forget it; let’s just do it.”
The friar agreed to sell the entire contents of the room for the money they had made from selling the dory. For the next month they got up at daybreak and took a cart loaded with religious gifts to the busy plaza: necklaces with either wooden or marble beads, large crosses to hang on the wall or small ones to wear on a chain, rosaries, Bibles, statues of Jesus and Mary, and pocket-sized medals with a picture of a saint on one side and the Virgin Mary on the other. Emilio wanted them both to dress as monks to help increase sales, but Peppino refused.
Three times they had gone to the window unable to speak with Elena, and the one time they were, she had not made up her mind and could not talk long. She asked them to come back.
The fare for each of them for steerage was to be paid in American money and was more than they thought: a whopping fifty dollars each. If they could make a profit of around twenty dollars a week from sales, it would take three months to earn passage, leaving them enough to get settled when they arrived. If Elena did not go, her fare would be split between the two; but they both wanted her with them.
By the end of the second month, there was still no word from Nicola, and the merchandise left in the room had dwindled, most of the good things having already been sold. Emilio was true to his word of claiming he was a born salesman, making twice as much as Peppino, or at least that was what he boasted. The truth was that he would bring them to the cart, leaving Peppino to handle the money. Peppino learned enough at the monastery to speak a pretty convincing lingo and could quickly turn the sale into a second purchase. His best sellers were a medal of Saint Jude, the saint that Catholics prayed to for lost causes, and Saint Christopher, for protection. Sometimes he was able to create a crowd around the cart by telling interesting stories.
One of them was about the ruins of Pompeii, a nearby city devastated by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD. He would capture their interest by explaining that crosses and other religious articles were found on the walls of homes less than fifty years after the death of Jesus. He became so good at telling stories that each time he was able to generate additional sales.
They were saving all they could. Both of them lost weight and were starting to appear gaunt due to the small amount of food they were eating versus the amount of energy they were expending. Abramo’s wife, Ester, made sure the Sabbath day meals were large, and she would send them home with greatly appreciated leftovers.
Christmas Eve arrived, and it was a banner day for sales. Both of them were busy with customers, when Peppino heard a familiar voice from behind him.
“Well, now I have seen everything: Peppino selling crosses. And all this time I thought getting you to go to the monastery was a miracle.”
Recognizing the sarcastic voice, Peppino turned away from his customer to see Nicola standing next to Abramo. “Nicola! Emilio, look! See who is here. Nicola, it is good to see you,” he said excitedly.
“It is good to see the both of you. I can see you are busy and don’t want to interrupt your making money. Can you meet over at Abramo’s in the morning?”
“Absolutely! We have been waiting to hear from you and now you are here…in person!”
With a big smile on his face and in fun, Emilio stood at attention and saluted his boss. “Yes, sir, we will be there as ordered, sir!”
Nicola smiled at Abramo and shook his head at the two. Changing the subject, he stopped to look at the merchandise on the table. “Abramo, take a look at this,” he said, laughing. “You turned my young friend here into a Jewish monk,” he said, holding up a piece of jewelry with the Jewish Star of David on it.
“That’s not all, Abramo,” Peppino said, reaching under the table. “I was going to give this to you for Hanukkah.” He handed him an inexpensive framed copy of a painting of Moses and the Ten Commandments. “We thought you would like this for your apartment.” Emilio was beaming as Abramo reached for it.
“That is beautiful. Thank you very much; it will always be on my wall. Where did you to get it? I thought you were only selling Catholic things.”
“We were until a man came by selling some Jewish trinkets, and we both decided to expand and make this a nondenominational business venture. But you guys drive a hard bargain.”
Abramo nodded as he and Nicola laughed.
“Abramo, when customers see the Jewish things, Peppino tells every one of them that Jesus was a Jewish rabbi. Is that true? Sometimes I think he is trying to lose us business on purpose.”
Nicola answered, “Yes, but we can talk about that later. Tomorrow is Christmas Day, and it is also Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath. We will all spend the day together, even Elena.”
“Fabulous! How in the world did you do that? We have been trying to see her for weeks.”
“It was easy; I just told the mother superior that I was her brother. Why?”
Peppino glared at Emilio, then back at Nicola and Abramo. “No reason. We will see you in the morning; I am very happy Elena will be joining us. Nicola, we really got to go.” Two customers were holding articles in their hands, waiting to pay for them. “See you tomorrow.”
“For breakfast, eight a.m. sharp,” Abramo
added.
“We’ll be there.”
Chapter 21
-Christmas & Hanukkah 1894-
Peppino and Emilio awoke to the Bells of Santa Chiara ringing out “O Come All Ye Faithful” from the tower several stories over their room. They hopped out of bed and dressed quickly, getting themselves ready for an unexpectedly good Christmas. It was chilly, but the city was quiet. The normal chatter of people going to and from work and the clopping of hoofs from horses pulling delivery trucks were subdued and replaced with the happy sounds of parents and children walking together, many carrying gifts and baked goods that were certain to be shared with friends or family. Astonishingly, today, Emilio and Peppino were part of that festive atmosphere; their pace was more quickened than usual as they hurried.
Nicola and Abramo greeted them at the door, and a few minutes later Elena arrived. Since it was the Sabbath, Ester prepared a light meal of bread, preserves, fruit, and espresso. They all spent so much time catching up that the subject of Brancaleone was not mentioned until the meal was just about over.
“Peppino,” Nicola started, “I did not know that the knife was intended for me. You saved my life, and I thank you, my friend. That’s two times I am in your debt.”
“No debt; I am glad to have been able to do it,” he said sincerely.
“Peppino, do you remember the priest who was in the jailhouse in Bovalino the day Carmine got stabbed?”
“Yes, sort of.”
“Good. His name is Brother Antonio. He was at the square when the pope was speaking, not on the platform, but standing to my left on the ground.”
“I don’t remember seeing him.”
“Well, thank God he was there. His eyes were at waist level to everyone on the stage, and he saw you reach into the monsignor’s cape and try to wrestle the knife out of his hand. He knew you were protecting me.”
“All right!” exclaimed Emilio excitedly.
“He spoke with me soon after the two of you hopped over the wall; by the way, you about gave the pope and the baroness heart attacks with that stunt. Anyway, when he told me, I immediately rushed to the pope and the baroness, who were on their way back to the villa, and Brother Antonio told them what happened. Elisabetta and her parents, along with the abbot and your friend from the monastery, all heard him tell what he witnessed. The pope and your mother understood immediately and were immensely relieved.”