Peppino

by Seth Coleman

  Elena was looking forward to the trip but sad to be leaving her life at the convent. With only a few days before departure, she spent most of her time in seclusion, praying for all of them.

  There had been no word from Nicola since Christmas Day, although Abramo did send him a message giving him the departure date.

  Peppino and Emilio busied themselves selling the last of the trinkets, extracting every bit of profit from their investment. They had done well and would be arriving in New York with more than one hundred dollars, even after paying for Elena’s ticket. There was not much merchandise left on the cart, which meant Emilio was in his fervent selling mode. Peppino laughed as he watched him try to sell a Jewish Star of David to one of the Catholic customers by reminding him that Jesus was Jewish. The man just looked at him as if he was crazy, and Peppino was teasing him about it when Ester arrived.

  “Peppino, Emilio, good day.”

  “Ciao, Ester,” they both said in unison.

  “Peppino, Abramo asks if you would come by the apartment now, if you could. I will stay with Emilio and help him with the sales.”

  “OK, but do me a favor and see if you can get Emilio to stop selling Jewish stars to nuns, will you?” he said, teasing.

  “He is selling the Star of David to nuns?”

  “No, not really…never mind. What is going on with Abramo? Is there a problem?”

  “No, he asked me to come get you.”

  “OK, I’ll be back when I can.”

  When he reached the apartment, Abramo was leaving. “Can’t talk,” he said, rushing by him. “I’ll be back in a while; wait in the apartment. The door is open. Make yourself some espresso if you like.”

  Peppino was glad to have a few minutes alone. It had been a long time since he rested midday, and there was much to think about. By the time he reached the door, he decided that he would nap on the sofa until Abramo returned. Instead, as he entered the room, he saw the baroness sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Peppino,” she said, standing and taking a step toward him with her arms opening.

  “Mother, this is a surprise,” he said, avoiding her gesture and taking a seat on the sofa.

  “Nicola told me that you are leaving for America in a few days,” she said, sitting back down in the chair and taking a handkerchief from under the hem of her sleeve and brushing away a tear. “I wanted to see you before you left.”

  “And now you see me,” he said, lifting both hands into the air and letting them drop back to the arms of the sofa. “I suppose that you are here to talk me out of going.”

  “No, that is not it; I agree that this is the best thing for you, due to the circumstances.”

  “Circumstances,” he repeated. “Yes, I guess it is. Now you can get rid of your adopted son and get on with your life. By the way, I do believe Vincenzo would be a good choice for the future baron of Bologna. I have always thought that.”

  “I know you have,” she said calmly. “But it is your birthright.”

  “Yes, it is,” he said flippantly. “You should be grateful to the abbot for that acknowledgement. He convinced me that being adopted was just as legally binding as a real child.”

  “Peppino, please stop this.”

  “No, I will not pretend to feel something I don’t, especially now when I am leaving Italy for the rest of my life. As far as I am concerned, you are a wicked woman. You took me away from my real mother and father and my real brothers and sisters and raised me in the same house with them. What kind of a mother would do that?” He could feel the revulsion as the words came out of his mouth.

  The tone of his voice visibly hit her like an assault. “Peppino, please stop.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “There were reasons I did what I did.”

  “What reasons? There is nothing you could say that would wipe away all the years of living in the same house with my real family and having you own me.”

  “I am your mother, Peppino.”

  “No, you are not!” He realized he said the words too loudly and quieted himself so that the neighbors would not hear. “You are not my mother, and I will not leave Italy giving you the satisfaction of thinking that I believe that you are or that I have any respect for you, because I do not!”

  “I am, Peppino, I am…” The baroness was pleading with him through her sobs. “I am your mother. I gave birth to you, not Gaetana. I am your real mother.”

  “What?” he mumbled in disgust, not sure if it was more lies or manipulation.

  “Please, let me explain,” she pleaded, “I should have told you a long time ago.” Her years of hiding the deception were dissolving. “You are just like your father, Peppino.” She had completely broken down and was sobbing, unable to regain her composure. “I loved your father, and you are just like him, and you look just like him.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a worn photograph, reaching out to hand it to Peppino.

  He sat staring at her, not knowing how to respond, and finally took it from her hand, staring at it while she spoke.

  “When I was fourteen, my parents did exactly what you accuse me of; they sold me to the baron of Bologna. It was not an exchange for money but for status and influence. My life with him was unspeakable, and my father refused to help me. He was old, and I thanked God I did not have a child with him. He died, leaving me a young widow.”

  Peppino felt his eyes starting to water and brushed away a tear with his forefinger.

  “Your father was a good man; he worked the fields on our estate. His name was Giuseppe, the same as yours, and just like you, his friends and family called him Peppino. We were very much in love, but I did not know what to do. He was a peasant, and I was a de Medici. I was so confused.”

  “Why didn’t you marry him?”

  “It wasn’t so easy. Your grandfather was an influential man. When I found out I was pregnant with you, he sent me away with Gaetana to give birth to you in secret so there would be no blemish to the family name,” she said in disgust. “Then I am told Giuseppe is dead. My father had him killed!” She sobbed more deeply. “He died because he fell in love with me. I would have married him, and my father knew it, so in his words he ‘got rid of the trash.’”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

  “Peppino, I couldn’t. Didn’t you ever wonder why you never met your grandparents?” She blew her nose and regained her composure. “It is because they disowned me because of you. They told me that if I gave you away, I could remain their child, but that was the only condition—an impossible one for me. You were all that I had left of your papa, and I loved him so much. When my father heard that you were born, he made arrangements for me to move to Calabria: as far away as I could get from him and still be in the same country. I have not seen him in almost twenty years.”

  “What was he like, my father?”

  The baroness smiled. “He was just like you, Peppino. He would have done everything you have done, and he would have been so proud of you.” She was reaching for the right description, trying to give her child the essence of who his father was. “He was a little like your friend Nicola, a passionate man who helped others and asked nothing in return, which is exactly what I have watched you do. You can see in the photograph that he looks like you, but it is more than that.” She paused, wiping away tears, then drawing her hand through her hair. “You inherited many of his mannerisms. In every way possible you are your father’s son.” She started crying again. “He never even knew I was with child. I did not tell him, and I know it was a mistake. I should have told him immediately, and we would have gone away to raise you, but I did not. I wanted time to think, and then it was too late. He was dead.”

  “Does your friend the pope know?”

  “Yes, all of it; never once did he judge me or disclose my secret, even to you. He wanted me to tell you at Villa Aldobrandini, but when I saw you look at me from the window the day we arrived, I could not bring myself to do it.”

  “Then you are my mother,” he said
, groping for the right words. “I do not know what to say. I spent all my life hating you, and I don’t know how to change my feelings.” He rose to leave. “I am sorry I cannot do it right now. I heard all that you have said, but I need time to think about it.”

  “I understand,” she said, having regained her composure.

  “The Burgundia sails at three p.m. in three days. It will start boarding at noon. If you are still here in Naples, I will see you before then.”

  “Yes, that is fine. I will be staying at the Grand Hotel Vesuvio. Do you know where it is? It is on the waterfront, overlooking the Bay of Naples.”

  “I know where it is.”

  “Will you have dinner with me the night before you go?”

  “I don’t know; I will think about it.”

  “Then just in case, I want to give you this now.” She started pulling two rings off of her finger as she spoke. “You know of this one bearing the Medici crest, which would someday go to you anyway. This smaller one, hidden behind it, was given to me by your father. I want you to have it.” She gently placed both in his hand and then curled his fingers over them with hers.

  Peppino opened his hand, pushing the signet ring out of the way, and looked at the worn metal ring he was holding.

  “There are two more things,” she said, walking to her coat and pulling out a document and a small blue pouch gathered at the top by two pull strings. She unfolded the document and handed it to him. “This is your birth certificate.”

  Peppino looked at the official-looking paper he was holding. It was his birth certificate in the name of Giuseppe DeAngelis. “It does not say Giuseppe Bologna,” he said, staring at it.

  “You will need money when you get to New York,” she said, handing him the pouch. “There are enough diamonds here to get you off to a good start after you arrive. I purchased them from one of the Hassidic jewelers in Reggio Calabria. He assured me of their value and suggested you take them along with the note inside to a jeweler in New York who will treat you fairly.” She handed him a folded piece of paper, which he stuffed in the pouch.

  “I don’t want your money, Mother; I can make it on my own. But thank you for the offer.”

  “Peppino, when you leave, I may never see you again. Someday you will marry and have children; they will be my grandchildren. Let this be their inheritance.”

  He stared into his mother’s eyes for a long moment, then looked at the rings in his hand, the pouch, and his birth certificate, then turned to leave. When he reached the door, he stopped to look at her again and then to the things he was holding in his hand. There was no use in his trying to hold back the tears. As they burst forth, he moved to her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her on the cheek. Both of them were in tears.

  “That feels so good, Peppino. I love you so much,” she said, holding him tightly.

  Peppino released her from the embrace and looked at her with tears in his eyes. “I need to go now. I need to think about all of this. I will see you in a few days.”

  The baroness stood looking at her son as he turned to open the door. “Thank you, Mother.” He smiled pensively and closed the door, then reopened it for a moment. “Thank you, Mama.” Then he closed the door again.

  Chapter 23

  Peppino could not bring himself to visit the baroness at the hotel, although he struggled with it for three days. There were just no words he could think to say to her. He felt her pain, and for that he loved her, but he also understood the truth of what she told him and could not find forgiveness. It had always been her social station that ruled her world and ruined his. Several times he grabbed for his hat and coat, heading for the door, determined to go to the hotel and share a farewell dinner with her, but each time he would stop, his feelings torn and his emotions painfully exposed.

  Emilio was no help at all, telling him to forget her and focus on a new life in New York like he was doing. He tried to see Elena, but she was in seclusion. He even thought of talking to one of the priests but decided that absurd.

  He could see his own inconsistency. One moment he felt and acted one way, and the next his thoughts turned everything inside out, and it happened again and again. He was a baron; he wasn’t one. He loved Elisabetta, and then he wasn’t sure. He believed he could live a life with her as an aristocrat but despised the thought one day and embraced it the next. Should he stay in Italy and go to her, or leave her behind forever, which his actions after the wedding date had clearly expressed? But then he thought how much he loved her. But was it really love or a delusion? Or was it Elena who he secretly loved? One day he believed in God, and the next his logic made him think it ridiculous. His thoughts collided against one another, causing sparks in his brain and pain in his soul.

  Today was the day of reckoning. He would see his mother one more time before he left Italy forever. Would his anger and confusion betray his own heart? He knew it was possible, as he did not yet have the answer. God help me, he thought.

  Peppino and Emilio stuffed their belongings into two small valises they purchased for the trip and then met Elena outside of the convent. They all agreed to meet at the apartment first for breakfast and all leave for the ship from there.

  Nicola had arrived the night before and was already at the kitchen table. Ester prepared the last meal they would all share in their home country, which consisted of bread, sweet cakes, and espresso served in mismatched cups that would be given to a neighbor before they left. Surprisingly the meal went rather quietly, their previous enthusiasm replaced by momentary jitters and the sadness of leaving a familiar life behind.

  When they finished, Nicola asked Peppino to join him on the front steps, while the others made the final preparations before they all walked the four blocks to the pier. “Peppino, what’s going on with you and your mother?” asked Nicola.

  Peppino exhaled and looked at his mentor. “I’m not sure.”

  “I spent the day with her yesterday. She took me into her confidence and told me everything, Peppino; she is in misery. She hoped you would come to see her, but you did not. How could you do that?”

  “I wanted to go…” he said to his friend. “I started to go to the hotel several times, but I just couldn’t.” He stared downward, unable to look his friend in the eyes.

  Nicola searched for the right thing to say, and when he realized what it was, he surprised himself. “Peppino, it is time for you to grow up and be a man.”

  Peppino looked at him, shocked at his words.

  “You told me that you looked at me as a father, and that gives me the right to say what I am going to now. You should be ashamed of yourself! Never before did I recognize your anger as self-pity, but that is exactly what I see right now, and worse it is childish self-pity. Your life has a story, and so does everyone else on this planet, and that includes your mother. And it sounds to me that the bag of rocks she carried all her life was far greater than yours. You have compassion for people who you do not know and judgment for a woman who loves you. Moreover, this woman was raised by a man who didn’t love her and married her off like a pawn in a chess game. She then loses the man she loves and raises a child that hates her. I am disgusted with you right now, Peppino.”

  Peppino sat silent, not moving a muscle for a few moments. “I am too,” he said with a deep sense of remorse. “I don’t know what to say to her.” Peppino reached into his pocket and pulled out the picture of his father and handed it to Nicola. “This is my real father.”

  Nicola held it up next to Peppino’s face. “He looks like you.”

  “I know. I can see it too.” He took his fist and hit himself on the knee. “She told me she loved him and wanted to leave him for a life as a peasant woman. I hated her because I believed she saw herself to be better than everyone else. Now I find that she was willing to give it all up for my father. How can I justify myself and my actions for the past nineteen years?”

  “You can’t. You can only deal with the truth as you know it now. She could have told yo
u much earlier, but she did not, and that was her choice. But, Peppino, it was her choice, her mistake, and she must live with the consequences.”

  “But it was dishonest. It was deception.”

  “So that is how you are going to excuse yourself for your own actions? It sounds to me that you need to examine yourself before you start finding fault in others. You told me that you were marrying and had chosen the life as an aristocrat because you thought it was what I wanted you to do. I did tell you that, but I wanted you to grow up into it, accepting it as your life. But you never did and were willing to marry someone and live a life you did not want. Can’t you see the hypocrisy in that? Would that have been fair to Elisabetta? I thank God for her sake the marriage did not happen.”

  Peppino looked at him with tears in his eyes. “I know you are right. I can see it. I am just as bad as she was.”

  “Peppino,” Nicola said, frustrated, “you are missing the point. You both made choices for reasons that only you two know. They may have been bad choices, but who is to judge them other than yourselves? But, Peppino, when you truly understand your own actions and how they affect others, you can then do something to correct them. But you have had that time in the past several days, and yet you have done nothing. For that and only that you should carry guilt.”

  “How can I do it? I am not lying. I really do not know what to say to her.”

  “You can start by getting rid of your pride. It is an ugly monster that you need to put to death, and you must do it now.” Nicola handed back the picture and then reached into his pocket, pulling out his watch. It is ten a.m. You have two hours before boarding starts, but we can hold your place in line. The ship sails at three o’clock.”