The family stacked up like the bars of a xylophone, with the older boys gaining on their father’s height. Soon he would be dwarfed by their burgeoning adolescence. Soon, they would be the ones capable of overpowering him. And soon, the booming, bellowing voice he employed in his attempts to rule them by fear would sound like little more than an impotent whine.
Once everyone was in place, Jasmine gently lowered the kneeler to the floor. She crossed herself as she knelt, and placed her folded hands in front of her face, with the tips of her index fingers touching her mouth. She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and moved her lips in silent prayer.
The walls that flanked the church hosted a series of stained glass windows, each one depicting scenes of saints, angels, even cute little lambs, which Lily figured must be the lambs of God that Father Connor was always praying about. She didn’t know what was wrong with the lambs, or why the whole church needed to pray for them every Sunday, but it was nice that God cared so much about them, since Miss Swift said that animals didn’t have souls, and didn’t go to Heaven. She must not be paying very good attention to the prayers.
When the sun shone in through the windows, it captured the purples, reds, greens, and yellows of the glass and splashed them all over everyone, with no regard for such rules as coloring in the lines or being quiet in church. This morning, gold light painted Jasmine. Her bronze hair gleamed, and her rosary beads sparkled like tiny blue stars in her hands. She looked just like one of the angels from the glass, but only more beautiful, because she was real. As if sensing Lily’s gaze (a talent the Capotosti girls seemed to have been born with, or perhaps learned to develop early in life), Jasmine opened her right eye slightly and peeked over at Lily. “Boo!” she whispered, making Lily giggle. Their father passed a warning glare down the pew and it landed directly in Lily’s lap.
“Jasmine,” Lily whispered. “You’re getting me in trouble.”
“Then kneel down and say your prayers,” Jasmine answered.
“I already did,” whispered Lily.
“Well then, say more.”
“I don’t know any more.”
“You don’t have to say memorized prayers. You can just talk to God.”
Lily considered this for a moment, then replied, “What should I talk about?”
“Well, you can talk to Him about anything that you care about. You know, school, or your friends.”
Lily scrunched up her nose. “I can talk about anything?”
“Yep. As long as you’re sincere, He’ll hear you.”
“What’s ‘sincere’?” Lily asked.
“It’s like when you really mean something. Think of God as your father, and then just talk to Him from your heart.”
Lily pictured God stepping off of the city bus with a Parliament clenched between his front teeth. He had a long white beard and a white robe, but no feet, and he floated down Rugby Road, with Lily walking beside him, wondering what He might have in His pocket for her. She closed her eyes and bowed her head.
“In the name-a the Father and-a the Son, and-a the Holy Ghost, Amen.” Lily wasn’t quite sure how to talk from her heart, but it was probably like when she said, “Night-night, nut-nut” to Iris as they drifted off to sleep, a ritual they kept each night, and which made them laugh, but which also made Lily feel warm inside, somewhere near her soul. Maybe that was her heart. Lily bowed her head.
“Dear God. Last night we had a bat in our house, and it was really scary and Mommy killed it, but then we all had to go to bed right this instant and Alexander and John ate all the fudge. I was very good all day, and when Uncle Alfred teaches me to play the guitar, he says, ‘Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge.’ I’m pretty sure it counts for girls too. I was just wondering if maybe we could get more fudge or something. Oh - and bless your lambs. Amen.”
Sunday morning yielded to a buzz of afternoon activity as the entire family prepared for a rare event: company for dinner. It was Auntie Rosa’s birthday, and she and Uncle Alfred were coming over for Sunday supper, also known simply as “spaghetti”. Pasta was served every Sunday all year ‘round, and it could come in any shape or size, but it was always referred to as spaghetti. During Lent, they had spaghetti every Friday too, except the tomato sauce was made with tuna fish instead of being simmered with pork butt and Italian sausage.
Auntie Rosa and Uncle Alfred weren’t like most aunts and uncles. They weren’t married; they were brother and sister, sharing a house and taking care of Lily’s grandparents, Irene and Anselmo Capotosti from Scurcola, Italy. Grandma Capotosti had the arthritis and she had to sit in a rocking chair all the time. If she needed to go to the bathroom or into the kitchen to fix pastina and butter for lunch, she had a special walker to help her stand up, but she couldn’t change her own clothes, and she definitely could not come over for dinner.
While the older girls were scurrying about cleaning and baking, Lily busied herself making a card for Auntie Rosa. Violet gave her a sheet of paper from one of her school notebooks, and she rummaged through the splintered Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs, assorted Legos, and the smell of stale cat urine of the toy box to gather enough crayons to color a rainbow. First she drew a yellow sun up in the left hand corner of the paper, then an arch of blue across the page, followed by an arch of red, then one of green, orange, and purple. At the bottom of the paper, she painstakingly penned the letters of her name. Holding her creation in both hands as if she were presenting a king with his crown, Lily brought the card into her parent’s room to show them. Her mother was sitting on the edge of the bed with a white cotton shirt in her lap. She was holding a needle up to the light of the window, and running the end of a white thread through her lips. There, on the bed, right next to the open sewing kit, sat an entire box of Russell Stover’s chocolates.
“Oh, Mommy!” cried Lily, reaching for the box. “Can I have a chocolate?”
“No, Lily,” replied her mother, pushing the box beyond Lily’s reach. “That’s for Auntie Rosa – it’s her birthday present.”
“Do you think she will give me one?” Lily asked.
“I can’t really say,” said her mother, pulling the thread through the eye of the needle and tying the ends together in a triple knot. “A person can do whatever they like with a gift.”
“How’s that button coming, Betty?” Lily’s father called from the kitchen. “They’re going to be here any minute now!”
“It’s coming!” Lily’s mother called back, adding, “Carlo, can you please ask Jasmine to check on the cake?”
“Will she open it after dinner?” Lily asked her mother.
“Mom!” called Jasmine. “Is this one of those ‘spring back when you push on it in the middle’ cakes, or do I need to prick it with a toothpick?”
“It should spring back when you touch it in the middle, and the cake should be pulling away from the sides – is it pulling away?”
Lily repeated the question, with a sense of irritation at having been ignored the first time she asked. “Will – she - open it - after - dinner?”
“For goodness sake, Lily - ” her mother replied, biting the loose end of the thread off with her teeth. “How in the world should I know?”
“I don’t know, Mom,” Jasmine called. “I can’t really tell.”
Lily considered her options, and her best chance at a piece of that chocolate was to be close by Auntie Rosa when it was time for presents. “Well if I can’t have a chocolate now,” Lily asked, “then can I be the one to give the present to Auntie Rosa? I could put it with my card. Isn’t it lovely?” Lily proudly held up her rainbow card.
Louis popped his head into the bedroom. “Mom – Henry won’t stop looking at me.”
“Can I, Mommy?’ Lily repeated, still holding her rainbow card overhead.
“Mom – I can’t tell if this cake is done!” called Jasmine.
“For the love of God, Louis,” said Lily’s mother. “Don’t pay any attention to Henry; he’s just trying to get your goat. Jasmine – I’ll be
right there!”
“Mommy - ” whined Lily.
“Yes, Lily, yes. It’s very nice. Carlo, your shirt is ready!” Lily’s mother draped the shirt over the highboy and walked out of the room.
Lily was alone with the chocolates. She reached out and pulled the box closer.
“Whatcha got there, little one?” Lily’s father blew into the room, a gust of cigarette smoke trailing close behind.
“Well, I have my card that I made for Auntie Rosa,” said Lily, holding up the card. “And Mommy said I could put it with this box of chocolates and give them to Auntie Rosa when we sing ‘Happy Birthday’.”
“She did?” Lily’s father watched himself in the mirror as he buttoned up his newly mended shirt.
“Oh, Carlo – they’re here,” Lily’s mother called from the kitchen. “Can you please get the door?!”
Lily’s father crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the dresser, thrust his shirttails into his pants, and blew back out of the room.
Lily placed the card on the bed, and picked up the box of chocolates with both hands. She turned the box over, and there on the bottom was a small tear in the cellophane. She picked at the loose edge, then picked at it again, and again, until the wrapper fell away.
Auntie Rosa might open the chocolates right away and pass them around for everyone to share. Lily lifted the lid off of the box, just to get a better look, and to decide which chocolate she would choose. Carefully, she pulled back the white tissue paper cover to reveal a gorgeous display of candies – some were square, some were shaped like little cupcakes, and some were like tiny igloos with a curlicue on top, all gloriously chocolate.
Lily placed her index finger at the end of the first row, and touched each piece of candy, leaving her fingerprint on every one as she counted: Mommy, Daddy, Alexander, John, Jasmine, Violet, Marguerite, Henry, Louis, Iris, Lily, William, Charles, and Ricci. She stopped and considered for a moment before continuing, Auntie Rosa, Uncle Alfred. There might be enough if everyone only had one.
“Mom!” Louis shouted from the dining room. “John took my fork and he won’t give it back.”
Lily leaned over slightly to the left, gaining a view of the hallway outside her parent’s room, beyond the kitchen and into the dining room where she could see a sliver of activity as everyone scurried about, placing various items on the table, selecting their seats for dinner.
“Well, I’m really hungry,” said John. “I need two forks.”
“John – behave yourself,” scolded Lily’s mother. “Honestly, I don’t understand some of the things you boys do to each other.” She snatched the fork out of John’s hand and gave it back to Louis.
Lily raised the box to her face and inhaled deeply. The scrumptious scent of chocolate wafted up and wrapped itself around her like a thick, soft, brown scarf. She put her index finger to her mouth, and licked it, savoring the hint of gratification on her skin.
Of course, Auntie Rosa might put the box right into her pocketbook and bring it home with her. Or she might open it right there, and Henry might take two or three pieces before Lily could even get close enough to choose one. And Auntie Rosa is always saying how much she loves the children, and she tells Lily, “Give me a big hug,” and she squeezes Lily so tight that it hurts, and she can’t even breathe. Then Auntie Rosa shakes her and says, “Ooooh – I felt that in my big toe!” Lily lets her do it every time, even though she doesn’t like it all and it’s a little bit scary. Plus, her prayer to God in church that morning was sincere, and she had been a very good girl.
With that, Lily took a truffle from the box, placed it into her mouth, closed her eyes, and bit down. Oh! the sweetness - the long-awaited pleasure as the soft chocolate exploded in her mouth, enveloped her tongue, squelched the nagging longing at the back of her throat.
“Do Mom and Dad know that you’re eating that?” Lily was startled from her reverie by Alexander, who was standing in the doorway. Lily looked up at him, feeling stunned.
“Dad – Hey Dad!” he shouted over his shoulder toward the dining room. “Did you know that Lily is in your bedroom eating a whole box of chocolates?” Alexander didn’t turn around; he just stepped aside in anticipation of what he knew to be the inevitable and just kept right on staring at Lily, with the hint of a grin on his face.
A rush of panic filled Lily’s small body as she caught sight of her father charging toward the bedroom. She froze. Her father entered the room, pushing Alexander aside. He looked at the opened box of chocolates, minus one truffle, and then at Lily, paralyzed, with a rivulet of brown saliva trailing from the corner of her mouth to her chin.
“Lily Elizabeth Capotosti!” The room fell away. Gone were the chocolates, gone was her beautiful rainbow card, gone was the cigarette smoke and the sunshine. There was only her father’s rage and his booming voice, which seemed to shake the window pane, shake the bed, shake Lily’s small body. And for the second time in three days, Lily wet her pants.
“What in the name of God do you think you’re doing?” he screamed.
By now a small sibling crowd had gathered in the doorway to get a glimpse of this latest drama. At one time or another, every one of the children had borne the brunt of their father’s rage, and while it was usually just one or two of them at a time upon whom he would wail his hand - or The Belt - punishment was a group activity. If you were a Capotosti, and one of your brothers or sisters was in trouble, you were there to watch. There was a certain fascination with witnessing a different version of you experiencing something that you yourself had experienced, but which you never quite understood. Or it could be that you were just thrilled that you were not the one being punished right then and there, and this incident made you feel grateful – an emotion that was as scarce at the Capotosti household as were time, attention, and milk. Or maybe you looked on, knowing that sooner or later, by design or by accident, you would be sitting where Lily sat at that moment, and like a death-row cellmate, even though you were horrified at what was coming next, you were helpless to turn away from a glimpse at your own fate.
With one humongous hairy hand, Lily’s father grabbed Lily by the arm and in a single motion flipped her over onto her stomach and laid her across his lap. He pulled down her pants, exposing her bare behind, and delivered several blows to her buttocks with his open hand, a grunt escaping from his throat with each one. Each blow sent a stab of both physical pain and humiliation through Lily and she cried out, until she broke down sobbing, looking down at the small brown truffle pool forming on the floor.
“Carlo – Carlo!” Auntie Rosa was shouting, pushing her way past the children and into the bedroom. “Carlo, stop it! That’s enough!”
Lily’s father looked up at his sister, distracted from his fit of rage, and ceased his punishment in mid-spank. Auntie Rosa bent over and took Lily into her arms, turning her backside away from the spectators at the door and pulling her damp pants back up over her reddened buttocks.
Perhaps because Louis still had the taste of being bullied in his own mouth, he stepped forward, and held his arms out to Lily. “C’mon Lily of the Valley,” he said with a smile. “Wanna go watch Fred Flintstone?”
Her mind still clouded and confused over what had just happened, Lily was glad for this, her first offer of post-punishment sibling compassion. It was a commodity she would learn to treasure. Even though Louis was a Big Kid, and someone whom she usually went out of her way to avoid, Lily sensed that what had just transpired changed the rules, and at least for now, he was her comrade, her comforter. She reached her arms out to him.
Louis took a seat on the floor in the living room and placed Lily in his lap. She slipped her thumb into her mouth, and grabbed a section of hair to twirl, still gasping to catch her breath, searching for solace in her brother’s embrace.
Lily loved the mysterious doors that marked her life at Rugby Road. The milk door, the laundry chute, the city bus, the confessional; she found them all fascinating. You just never knew for sure what w
as behind a closed door. She relished that single delicious moment, with her hand on the knob, that final fleeting instant of ignorance, when she had her last chance to imagine what wonderful or horrible thing lay in wait. That day, Lily opened a different kind of a door, a door inside herself, a door where she took charge of her own desires, where a sense of her personal power lay undiscovered, a door where crime and punishment were stored and through which innocence was lost.
With the lingering taste of chocolate truffle on her tongue, and the sting of rage on her behind, she knew the true cost of pleasure. That day, Lily accepted that the limits of tenderness and love and prayer were defined by rules that she didn’t know and couldn’t understand. And one thing she had learned from all the doors of her childhood suddenly had new meaning: Once a door is opened, you can never again be blind to what’s on the other side.
From: Iris Capotosti
To: Lily Capotosti
Sent: Wed, January 19, 2010 at 5:31 PM
Subject: Going home
Dear Lily,
Finally, a place to rest my weary bones! Just let me slip the backs of my high heels down before my feet burst. Ah, better! I lucked out and got one of the good trains with power sockets in all the first class compartments, so at least I can use my laptop.
Rome is something else, besides being tough on your feet. Every time I go there, I experience two miracles: the fact that I am there in the first place, and the fact that I made it out alive. The older I get, the more I am impressed by the latter. Take today. I just got out of a meeting in a hotel near Piazza di Spagna, which did not go well, for the record. But it was worth coming, if only to get an early taste of spring (yes, that can happen in January, in Rome), and smell the caldarroste on the street corners. Those vendors probably make more than I do (which isn’t all that much, but that’s another story). Imagine, a little paper cone with a dozen roasted chestnuts costs 5 euros! So I was walking, or at least trying to walk, with traffic the way it is in Rome. I don’t know what’s worse, the cars or the people. They’re both all over the place, piled on top of each other, cars and people, people and cars, cars parked on the sidewalks, people walking in the streets. Not to mention the motorcycles and scooters and mopeds. I skipped window shopping in Via dei Condotti, that’s where all the designer boutiques are (the only people with enough money to shop there are probably the chestnut vendors!), and cut through a little side street. I started checking my messages on my Smartphone while I was walking (not actually so smart, I know) and thank God some guardian angel made me look up just in time to see a Land Rover careening straight toward the intersection I’m crossing. Why would anyone need a Land Rover in Rome? In the shopping district, no less? That was the second time today I almost got run over. This morning, when I walked out of my hotel, in a pedestrian area, mind you, I was just crossing the square in front of the Temple of Hadrian to grab a taxi. The sign says it was built in 145 A.D. and I got thinking about time, as in thousand-year chunks, when there I was, worrying about being five minutes late. Something about looking up at a 2000-year-old monument made me wonder why I bother to rush. Out of the blue, a dozen Moto Guzzis with flashing lights cut me off at the corner. They were blazing the trail for this official looking sedan with tinted windows, no doubt with some sleazy politician who decided to put in an appearance in Montecitorio today, just in case there’s a photo op.
[Iris and Lily 01.0 - 03.0] The Complete Series Page 10