She wrapped her arms around her children and ushered them away.
“Wait,” he called after her. “I have more,” he said, holding up the money. “What more can I give?”
“You would give me more?”
He hesitated. “Perhaps there are others we should help? It’s best to give a little to many than much to just one family, no?”
She nodded. “Yes, of course, I’ll take you to where the neediest are.”
* * * * *
Back at the Frassati house, Luciana and her parents convened in their den as they waited for the servants to prepare dinner. Both adults were enjoying a drink while Luciana sat before a mirror putting on makeup.
“Where is your brother?” Adelaide asked.
“I don’t know,” Luciana said as she applied lipstick, smacking her lips together and admiring the color. “Up to no good, probably.”
Adelaide turned to her husband who was busy reading the paper. “Alfredo, have you seen him? He promised he’d be here for dinner tonight.”
“If he promised then I’m sure he’ll be here,” Alfredo replied without looking up from the paper.
The three of them sat in silence for a moment, until Luciana said, “Mama, after dinner may I go down to visit Teresa? She got two new dresses yesterday and claims one is too small for her, she thinks it might fit me.”
“You don’t need another dress,” Alfredo broke in, still not glancing up from his paper. “You have hundreds upstairs.”
“Oh dear, that reminds me …” Adelaide stopped and chuckled at the thought that had popped into her head. “Do you remember that dress Signora Santini wore to the dinner party the other night? It was ghastly!”
Adelaide laughed again to herself.
“I do remember, but she’s always lacked taste. Does it surprise you she would wear something so atrocious?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Adelaide agreed.
“Mama,” Luciana pleaded, “you never answered. Can I go down to Teresa’s after dinner and see the dress?”
“Yes, fine, just stop asking. Where is your brother, anyway?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“No one ever knows where that boy is,” Alfredo echoed.
Adelaide nodded and took a sip of her drink.
* * * * *
Pier Giorgio rode out of the ghetto with empty pockets, no coat and no shoes. His bare feet hurt against the pedals, but his jumbled thoughts—those of guilt, love, inspiration, confusion, anger, and helplessness—precluded him from regarding the pain.
He was aware of the prestige in which he was raised, with servants in plenty, fine clothing, dinner parties, and a spacious, elegant home overlooking the Corso Siccardi. But suddenly the discrepancies between the life he had and those of the people he was peddling away from rose to the surface of his conscious.
He had preformed many acts of charity in the last several years, but most, in his eyes, were fleeting donations, done without enough conviction and persistence to make a difference. Something had to change. He was nearly eighteen years old and knew that manhood waited for him on the approaching horizon; a new path had to be chosen to ensure his life led toward the light of God.
He made his way over to the headquarters of the St. Vincent de Paul Society and signed up to become a full-time member. He had intended to immediately donate the money his parents had given him, but brushed off his now inability to do so, reasoning that the money had found its proper and best place.
Pier Giorgio rode back to the Cathedral in Turin and prayed before the Blessed Virgin, asking her for guidance and conviction to follow the path he suddenly felt called to follow. An urge rose within him like lava from a volcano, an urge to help the poor and any others he could. He would not merely donate his time and money here or there; he would make it his life’s mission and do what he could to bring people closer to Christ.
Amidst his prayer, he glanced down at his watch and saw the hour. He fled home and burst through the door. His family was clearing away the table.
“I’m sorry, have I missed dinner?”
His mother turned away from him. “He remembers Mass times but not mealtimes,” she said to no one in particular. “Such a strange boy we have.”
She left for the kitchen to help the maid do the dishes, while his father strolled into his office to work for the evening. Luciana shrugged and went upstairs to her room.
Alone, Pier Giorgio went back outside and sat on the front stairs of their home, pulled out his rosary, and continued the prayers he had begun at the Cathedral.
12
Do Not Weep for Your Children
A knock echoed throughout the tiny, two-room slum of the Costa family. Signora Costa’s eyes perked, turning to her smiling children and her feeble mother resting by the fire.
“Is it him?” asked Teresina.
“I don’t know, child. Why don’t you run and see?”
Teresina and her brother Ettore burst from their seats at the table and ran to the door.
“Pier Giorgio!” they screamed in unison upon opening the door.
“Ah, my little friends!” he replied, smiling from ear to ear and holding a bouquet of flowers.
They jumped toward his chest to hug him but their contagious giggles brought upon his own laughter and drained his strength. They slid down his body and clung to each of his legs like little monkeys.
Signora Costa stood and greeted him. “Hello, Georgie. As you can see, we’re excited for your visit.”
“And I’m excited to be here,” he said, entering the house slowly and with heavy footsteps under the weight of the children. “But, I must ask; where are your beautiful children? I hear them, but I do not see them.”
He playfully looked about the house, above the screaming voices and giggles below.
“Pier Giorgio! We’re here! Here we are! Look down here!”
“Oh! There you two are!” He crouched down to hug them. “And these flowers are for your saintly grandmother. Won’t you take them to her?”
Teresina walked them over to her grandmother.
“Thank you, dear Giorgio,” Grandmother Costa said. She was unable to rise from her chair to greet him so he walked across the dark and drab room and delivered a kiss to her wrinkly cheek.
“And how are you? Getting along okay, I hope.”
“Oh yes, with these children life is always sweet.”
“That’s my girl. And you?” he asked turning to Signora Costa. “How is your health?”
As if on cue, she coughed violently and sat back down. Pier Giorgio braced her body and got out his handkerchief for her to cough in to. When she finished, she and Pier Giorgio both noted the blood that had vomited up from her mouth, staining the white cloth with blotches of scarlet red. He quickly wrapped it up and stuffed it into his pocket before the children could see.
“Just a little cough,” he said patting her back and smiling to the children. “She’s fine.” The worry on their faces melted away.
“What else have you brought us?” Ettore asked.
“Child, don’t be so needy,” his mother corrected, still clearing her throat. “Can Pier Giorgio not just come for a visit?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I do have little gifts for you all.”
The children squealed. Pier Giorgio laughed as he walked back outside to retrieve two duffle bags he had laid by the front stoop. He brought them inside and proceeded to unpack three jars of milk, two loaves of bread, candy and a board game for the children, medicine for Signora Costa, a new blanket, and a book on the writings of St. Paul for Grandmother Costa.
“This is like Christmas morning,” Signora Costa exclaimed, drinking in the joy on her children’s faces.
“Ah, but we are not finished yet,” Pier Giorgio said. “Isn’t there someone making his First Communion next week?”
“I am,” Ettore said raising his hand.
“That’s you?” he asked rhetorically. “Well then, these shoes mus
t be for you!”
He pulled out brand new dress shoes, so shiny and white you could check your reflection in them.
Ettore gasped. “Those are for me?”
“Of course! You cannot receive the Lord for the first time without proper shoes to carry you to him.”
Ettore grabbed the shoes and flung them on his feet. He walked around the small home, showing them off to his family.
“Take them off,” his grandmother begged. “This house will ruin those immaculate shoes.”
“Oh, let him enjoy them,” Pier Giorgio insisted.
“Pier Giorgio,” Signora Costa whispered to him as the children spoke across the room. “This is too much. What can we give you in return?”
“Nonsense. That smile is repayment enough for me.”
As they watched Ettore in his new shoes, Pier Giorgio noticed a forlorn Teresina.
“And you must think I have forgotten you.” A shy smile broke through her frown like sunlight through cloud cover. “Why would I forget the cutest little girl in all of Italia?”
“I don’t know how you could,” she played along.
“Have you said your prayers each night like I asked you to?” She nodded. “And do you pray for your mother? It is most important to pray for our mothers because they gave us life.”
“Yes, I pray for Mama nightly, and for her to get better.”
“Alright then, so you’ve been a good girl. That must be why God has rewarded you with a chance to go to the school with the Sisters of the Immaculate starting this fall.”
Her face brightened and her jaw fell to the floor.
“Pier Giorgio,” Signora Costa broke in, “how can this be?”
“Prayers are always answered,” he said with a wink. “I’ll take you to Sister Mary next month and she will get all your paperwork in order. We will have to get you a new dress and some new shoes as shiny as Ettore’s. Are you excited?”
“Oh, yes! Yes! Thank you, Pier Giorgio!” The young girl ran and hugged him again. He swirled her around in the air and laughed. When he put her down, he noticed Signora Costa’s eyes beginning to water. He changed the subject.
“Now, let’s play that game I brought.”
The family gathered around Pier Giorgio at the feet of Grandmother Costa so she could join in. Together they sat before the feeble flames of the fire, eating the food he had brought and playing the board game. Laughter, once an alien sound to the slum that was the Costa house, bounced off the cement walls. It was laughter that, at least for a moment, decorated the gloomy residence with the shine of a palace.
When the game was over and darkness blanketed Turin, Pier Giorgio ushered the family over to the side wall of the den, a wall completely bare, save for the crucifix he’d hung there months earlier. Even Grandmother Costa managed to rise from her chair and hobble over to stand before the fallen Son. At the sight of Pier Giorgio’s head bowing, the others did as well. He led them in prayer and asked that protection be given to Signor Costa, who had died earlier that year.
Pier Giorgio helped get the children ready for bed and tucked them in, kissing them on their foreheads and assuring them he would be back in a few days. He crouched beside Ettore’s ear and said, “Listen to me, young son, you can be a great help to your mother, who has such need of comfort. Do you know this?”
It was too dark to see him, but Pier Giorgio heard the movement of his head nodding against the pillowcase.
“I know you’ve given her trouble lately, but you must not do that; you know she’s sore at heart and that is a horrible cross to bear. She needs you to be strong now that your father is gone. Yes?”
He nodded again.
Pier Giorgio rubbed his head and left the room. Signora Costa waited out in the den and walked him to the door. She led him outside and together they stood in the darkness of the ghetto. The sounds of barking dogs and men shouting at drinking taverns hovered over them.
“Pier Giorgio, I cannot thank you enough for all this. What you and the St. Vincent de Paul Society have done for me since the death of my husband is impossible to repay. I only pray the Conference will not send us another benefactor; I believe my children would die if another soul knocked on our door other than you.”
He smiled. “You don’t need to repay anything, Signora Costa. You may not be aware, but you and your family bring me a joy I cannot describe.”
“Still, I hope my health will improve so I may try to find work.”
“No, no. You must rest. Do not think about this. Your health will improve. I pray for it every day, and I know your husband does from heaven as well.”
“I do hope so, but I worry that if I pass, my children will be lost amongst these mean and relentless streets. My mother will not be around much longer; if I am also gone, who will watch over them?”
“Do not weep for your children, providence will watch over them. They will grow to be strong and healthy. The Costa family shall want for nothing as long as I am here.”
She hugged him so he couldn’t see her tears, holding on to him for nearly a minute. When she let go, he smiled and walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the night.
13
Tears in the Darkness
Carlo laced up his shoes and slugged his way down to the first floor of his family home. He curled his head around the edge of the den wall where his parents sat listening to the chamber music playing on their record player.
“Mama, Papa, I’m off now.”
They turned from their perch on the couch. “You’re off to attend to your Conference duties, no?” his mother asked turning down the volume. He nodded. “Wonderful, just like your Papa many years ago.” She leaned over and pinched her husband’s cheek.
“And my Papa before me,” Carlo’s father added before taking a puff on his pipe.
Carlo rolled his eyes. “Yes, okay, well, I’m meeting Pier Giorgio and then we are set to visit one of the slums.”
“Is that Alfredo Frassati’s boy?” his father asked.
“Yes.”
“It’s surprising a boy from his stature is a member of St. Vincent de Paul.”
“Which of the quarters are you visiting?” his mother asked.
“I don’t know. Does it matter? They’re all the same. And trust me, Mama, Pier Giorgio will know where to go.”
“Well, where are you meeting him?”
“Where else? At the Basilica della Consolata at six in the evening. He’ll be there preaching; like clockwork, that one is.”
Carlo waved goodbye and left the house. Outside, dusk was falling and settling calmly in the streets. It was to be a pleasant evening, one that gave way to a clear night with hundreds of stars hanging over the city like celestial lanterns. Down the block he heard the chatter and laughter of a group of young people bouncing off the café walls and awnings. He shook his head and sighed, wishing he could be a part of such laughter.
Several minutes later, the Basilica came before his line of sight. As sure as the sunrise, there stood Pier Giorgio Frassati, smiling and talking to a group of people who huddled around him as if they were suffering from hypothermia and he was a bonfire. Each of them were dressed in dowdy clothing and their skin was darkened by a layer of dirt or soot or whatever it was that gathers on the human flesh from a lack of bathing. Carlo could tell from many yards away what sort they were.
“Why do we even need to go to the slums?” he mumbled to himself. “There are plenty of downcast right here.”
Carlo had yet to go on a nightly mission with Pier Giorgio to fulfill his Conference duties, but he had seen him about town in his dealings with the poor, including at this very place before the Basilica. Pier Giorgio gathered here several times a week to hand out donations and alms and speak to those who possessed a jaded spirit.
He made his way over to the crowd and listened from behind a slew of people.
“Human sorrows affect us all,” Pier Giorgio said to the people before him, “but if they are seen in the light of religi
on, and thus of resignation, they are not harmful, but healthy, because they purify our souls from the small and inevitable stains with which we mortals so often mark them with our imperfect nature …”
As he went on, Carlo scanned the faces. Each hung on every word he said.
“Amazing,” Carlo thought to himself, “they cherish his words, and yet he is not yet twenty years old.”
“… but now, my brothers and sisters, I must take my leave, for my dear friend Carlo Florio is here and we must journey across town.”
At hearing his name, Carlo looked up. Pier Giorgio’s eyes shone like a lighthouse in his direction, cutting across the sea of people before them. A smile stretched wide across his face, and as if by a reflection beyond his control, Carlo cast a joyous smile in return.
Pier Giorgio said his goodbyes with hugs and assurances he would be back tomorrow before hurrying to meet Carlo.
“My friend, good to see you! But we’re late; shall we depart?”
Carlo nodded but hesitated when Pier Giorgio walked in the direction opposite the train station. “Should we not catch the train, Georgie?”
“No,” came the simple reply, his back still to Carlo.
“But as you said, we’re late.”
“The money we save by walking can go to better causes.”
Carlo turned back toward the street which led to the station, but realized Pier Giorgio was now almost half a block away and ran to catch up.
“How long will we be tonight?” Carlo asked when he reached him.
“I’m not sure.”
Pier Giorgio’s walk was brisk. Carlo struggled to keep up.
“Well, how long do you usually stay with them? You’ve done many benefactor visits in the past, no?”
“I have. I thought you had as well?”
“No, I just recently signed up and I’m not to go alone, yet. They said every new member should go on a call with the Pier Giorgio Frassati to learn what the Conference is all about, so they paired me with you tonight.”
“I’m pleased to have you,” Pier Giorgio said patting him on the shoulder and smiling. They paused at a street corner and waited for a break in the traffic before moving across the intersection.
To the Heights: A Novel Based on the Life of Pier Giorgio Frassati Page 6