To the Heights: A Novel Based on the Life of Pier Giorgio Frassati

by Brian Kennelly

  “Yes, we were all infected last spring. We’ve been here for a year but it’s not so bad; it’s bigger than our old home, and we have more furniture now.”

  “I admire your optimistic spirit, Anthony. I wish more of my friends were like you. Are there many patients here? I didn’t see much activity in the halls—few doctors and nurses, other patients, visitors—where are they all?”

  “I believe there are only a few dozen of us here in the hospital—patients, I mean. I suppose that’s a good thing, that not many people from the outside are being infected. They keep us on separate floors and we each have only one nurse. Ours is Maria; she just left. There is only one doctor for the whole building. Not many people leap at the opportunity to work here, nor visit, for that matter. None of us have visitors, except for the occasional volunteer, like Teresa. She is wonderful to come. I once had many friends, but they’re afraid to come visit me.”

  “That’s unfortunate, but you’re blessed to have your family, no? Your sister is quite the heart-breaker, very cute, that one is.”

  “Yes, I think my father is not so sad that she is confined to this hospital, for the boys might be knocking down our door if not.”

  “My father has that very problem with my sister,” Pier Giorgio agreed, smiling.

  “What’s the weather like today?” Anthony asked.

  Pier Giorgio hesitated. He glanced at the sunlight coming through the windows.

  “You don’t have to lie and tell me it’s dreary,” Anthony added. “I can enjoy it through your description.”

  Pier Giorgio nodded and smiled. “It’s a glorious spring day, one of the first after a cold winter. The sunlight is a stranger to any cloud cover, but there’s still a cool chill that masks the heat. I must tell you, Anthony, it’s one of those days where every pretty girl in Italia realizes she has been hiding all winter and so they emerge all at once and overload your senses.”

  Anthony chuckled. “Do you play any sports, Pier Giorgio?”

  “Yes, I like to swim, ski, and ride horses, and I was once quite good at fútball. But my main passion is for mountain climbing.”

  “Mountain climbing? How wonderful!”

  “Yes, with every passing day, I fall madly in love with the mountains; their fascination attracts me. My climbs have a strange magic in them, so that no matter how many times they’re repeated, and however alike they may be, they’re never boring, in the same way as the experience of spring is never boring but fills our spirit with gladness and delight.”

  “Oh, how I’d love to climb into the clouds. I cannot think of a more enjoyable activity after sitting in bed for so many days.”

  “Perhaps you can come with me one day soon.”

  “No, we’re not allowed to leave.”

  “I could sneak you out.”

  Anthony smiled. “I would not be able to get far. The leprosy has claimed one of my feet.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “How could you? I’m buried beneath these covers.” After a pause, Anthony said, “But perhaps you could tell me of a recent climb you had. I’d enjoy hearing of it.”

  “Oh course!”

  And so Pier Giorgio obliged, diving into a tale of his latest adventures in the mountains. He relayed a story of scaling Mount Mucrone, navigating his way through the fog and to the top where he attended Mass and received the Eucharist at a small chapel. When he came back out, the fog had cleared and he soaked in the panoramic view of the jagged and rolling mountains. Anthony lived it all from his bed, forgetting momentarily that his body was assailed by leprosy.

  An hour later, Pier Giorgio and Teresa took their leave, assuring the Barnetti family that they would soon return. Outside, Pier Giorgio smiled and took a deep breath before they made their way back.

  “That Anthony,” he said, “what an amazing spirit. He seems to possess no bitterness. His eyes were filled with life. Have you noticed?”

  “Yes,” Teresa answered. “He gets it from his parents.”

  “They are most gracious people. But what wealth we have, Teresa, to be in good health as we are.”

  She nodded and for three blocks they walked in silence, both knowing the other’s thoughts still remained with the Barnetti family.

  “I was thinking,” Pier Giorgio said, “Anthony’s deformation and that of his family’s will disappear when they enter Paradise. But we have the duty of putting our health at the service of those who do not have it. To act otherwise would be to betray the gift of God. No human being should ever be left abandoned. The best of all charities is that consecrated to the sick. It’s exceptional work, and you should be proud you’ve answered such a call, Teresa. Few have the courage to face its difficulties and dangers, to take on themselves the sufferings of others, in addition to their own needs, preoccupations, and cares.”

  “Thank you for your kind words, Georgie, but you too have answered such a call. I’m glad you came with me today.”

  They paused at the corner of a block where Teresa would wait for the bus to take her home.

  “I couldn’t have had the privilege of meeting such special souls without you. Thank you, Teresa.”

  Teresa smiled and hugged him. Before going their separate ways, they made plans to meet again in a week to visit the Barnetti family.

  21

  Atoning for Sins

  Pier Giorgio gathered his supplies and packed them into his rucksack. He didn’t want his mother to see his rope and other climbing tools for fear that she would worry about him journeying into the mountains, as she so often did. He opened his bedroom window and dropped them down to the ground some twenty feet below. They landed with a thud.

  He left his room and arrived at the staircase just as his sister did. Her dark hair flowed elegantly atop her shoulders, as if she had spent the whole day perfecting it. She wore her favorite red dress and layers of make-up caked her face.

  “My, you look beautiful, Luciana!”

  “Thank you,” she said, twirling around so that her dress fluttered in the air. When she stopped, she frowned. “You aren’t dressed for the Shrove Carnival. You look like you’re dressed for a climb.”

  “You know me well,” he replied, wondering if his mother would be as observant as she had been.

  “Georgie! Why are you not coming to meet everyone and have fun? The Carnival does not happen every other week.”

  “And that’s a good thing,” he said as he began to descend the stairs.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, following after him.

  “There is much sin and debauchery amidst the fun of the Carnival. You would be wise to come with me instead.”

  “I’ve already made plans to meet my friends. But lighten up, brother; not everything in life has to be so dramatic.”

  He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to face her. She was following so closely she nearly bumped into him from the last stair.

  “I feel that few people would accuse me of being ‘dramatic,’ or that I would not know how to enjoy myself; but nothing, in my view, is more dramatic than our sins. Those streets out there are filled with those who care little for matters of the soul. All they concern themselves with are pleasures of the flesh. The season of lent is almost upon us; we should be focusing on prayer and fasting, not dance and drinking.” When she didn’t respond, he went on. “And while we’re on the topic of my lecturing you, why did you abandon Natalia on the slopes last weekend?”

  “What?”

  “I saw you leave that poor girl behind to go off with your other friends.”

  “Because she kept falling down. How could I go ski with everyone else if I was constantly stopping to help her up and show her how to stay on her feet for more than ten seconds?”

  “Her feelings are far more important than your contentment. You know she’s a clumsy girl and cannot help it.”

  “I’m sure you helped her, so I have nothing to worry about.” He opened his mouth for a rebuttal but
ate his words and paused. “You did, didn’t you? You went over and helped her ski the rest of the day.”

  “That’s not important.”

  “My,” she chuckled sarcastically, “being your sister has its challenges.”

  He smiled and grabbed her shoulders, which were level with his since she stood on the step. “I don’t mean to pester you, Luciana, but I’m your big brother; if I don’t keep you in line, who will? Just promise me you’ll be careful this weekend.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “And you will not miss Mass on Sunday?” he asked with a raise of his brow.

  “How long will you be in the mountains?”

  “All weekend. Do not change the subject—will you be at Mass this weekend? I know you missed two Sundays ago.”

  “How did you …” she nodded her head. “Yes, I’ll go.”

  “Good. Now where are Mama and Papa?”

  “They went out to dinner with friends.”

  She moved by him and headed for the door, blowing him a kiss before leaving the house. Pier Giorgio sighed. He had not seen either of his parents in two days with their conflicting schedules. He had hoped to see them before his weekend trip. But his spirits lifted when he heard his grandmother shuffling into the nearby den with the aid of her cane.

  “Grandmother Ametis, how I love when you come to stay with us. It brings me such joy to just see you walk by.” He followed her into the room and helped her sit down on the couch. “May I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you, dear boy. Where are you going?” She lifted her tired feet up as Pier Giorgio draped a blanket over her.

  “I’m going to adoration and then to spend the weekend climbing Mont Blanc.”

  “Good for you; at least someone in this family still prays.”

  “I believe there are others under this roof who pray,” he replied, “at least when you come to visit.”

  She smiled. “And what will you be praying for tonight at adoration, Georgie?”

  “As a member of the men’s Catholic Club at the university, they’ve asked us all to pray for our fellow young people who are out tantalizing the streets at the Carnival.”

  “Ah, young people like your sister?”

  “Yes, I’ve already warned her of the dangers of this week.”

  “You should warn your parents; I believe they’ll be decorating the town with their presence as well. So many years they’ve done this. I remember your mother always returning in the early hours of morning as a young woman during the Shrove Carnival. Like you, I prayed fervently for her safety. I still do.”

  “We both will,” he said leaning down to kiss her.

  “I wish I could join you at adoration, but …” she pointed down to her legs.

  “I understand, and so does the Lord. Do you have someone to take you to Mass on Sunday?”

  She thought for a moment. “Some weekends when you’re gone, your mother or sister will take me, but I’m not sure they will with the Carnival going on. Sleep might be their closest companion come Sunday morning.”

  “Then I shall return early from my expedition and we’ll go together. I need to make sure Luciana goes anyway.”

  “No, please don’t. I can manage to get there somehow.”

  “Not another word, beautiful lady. I’ll see you Sunday morning.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Pier Giorgio hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Her eyes told him her latest question was genuine. She’d already forgotten.

  “To adoration, and then the mountains.”

  “Good boy; at least someone in this family still prays.”

  Pier Giorgio nodded and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, uttering a quick prayer for her fading mind before leaving her side.

  Outside, the sounds of the bustling streets bounced overhead. Music blared and people playfully screamed and laughed. Pedestrians filed down the road in bunches before the Frassati house, hurrying off toward the activity of the Carnival with fears that they had already missed out on some of the excitement. He was amazed they could all focus on such a carefree life when the Fascists were still threatening the freedom of the Italian people.

  After retrieving his rucksack from the side of the house, he moved across town toward the Cathedral’s adoration chapel. He passed a different party, parade, and concert with each block, avoiding as best he could the drunkards stumbling about as they stammered loudly about inconsequential nonsense. He prayed for the patience to forego his judgment and frustration toward them.

  Minutes later, he was kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament in a dark room lit up only by the votive candles bordering the walls. Silence descended upon him as the chaos of the outside streets dissipated into the night. He bowed his head, rosary in hand, and fell into a sea of prayer.

  His eyes were closed, but beneath his eyelids he saw his prayers rising to God, as if clinging to the wings of butterflies drifting up in search of the gardens of heaven, gardens tended to by the seraphim as they pruned the prayers of the faithful. He asked for sanctity in which to bring others to Christ, and sought forgiveness for the sins of his brothers and sisters outside.

  Pier Giorgio was in such a trance, he failed to notice the coming and going of the night.

  * * * * *

  Chaos danced through the streets of Turin, but chaos cloaked in this guise of fun. The Shrove Carnival came only once a year, preceding the religious season of lent. Somewhere along the line the city and its inhabitants had begun to focus solely on this massive street party instead of the time of fasting, prayer and almsgiving that was supposed to follow.

  Alfredo and Adelaide had begun a tradition some years ago where they attended a wine tasting at a restaurant in the center of town. For several hours they stood on a second floor balcony overlooking the square, tasting all sorts of merlots and chardonnays as they gossiped with friends about all the menial comings and goings of life in Turin. After the tasting, they’d gravitate inside and eat the finest Italian food by candlelight. A common joke throughout the evening was that they and their friends were all too old to participate in the actual Carnival events, so they convened here to get away from it all.

  Luciana, meanwhile, had never danced so much in all her life. She navigated her way through the streets from one party to the next as the music flowed through her veins. Deep into the night she drank wine, danced, sent flirtatious smiles toward handsome boys, and laughed with friends, letting go of the daily stresses of her life.

  Pier Giorgio’s friends—Marco, Camillo, Tonino, Guardia, and all the others—also made their way through the streets of Turin, hitting up all the hotspots of the Carnival. This was their favorite time of the year. Beautiful girls were everywhere, made even more beautiful by the mood of the evening. The boys joined in fellowship, wrapping their arms around one another and singing along to the bands whose music filled the air.

  The city was alive and vibrant, with no plans to sleep tonight. Even the poorer districts were bustling with energy. Restaurants and bars were packed, the streets full, and lights glittered all about the streets, shining brighter than the stars hanging above.

  Only one spot rested quietly in solitude.

  * * * * *

  Pier Giorgio opened his eyes and peered around the room. There had been several others with him earlier, but now he was alone. He noted the time on his watch and saw that wax had dripped from a nearby candle onto his fingers. He hadn’t noticed.

  Once outside, as he gazed upon the first glimmers of sunlight over the horizon, he was struck by how long he had actually been in adoration. He laughed to himself and walked over toward the Polytechnic campus. Before leaving town, he wanted to post some fliers about the upcoming meeting of the Cesare Balbo.

  Pier Giorgio navigated his way to the center of campus in search of the boards where students posted news; three walls of cork mended together in the shape of a triangle. He tacked up his fliers, but upon turning around was met by two stumbling men laughing and sing
ing. They noted his presence before he could sneak away.

  “Ah! Hello there, b-b-boy!” one of them said.

  Pier Giorgio smiled and nodded.

  One took a swig from the bottle in his hand and passed it to the next. After he took a gulp he held it out to Pier Giorgio.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Too good for our wine?”

  “Of course not, but I’m not out for drinking tonight.”

  They laughed. “Who in his right mind would not be out for drinking tonight?”

  “I suppose me,” he answered calmly, attempting to walk by them.

  “Well, what is it you’re doing out so late, or … or early, I suppose we should say. What is the hour?” They laughed again as they stumbled over toward the posters Pier Giorgio had tacked up.

  “Oh, look here,” one of them said, “we have a good Catholic boy putting up fliers for his meeting, and in the dead of night on the week of the Carnival. How typical, no?”

  “Typical, yes, absolutely, no surprise at all,” the other one agreed, mumbling incessantly before taking another swig of wine.

  Pier Giorgio turned about.

  “What a way to ruin such fun,” one of them said, staring at the fliers and squinting to see through his inebriation. “This cannot stay up. Leave your religious meetings for another week, b-b-boy!”

  He reached up to rip the flier down, but not a second later, in movements so swift it seemed impossible, Pier Giorgio grabbed his wrist, gripped it tightly, and stared deep into his murky eyes.

  “I recommend you don’t do that,” he commanded.

  “And what if I do?”

  His breath was soaked in stale alcohol.

  “It’s your choice on whether you wish to discover the answer to that.”

  Their eyes remained locked, only inches apart, until the other one said, “Come, Diego, let’s leave this fool to his fliers and club meetings. We can’t let him ruin our evening, or morning, … hah! What is the hour, anyway?”

  They broke into laughter and disappeared into the shadows. Pier Giorgio took a deep breath and smoothed the edge of his flier back up on the board.