He raced back home and scribbled almost a dozen more letters to the other Shady Characters, thanking them for their most recent trip into the mountains and ensuring he would pray for them all and their families. He dropped the additional letters in the mailbox and thus, his love for Laura was cloaked in the guise of a furious letter-writing campaign which would last for months. Each time he would write to Laura, he would write to them all. The time and hand cramps were worth the trouble when he considered how often he thought of her. He viewed the mundane correspondence as love letters, but had no idea how she viewed them.
He wrote to her in 1924 of a trip he took into the mountains without the rest of the club:
Dearest Laura,
To the most kind secretary of the Shady Characters as well as cook, a Grivoline bombardment!
I spent the night at the shelter last week and on a marvelous Saturday morning I climbed to the top regretting the absence of all of you, not only for the pleasure of sharing the great joy of planting one’s foot on the much-longed-for summit, but also for the delightful company. I also missed the good lunches and especially the sandwiches that you know how to make so well.
I enclose a gentian for you that I picked near the Vittorio Sella shelter. My friend Abbot Henry says that “maidens are like flowers,” and so I think that like things like each other.
What nice things are you up to? Do write back soon.
Cordial alpinist greetings from,
Pier Giorgio
At times, Laura would send a return letter, but not always. Like most young men befuddled by the mysteries of the female gender, Pier Giorgio struggled to place her feelings toward him, and without the confidence of his love being returned whole-heartily, he continued to conceal his own emotions.
The source of his love for Laura stemmed from multiple avenues, the first of which was her palpable beauty. Her high cheek bones and piercing eyes drew him into a kind of trance each time he looked at her, and her tanned skin matched the rich beauty of her long, dark hair. Her figure was slender but athletic, which was evident when she failed to lag behind the men on their climbs. She seemed to always smell wonderful, like wildflowers, he thought, and she dressed as a woman who cared little for attention yet still received it.
But her appearance came secondary to the woman she was. It took several conversations with Laura, mostly on their trips into the mountains, for Pier Giorgio to discover that she was an orphan. Her parents had left her and her brother at a children’s home outside Turin, but this moment was beyond the reach of her memory and so her parents were ghosts of a distant and foreign past.
There she lived with her brother and dozens of other castaways until the age of eighteen when she left for the city along with her brother. She obtained a job, secured an apartment, and had been caring for herself and her brother ever since. Pier Giorgio listened sympathetically as she told her story beneath a pine tree near the Little St. Bernard. But beyond the caring expression on his face hid a smile, not in a sense of wicked enjoyment at her sorrow; rather, because he knew even before learning her story that she would possess such a caring and powerful spirit. He saw it inside her as clear as day, a sort of diamond encrusted in her soul that shone forth with the light of the Holy Spirit, acting as the source of her corporal beauty. He admired the care she gave her brother and the lack of resentment which she held toward her parents.
Still, the fumbled and confused state of Pier Giorgio’s psyche over Laura prolonged the roundabout courtship. He’d been on several dates before and had spent many of his formative years in the presence of young ladies, several of them quite stunning. But none had bewildered him this way. So he strolled rather circuitously through a haze of love for some time, lost in his path but intoxicated by the feeling. Eventually, he turned to the only source of aid he could think of.
Pier Giorgio walked across the hall from his bedroom and knocked on the door.
“Yes?” cried Luciana from the other side. Her voice was muffled behind the door.
“It’s me. May I come in?”
“Just a minute.” He waited patiently before she opened the door. “What is it? I’m getting dressed to go out.” She stood holding a towel over her chest and her hair was wet from a recent shower.
“Oh, alright, I don’t want to hold you.”
Luciana could see something brewing beneath his dark eyes.
“What is it, Georgie? Tell me.”
“I had a question, of sorts.”
“Well …”
“It’s not so simple.”
She sighed. “Let me get dressed and you can walk me to the train.”
“That would be wonderful! I’d enjoy some exercise anyway.”
Pier Giorgio meandered downstairs, passing his mother on the way down. Her face was void of color and she moved slowly, each step a struggle.
“Mama, you don’t look well. Are you alright?”
“Another one of my migraines,” came her exhausted reply.
“So many you’ve had. Bless you, Mama. I’ll escort you to bed.”
He wrapped his arm around her and supported her up the rest of the stairs, down the hallway and into her bed.
“Where is Papa?” he asked after dabbing a cold cloth over her forehead. “Someone should watch after you, but Luciana and I are on the verge of a walk.”
“I haven’t a clue of your father’s whereabouts, nor do I ever. Mariscia is downstairs; she will watch after me. You children take your walk.”
“But she probably has much housework to do. Perhaps I’ll stay.”
“No, Georgie. Leave me be. I just want to be alone.”
“Yes, Mama.”
He kissed her on the cheek and left the room.
Outside on the front stoop, he waited for his sister. With his hands in his pockets he strolled back and forth a few feet at a time. He was worried for his mother, who had been ill in the last weeks, and was frustrated that his father was not around more to care for her. Yet, at the same time he appreciated the work his father was doing at La Stampa in speaking out against the Fascists. Each day he reported on stories across Italy of the Black Shirts abusing their new-found power through the use of violence and intimidation.
Luciana emerged from the house nestling a hat neatly down over her long hair, one that matched the forest green in her dress.
“Alright, brother, let’s walk and talk.”
They departed down the road and turned toward the train station. For several blocks Pier Giorgio spoke of the weather, his most recent trip to the shore, and his frustration that many of his Catholic brethren were making concessions with the Fascists. His sister saw directly through these stalling tactics.
“Georgie, out with it. You talk like this all the time; you would have no need to accompany me to the station to discuss these things. What is it you really wanted to talk about?”
He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you’re correct.”
“Well?”
He watched the traffic buzz by as they waited to cross the intersection.
“You see, I had questions for you, about …”
“About what?”
“… about a girl.”
“What?” Her face suddenly radiated as she slapped his shoulder. “Who? Who is this girl?”
“Quiet down,” he commanded. “All of Turin can hear you.”
“Tell me,” she whispered, giggling like a child.
“She’s one of the Shady Characters.”
“Oh.” Her expression dropped. “Such a strange group you have there.”
“We enjoy ourselves,” he replied smiling. “But we are harmless.”
The traffic stopped and they crossed the street.
“Well, who is she?”
“Laura. Laura Hidalgo.” He said her name proudly, as if introducing her as his spouse.
Luciana searched her memory. “Have I met her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, what do you want from me? Advice on how to w
in her heart? I’m surprised you would need such help from me; the girls have always been fond of you.”
“That is far from the truth, but I suppose I do need advice. I’m not sure how to tell if her feelings for me are mutual. I’ve not told anyone else this, but I believe I love this girl, Luciana. It amazes me how much I think of her throughout the day. Each time I’m away from her and I see a sunset, I wish to tell her about it. How strange is that?”
“Not so strange, if you love her. I feel the same way about Jan.”
“Ah, yes, you seem quite fond of this new boy you’ve begun to see.”
“He is no ‘boy!’ He’s a man of the highest esteem.”
Pier Giorgio laughed. “I know what ruffles your feathers, sister.”
“Yes, well, I’m on my way to see him now, but don’t tell mother.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” he promised. After the passing of another block, he said, “Do you suppose mother and father once wished to tell each other about the sunsets they had seen?”
Luciana considered her response for some time. “I think there was a time they did.”
“And now? Do you think they still would discuss the sunsets they’d seen?”
“I believe once you’re wed you should be watching sunsets together, no?”
Pier Giorgio nodded. At the turning of the next corner, the train station came into view. “I’ll let you be on your way,” he said.
“But I didn’t even help you.”
“I don’t know what I expected you to do for me, but it was nice to simply tell someone about my feelings. I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”
“Perhaps you could invite her over and I could meet her. I could see the way she interacts toward you. I no doubt will be able to tell what she thinks of you; women can read other women like books.”
“Yes! What a wonderful idea. But …”
“What is it?”
“It may seem strange for me to invite her to tea with us.”
“Invite her friends as well. It will be like a party.”
“Yes! My, you are surely the brilliant one in this family.”
“That could be true,” she agreed with a shrug.
“Hah! You see, I knew I was right to tell you. I’ll go home now and organize the gathering.”
Pier Giorgio hugged her, leaving her at the entrance to the train station before turning and sprinting the whole way home.
24
A Silent Sacrifice
His heart leapt when he heard a knock at the door. He glanced at himself one more time in the mirror, running his hand through his hair and flashing a smile, searching for confidence in his reflection. Pier Giorgio rolled his eyes at his own insecurities and raced down the stairs. Yet upon opening the door, he was confronted by an unexpected guest.
“Pier Giorgio! You’re home!”
He smiled. “Greetings, Signora Converso. And how are you today?”
The elderly woman, hunched so low her eyes were directed toward the floor, hobbled past the doorway and into the Frassati home.
“Oh, Georgie, I’m well, but tired. I seem to always be tired.”
“I can sympathize; the race we run is a difficult one, no?” She went on about her aches and pains as Pier Giorgio stole glances out the door and down the street. “And what can I do for you today?”
“I’m so sorry to bother you, but I wanted to come and ask if you would help mend my front door. The lock is broken and I don’t feel safe with all these Fascists running about. A lonely woman like me needs to have a door that locks, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “I’m waiting on some guests, but may I run over to your home later today?”
“Oh, of course, Georgie. I knew you would understand. I didn’t know who else to ask with Bertone off at holiday.”
“And how is he doing?”
She sighed. “Well, I suppose. I wish he’d come to see me more often. I see you more than my own son.”
“He’s a good boy; you did a fine job raising him. Now, I’ll see you in a few hours with my tools in hand, and how about I bring you some fresh bread from the market as well?”
“Bless you, Georgie!” she said reaching up to caress his cheek. “Bless you!”
He escorted her down the sidewalk and waved goodbye.
“Who was that?” Luciana asked when he came back inside.
“Signora Converso. She needs help fixing her door.”
“Bertone’s mother?” He nodded, pulling back the curtain and glancing out the window. “That woman knocks on our door every day. You shouldn’t encourage her, Georgie. She will only continue to bother you if you continue to help her.”
“She’s no bother. Where is mother?”
“Upstairs, getting ready.”
“She knows nothing of my feelings for Laura, no?”
“I didn’t tell her. Did you?”
“Of course not. I want to gauge her reaction to Laura first; Papa, as well.”
The next ten minutes passed in anxious agony. Laura and Christina were late, sending him toward the window on jittery feet every so often. Perhaps they were not coming at all, he thought.
Adelaide came down the stairs a moment later.
“Did I hear someone down here earlier?”
“Georgie’s best friend, Signora Converso, came again for a request; this time for him to fix her door.”
“That woman is relentless. No shame or pity. You shouldn’t keep helping her, Georgie.”
“That’s what I told him,” Luciana confirmed.
Pier Giorgio remained silent.
“Is your father here?” Adelaide asked.
“I believe he’s in the study,” Luciana answered.
Adelaide moved down the hall and turned into the study. The low drone of their voices, muted by the distance and the walls, came to the Frassati children as they stood in the den. At first the exchange was lifeless and casual, but slowly their voices gained volume, eventually turning into shouts.
Pier Giorgio and Luciana looked to one another with knowing eyes, each feeling the anguish from the growing chasm forging between their parents. The dinner table had become an impending battle each night, but lately their skirmishes had extended to other intervals throughout the day. It was amazing they found so much time to bicker considering how much Alfredo remained at the office. But then, Pier Giorgio thought, perhaps the distance caused the bickering.
Alfredo emerged from the room, throwing his coat over his shoulders. He walked briskly into the den and toward the front door, oblivious to the presence of his children. Adelaide watched him from the study doorway.
“Papa, you’re leaving?” Pier Giorgio asked.
“Yes,” he responded without breaking stride.
“But I have invited guests over to have tea. I’d like for you to meet them, and I feel certain they would like very much to meet you. I’ve told them so much about you.”
“I’m sorry, son. I must go.”
He left without another word.
Adelaide moved into the kitchen to check on the servants and the state of the tea and breaded cakes they’d serve their guests. Pier Giorgio walked outside and sat on the front stoop of their house. It was early summer and the day was bright and cloudless. But the agreeable weather failed to provide the necessary cheer that might displace the gloom enveloping his heart.
He wanted nothing more than to bring joy and peace to his family, but he seemed to be as helpless in nurturing the harmony of his parents’ relationship as he was in controlling the rain clouds. At times, he would spend hours and even days planning a family event, in hopes that the bonding would bring everyone together, only to have his father or mother, or both, cancel.
But what was perhaps most frustrating about his parents’ arguments was that their genesis was impossible to trace. No one quite knew, perhaps not even themselves, what they were fighting about. His father’s gruffness and driven personality blended with his mo
ther’s hypersensitivity and vacillating artistic nature proved to be an ominous concoction that acted like poison to their marriage. Pier Giorgio strived in vain to find the antidote, but there was no certainty one even existed.
“Georgie?”
He looked up. Christina and Laura were standing before him. He jumped to his feet.
“Hello! I’m sorry; I didn’t see you walk up.”
“Are we that sneaky?” Christina asked Laura.
“We must be.”
They both laughed as Pier Giorgio shuffled his feet.
“You both look lovely,” he told them, his eyes directed at Laura and her pulled back, dark hair, white sundress, and Miraculous Medal hanging humbly round her neck. The tarnished silver chain and oval-shaped medal belied the glittery jewelry most women in Turin wore. Her well-defined lips curved into a smile, which Pier Giorgio returned.
“Who else is coming?” Christina asked.
“Just the two of you, actually. I invited Mary Amelia, but she was unable to attend.”
“So just the women of the Shady Characters were fortunate enough to attend this tea party?” Laura asked. “Interesting.”
He blushed but covered nicely. “Yes, so many of my fellow men are chauvinistic, caring little for the delicate feminine flowers of our world, but I strive to care for you women and give you special privileges like my mother’s tea.”
They giggled.
“I wanted very much to introduce my mother and sister to you ladies today,” he went on, “as I tell them so much about our group’s adventures into the mountains. I pondered inviting our entire group, but our fellow Shady Characters are not sophisticated enough for afternoon tea. Shall we go inside?”
He ushered them through the door and followed them in. They marveled at the elegance of the Frassati home—its fine, wood-stained floors, pristine furniture, bright chandeliers and exquisite artwork—complimenting Pier Giorgio as they ran their fingers across the mantel, tables, and picture frames with admiration. He thanked them but knew he could take little credit for the nice things within his home.
His mother and Luciana walked confidently into the den.
“Hello,” Adelaide said, “you must be Pier Giorgio’s friends. How nice of you to visit with us this afternoon.”
To the Heights: A Novel Based on the Life of Pier Giorgio Frassati Page 14