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

by Brian Kennelly

  Pier Giorgio obliged the group with proper introductions, nearly kicking his sister in the shin when she winked at him after meeting Laura. A short tour of the rest of the home ensued, with Adelaide focusing much of the attention on her own artwork scattered about the walls of the house. Laura and Christina followed, voicing their compliments of the various pieces she had painted.

  Behind them and alongside his uninterested sister, Pier Giorgio shadowed the three women like a puppy supremely interested in what was happening but powerless to control it. His apprehension reached its peak when they all returned to the den for their tea. The servants had laid out the china cups on top of small plates, circling a silver platter layered with breaded cakes, and were in the process of pouring the tea.

  “Where is your father, Georgie?” Laura asked as they all sat down. “I thought we would be meeting him as well. I’d love to compliment him on his work at La Stampa.”

  “He will not be joining us,” Adelaide answered. “Now, Laura, Christina; tell me about yourselves.”

  Christina hesitated but spoke first, relaying where she had grown up, been educated, and currently lived. She went on pleasantly about her upbringing and interests, but Pier Giorgio heard none of it as he waited for Laura’s turn to speak.

  “Laura is a student of Mathematics,” he suddenly blurted out, cutting Christina off.

  Everyone in the room looked to him. Luciana hid her smile behind her cup of tea.

  “Let her speak for herself, Georgie,” his mother suggested.

  Laura nodded and smiled at Pier Giorgio. “Yes, I’m in the process of getting my degree in Mathematics.”

  “What will you do with that education,” Adelaide asked. “As a woman, I mean.”

  “I wish to be a teacher one day.”

  “Spend all that time learning just to pass it on?” Adelaide said. “Do you not want to put it to better use?”

  “Teaching is a noble profession, Mama,” Luciana offered, blowing on her cup of tea.

  Adelaide shrugged and said, “And where did you grow up?”

  “In Carmagnola, not far from here.”

  “Is that where your family still lives?”

  “No, Signora Frassati, I grew up at an orphanage with my brother.”

  Adelaide struggled for two long seconds in search of a response.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s alright. I have no bad memories from my childhood. My brother and I enjoyed our time at the orphanage with the other children.”

  “Where does your brother live now?” Luciana asked.

  “With me. We have an apartment near the train station.”

  The conversation found a lull, at which point Pier Giorgio broke in by telling a story of their latest climb. Adelaide rose and left the room for ten minutes. Luciana entertained the girls while Pier Giorgio went to look for her. He found her in the kitchen staring out the window.

  “Mama, are you alright?”

  “What?” She turned around. “Oh, yes. What did you say?”

  “What are you doing in here? We have guests.”

  “Yes, I know, but I’m so tired, Georgie.”

  “Can you just come and visit for a few more minutes?”

  They walked back into the den. Pier Giorgio was glad to see Luciana laughing with Laura as they flipped through an old family photo album.

  “You were a cute little boy,” Laura said.

  “And nothing has changed, no?” he said casting a broad smile. He helped his mother to her seat on the couch.

  “Humility is the source of your good looks,” Luciana offered, “don’t ruin it with pride, brother.”

  “I wouldn’t dare it.”

  The conversation carried on as they flipped through the album, admiring the passing years of the Frassati family through the black-and-white snapshots. As Laura flipped one of the pages over, she spilled a few drops of tea on a picture of Alfredo and Adelaide taken years ago. Pier Giorgio’s mother rose from her spot on the couch and ripped the album away from Laura.

  “What have you done?” she asked, wiping the picture with a napkin.

  “I’m so sorry!” Laura pleaded. “It was an accident.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Pier Giorgio said walking over to her, “it was an accident.”

  Adelaide said nothing, looking down into the picture. She and her husband stood on the coast, with the water and a sunset at their backs. Everyone waited for further reaction from her. Finally, she turned and smiled, “It’s alright, I know it was an accident. Please excuse me, children, I must go rest. I feel a headache coming on.”

  She left and walked slowly up the stairs. Luciana said her goodbyes to Laura and Christina and Pier Giorgio walked them out to the street.

  “Pier Giorgio, I’m so sorry I spilled tea on that picture.”

  “Don’t worry, Laura, her reaction had more to do with other complicated matters than a little tea spilled on an old picture. I thank you both for coming.”

  He hugged them and went back inside. Luciana was helping the servants clear away the dishes to the kitchen. Pier Giorgio went upstairs to check on his mother.

  “Mama?” he said, gently knocking on her bedroom door.

  “Come in.”

  She lay flat on the bed with a wet cloth over her eyes. He came to her side and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Can I get you anything, Mama?”

  “No, thank you, I just need to rest.”

  “How did you like my friends?”

  “I suppose they were alright, but where do you find these people, Georgie? You come from such privilege, and yet you bring orphans home as your best friends?”

  He shrugged. “I meet them from all over.”

  “We need to find you a good girl from an established family.”

  “But I enjoy Laura’s company.”

  He realized he hadn’t included Christina but didn’t care.

  “I’m sure you do, but life is too complicated to carry on with orphans and helping poor old ladies fix their doors and staying up half the night saying that rosary of yours. You’re almost of age to begin your work at La Stampa and you need to take on more responsibility.”

  Pier Giorgio was at a loss for how to respond. They sat in silence for several minutes, filled only by the chirping of a bird on the windowsill.

  “Are you still angry about the picture?” He noticed she still held it in her hand. The tea had stained the top corner of the picture with a circular splotch.

  “No, I was never mad about that.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “I know. Georgie, listen …” she sat up and removed the cloth from her eyes. “You should know that your father has suggested he and I get a separation.”

  “What?”

  “It may be for the best, I don’t know, but it’s still terribly humiliating. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Mama, you cannot separate.”

  “That’s not for you to say. It is your father’s and my decision.”

  “But …”

  “I’m just so tired all the time, though,” she went on, “it’s these headaches, they sap my strength. I told your father I need time to think and rest.”

  “Does Luciana know?”

  “I’ll tell her today, after I take my nap. Could you get me a glass of water?” He grabbed the cup on her bedside table and went to the bathroom to fill it up. “Thank you, Georgie. Please shut the door on your way out, and tell Mariscia that I’m sleeping and to not let anyone disturb me.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  He left her room, grabbed his tools, and departed for the other side of town. He stopped to get Signora Converso bread as promised and spent an hour mending the lock on her front door. He hugged her, receiving her warm gratitude with a smile, and walked back home as the evening overtook the day.

  Luciana sat on the front stoop of their house staring into nothingness. He knew his mother had delivered her the news.

  “I haven’t been
able to make sense of it either,” he said sitting down beside her.

  “I suppose it makes perfect sense, if you simply watch them together.”

  Above them, the stars swept over Turin like glitter as they blinked with brilliance.

  “I really liked Laura,” Luciana said.

  “Good. That means a lot. Thank you.”

  “What did Mama think of her?”

  “I don’t think she thought much of her at all.”

  “You should still tell Laura how you feel. I think she likes you. She watched you all throughout our visit.”

  “Is that so?”

  Luciana nodded.

  “That’s wonderful to hear, but I cannot pursue anything with Laura right now. My heart aches to say that, but it is the way of things. Mama’s health seems to be poor, and with all that is happening between her and Papa, I don’t think it wise to add such a burden on her. The drama would be too much. I will have to silence my love for Laura, at least for now. I feel certain Mama would have a heart attack if I told her I wished to court the orphaned girl I brought to tea.”

  “How could you sacrifice your feelings for Mama’s? She would not do the same for you.”

  Pier Giorgio rose to his feet and gazed up at the stars. “I appreciate you visiting with my friends today, sister. I’m going to bed early tonight; I’m very tired.”

  He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, walking inside and leaving her alone on the front stoop.

  25

  Intruders

  The chaos and tension inside Pier Giorgio’s home mirrored the turmoil in the city streets. Mussolini was within arm’s reach of becoming a dictator ruling over all of Italy, sending his secret police into the cities to force his will upon the people. He strove to create a totalitarian state through a series of laws and aggressive enforcement, transforming the country into a one-party political dictatorship. Several murders of key political opponents and even a priest were attributed to Mussolini’s thugs, though they denied responsibility.

  While Pier Giorgio and several of his friends spoke out about the injustices of Fascism against Holy Mother Church, he was devastated that many other Catholics gave in to “Il Duce,” as Mussolini was known by.

  The I.P.P made concessions and compromises in the political landscape, relenting power like a helpless child, and the Catholic paper Il Momento lent Mussolini a public endorsement. But perhaps most maddening to Pier Giorgio was the instance when his Catholic Men’s Club at the University honored Mussolini by allowing the Fascist flag to be flown in the streets as he and his followers marched through Turin. This act prompted Pier Giorgio’s resignation from the Cesare Balbo.

  He wrote to the president of the Club:

  I was revolted to hear that this banner, which I have carried so often in religious processions, was displayed by you to pay homage to such a man, a man who has destroyed religious works, has made no attempt to control the Fascists, has allowed ministers of God to be assassinated, has permitted all sorts of other outrages to be committed, and is trying to cover up his misdeeds by replacing the crucifix in the schools. Taking full responsibility on myself, I have removed this banner and I send you herewith my irrevocable resignation. I wish this letter, written in haste, but dictated by the deepest convictions of my soul, to be read at the next meeting.

  Pier Giorgio Frassati

  The hypocrisy was what angered Pier Giorgio. These groups claimed to be furthering the Church’s cause, and yet did not stand up for the decency and righteousness in which they preached.

  “These men are like turn signals at railroad tracks,” he told his friend Marco. “They do not stand up for themselves, but simply alter their opinion and turn in the direction they’re told to. It’s a sad day when Catholics cower to evil and treat the teachings of their Church as if they are merely suggestions, abandoning them without the slightest sign of a troubled conscious.”

  Pier Giorgio continued to admire the stance his father took against the Fascists. Together, the two of them did what they could to combat the power of the Black Shirts, though from varying points of view. Pier Giorgio spoke with a passion fueled by his faith as he frequented dozens of religious demonstrations, while Alfredo voiced his concerns from a political stance, writing daily articles in La Stampa about the dark road Mussolini was taking their beloved country down. Unfortunately for both of them and their family, the Fascists took notice.

  The door bell rang.

  “Mariscia,” Adelaide called out, “won’t you see who that is?”

  The Frassati’s house servant walked down the hallway, past the dining room where Pier Giorgio and his mother sat eating a late lunch. She cracked the door and with one eye peering outside, noted a well-dressed young man.

  He smiled. “Hello, Signora, is Alfredo Frassati in?”

  “No, I’m sorry, he’s out. May I tell him your name?”

  His smile vanished rather sharply. Inexplicably, he turned completely ‘round so that his back was to her.

  “Signor?” Mariscia questioned. “What may I do for you?”

  He nodded and waved to someone on the street, then whipped around and threw his shoulder into the door!

  Mariscia’s head was thrown back from the blow of the door hitting her face. The man grabbed a truncheon he’d hid beside the door and burst into the house. Mariscia gathered her wits, wiping at the blood dripping from her nose, and screamed for help. He pulled her by her hair out of the foyer and threw her body into the living room wall. A moment later four other men flooded the house, scattering about like roaches to different rooms.

  From the dining room, Pier Giorgio heard the commotion. His eyes darted up to meet his mother’s. The color in her face drained away.

  “Stay here, Mama!”

  Pier Giorgio leapt from his chair and turned down the hall. The first intruder had laid his wooden club on the ground and stood by the telephone stationed on the wall just before the staircase. The man reached into his pocket for a pair of scissors and lifted them to the phone’s wires to cut them. Pier Giorgio hurled his body down the hallway and speared the man to the ground. Once on top of him, he thrust blow after blow down upon the man.

  Adelaide came around the corner of the hallway screaming hysterically.

  “Leave him! Pier Giorgio, let him go; we’ll run!”

  In all corners the sound of destruction tore through the house—a broken vase, a table turned over, a shattered mirror. The other men worried little for their comrade being the recipient of Pier Giorgio’s fists as they ripped apart the Frassati home as quickly as they could.

  The man below Pier Giorgio finally regained some semblance of control when he thrust his legs into Pier Giorgio’s gut. Pier Giorgio fell back to the floor, but immediately reached for the truncheon lying beside him. The intruder’s eyes grew wide at the sight of Pier Giorgio waving the club above his head, screaming, “Cowards! Rascals! Where are the rest of you? I’ll take you all!”

  The first man shuffled and crawled backwards. The rest of them appeared briefly from the other rooms of the house but sprinted for the door when they saw the enraged young man wielding the wooden club in his hand. He took several steps after them but stopped at the sound of his mother’s voice.

  “Georgie, no! Let them go! They may have a revolver!”

  He relented to his mother’s wishes and did not chase after them, but chucked the truncheon out the door at the departing intruders.

  “Cowards!”

  In the distance, halfway down the block, he saw them pile into a black car and speed away.

  His focus shifted.

  “Where is Mariscia? Did they take her?”

  Adelaide shook her head. “Oh, no! No! They couldn’t have; we saw them leave.”

  “Mariscia?” they called out. “Where are you?”

  Pier Giorgio heard her grunting from the living room. He sprinted back across the hallway and found her lying on the verge of unconsciousness behind the couch.

  “Moth
er! She’s in here! Get me cold rags!”

  By now, Italo, the family chauffer, had heard the uproar and ran up from the cellar. He helped Pier Giorgio lift Mariscia to the couch and there they tended to her wounds as they waited for medical care and the authorities to arrive.

  In the coming days, all of Turin read about the invasion of the Frassati home by the Fascists. It was unclear if they had intended only to vandalize the home, or actually cause harm. Alfredo struggled with the fact that he was not there, knowing the men sought him and not his family. Pier Giorgio, though he deflected it, received praise from his father and from other friends and family for his heroism.

  “It was merely instincts,” he claimed to Luciana who had been off in London at the time. “And even five against one is an easy fight when you are battling against cowardly scoundrels.”

  Though the entire episode brought a great deal of trauma to his family, Pier Giorgio was thankful for what had happened, at least in one regard. Before retiring to his bedroom for the evening he glanced into his parents’ bedroom with the intention of saying goodnight. But upon seeing his father holding his mother as they lay in bed together, his shirt wet with her tears, Pier Giorgio remained silent and watched from the doorway. The serene silence resting within his house brought him a smile. At least on this night, the sound of his parents’ arguments would remain foreign to his ears.

  26

  Goodbyes at the Train Station

  Pier Giorgio struggled to assemble himself in the proper attire that would reflect the high society in which the occasion merited. He reached for the set of pearls on his bureau and struggled with stiff fingers to place them inside the button holes of his starched, white shirt.

  “Having trouble, Georgie?”

  Mariscia stood in the doorway. She walked over and took the pearls from him, setting them inside the holes with ease.

  “I don’t enjoy the social expectations to wear such clothing. I should give them all to my poor and then I’ll have an excuse for not dressing properly.”

  “And what would the poor need with starched shirts, pearl studs, and dinner jackets?” Mariscia asked as she straightened up his crooked tie and matted down his messy hair.