“A fine point,” he admitted, “then we should sell the clothes and give them the money, no?”
“Perhaps after the wedding you can do that, Georgie.” The smile she’d come to expect from him remained hidden. “I know you’ll miss her,” she added.
“I don’t know what I’ll do without her around.”
“You two have been separated before and been fine. I’m sure this time will be no different.”
“She’s getting married, Mariscia, and to a man who will take her out of Italia and to distant shores. We will be apart now, not for a matter of days, but rather months, only seeing each other on seldom occasions. I have only recently realized what it means to have a sister at home, and what an empty space her leaving creates. Oh, how we take our blessings for granted! Things may never be the same for us. I can hardly bear it.”
“You mustn’t blame Signor Gawronska for taking her away. His diplomatic duties require that they leave for Holland.”
“No, of course not. Jan is a fine man, and Luciana is lucky to have him. I must disguise my sadness and be happy for them today. I only wish they would wed and then he take his leave without her.”
She smirked.
“I’m of course kidding, … mostly.”
“Come, Georgie, it’s almost time to leave.”
They headed for the door but Pier Giorgio stopped. “I’ve almost forgotten Luciana’s wedding gift.” He raced to his closet and retrieved a white box. “Has she left yet?”
“No, I believe she’s in her room putting on the final touches.”
Pier Giorgio hurried across the hallway and knocked on the door. Behind it he heard his sister and mother arguing about how she should wear her hair. He burst in without invitation.
“You two must stop all this; we know she will be gorgeous no matter her hairstyle.”
They ignored him and carried on with the disagreement. He waited patiently before they compromised on something that looked no different than what either of them had suggested in the first place, or so Pier Giorgio thought.
“We leave in five minutes,” Adelaide said.
“Your dress is lovely, Mama,” he said leaning over to kiss her as she left the room.
“Thank you, Georgie. You too look very fine and handsome. Don’t let your sister delay and tinker much longer.”
“Yes, Mama.”
He turned back to his sister. She stood before him in her wedding gown, glowing beneath the sunlight flooding the window. She cocked her head to the side and shrugged.
“So, how do I look?”
He saw in that moment both the woman she had become, her beauty and elegance, and the innocent child he’d grown up beside throughout the years. He battled his emotions with all his power.
“You have asked me this so many times before, and so many times I’ve had an answer, but today I cannot find the words to express your beauty.”
He walked over and hugged her, clinching his eyes to hold back the tears.
“What’s in the box?” she asked when they separated.
“Ah, you’ve noticed? It’s your gift. Do we have time for you to open it?”
“Yes, of course!”
He handed it over and watched as she opened the box and unwrapped the tissue paper, revealing an ivory crucifix.
“Do you like it? I found it in an antique shop.”
She hesitated, looking down at the body of Jesus slung upon the cross. “Yes, brother, it’s wonderful. How sweet you are.”
She hugged him, but he felt reservation in her.
“If you don’t like it, I can return it.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll give it to Mariscia to place with the rest of the gifts. But we must go or Mama will have a heart attack.”
The family left for the church and an hour later Archbishop Gamba blessed the union between Luciana Frassati and Jan Gawronska. Pier Giorgio kept a happy façade throughout the entire day, even through the reception dinner as his ears were chewed off by a distant Polish cousin.
To break away from the crowd, he scanned the table where the gifts sat on display. Beneath the white tablecloth, hidden and still wrapped in tissue paper, he found the ivory crucifix he’d given Luciana. He focused on the face of the dying Christ, then glanced back at the table lined with candlesticks, crystal wear, fine china, vases, and silver platters.
“What is that, a crucifix?”
Pier Giorgio turned around. A man swayed back and forth behind him, a wine glass in hand, an inane smile on his face, and food stains crusted to his shirt. “This is a wedding, not a funeral!” He laughed and walked away. Pier Giorgio rewrapped the crucifix and placed it back under the table.
After the reception, the family escorted the couple to the train station where they would depart for their honeymoon. Luciana hugged both her parents before facing Pier Giorgio.
“It’ll not be long before I see you again,” she said. He nodded and wiped at his eyes but remained silent. “Georgie, you’re never at a loss for words. Say something to me before I climb aboard this train.”
Still, Pier Giorgio faltered for words. Luciana noticed his hands were trembling. She turned to her husband.
“Jan, why don’t you go ahead? I’ll come find you.”
She nodded toward her parents. They understood and kissed her one last time before walking away. Only brother and sister remained. Pier Giorgio finally surrendered to his emotions and threw his arms around her. He sobbed onto her shoulder; Luciana’s eyes too ran wet with tears.
“Georgie, why have you done this to me? I cannot cry like this on my wedding day.”
“I’m sorry,” he bellowed, still buried in her coat. “But I don’t know if I can be alone with the two of them. Their bickering drains all that’s in me. They jump for each other’s throats but it’s me who feels like I’m suffocating.”
“They’ve been better lately. It will be okay.”
“I’ve prayed that they will love each other once again, but I’ve begun to fear my prayers fall upon the deaf ears. How dare I doubt our Lord, but I cannot help but think this way after seeing them deteriorate for so many years.”
“It’s not your fault, Georgie. You cannot control their love or behavior toward one another. Continue with your prayers, which I know make you so happy; that’s all you can do.”
“You see,” he said, finally backing away, “what beautiful advice. What will come of me without you, my best friend, by my side?”
She laughed through her tears. “You will never have a shortage of friends. This much, I know.”
“But it’s only you who understands, Luciana. Only you.”
She pulled him to her again but found no further words of comfort to offer. He finally composed himself and backed away, wiping at his eyes and nose.
“I am terribly sorry. This display I’ve put on was not fair to you, not today on this your most special day. Please accept my apologies.”
“Oh, hush. You and I are beyond such formal apologies. You know I’ll visit often, don’t you?”
“Yes, you must. And write every day.”
“Every day?”
“Yes, promise, at least for the first month.”
“Okay, sweet Georgie, you sentimental fool. I will write you each day for the next month. I promise.”
He kissed her on the cheek. “Go now, sister. I love you.”
“And you.”
She turned and walked away, waving one last time before disappearing onto the train. As she fell from sight Pier Giorgio began to cry again, wishing the two of them could return to the sequoia tree they once climbed in their Pollone garden.
27
The Banishment of Gloom
On a spring day in 1925 Pier Giorgio awoke with the intention of spending the day studying for one of his final exams. The long road of his education at the Polytechnic, delayed several times by his time in Germany and other commitments he’d made to so many organizations, was finally nearing an end. The winding caverns of his jou
rney through the world of his mining classes were giving way to the light of completion. Soon, he would obtain his degree and journey into the actual hollows beneath the mountains, making a dream once foreign to him a concrete reality.
But as he found his way into the kitchen to grab a quick bite of breakfast, he saw a note waiting on him:
Georgie, come see me at the office.
Papa
Though stressed by his impending exam, he got dressed and walked outside. He paused to greet the police officers who had held rotating shifts outside their home since the Fascists attacked. Pier Giorgio gave them some bread and paused to speak with them awhile, then took the train over to the office of La Stampa to see his father, bringing along his books so he could journey to the library afterwards. He was greeted as usual by smiles and hugs as he strolled through the building toward his father’s office. Some of these people had watched him grow up and looked at him and his sister as the honorary children of La Stampa.
On the top floor in the corner office, he poked his head past the door. His father was not in. Pier Giorgio walked next door to the office of his father’s right-hand man, Signor Cassone.
“Pier Giorgio!” He rose and greeted him in the doorway. “How wonderful it is to see you. Have you been well?”
“Yes, it’s fine to see you, too. How is your family?”
“Crazy as ever, but all in good spirits.”
“Wonderful. Is my father in? He left a note to come see him.”
“He’s left town for the day—a big meeting.”
“Oh, alright.”
“But he told me you’d be by. Won’t you come with me?” He put his arm around Pier Giorgio and escorted him down the hall. “Did you walk over or catch the train?”
“I rode the train. I must move quickly today so I can prepare for my exams.”
“Your father tells me you always ride third-class. It baffles him, me as well.”
“I ride third because there’s no fourth.”
“I’m not sure that’s an answer.”
Pier Giorgio shrugged. “I feel more comfortable there.”
Signor Cassone smiled. They turned a corner and stopped before an unoccupied office. An oak desk rested before a window—a lamp, typewriter, pens and accounting books sitting atop it and a wooden chair placed under it. A file cabinet stood in one corner and a coat and hat rack in the other. Three walls were bare, while the last held a painting of a mountain range. Signor Cassone held out his hand.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“It’s yours.” He took off Pier Giorgio’s hat and hung it on the rack. “Have a seat.”
Pier Giorgio slowly walked through the doorway behind him. Signor Cassone pulled out the chair for him. He sat down.
“What do you think, Georgie?”
“I’m afraid I am still confused.”
“This is going to be your office. You’ll start work here next month.”
“What? But …”
“What’s the problem?”
“I had no idea.”
“No?”
Pier Giorgio shook his head. “I’ll complete my mining engineering degree in just a few short weeks. I plan to start a career in this field.”
“Is this something you’ve discussed with your father?”
“Yes, he knows about the pursuit of my degree. I thought perhaps I would volunteer here a few days a month, but never did I intend to come full-time to La Stampa.”
Signor Cassone sighed, walking slowly across the room and running his hand through his black hair. He leaned against the windowsill and peered over to Pier Giorgio. The young man’s eyes bore the innocent confusion of a child.
“I didn’t want to tell you all this today. Your father left abruptly and told me to ‘handle it.’ I wonder if he even had a meeting, or if he just wanted to avoid this conversation.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Georgie, this desk has been picked out for you since your birth. I know you were studying for a different career, but your father has always known this awaited you.”
“But I’ve spent so much time studying and working toward my degree.”
Signor Cassone pursed his lips and shrugged. “I’m not sure that makes much of a difference to him. He wants so badly for you to take over his duties here. He wants a Frassati to always run La Stampa. You’re his son, Georgie, his namesake.”
A long pause ensued. Pier Giorgio’s head hung toward the ground before turning to gaze at the painting of the mountains. Signor Cassone felt the pangs of guilt when he saw a slow tear creep down Pier Giorgio’s cheek.
“So it will please Papa if I come to work here?”
“… I’m sure it will, Georgie.”
He nodded. “Then I accept.” Pier Giorgio rose and extended his hand. “It will be an honor to work alongside you, Signor Cassone.”
“Yes, and you. But I’m sorry; I know this is not what you want.”
Pier Giorgio smiled. “What the Lord wants is all that’s important.”
He left the office and returned home, forgoing his studies. An hour later he was on his way to a nearby park to meet his friend, Isidoro. Pier Giorgio had called his dear friend, begging for companionship, and Isidoro had heard the desperation in his voice. Isidoro phoned in sick to his job and met Pier Giorgio at a bench in the park where they sat eating a picnic lunch.
After minutes in casual conversation, Isidoro said, “Georgie, you seem down. What’s bothering you?”
Pier Giorgio told him what had happened.
“My, this is most troubling to hear. Does your father not understand all the work you’ve put in to get your engineering degree?”
“A part of him may understand, but only subconsciously. I have begun to realize he tolerated my other career aspirations but never took them seriously. It seems he always knew I would join him at the paper full-time.”
“Is there a part of you that regrets all the work you’ve done? Do you wish you’d gone to work there years ago?”
“No,” he answered without hesitation. “I’ve learned many interesting things in my studies, and met special people. I could never regret my path, nor predict where it will take me next. Perhaps everything I learned will be put to use later.”
“I always wondered why you chose such a field—mining engineering.”
“It can be interesting work, but mostly I wanted to assist these workers in their daily struggle. They have a difficult calling in the mines, and to make matters worse, they’ve been exploited for years. I thought if I was able to obtain a managerial position I could make a difference.”
“I know all that, Georgie. But with how passionate you are with your faith, I always figured you would become a missionary.”
“At one point I thought this as well. My heart certainly finds joy in missionary work. But the pursuit of my degree is linked to my mission work; it always has been. I find the discipline I learn from my studies helps in the formation of my mission life. And anyway, my parents would never allow me to be a full-time missionary. Any schooling I did, even though it was not leading me toward La Stampa, kept them happy, allowing me to visit and help whomever I could without the gaze of their watchful eye. My studies have always served such purposes for me. I’m sad it appears I will not be able to put all this knowledge to use, but am thankful for these last few years nonetheless.”
They ate their sandwiches in silence for several minutes. A mother walked by with a crying baby in a stroller. All they could see were the infant’s feet poking up into the air.
“You have had a tough go of it lately, Georgie. As your friend, this makes me sad.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your parents’ difficulties, your love for Laura that tears you apart, and now this.”
Not many people were privy to the personal matters of Pier Giorgio’s life, but Isidoro was.
Pier Giorgio nodded and smiled. “I thank you for your kind w
ords, but perhaps I’ve been whining too much to you about these things. The fact that you’re such a good friend apparently serves as a temptation for me to bemoan my misfortunes. But today, in the struggle, I can only thank God, who in his infinite mercy desires to give me all this heartache, so that through these difficulties I might return to a more spiritual interior life. Besides, I’m not truly sad, at least not on the grand scale. On the grand scale, I am filled with bliss.”
“The grand scale?”
“Yes, a Christian can never truly be sad, Isidoro. How is this possible, when the end that awaits us overpowers all the sadness in the world like a tidal wave coming ashore? As long as faith gives me strength I will always be joyful, and every one of us should feel this way. Sadness and gloom ought to be banished from Catholic souls. One can certainly be hurt at times; we all have been. But we cannot allow a perpetual depression to plague us, for the gloom of depression should not be able to find our soul. My life is monotonous and difficult, but each day I understand a little better the incomparable grace of being a Catholic—days like this prove this more than others. Of course I’m upset about the future my father has planned for me, but down with my melancholy. What, in the grand scheme of life, does this melancholy mean in comparison to the eternity of bliss that awaits me if I maintain the faith Christ asks of us? Gloom should never take root except in the heart which has lost the Faith.”
“I admire your attitude,” Isidoro replied. “I don’t always have such an outlook when troubled times come to me.”
“That is part of the struggle, to fight against our natural tendency toward unhappiness. It is within us because we are fallen. But our life, in order to be Christian, has to be a continual renunciation, a continual sacrifice. However, this is not difficult if one thinks, what are these few years passed in suffering compared with eternal happiness, where joy will have no measure nor end, and we shall have unimaginable peace. We should grasp faith strongly. Without it, what would our whole life be? Nothing. It would have been spent in vain. The faith given to me in baptism suggests one thing of which I have no doubt: of yourself you will do nothing, but if you have God as the center of all your action, then you will reach the goal.”
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