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

by Brian Kennelly

  “And what is the goal?”

  “Happiness, of course, and peace and joy. We must strive for a quiet spirit that yearns for nothing more than to be with God.” Pier Giorgio paused. “And there is perhaps one more goal we should have?”

  Isidoro turned to him.

  “To have some of your mother’s world-famous sausage for dinner tonight? I think this is the best way for me to obtain inner peace and joy. What do you say to that?”

  They laughed, rose, and departed from the park bench, smiling beneath the sun.

  28

  To the Heights

  The month of June, 1925 brought forth temperate weather that met agreeably with those who wished to climb to the heights. On this, the 7th of the month and the first Sunday, Pier Giorgio set out with his friend Guido Unterrichter to the peaks of La Lunelle. He attended a Mass which ran long, delaying his arrival to the train station.

  They rode northwest to Pessinetto Station and exited the train, leaving for higher stratospheres with a brisk walk. Their hike stretched pleasantly before them at first, gradual inclines met easily with plain steps. Mountain cottages where climbers could stay were stationed sporadically on the banks, but the two young men passed them by with the intention of reaching summits where mankind became alien.

  The time was perfect for the blooming of life on the mountainside. Patches of rhododendrons perfumed their path on either side and they made plans to gather what they could on their descent. Upon reaching the crest of a hill, they had hoped to make out the peak of Lunelle, but a slow-roaming storm cloud shrouded their view as it overtook the mountain. It began to rain and so they unpacked their water gear and moved onward.

  In time, they approached the steep cliffs and gorges for which the challenge was taken. Pier Giorgio led, a rope harnessed between them. They navigated through a narrow pass they anticipated would take them toward the peak, but their way was confused by the cloudy weather and questionable suggestions earlier from a guide on the ground. Despite the uncertainty, they kept pace in good spirits, admiring the rolling terrain below and the fellowship of each other’s good-natured company.

  They paused for a break to eat and regain their strength, at which point Pier Giorgio brought to mind a fellow student at the Polytechnic, Cesarino Rovere, who had died on this slope in 1921. He suggested they recite a De Profundis for the eternal peace of his soul and so they did:

  “Out of the depths have I cried to thee, O Lord. Let your ears be attentive to my voice in supplication. If you, O Lord, mark iniquities, Lord, who can stand? But with you is forgiveness, that you may be revered. I trust in the Lord; my soul trusts in His word. My soul waits for the Lord more than sentinels wait for the dawn. More than sentinels wait for the dawn, let Israel wait for the Lord, for with the Lord is kindness and with Him is plenteous redemption; And he will redeem Israel from all their iniquities.”

  At rising once more, the storm which had brought rain off and on for the last two hours was swept away by the northern winds. Their view beneath them cleared and brought forth the sight of red and purple flowers contrasting the green hills, mixing like paint on an artist’s palette. But upward their heads turned to complete their desired goal.

  The greatest obstacle met them in the form of a steep cliff rising at a 90-degree angle and stretching over 100 kilometers, dissolving the good humor that had hitherto accompanied their journey. They scaled it at great peril, doubling their ropes and harnesses. Doubt crept into their spirits, though they did not speak of this for fear of thieving each other’s confidence.

  However, once past the spurs of the crest they embraced in common joy of their accomplishment. A spring within their souls flowed steadily with the waters of peace that all mountain climbers felt upon reaching the summit. Together they rested in silence before the panorama, afflicted with the blessing of amnesia as the stresses of the world below departed from their memory as simply as a breeze flowing through an open window.

  Their descent began with a sense of both relief and melancholy at the journey that had come to pass. Pier Giorgio knew each climb could not last forever, though he wanted it so, and yet still he looked forward to returning home. This paradox befuddled him.

  “All I seem to think of while home amidst the slowness of daily life is the next chance I’ll have to journey into these mountains,” he said to Guido, “and yet, once here, I look with favor upon my return. How fickle our desires are; will we never be happy in this life? I think not. But coming up here I realize the importance of our daily lives at home, despite how tedious they might be. It’s that comforting uniformity and normality that paves the way for my appreciation of not just these mountain adventures, but also the wonder of God, for it’s this contrast which allows for the admiration of the divine. And so let us return to our families, Guido, but let us not return empty-handed; I must bring back some of these flowers for Mama!”

  At plucking a few rhododendrons, Pier Giorgio came to realize that just a few wouldn’t do. He dug up an entire bush, roots intact, and stuffed it carefully down into his rucksack. They hurried on their way as the coming of night pursued them, arriving at the cottages just as darkness cloaked their eyes. They ate a meal, reminiscing on their climb, and enjoyed a box of spiced cookies Pier Giorgio had brought with him. Before retiring for the night, Pier Giorgio led them in saying the Rosary. The slumber that ensued was as deep as the ocean, filled by the currents of vivid dreams that flow through the mind when exhaustion sets in.

  When the sun returned, they rose and gathered their things, journeying to the train station and reaching it by lunchtime. On the ride back to Turin they enjoyed a bottle of red wine, emptying it by the time they arrived. The flow of wine and good spirits sprung them into song as they walked back through the streets of Turin. Pier Giorgio, as usual, cared little for the deficiencies of his tones and sang louder than Guido, drowning out the pleasant voice of his companion. A group of children stopped them and asked if they could have some of the flowers they’d brought back from Lunelle. Pier Giorgio and Guido obliged and commanded that they take them straight home to their mothers.

  At their departure, they embraced and promised to repeat their adventure in the coming weeks. Pier Giorgio went on his way, turning for home to plant the rhododendron bush in the garden for his mother. Once through the door, though, an overwhelming feeling of fatigue consumed him. It was beyond the normal exhaustion following his climbs, and by nightfall the weariness turned to pain, clinging to his muscles as the night came and went.

  29

  Flowers by the River

  Pier Giorgio waved to the smiling faces glued to the window of the Provincial Institute for Children. Small circles of fog clouded the window where their breath met the glass. Pier Giorgio zeroed in on two of his favorite orphans standing before the other children, best friends named Antonio and Paolo. He winked at them and smiled; they giggled and winked back.

  On his way home near the center of Turin he passed Father Righini, a priest and friend from a nearby parish. They spoke amicably, until in a single moment Pier Giorgio’s expression turned cold and hollow.

  “What is it, Georgie?”

  “Father, I must make my confession.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “But Holy Martyrs is just down the road. Surely someone can hear your confession there? Or I could take you there and hear it if you wish?”

  “No, it must be here, and now.”

  Father Righini nodded and together they walked to a nearby bench.

  “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” they said together.

  “Forgive me Father for I have sinned, it has been nearly two weeks since my last confession …”

  Pier Giorgio made his confession and listened intently to his penance. When they rose from the bench, Father Righini said, “That is the first confession I’ve heard on the busy city streets. What was the meaning of this urgency?”

  “Something came over me. I
knew it had to be done now.”

  The priest noted the fatigue draining Pier Giorgio’s normal vitality, and the paleness of his complexion.

  “Are you alright, Georgie? You do not look well.”

  “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just saddened about the state of my beloved grandmother’s health. She’s fading with each day.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I will keep her in my prayers.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Speaking of prayers, mine and yours may have been answered. A possible donor has come forward and may give us a large sum to complete the building of our new rectory. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Indeed, it is. Perhaps the only thing better would be if many contributed rather than one.”

  “What’s the difference if the rectory is completed?”

  “It’s always better when many partake in the giving process. I used to say I would rather collect one lira a hundred times than a hundred lire at once, because in this way the acts of charity are multiplied, and so are acts of humility.”

  “Ah, well said. I should get you to write my next sermon,” he quipped.

  Pier Giorgio smiled but was drained by the small-talk. “No, you’re a fine priest with superb sermons. But I must return home to check on my grandmother. Goodbye then, Father.”

  He moved across town but had to stop twice to sit down. The muscles in his legs ached; they felt as if someone were twisting and clinching them, as if they were a wet towel and someone was trying to ring out the water. He massaged them but that brought little relief.

  As he entered through the door of his home, he felt the stale presence of human sickness. Grandmother Ametis had taken a turn for the worse in the last nights, surrendering to the passing of her many years. The entire home rested in silence, clutched by the agonizing inevitability of her death—the servants rarely spoke, his mother’s face remained red from perpetual tears, smiles were seldom seen, and few found sleep as they all waited. The only joy brought forth from these somber moments was that Luciana would arrive later in the day from Holland to say her goodbyes to Grandmother Ametis. It would mark the first time Pier Giorgio had seen his sister since her wedding day.

  He tried to eat lunch but felt queasy. Minutes later he was vomiting up what little food he had in his stomach. It was the third time he had vomited in the last week. Plagued by fatigue, he climbed into bed and fell asleep reading a book on the life of St. Catherine of Siena.

  Hours later, he awoke, feeling slightly better. He moved down the hall and poked his head into the guest room they were using to care for his grandmother. The lights were off but glimmers of sunlight filtered through the crack in the closed curtains. Adelaide sat in a chair by the bed, fast asleep beside her mother. Pier Giorgio woke her.

  “Mama,” he whispered. “Go down and get some dinner. I’ll sit with her.”

  She smiled and left the room. He sat holding his grandmother’s hand amidst the dimness, speaking though she couldn’t hear.

  “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered. “You’re the only one who shines with the Faith. What will come of me and this family without you here?”

  He cried quietly into the pillow, but a rush of sickness came over him. He sprinted to the nearby bathroom and barely made it in time. Afterwards he returned to his grandmother’s bedside and cried even harder.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m terrified, Grandmother. What has taken over my body?”

  With his head buried in the pillow beside her, she lifted her hand and caressed his head. He shot up, meeting her eyes in the darkness.

  “Grandmother Ametis, you’re awake.”

  She spoke not, but nodded. Her hand, trembling, rose to her lips. With her fingers she transferred a kiss to his forehead and smiled, then closed her eyes once more.

  “Yes,” he said through his tears, “… oh, sweet lady, return to your dreams. I’ll be asleep soon as well and we will meet on the banks of the river and pick flowers. Meet me there. Do you hear me, Grandmother? Meet me by the riverbank in your dreams.”

  Downstairs, he heard voices of greeting. He recognized the feel of his sister’s presence in the home. He kissed Grandmother Ametis on the cheek and went to see Luciana, wiping at his eyes as he descended the steps.

  When he saw his sister, they exchanged a knowing smile, both missing one another but mindful of the somber reasons she had returned home.

  “How is she?” Luciana asked.

  “She’s peaceful,” he answered, walking across the room to her. “It’s good to see you, sister.”

  When he entered the light of the den, Luciana said, “Georgie, you do not look well.” She hugged him and felt the fatigue in his clutch.

  “Just a little cold,” came his reply. “I’m fine.”

  “Does a cold cause you to lose weight? You look spindly.”

  “I have lost my appetite, but come, let me take you to her.”

  He ushered her up the stairs but gave her time alone with Grandmother Ametis. Pier Giorgio wanted to stay awake and visit with Luciana after her long trip home, but not an hour later he climbed into bed and fell asleep, searching for a river that could flow across dreams.

  30

  Three Falls

  In the morning, Mariscia came into Pier Giorgio’s room to retrieve the laundry, never thinking to knock on the door. She jumped when movement came from underneath the covers.

  “Oh, Georgie, I’m sorry! I assumed you were up and at Mass.”

  He glanced at the clock on his bedside. “Normally, you’d be right,” he agreed. “Laziness is the biggest fault of young men, isn’t it? I’m sorry to have startled you. But I must hurry to make the later Mass; today is the feast of Sts. Peter and Paul. I cannot miss such a special day.”

  She left him so he could wash and change. After Mass, he and Luciana left to visit a cousin who was on the verge of entering a convent. It was good to relieve themselves of the sorrow and grief consuming the house and enjoy the summer sun.

  “Nice of you to wait up and visit with me last night,” Luciana said mockingly as they entered the train station. They had planned to walk but Pier Giorgio requested that they take the train due to his poor health.

  “I’m sorry, but I told you I do not feel well. I thought if I went to bed early that would help.”

  “Did it?”

  “Yes, thank you, I’m feeling much better.”

  “You don’t look better. Are you sure you shouldn’t go see a doctor?”

  “No, Mama already has enough worry with grandma.”

  After visiting their cousin, they returned home. In the kitchen, Esher, their cook, commented too on the paleness of his color.

  “No, I’m fine, but I’ll take some aspirin for this headache.”

  He left the house to avoid anyone else commenting on his declining appearance, saying the Rosary on his way to meet a friend. He went out on a boat on the Po River with Ernesto Atzori, attempting to free his mind from the stresses back home. As they drifted with the current, Pier Giorgio turned to his friend and asked how he looked.

  “Not well, actually. Pale and thin.”

  “Oh, well, I feel fine.”

  He had hoped Ernesto would give a different answer to assuage the worry concerning his health. Back home, he ate dinner with his father, who was the first person to not comment on Pier Giorgio’s appearance in the last day or so. Retiring to his room, he attempted to study for the last two of his exams at the Polytechnic, but was too drained from the activity of the day. He surrendered once again to the fatigue and climbed into bed.

  In the depths of the night, he awoke with a fear that his grandmother had passed. He rose in his pajamas and threw a blanket over his shoulders, combating a shiver that ran across his body despite the warmth of the summer night. In the hallway, he stumbled beneath the weight of his own body, but rose and carried onward as quietly as he could. Twice more he fell, three times in all, before reaching his grandmother’s side. He grabbed her wr
ist to feel for her pulse. It was there. In the darkness he prayed for the journey that awaited her.

  He slept in again until hearing voices down the hall. His father was confronting his mother with the truth—Grandmother Ametis would not make it through another night.

  “I’ll fetch a priest,” Pier Giorgio offered.

  He changed as quickly as he could, though his aching body slowed him. Down the street he moved to the nearby church. No priests were present and so he left an urgent message with a nun praying in the back pew. After returning home, he tried to eat but couldn’t stomach anything. He returned to bed for a nap.

  When he awoke, he returned to the guest room where his family sat around the bed.

  “Have we heard from any of the priests?”

  “One was just here,” Luciana answered. “Grandmother has received Extreme Unction.”

  “What?” he asked. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “You still seem ill,” Luciana said defensively. “We wanted to let you rest.”

  “No!” Pier Giorgio broke down on the ground, pounding the floor with his fists. He sobbed so loudly the servants came up the stairs to see about the commotion. “How could you exclude me from such a moment? I should’ve been there!”

  “Calm down, Georgie!” his father commanded. “Get yourself together, she has not died yet. Don’t make this worse for your mother. Luciana, get him out of here.”

  His sister helped him rise from the ground, tears welling in her own eyes at the sight of her ever-joyful brother so distraught. She helped him back into bed, but before she could leave the room he leapt into the bathroom to vomit. She took a step toward him, but hesitated.

  “Georgie, I’ll get Mariscia to come check on you.”

  “No,” he said through the door. “I’m fine.”

  She left the room to the sound of his whimpers echoing against the bathroom walls. Before the clock struck midnight, Grandmother Ametis had taken her last breath.