The Miracles of Santo Fico (35 page)

For Franco, it was just another competition, but instead of a foot race, or swimming, or wrestling, the prize was a person. Leo knew he didn’t stand a chance against the handsome, funny, charming Franco. But that night in Grosseto, the night before their wedding, Leo glimpsed the monster Franco would become. And he also saw Marta’s future.

He and Topo had begged Franco not to go to Grosseto. But it was his party and so they sat at that table at Il Cavallo Morto, watching Franco drink and tease the inconsolable Sofia de Salvio. Everyone knew Franco preferred Sofia to Marta because she got drunk with him, and smoked, and laughed at his dirty jokes. But not that night, the night before his wedding. That night she sat on his lap and cried miserably and begged him to stay with her. Franco thought Leo was asleep with his head on the table when he whispered to Sofia that he would never leave her, but tomorrow he was going to “marry the finest hotel, restaurant, and bar on the Toscana coast.” And then they both laughed at the big joke Franco was playing on Marta. That was when Leo leapt across the table and tried to kill Franco.

It was as if, for the first time, he saw all the conceit and meanness that had always been in Franco, but hidden, or maybe just ignored. And in that instant, when he finally did recognize Franco, he also saw all the grief that would be Marta’s future. My God, anyone would have felt sorry for her. But later that night, when he stood in her dark bedroom and finally spoke his heart, it had nothing to do with his rage at Franco or feeling sorry for Marta or even being drunk. He was sober. He just had to either confess what he felt or explode. Did he feel sorry for her? What could he say?

“Marta, this was years ago. What is it you want?”

“I want someone to finally be honest with me. I’ve spent so long with people lying to me, trying to protect me, and keeping secrets from me. My life hasn’t . . . It wasn’t good. I think maybe, it’s time to let go of some of it. I just want someone to be honest with me. Did you say those things because you felt sorry for me?”

“No.”

Marta was quiet for a long time. Leo wished he had lied. He wished he had said, “Yes, I said those things because Franco didn’t love you. In the beginning he just wanted to beat me. In the end he just wanted the hotel. Yes, I felt sorry for you!” Leo wished he’d said that, but he hadn’t. Instead he’d said, “No.” And that meant that everything he swore to her in the dark had been true. Marta knew at last, and for sure, that Leo had loved her.

“Why did you wait until it was too late to tell me those things?”

“Because you loved Franco.”

Neither spoke for a long time. They stood in the darkness, so close they could feel the other breathing, and they waited for Carmen to arrive. The storm wind off the ocean was warm and strong. It blew the cedar trees and tossed leaves around them. The smell of rain was thick on the air. When Marta spoke again, her voice sounded distant to Leo, as if she’d gone somewhere far away.

“I remember coming here to swim. Do you?”

“Yes.”

“I remember one day we were supposed to go swimming down here, except something had happened. I didn’t know what it was, but I felt it—it was between you and Franco. It was something bad. You said you couldn’t go swim. You had to go home. You had to work in the olive grove . . . and you were so angry. Do you remember?”

Leo remembered. He remembered the terrible, ugly stories Franco had told him that day about what he and Marta had done. He remembered his tears as Franco described Marta in his arms, kissing her and touching her. He remembered the shove, then the fists, the fight, and the names. He realized years later that Franco had lied about the whole thing, but the damage was done. In Leo’s mind Marta belonged to Franco. Franco had won, and he had lost.

“I remember.”

“Everything was different after that day.”

“I know.”

“I wish we had gone swimming.”

“You were with Franco.”

“You were an idiot.”

Marta could feel Leo’s breathing suddenly stop. His body tensed and he pressed back against the wall. She looked out into the darkness to where Leo was watching and saw a figure hurrying across the dunes toward the beach. It had to be Carmen. Leo whispered, “It must be ten o’clock.”

After having waited in the thicket for so long, Marta was startled at how quickly the scene unfolded. As Carmen ran down the trail across the dunes, Marta became aware of the familiar and unpleasant putt-putt of a motor scooter out on the road. She could see the dim light of Solly Puce’s Vespa stop and blink out as he parked at the top of the trail. Marta gave Leo’s back a serious punch.

“Solly Puce? What’s Solly Puce doing here!”

Leo gripped her shoulders tightly. “The only reason you’re here is because you promised to be quiet. Now shut up!”

Carmen ran down the trail and looked out toward the beach as the wind blew a light rain around her. Black clouds were now rolling in so quickly that the moonlight was having difficulty dodging them. It was as if this storm, which had been so patient and concealed beyond the horizon, was suddenly eager to crash upon the shore.

Carmen moved back from the beach to find shelter in the grove of cedars just as Solly Puce came bounding down the trail from the dunes. Carmen saw him at once, and although from where they were hiding Leo and Marta couldn’t hear what was being said, it was clear that Carmen wasn’t pleased to see Solly. It was also evident that Solly had taken Topo’s advice to heart and he was there to prove to Carmen that he was a man to be reckoned with. The conversation didn’t last long. Carmen ordered Solly away and Solly said something to Carmen that got his face slapped. The rain began to fall in earnest and the wind howled through the trees and their voices were only faint shouts as the words all blew away. Solly grabbed at Carmen. From the bushes it appeared to Marta that he tore her blouse. Carmen struck at him again, but he blocked her blow this time and they heard her cry out as he slapped her.

Marta wanted to run across the grove and join the fray— she and Carmen would show Solly Puce how it was done— but when she pushed forward Leo’s arm shot across her body as a barricade. She wanted to shout at Leo to do something, to stop this, but he wasn’t even watching. His eyes were focused up the beach to the north.

“Give me the pistol,” was all he said.

Her hands were trembling terribly as she unwrapped the shawl and placed the old revolver in Leo’s hand. She was terrified that he was going to shoot Solly Puce, and she was terrified he wasn’t. She prayed the old bullets would fire. At that moment, Carmen tried to run back toward the beach, but Solly caught her from behind. She kicked at him and they both fell to the sand.

Marta could hear Leo whispering something urgently to himself, but his eyes were still focused on the northern beach. Marta had had enough. She pushed Leo out of the way and started down toward the beach; this time he grabbed her, pulled her back, and clamped his hand over her mouth. Leo was prepared for whatever might happen. If Paolo Lombolo failed to appear Leo would have to either beat Solly Puce senseless or shoot the little bastard and bury his body in the dunes. At this point, he didn’t care which. But Marta was right, the assault couldn’t continue.

On the beach, Carmen’s shouts were swallowed by the wind and the roar of the waves as Solly pushed her back on the sand. Leo had just decided he had waited as long as possible, when suddenly, and for no apparent reason, Solly stopped his attack. Then he stood up. Then he began backing away. From where she lay in the sand Carmen shouted something.

Marta’s eyes grew wide as a great pale horse stormed over the edge of the beach and reared up. Leo thought it was wonderful that the lightning chose that moment to streak across the sky over their heads. Its thunder cracked the sky open and rain fell in torrents as the horseman moved steadily in on the retreating Solly until they reached the grove of cedars. Then the dark rider slipped his leg over the horse’s neck, and without taking his eyes off the frightened postman, he slid from the mare’s bare back to the ground. Leo was impressed with Paolo’s coolness as he calmly took the time to tie the reins to a branch.

To his credit, Solly Puce stood his ground and even shouted a number of indistinguishable curses at the intruder. He was in the middle of performing one of his intimidating gyrations, when a fist shot out of the darkness and rechoreographed the routine. Instead of rolling his shoulder, Solly’s head snapped back. Before he had a chance to recover or respond the fist was in his face again and bouncing painfully off his newly crushed nose. No one ever said Solly Puce was totally stupid and before the fist could flash out of the darkness a third time, Solly was on the trail across the dunes and headed at top speed for his trusty Vespa.

Leo finally relaxed his grip on Marta’s mouth and she was able to whisper, “Who is that?”

“Paolo Lombolo.”

“Ohh . . . My goodness, he’s all grown up.”

Paolo went back to where Carmen lay sobbing in the wet sand. He picked her up and carried her back to the cedar grove.

It was hard to see them through the black rain, but Leo was sure they were near. Marta heard the pistol cock. My God, she thought, he’s going to shoot them! Leo pulled Marta away from the wall, aimed the gun at the ground and fired twice.

Solly was halfway across the dunes when he heard the two gunshots. Positive that they came from the unknown horseman and were meant for the back of his head, he ran in a blind panic back to his Vespa and tore off down the road.

Back at the beach, when Carmen heard the gunshots she gripped Paolo by the shirt and shouted, “My God, he’s got a gun!” She pulled Paolo across the grove and together they dove into the bushes at the base of the stone wall.

Leo and Marta barely saw them coming. They squeezed together against the wall as Carmen and Paolo took shelter in their bushes, less than a meter away.

Then the heart of the summer storm broke over their heads and Paolo put his arms around Carmen to shield her from the wind and rain and to comfort her fear. But in truth, the storm didn’t frighten either of them—they had both been struck by lightning the day before. And fortunately, they never turned their faces away from each other, so they didn’t see the two stonelike figures pressed against the wall behind them, their bodies squashed together, facing each other, afraid to move or even breathe. Leo looked over Marta’s head or at the sky—anywhere but into her face. He had complete confidence that when they could move again, she was going to slap him hard or maybe punch him again. But when lightning flashed a brief white flare, he saw her dark eyes quietly watching him. When it was gone and they were surrounded by darkness again, he felt the side of her head touch his chest. He could smell her hair and he could feel her breathing.

The summer storm passed swifter than it arrived. The moon returned as the black clouds raced on toward the mountains in the southeast.

Paolo helped Carmen up, untied the mare, and swung easily up onto her back. Then in one smooth motion he lifted Carmen up in front of him. They rode up the trail across the dunes and at the road they turned south. From there they would let the horse slowly walk all the way to the front door of the hotel.

Leo and Marta decided it would be best if they took the route along the beach rather than risk being seen by Paolo and Carmen. So they followed the glistening sand and white surf until they reached the cliffs. There they took a familiar trail that led up through the boulders to the plateau that was the beginning of the Pizzola farm.

The moon was still bright as they crossed the fields and the roar of the breakers faded to a murmur behind them and Marta saw something at the top of the meadow that she hadn’t seen in many years. A light was shining in a window of the Pizzola house. Leo was staying in the house. That was good. He should.

When they reached the dirt road that went up to the opening in the stone fence, Leo asked Marta if he should walk with her back to the hotel, but she told him that it wasn’t necessary and they said good night. Before she left, Marta turned to him and said, “Thank you for what you did for Carmen.” And then she took his face in her hands and she kissed him and it was more than a simple thank-you.

As he stood in the road watching Marta’s form growing fainter in the moonlight, her voice called to him from the distance.

“It was never Franco.” Then she was gone.

That night Leo sat on the porch of his father’s house for a long time before going inside. She had said, “It was never Franco”—and he thought of those words, and about their years of growing up together. It was as if hundreds of tiny fragments of his life that had always been floating just in front of his eyes finally all converged and came together. He remembered all the mysterious looks that she had offered, but he thought he’d imagined . . . He remembered years of smiles that were meant for him, but he hadn’t understood . . . He remembered how she touched his hand or called his name or watched him play when she thought he didn’t know . . . And he remembered his jealousy when she returned from Milano because of the boy that she didn’t want to lose. It had been him. He was the boy. She
had
said he was an idiot.

At last he went upstairs and for the first time in many years he slept in his own bed in his own room. But that night Leo didn’t dream about frescoes or Chicago or baseball or nameless women. That night he dreamt of when he was a boy, and he helped his father harvest the grapes.

TWENTY-TWO

T
he next morning Father Elio awoke much later than usual and he discovered that he couldn’t get out of bed. His legs didn’t seem to want to work. During the night, a loud summer squall had wakened him and the flashes of lightning and rumbling thunder had left him unable to go back to sleep. He got up to see what damage the storm might have done to the church, what with that gaping hole in the roof.

What he found, to his delight, was that the storm had washed away much of the dust and dirt that his broom had been unable to capture. He wasn’t sure what it would look like in the morning sunlight, but at that moment it was so clean it almost sparkled.