The Shoemaker's Wife(101)

“I want you to know, I went to see you on Adams Street. Last Christmas. Signora Buffa told me you went home to Italy.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Enza forced a smile, her heart filling with regret. She couldn’t help but think that any plans regarding Ciro were doomed. She was weary of the back-and-forth; her unrequited longing for him was exhausting. And now Ciro had joined the army. Not only would she be required to pine for him for an undetermined length of time, maybe years; she might lose him altogether. The thought was too painful for her to bear. She just needed to let him go.

“No, you didn’t.” He smiled weakly, his mind reeling at the amount of time he could have spent with her.

“When did you sign up?”

“A few months ago. Do you remember my friend Luigi? He tried to enlist, too, but he has bad hearing, so I’ll be going to fight alone.”

“Oh. They only take you if you’re perfect?”

“We know I’m not perfect.” Ciro took a deep breath. “May I write to you?”

Despite herself, Enza smiled, then reached for a pen inside her evening purse, but she hesitated before handing it to him. “Maybe you shouldn’t write to me, Ciro. I don’t want you to feel obligated to write to me.”

“But I want to write to you. Please, give me your address?”

“But what if I give you my address, and you never write? I would worry that something happened. Or, I would wonder if it was something I had said or done to offend you. Maybe I spilled your coffee, or maybe you don’t like girls who wear pink—”

“I like pink,” he said softly.

“You always like everything about me, until I’m gone. And then you forget me. We have this way with each other”—Enza’s eyes misted—“that’s . . .”

“Difficile.”

“Difficile,” she agreed. “You don’t owe me anything just because we come from the same place. It’s just a thread, Ciro. I could snap the bond with my teeth.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

“It’s as if you seek me out because you buried my sister.”

“Stella isn’t the only thread between us,” Ciro insisted.

“You remember her name.”

“I would never forget it.” He folded his hands in his lap and looked at her.

“I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you, only to be disappointed.”

“I’m here now.” Ciro reached out to take her hand.

“But tomorrow you’ll be gone.”

“We have a history.”

“No, we don’t. We have moments.”

“Moments are history. If you have enough of them, they become a story. I kissed you on the mountain when we were fifteen,” he said. “And I’ve never stopped thinking about you.”

“And Ciro, I remember every word you ever said to me. I could tell you what you were wearing that night on the Passo Presolana and in the chapel at Saint Vincent’s, and on the roof of the Zanetti Shoe Shop. How could you not know what I was feeling? I thought I made it plain that night on Mulberry Street.” Enza looked away, thinking the Automat was so crowded, it would take her a few minutes to navigate her way out onto the street should she cry. She didn’t want to cry in front of him.

“You did—I know that. And I wrote you that letter. I said I would come in a few weeks, and I came—I was there, Enza! But Signora Buffa lied to me.”

Enza pulled her hand from his and placed it on her lap. “No, Ciro! Listen. A man who wants a woman will do anything it takes to win her. If you thought I went back to Schilpario, why wouldn’t you write? Why wouldn’t you move heaven and earth to find me? No ocean, no obstacle, no excuse could have kept us apart had you wanted me.”

“That’s true.” His heart grew heavy as he realized she was right. He knew how single-minded he could be when he pursued a woman he desired; why had he avoided pursuing Enza?

“But there wasn’t an ocean. There wasn’t even a mile separating us. I’ve seen you with other women, Ciro. I’ve seen you when you’re happy. Then you run into me—”

“That’s fate—”

“Or just an accident!” Enza replied. “I remember the look on your face when you came into the shoe shop with Felicitá. You were blissful. You had champagne and a beautiful girl on your arm, and you were happy. You took one look at me, and you were instantly uncomfortable.”

“No, I was happy to see you there!”

“Well, it didn’t seem so, Ciro. It’s not wrong of you to choose women who make you happy. You should have that.”

“You’re encouraging me to go with other women?” Ciro felt himself losing patience. “That’s rare in a girl.”

Enza persisted. “I remind you, I imagine, of things you’d rather not think about.”

“You know what I’m thinking?”

“I can only trust what people do in this world, not what they say. You say all the right things, and then you disappear,” Enza said quietly. “When I was ready for you, I couldn’t find you.”

“What if I told you that I want you now?” Ciro leaned toward her.

She smiled. “I would think that you’re a courageous soldier going off to war, who wouldn’t mind leaving a nice girl behind to pray for him. I remind you of what you come from. Don’t mistake that for love. It’s a deep connection, but it isn’t what you think.” Enza released her hands from his grip, put them in her lap, and leaned back.