The Shoemaker's Wife(106)

Eduardo laughed. “It’s not a career, it’s a life.”

“Some life. Cloistered away. Vows of silence. I could never shut you up. How can you live that way?”

“I’ve changed,” Eduardo said. “But I see you haven’t. And I’m glad.”

“You just can’t see it. But I’m different now,” Ciro said. “I don’t know how I could be the same after what I’ve seen.” He sat down next to Eduardo. “Sometimes I get a good night’s sleep, and I wake up and think, Anything is possible. You’re not in the trenches. You don’t have a gun. Your time is your own again. But there’s a heaviness inside me. I don’t trust that the world is better now. And why else would we have gone to war? What reason could there possibly be to behave like a bunch of animals? I’ll never know the answer.”

“You’re an American now,” Eduardo said.

“True—I will be a full citizen soon. And at least I was on the side of the mighty. I wish you could come with me and live in America.”

“You’ll have to be in the world for me, Ciro.”

“I wonder if I still know how to do that.”

“I hope you will have a wife and a family, the way you always dreamed of. Give them the childhood you always wanted. Be the father we didn’t have. There has to be a special girl. You wrote to me about the May Queen at your church.”

“I only wrote about Felicitá to impress you. I wanted you to think that I’d found religion through a pious princess. I found a lot, but not God. She married a nice Sicilian.”

“I’m sorry. Is there anyone else?”

“No,” Ciro replied, but even as he spoke, an image of Enza Ravanelli appeared in his mind’s eye, and his body filled with a sad ache.

“I don’t believe it. No one loves women more than you do.”

“Is that an achievement?”

“You had a knack for it. There was never any question that marriage would be your calling. It’s not really that different from my own calling. We both reached out for what we needed. Whether it’s spiritual or emotional sustenance, we both went looking for our heart’s fulfillment.”

“Except you have to live in a cell.”

“I am leading a good life in that cell.”

“What about Mama? Have you learned anything else since you wrote to me?”

Eduardo reached into his pocket. “The sisters at San Nicola forwarded this letter to me.”

“What does it say?”

Eduardo unfolded the letter. “She’s had a hard time, Ciro.”

Ciro’s heart was pierced with pain at the thought of his mother suffering.

“All I ever wanted was for the three of us to be together again. Papa was taken from us, but you and me and Mama, that could have been.” Ciro wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I pray every day for Papa’s soul, Ciro. We can’t forget all the effort that went into securing our happiness and safety. Mama tried her best to protect us. No matter what happened, we have to be grateful to her for knowing what was best for us.”

“I wanted her,” Ciro cried. “And even now, she doesn’t want us to know where she is. Why?”

“She tries to answer that in the letter. She was ill when she left the mountain, and she thought she would return.”

“But she didn’t,” Ciro said. “We lost Papa, then we lost Mama. And tomorrow I’m going to lose you.”

“You will never lose me, Ciro. I risked my ordination to come to you tonight. I came to tell you to be strong. Don’t be afraid. You’re my brother, and you will always be the most important person in my life. As soon as I’m ordained, I will find Mama, and I’ll keep her safe until you can see her again. It’s all I can do.”

“Do you really want this life?”

“I want to be useful. To use my mind. To pray. To know God.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“To know God makes sense of life, I don’t know how else to say it. Come to my ordination tomorrow, Ciro. I want you to be there. Ten o’clock at St. Peter’s Basilica.”

Eduardo stood and opened his arms to Ciro. Ciro remembered scrubbing the statue of Saint Francis, and how careful he had been with the folds of the robe, where the artist had carefully drawn slim lines and painted them with gold leaf. Now, standing before him, was his humble brother, the finest man he would ever know in the same brown robes of the Franciscan order. Ciro embraced him, and felt the billowing sleeves of Eduardo’s robes enfold him like wings.

Eduardo lifted the hood of his robe and placed it on his head. He opened the door, then turned back to Ciro. “I’ll write to you as soon as I know where they’re sending me. If you ever need me, I will come to you, regardless of what the church says.”

“And I’ll come to you, regardless of what the church says.” Ciro smiled. “That would be my pleasure.”

“I knew that.” Eduardo slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him. Ciro sat down on the bed and unfolded the letter from his mother.

Dear Eduardo and Ciro,

I am so proud of my boys. You have become a shoemaker, and Eduardo, a priest. A mother wants her children to be happy, and please know that’s all I ever wanted for you.