The Shoemaker's Wife(156)

“You are a good man, Eduardo. Whether you wear the black biretta of a priest, or the wool cap of a farmer, in my mind, you are a duke. What you believe doesn’t matter as much to me as who you are. I have always been, in great measure, in awe of you. You’re decent and strong, which makes for a good man, never mind a good priest. But don’t try and convince me that God knows I’m here. I just don’t think it’s true.”

Eduardo’s look of concern softened to a smile. He held up his hands as the priest does during a blessing, giving up winning his brother over to the ways of the rosary. “Tell me about your son.”

“He’s glorious. He’s his mother. Approaches life sensibly. Women will never be his downfall.”

“And the sports?”

“Brilliant. Like a dance. But he is so even-tempered, even in the heat of competition. They call him a good sportsman. He has dignity even on the basketball court.”

“And Enza? Tell me about my sister.”

“Enza wanted me to come to Italy so I could keep the image of the juniper trees and the waterfall and the asters in the front of my mind through the dark days to come. But when I close my eyes, brother, all I ever see is her face. There is no place or time without her. Where I am doesn’t matter when we’re apart. All I want is her.”

“You really love her.”

“I don’t know why she loves me, but she does.”

“What are you afraid of, Ciro?”

“Now?”

“Now, in a few months—”

“When death comes,” Ciro said practically.

“When the moment of your death comes.”

“Well, I imagine I won’t want to go. The doctors have told me this is a painful death. But Enza has learned how to boil the needles and fill the syringe, and I will have all the medicine I need to get through it. That, the doctors have promised me. But what do you say to God when you don’t want to die? What if I want to raise my son and love my wife and live to be an old man?”

“I’m sorry, Ciro. I would do it for you if I could.”

“I know you would.” Ciro wiped away a tear. He had never doubted that his brother would die for him.

“You’ll see the face of God before me.”

“I’m sorry about that. I know how hard you worked to get there first.”

Eduardo laughed. “There is no justice.”

“True.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Someday I hope you can show my son the mountain. I want him to know these roads, hike these trails, own these cliffs like we did. I want you to give him religious instruction—I want him to know God, even though his father doesn’t.”

“You know Him,” Eduardo assured Ciro. “You know Him because you are part of Him. You always have been. Even when you tried your best to be bad, you were good. You’re made of God’s light. I didn’t become a priest because I had this light; I became one because I saw it in you.”

“Then why am I not the pope?” Ciro asked Eduardo. They laughed and laughed, the sound of one brother’s laughter only making the other laugh harder, just as it had when they were boys, when they looked out for one another and believed no harm would ever come to them as long as they were together.

Through the convent wall, Caterina heard her sons’ laughter. She listened at the wall for a few moments, taking in the sound, reminded of all she had lost. But a child’s joy is doubled for the mother, and the sound of her sons’ laughter began to heal her heart, a feat she had never believed possible.

Ciro woke early and looked over at his brother, who was fast asleep. He dressed and went to the convent kitchen. Sitting on a stool at the worktable was Caterina, dressed and ready for the day. She poured Ciro a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Mama.” Ciro kissed her on the cheek.

“How did you sleep?”

“Like the old convent cat,” Ciro said. “It’s so peaceful here.”

“It’s good to be together. You’re a fine man, Ciro. I mean that. And I’m proud of what you have become.”

The words that Ciro had hoped to hear all of his life had now been said. The strong boy who became a strong man had done so because goodness lived within him. He might not have ever left the mountain if his mother hadn’t, and when he looked back over his life, the greatest joy he knew had come as a result of taking a risk. He couldn’t change the past, but he could own it.

“Mama, do you know I call my shop the Caterina Shoe Company?”

Caterina’s eyes filled with tears. “But I didn’t do anything,” she said sadly.

“It doesn’t matter, Mama. Everything was for you. Everything.”

Caterina poured Ciro a cup of coffee. She sat up straight. “Tell me about Enza.” Caterina placed the bread and butter next to Ciro.

“She’s beautiful and strong. Dark like the girls from Schilpario. Honest like them, too.”

“Does she love beautiful things?”

“She creates beauty everywhere, Mama. She sews wool with the same care as she does satin. She’s a good mother . . .” Ciro’s voice trailed off.

“I want you to give Enza something from me. When your papa died, I sold everything. And I thought then that I only needed one thing to remember my mother by. And I hoped that someday my sons would have a daughter, and it would go to her. But all I have heard about your wife leads me to believe that I’ve had a daughter all along.” Caterina reached into her pocket and gave Ciro a velvet box. He opened it, and saw the blue cameo his mother had worn when he was a boy.