The Good Left Undone(38)
“A good-looking thief. Big deal. You can find cell after cell of them in the prison at Lucca.”
“I danced with him tonight.”
“Ugh! He’s in Viareggio?”
“Just tonight.”
“Did he behave himself?”
“He’s betrothed to a nice girl. A schoolteacher.”
“What does he do?”
“Diamond cutter apprentice.”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “Another one. Diamonds and pearls for the pope, while the wife gets pasta e fagioli and a thimble of homemade wine if she’s lucky.”
“Shh, Mama. Papa will hear you.”
“He’s heard it all for thirty years. And if God is kind, he’ll hear it for thirty more. The jewelry business is only good for the people that buy the jewelry. Never for the one that makes it. The artisan is always chiseled in the end. Commission! They can keep it.”
“Silvio is proud of his trade.”
“He’s done better than anyone thought he would, I will give him that.”
“I never believed the gossip.”
Mama sat down at the table across from her daughter. “Domenica, whatever he stirred up in you, leave it on the boardwalk. You’ve gone to school. You’re educated. You’re a nurse. I want you to marry a doctor, not a troublemaker.”
“Pretucci is already married.”
“Not him. A young doctor. From Milano. Or Firenze. Roma is fine too. Wherever there are doctors in great supply.”
“I may never find a nice fellow. I don’t want you to be disappointed if I don’t have luck. I’m happy the way I am.”
“You say that, but I don’t believe you. You work too hard. Sometimes seven days a week.”
“People get sick on weekends too.”
“Let them wait until Monday.”
“Maybe I love my work too much. It fills me up. But I wouldn’t mind a nice man to court. I’d like that.”
“You deserve the cream. Don’t settle for il bastardo or his type. Better to be a woman alone with a profession than marry beneath your standing.”
“Mama, who are you talking about?”
“Carnival snakes. You know, they hang around the stands at the festa looking for pretty girls. Don’t forget the story of Giovanna Bellanca. Lovely girl. Sang like a bird! A life of good behavior and high morals shattered like glass one night after one spin on the carousel. Carnevale ended and she took off with a juggler. Her parents were bereft! That beautiful family ruined by a circus actor. You make me worry. You have the eyes of a fish when it comes to Birtolini. Wide open, seeing nothing but him!”
“I hadn’t thought about him in years,” Domenica lied. She had thought about Silvio from time to time, wondering what had become of him. Now she knew, and sadly, he belonged to someone else. “Maybe Aldo will come home with a princess and your dream will come true after all.”
“Aldo? We’ll be lucky if he finds his way back to Viareggio with a guide and a map, much less a princess.”
“Don’t worry about me, Mama.”
“You’ll see how many hours a day can be eaten up by worry when you become a mother.”
“I’ve always felt lucky.”
“Luck runs out. So does a woman’s beauty. You’re old enough to see what’s true in the world. Pay attention.”
Domenica kissed her mother good night.
“You aren’t going to see the Birtolini boy again, are you?”
“He went back to Parma. It was luck that I saw him at all.”
“Bad luck. Well, since he’s marrying someone else, whatever he wishes for us, I wish him double.”
Domenica rolled her eyes. “Mama, you are so kind.”
“I finished your new dress. It’s hanging on the back of your door.”
“I have a good dress.”
“And I only have one daughter. And she is going to be dressed better than Principessa Borghese on the finale of Carnevale. You need to stand out in the crowd.”
“Whatever makes you happy, Mama.”
“I’m looking for your future happiness. Believe me. You won’t get a husband wearing the old linen.”
CHAPTER 14
The last night of Carnevale was a fashion show; ladies wore their best dresses on the promenade while the men turned out in ties and vests. The sideshows of singers, musical combos, jugglers, and gymnasts provided spectacle while the food tents provided the final bites of sustenance. The lines at the food tents doubled as the clock ticked toward midnight and the start of Lent. The prices dropped on souvenirs and leather goods as the night wore on. The vendors cleared the last items of their inventory before packing up to return to their cities to the north.
The weather was cool and clear. The full moon was a pearl button in the blue velvet sky. The round firepits on the beach blazed in the dark, as the revelers fed the flames with the last of the pine logs. The air was sweet with anisette, cocoa, and earthy tobacco. The boardwalk was so crowded that by the time Domenica ate a sausage-and-pepper sandwich and threaded through the throng down the pier to the gelato stand, she was hungry again. The lights blurred in streaks of pink as the carousel spun to the organ music.
Gilda Griffo, the village chanteuse, was now close to seventy years old. She had sung at most weddings and ribbon cuttings since the Great War. She typically gave an a capella concert on the last night of Carnevale. Since the stage at the end of the pier was occupied, Griffo was sent to sing aloft on the wine barrels, filled with sand, that anchored the boardwalk and kept seawater from spilling onto the street during high tide. The previous evening, the same barrel perch had featured a magician who enjoyed quite a turnout.