Those Who Remain − October, 1956
Part I
Sonny’s mother had been nagging him to go to confession for two weeks. Going to confession was not high on most boys’ lists of favorite activities, but Sonny had an especial distaste for confession. For one thing, he had much to confess. More important, he didn’t really give a damn. He didn’t believe that his transgressions were likely to send him to Hell. In fact, he didn’t know any other boys his age whose sins amounted to much.
But Sonny’s mother had a special grip on him. There was something about their relationship that meant that he would never truly go against her. He felt closer to her than he would ever admit. They argued and fought, but secretly, he felt as if they’d been cut from the same cloth. Sonny knew that he had better go to confession soon.
In the confession booth, he drummed his fingers against the bench as he waited for the Father to slide open the window separating them. The window slid open. Sonny cleared his throat. The priest waited patiently. Then Sonny began.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been four weeks since my last confession,” he said, by rote. “I have been feeling lust.” He rolled his eyes. Lust was nothing new in Sonny’s life.
“Go on,” the priest encouraged from the other side of the confessional. He stifled a yawn. He would have agreed that lust was nothing new for Sonny.
“Father, I have been feeling lust for my new math teacher. She is very pretty and I.. oh, right. I guess I, uh, shouldn’t feel that way?” Sonny would up asking a question. He couldn’t see what was wrong with having a crush on a pretty girl, even if she were much older and she was his teacher. It seemed perfectly natural.
“My son, you know what the scripture teaches us about lust,” intoned the priest. Some boys seemed to have been born with lust in their hearts. The Father was a pragmatic man. With boys like Sonny, he focused on damage control. “Sonny, is your teacher married? Or is she engaged? Does she have a boyfriend?” the Father asked.
Sonny flushed a deep red. He stuttered, “Uh…well, yes, she is... um… she is married.” Sonny hadn’t thought about it much, but she was a “Missus”, after all. Admitting it to the priest made him realize that he might have been crossing a line.
The priest sighed. “Egedio, my son, then you have not only committed the sin of lust, but you also covet another man’s wife. What has led you to this place?” the priest asked patiently.
Sonny’s manner changed from chagrin to wonderment. “Father, I always thought I hated math. But my new teacher has helped me to see math in a new way. I think I might actually be pretty good at it!” Sonny crowed.
“Egedio…” prompted the priest.
“Oh, right, Father. I guess because of all the extra time I’ve been spending in class, I started to develop some, uh, feelings for my teacher,” Sonny explained, feeling a little bit sick. He didn’t want to give up these wonderful feelings. He meant no harm.
The Father replied, “Egedio, I think that you could atone for your sins by offering to help your teacher’s husband with some chores this weekend.”
Sonny flushed again. Father Paolo was never one to toss a few Hail Mary’s or Our Father’s his way. He always doled out of acts of atonement that made Sonny squirm. He screwed up his face, and said, “Yes, Father. I will let her know tomorrow.”
“My son, do you have any other sins to confess?” asked the Father, looking at his watch.
Sonny responded right away, “Yes, Father. I have to confess the sin of envy.” Once again, he didn’t see anything wrong with his feelings, but if he confessed all of his “sins”, then he could honestly tell his mother he’d been to confession. Perhaps that would keep her off his back for a few more weeks.
“And who do you envy, Egedio?” the Father asked, with interest.
“Father, I envy my friend Tony. He’s been writing me letters from the seminary. I thought it would be boring there. But Tony makes it sound pretty fun!” Sonny replied, feeling envy at that very moment. Sonny’s friend Tony had left for the seminary’s prep school one month ago, leaving Sonny with no best friend to hang around with. Tony probably would have teased Sonny mercilessly about his crush on the math teacher, partly because he knew it was wrong, but mostly because he and Sonny teased each other constantly.
Father Paolo cleared his throat a couple of times. “Oh?” he prompted. This was an interesting turn of events. The Father had counseled Tony to go to the seminary. He was quite fond of Tony. He had also received letters from Tony. He would never have thought that a boy like Sonny could envy a boy who wanted to become a priest.
“Well, now that it looks like I might be pretty good at math, I’m starting to wonder what else I might be good at,” Sonny explained. “Tony has some classes that my school doesn’t offer. They sound like fun.” Sonny was the class clown. He had always left the role the class Brain to Tony.
Father Paolo smiled. This was a positive development. He couldn’t openly condone a feeling that a parishioner described as envy, but he saw no reason to discourage this type of envy. He would try to help Sonny channel his feelings instead. “My son, you know that to envy is a sin. Be happy for Tony, but do not envy him. I would like to see you focus on identifying the other areas in which you might have academic talent instead. Let your atonement be to include a quote from Shakespeare in your next letter to Tony.”
“Shakespeare?” Sonny echoed with surprise. He was studying “Hamlet” in English class. He knew that he’d better include the quote in a plausible way, or Tony would know that someone had put him up to it. He sighed. Tony would probably know anyhow. Sonny conceded, “Alright, Father, I will try. I have no more sins to confess. May I go now?”
“Bless you, my son, you may go,” the Father replied, and slid the door between them closed.
Part II
Dominick, another of Tony’s pals, had dropped out of the eighth grade to begin working at the mill. He saw no point in continuing with school when he could help his parents to support his seven brothers and sisters instead. His parents had protested, especially his mother; but they knew that their son preferred to work in the mill. It was only a question of when. His help would ease the tremendous burden they carried. Although his mother was crushed that he wouldn’t be a priest, she had other sons. Both of his parents were grateful to him, and he felt deep pride in being able to help.
In the mornings he would rise when his father did. They would eat silently at the kitchen table, sipping their coffee as the sun rose. Then they would drive the short distance from their little house to the mill. They were usually too sleepy to talk in the mornings, but on their way home, they would share gossip and jokes they had heard during the day. Dominick was beginning to feel quite grown up. Now, it was hard for him to imagine going back to school. He had also begun to feel closer to his father.
He missed walking to school with his sister, however. They had always been close. Although he saw her in the evenings, he was too tired to say much. On the weekends, she spent most of her time helping her mother and spending time with her friends. He could tell that she missed him, though, by the way her eyes lit up when he’d come home. But talking was awkward now. Something about walking together had made it easier for them to talk.
He also missed his pals from school. He had played basketball with them after school on a regular basis, but after working at the mill, he was usually too tired to play ball. Sometimes, he’d go down to the courts just to watch and joke around with them. He missed his pal Tony, who had recently gone away to the seminary. Tony had been different. Although Dominick had always admired Tony, he had never wanted to emulate him. But Tony’s absence was noticeable. He had always been a more serious counterpoint to his pal Sonny’s clownish antics.
One day at the mill, the foreman grabbed Dominick’s arm urgently. Above the noise of the blast furnaces, the foreman shouted something that Dominick could not understand. But he picked out the word “father”, and immediately grew concerned. He ran behind the foreman, holding onto his hat. He arrived at the mill’s exit just in time to witness medics loading the prone figure of his father into an ambulance. His heart thundered in his chest, and he shouted, “What happened?” in a panic.
The foreman answered, “We don’t know. He just collapsed. When we asked him if he was OK he didn’t answer. We shook him to try to get him to wake up, but he just lay there. Son, go ahead, take the afternoon off to be with him.” Dominick felt a deep sense of dread. He did not have a driver’s license, but like most boys his age, he knew how to drive, if not very well. He jumped into his father’s car, turned the key in the ignition, and followed the ambulance as it sped to the nearest hospital.
Inside the hospital, he waited while the attending physician examined his father. He wanted to call his mother, but he had nothing concrete to tell her. As he waited, he twisted the hem of his flannel shirt in his hands, and looked out the window, blinking back tears of confusion. The sun shone through the glass, bathing him in light. He couldn’t understand how, on such a beautiful day, something so terrible could happen. It took the physician a few tries before he could recall Dominick from his trance.
“Mr. Vincenti?” the physician said, placing a hand on Dominick’s shoulder. Dominick focused on the doctor’s face with difficulty.
“Yes, sir?” he responded, stomach churning. He had never been called “Mister” before.
“Mr. Vincenti, it appears that your father has suffered a stroke. We don’t yet know the extent of the damage. When he awakens, we will perform some tests.”
Dominick’s head began to pound. He had heard of strokes, but it always seemed like strokes happened to old people. His father was not old. How could his father have a stroke?
The physician continued, “It would be good if Mrs. Vincenti could be here. I would like to speak with her, and it would be best if she were by your father’s side when he wakes up.”
Dominick nodded. He located a pay phone, and put a call through to his mother. He told her what had happened, his voice cracking with worry. She told her son that she would have a neighbor drive her to the hospital. As he waited, he wondered what this new development would mean for the family. In his experience, people were never the same after strokes. They were sometimes debilitated.
When Dominick’s mother arrived, he embraced her, burying his face in her hair. She was a strong woman. She kissed his cheek, and said “Dominick, please take me to his room.” He led her to the room where his father lay. They peered through the glass together. A nurse arrived, ushering them into the darkened room. The stricken man was still asleep. The nurse cautioned them that he might not awaken for several hours.
Over the next few hours, the physician determined that Mr. Vincenti had lost some control over the left-hand side of his body. He would be able to walk, but he would need to depend on a walker until he was more certain of his abilities. Dominick and his mother were deeply grateful that nothing worse had happened. They were able to take him home the next evening, after the physician had had a chance to observe him, and the nurses had helped him to practice using the walker.
Dominick helped his father into the car, and his mother climbed in beside her husband on the bench seat. She took his hand, and quietly talked to him as Dominick drove them home. Mr. Vincenti seemed dazed. When they arrived home, Dominick helped his father out of the car, and guided his hands to the walker. Dominick’s father closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and breathed in the evening air. Leaves had begun to fall, and a neighbor had recently cut the grass.
Mr. Vincenti opened his eyes, and took in the sight of his son and wife. Soon, the other children joined their mother and brother. All of the children but the littlest, twin boys, were afraid to touch Mr. Vincenti for fear of hurting him. Heedless, the twins plowed into their father’s knees, wrapping their stubby arms around them. “Papa!” they chorused happily. Mr. Vincenti’s eyes shone with tears. He could no longer reach down and swing his boys over his head. Instead, he spoke their names, and reached a hand down to caress each boy’s face.
Dominick’s father would be unable to work at the mill for an unknown period of time. He might be permanently unable to work as a laborer. Dominick realized that if he hadn’t quit school to work in the mill already, he would be quitting now. Because he was so junior, his wages from the mill would not cover the family’s expenses. His mother, who had never worked, began to look for work as a domestic. His father, who had always worked, tried to find ways to be useful around the house. Tony’s sisters began to take on more of the burden of the housework.
Only the twins seemed untouched by the family’s change in fortune. They were happy to have their papa around more, although they couldn’t understand why their mother was gone so much, and would cry for her.
Dominick no longer felt the joy of being all grown up as he went to his job at the mill every morning. He missed his father’s jovial company. He felt the new weight of true responsibility. Before his father’s stroke, he could have gone back to school, even though he hadn’t wanted to. Now, that door seemed to be closed. He thought about the letters he’d received from Tony. His friend seemed to be in his element, surrounded by other bright boys in a very good school. Dominick felt an ironic sense of nostalgia for school. He felt that he had lost something. He had never considered college, but because he likely would never return to school, college wouldn’t be an option, either.
Dominick envied Tony for having gotten away. He had never wanted to “get away” – he had been proud to follow in his father’s footsteps. But working at the mill had lost its allure. Although he was only one year older than his next-oldest sibling, he suddenly felt like the father of seven, yet he was only fourteen.
Part III
Tony’s parents, Henry and Maria Marlow, sat at the dinner table quietly. Maria kept her eyes on her dinner plate. From time to time Henry would gaze at her, wondering what she was thinking. Before their son had left for the seminary, they had not been talking much. Maria had been preoccupied with Tony, especially with her dream of him becoming a priest.
Years ago, before Henry and Maria had met, Henry and his pals had played enough pool at their local tavern to know that there was no more money to be made there. Men their own age would no longer play them because they were too good. They dared not play the older men for fear of losing all their money. They needed new blood. They had heard of a tavern in the Italian neighborhood owned by a man named Toma. One night they decided to try their luck with the young men at Toma’s tavern.
They made a stir when they entered Toma’s tavern, but they found willing competitors. After several rounds, in which they were soundly beaten, they decided that their luck had run out. They spilled onto the street laughing and joking. They were not so serious about their pool as to be beaten in spirit. As Henry fished in his pocket for his car key, a dark-haired young woman threaded her way through their midst towards the tavern door. Henry, nearest to the door, abandoned his hunt immediately and reached for the door. He opened it for the young woman, and for a moment, their eyes met. She looked away shyly, but thanked him.
Henry was shaken. He had never seen such a beautiful and graceful young woman before. He barely heard his pals as they joked. They noticed his inattention and began to tease him. After that evening, Henry was always trying to convince his buddies to return to Old Man Toma’s tavern. Sometimes they would agree, but other times they would complain that they would only lose their money. When they did play pool at Toma’s tavern, Henry kept watch for the young woman. He learned that she was Old Man Toma’s daughter. He knew that he had better watch his step.
Finally, he could no longer convince his pals to play pool with the Italians. One evening he went to Toma’s tavern by himself. He formally requested permission from the old man himself to court the dark-eyed young woman. Old Man Toma looked mildly surprised, but told Henry he would take the matter under consideration. He instructed Henry to return one week hence. When Henry returned the next week, the old man granted Henry permission to court his daughter.
Henry’s buddies gave him flack for dating a Dago. He even began to doubt the wisdom of pursuing her, himself. His parents were uneasy with his choice. But over the weeks and months, as Henry and Maria’s courtship proceeded, Henry gained faith in the relationship, and people began to accept them as a couple. In August of 1927, they married. Henry burst with pride as he walked down the aisle with his beautiful Italian bride on his arm. Although most of his family was supportive, some faces in the church registered disapproval.
Because Maria wished to remain close to her family, she and Henry settled in the Italian neighborhood. She was shy with him for the first couple of months. Their first child, a daughter they named Liza, was not born until October of following year. Maria began to focus most of her attention on the new baby. Henry would reach over to her at night, caressing her thigh, but she would move away to her side of the bed, leaving him to wonder what had come between them.
As successive children were born, the distance between them grew. Their life together consisted mostly of their children and their families. Although people they loved surrounded them, Henry grew lonely. A year and a half after their second daughter, Kitty, was born, they lost twins, a girl and a boy. Losing young children in those days was not uncommon. Nevertheless, they took it hard. Their next child, a boy, was not born for another three years. Tony was a “surprise”, not coming along until 1942. Maria’s spirits seemed low most of the time. Kitty was especially close to her baby brother from the moment he was born, mothering him in a way that his preoccupied mother could not.
After Tony went away, his parents were alone for the first time since the birth of Liza. Without Tony the silence between Henry and Maria seemed to be magnified. The silence reminded Henry of his loneliness. He had been trying to break through to Maria. Although she was close to her sisters, Henry hoped that she might turn to him, that they might speak of their dreams for Tony. Each night at the dinner table, Henry would ask Maria how her day had been, did but she would offer little in the way of a response.
“How was your day?” Henry asked his wife now. He wondered how she spent her time now that Tony was gone. Maria glanced up at him quickly, and then fixed her eyes back on her bowl of stew. She did not answer at first. Henry continued to look at her hopefully. Maria glanced at him again, and then answered.
“I miss Tony. The house seems so empty,” she lamented, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. She raised her head and looked at Henry for a few moments.
Henry responded encouragingly, “Why don’t you give Kitty a call? I’m sure she’d be happy to bring Jeffrey over.” Jeffrey was their only grandchild. She nodded her head and mumbled, “Mmm.” She began to rub her hands against her thighs nervously. Then she clasped them together in her lap.
“Henry, shall we visit Tony at the seminary this weekend?” She looked at him hopefully. His spirits rose a bit. He reached out for her hand, and gave it a squeeze. They had left Tony at the seminary one month ago.
“That would be nice. I’d like to see him too,” he said. She returned her eyes to her stew, picked up her spoon, and resumed eating. After a few moments she asked him how his day had been, something she did not do very often.
“I have been coughing a lot more. I think smoke and ash from the mill are getting into my lungs.” He rubbed his face. His whiskers made a rasping sound against his hand. She glanced up at him again, quickly, but did not respond.
When they had finished eating, Henry brought his dishes to the sink, and helped to clear the table. Normally, when she washed dishes, he would return to his chair in the living room to read the paper. Tonight, because she seemed more open than usual to conversation, he remained in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, folded his arms across his chest and turned his face to her.
“Did you hear about Mr. Vincenti?” Henry asked Maria. She nodded her head, her eyebrows knitting together. She clucked her tongue.
“That poor family,” she responded. “I don’t know what they are going to do with all those children.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Thank God they have Dominick,” she said, crossing herself.
“You know, why don’t we invite Dominick to come with us to the seminary. I bet he’d like that. I think Tony would like it too,” suggested Henry.
“Mmm, yes, I like that idea,” Maria responded. “What about Sonny?” she asked.
“Well, that would be quite the surprise for Tony. I think he would be really pleased. That’s a good idea, Maria,” Henry said encouragingly. He turned his head to look out the window. A breeze blew branches to and fro, casting light patterns this way and that. He liked the way the evening was going so far. He decided to take a chance.
“Would you like to walk into town this evening?” he asked, trying not to hope for too much. He watched her face. She closed her eyes, and then turned to him questioningly. It had been a long time since they had taken a stroll in the evening. Her eyes softened and she nodded her head without speaking. Henry began to feel a bit lightheaded. He gave her shoulder a little squeeze, and then retired to the living room.
After Maria finished the dishes, she entered the living room quietly and stood before Henry. She had her purse under her arm. Henry looked up at her and smiled. He folded his paper neatly, laid it on his reading table, and got up from the chair, stretching.
They strolled down the hill towards the main street. Because it was a fine evening, many other people were out. They noticed Mr. and Mrs. Vincenti approaching. Henry’s face grew hot. He felt self-conscious about his own well being in the face of his neighbor’s inability to support his family. When the two couples came abreast of one another, they stopped to exchange greetings. When the topic of a visit to the seminary arose, Henry broached the subject of including Dominick.
The Vincentis looked at one another, and then at Henry and Maria. Mr. Vincenti began to stutter, “Oh, wow, oh my, that would really be wonderful!”
Maria added, “We’d love to have him along.”
After the Marlows and the Vincentis parted ways, Henry turned to smile at Maria, giving her hand a quick squeeze. The couple continued on their way. They nodded to friends they passed, exchanging greetings, occasionally stopping to talk.
The next evening, on his way into town after dinner to pick up some ice cream, Henry bumped into Tony’s pal Sonny. When Sonny saw Henry, a smile broke out on his face like the morning sun painting the sky.
“Hullo, Mr. Marlow! How are you? Have you talked to Tony? I’ve gotten several letters from him!” Sonny practically stumbled over his words he was talking so fast. Henry smiled and placed his hand in Sonny’s for a firm handshake.
“Say, Sonny, we are going to visit Tony at the seminary this weekend. Would you like to come along? Your buddy Dominick is joining us.” Sonny’s eyes widened in wonderment.
“Are you serious?” Sonny asked incredulously.
Henry laughed good-naturedly. “You bet I’m serious. So?” Sonny looked like a boy who had just won the lottery. He nodded his head vigorously.
“Okay, then, we’ll pick you up at 10 o’clock on Saturday morning,” Henry said to the boy. For the rest of the evening, and all during the next day, Henry walked with a jaunty step and hummed as he worked. He looked forward to seeing his son, and he felt as if he had gained ground with Maria.
Part IV
In the car on the way back from the seminary, each passenger had been quiet, thinking about his or her experience of the visit. Sonny, who was never eager to go to confession, felt the strong desire to speak with Father Paolo. Dominick also felt the need to confide in the priest. They both appeared in front of the confessional simultaneously. The boys eyed one another a bit distrustfully. Sonny, who had arrived first, said to Dominick:
“When I go in, get lost. I don’t want you hearing my confession.” Dominick shrugged, and said “Fine.” He understood. He didn’t want Sonny to hear his confession, either. Sonny waited until he saw the Father enter the confessional. Then he gave Dominick a stern look, and entered the confessional. He thought about what he wanted to say to Father Paolo. The Father slid the door between the two compartments open. Sonny began.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession.” Father Paolo was somewhat surprised to see Sonny so soon.
“Yes, my son, please continue,” he said with interest.
“I have still been feeling envy, and yet I do not feel envy. Do you know what I mean?” Sonny queried.
“I am not certain,” Father Paolo replied. “Please continue.”
“I went to visit Tony at the seminary. I saw his room, and his books, and I met his friends. He seemed really happy. He showed us around the campus. He was excited about his classes. But his friends, man, were they ever square. Tony’s cool, but I don’t know what he sees in those guys.” Sonny shook his head.
“Please tell me more about how you envy Tony and yet do not envy him,” prodded the priest.
“Well, Father, I respect Tony more than ever. But I could never be like him. I feel at home here. I like who I am. I would have to be a different person to be like Tony. I sure don’t want to be a priest, no offense Father.”
Father Paolo nodded in understanding. The priest knew that Sonny was a non-believer. Sonny went through the motions because it was expected of him. The priest was too old and too tired to try to convert recalcitrant boys.
He advised, “I believe that you can excel at your studies here in this neighborhood, just like Tony did. Your challenge will be to discover how you can use your intelligence and still be yourself.” Father Paolo coughed, and then continued, “Egedio, you know that you can be a bit of a clown. You needn’t lose your sense of humor. However, to excel academically, you will need to become more serious.”
“Yes father,” Sonny said, chagrined. He knew it would be difficult to change his ways, but he also knew that the priest was right. Although he would rather have had a father, in the absence of having a father, the priest was all right.
When Sonny exited the confessional, he saw Dominick waiting. He looked at his friend hard, and said “You didn’t hear any of that, did you?” Dominick shook his head, giving Sonny as honest a look as he could. Sonny left the church feeling surer of himself. Tony would become his role model. He laughed at the thought; it was not something he ever would have expected.
Dominick entered the confessional. Like Sonny, he felt like the Father was someone in whom he could confide. “Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession,” Dominick began.
Father Paolo was pleased to see Dominick. The boy was a more regular attendant of confession. He was a good boy, a dutiful boy. “Go on my son, I am listening,” the priest said gently.
“Father, I am not sure whether resentment is a sin, but I have felt resentment and envy, which I know is a sin,” Dominick said sadly.
“Please tell me more, my boy,” the priest prompted.
“Father, I have felt resentment that I could not return to school because of my father’s injury. I have envied my friend Tony’s life of study. I never cared so much about school until I couldn’t go to school anymore,” Dominick explained. “After visiting Tony at the seminary, I am relieved. Although I still wish that I could study someday, I know that I could never allow my family to do without. They need me.”
Father Paolo clucked his tongue, and said, “Dominick, you must never resent your situation. To resent your situation is to resent God’s decision. You must accept God’s decision, but that does not mean that you cannot make the best of it. Do you see what I’m saying?” The father asked.
“Um, not really,” said Dominick in confusion.
“Dominick, you have the power to shape your life within the parameters that God sets. You are right to be faithful to your family. You should never put yourself before your family. On the other hand, your family’s fortunes could change. Should that happen, new opportunities will be available to you. You must trust that God is watching over your family. Do not lose faith in Him. You can pray for God’s help. Do you understand?” The priest asked once again.
“Um, I guess so.”
“Dominick, your father could still heal. Hope for the best. One day, he might return to work. You might yet have the chance to return to school.”
“But Father, my mother would need to work for us to have enough food. That is why I left school in the first place; I didn’t think that we had enough. How can I ask my mother to continue working when she has never had to work before?” Dominick asked sorrowfully.
“Dominick, do not be afraid to ask your mother. If she believed that by working, she could thank you for all that you have done for your family, she might be more than happy to continue working. My son, you must learn to hope for the best, and not assume the worst.”
“Okay, Father,” said Dominic tentatively. “I will try.”
“Dominick,” the priest said, “you can come to me any time you are feeling unsure. But you must remember that your strongest ally is God. Pray often. Always remember God’s love, and remember to give your thanks, even when you feel that you have been shortchanged.” Dominick left the confessional feeling somewhat confused, but at the same time reassured that he was not alone.
After Dominick had gone, the priest sighed with contentment. Days like this reminded him of all the reasons he had wanted to become a priest. He felt that God’s hand had been at work in the lives of these two boys. He felt that he, as a priest, could help these boys make the most of God’s gifts.
He also fervently believed that one day Tony, as a priest, would experience the joy of helping his community to understand how the hand of God was at work in their lives. He believed that Tony would one day be wise enough to counsel boys like Sonny and Dominick. Father Paolo felt grateful that he had been able to play a role in sending Tony to the seminary.
Part V
Henry came to Maria’s bedroom. Soon after Liza had married, Maria had claimed her daughter’s bedroom, moving her own things out of the bedroom she had shared with her husband. The light in Maria’s room was off, but the hallway light cast its glow onto her face. Henry leaned against the doorframe and said, “Maria, may I join you for a little while?”
Maria looked at him silently from her bed for a few moments, then looked away and nodded her head. Henry sat down on her bed. Maria moved over to make room for him. He lifted the covers and slipped his feet underneath. He turned to face her, leaning his head against his hand. Maria remained still. Then she sighed.
“What is it?” Henry prompted.
“Oh, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting Tony to leave so soon. I want him to go into the seminary; but I didn’t know about the prep school. I didn’t think he’d be gone until after high school.” She turned toward him. He rubbed her shoulder and leaned over to kiss her forehead. In the moonlight, Henry could see the trail of a tear on her cheek. With his thumb he traced the tear to the corner of her mouth. Then he gently pressed his thumb against her lips.
“I’ve had a very strange feeling about Tony leaving. I can’t help but think that it is I who drove him away. I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining it.” Maria rubbed her face, and then sighed. “I’ve never been much of a mother. I’m not sure that I ever wanted to be a mother.”
It hurt Henry to hear his wife say these things. “What makes you say that you haven’t been much of a mother?” Henry asked his wife. She drew her arms into herself.
“Well,” she hedged. “Kitty practically raised Tony. I have just been so tired. Henry, I just want my son to become a priest. Then I could be happy.”
Henry was concerned about what would happen to Maria if Tony changed his mind. It seemed as if Tony’s potential priesthood was the only thing Maria cared about.
“Maria, you talk so much about Tony. What about the other children?” Henry asked in frustration. “What about our grandson, Jeffrey?”
Maria shook her head and said nothing.
Henry laid his head upon the pillow, and covered his face with his hands. “I don’t understand you!” he cried.
Maria said softly, “I never asked you to.” She turned her back to him, but because the bed was so small, she remained close. He enfolded her in his arms, breathing in her scent. He closed his eyes, and concentrated on the warmth he could feel coming from her body. He had always loved the way she felt in his arms. It had been a long time since he had held her this way. He fell asleep before she could shoo him away.
Maria’s eyes remained open. It would be many hours before she slept.
