The Incident at Montebello (43 page)

After the priest and mourners filed down the mountain path, Isolina lingered by the coffin with Cecilia and her aunts. The day was warm and sunny, almost like spring, which made Rodi's death all the more monstrous. Despite the rise in temperature, the ground was too unyielding for Faustino to dig a grave, so he covered Rodi's coffin with a tarpaulin and anchored it with bricks.

Isolina shuddered. “How can I leave him like that? What if the wolves come down from the mountains?”

Cecilia squinted at the sky. “They can't touch him now,” she said. “He's not here anymore. He's left his body.”

Lucia slid her arm around Isolina's shoulders, but Marie Elena was twitching with indignation. “I swear to you that I'll go to my grave before I forgive Donato for what he did to Rodi,” she cried.

“So will I,” Cecilia added.

Lucia sighed. “He said he did it to protect the family.”

Marie Elena frowned. “For years I've thought the worst of him and I haven't been disappointed.”

Isolina glanced at Lucia and her bandaged wrist, but she said nothing.

After whispering a few prayers by Sofia's grave, they paused by the Moorish fort to gaze at the radiant view of the sea and Vesuvio, which lurked in the distance, but on this day, the great volcano was quiet.

“There are only a few men left who are brave enough to speak the truth,” Marie Elena told Lucia. “Signor Sardolini is one of them. And look what happened to him.”

Lucia shot a worried glance at Marie Elena. “Why? What do you mean?”

“She doesn't know,” Cecilia told Marie Elena. “I was waiting for a good time to tell her, but there is no good time.”

“Just tell me,” Lucia cried. “Is he all right?”

Marie Elena sighed. “Prefetto Balbi caught him and threw him back in jail.”

Lucia stumbled and nearly fell, but Marie Elena and Cecilia seized her arms.

“I know you love him,” Marie Elena said. “And I know the priest and almost everyone in town condemn you for it, but how can I blame you after being married to my brother for fifteen years?”

“That's what I told her,” Cecilia added.

Lucia sighed and shook her head. “I hope and pray he's safe. He's a good man,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the azure sea, gleaming in the sunlight.

“That's more than I can say for Donato,” Marie Elena said, frowning.

Nonna Angelina's maid ushered Isolina and her aunts into the parlor where the family had gathered amidst the beaded lamps and overstuffed furniture. Even Donato was there, looking pale and ill at ease, as well as Padre Colletti, who was chatting with Amelia.

“How are you, dear?” Amelia cried, catching sight of her. “I would have come to the funeral, but the baby's still sick and I couldn't leave him.” Little Giancarlo, who had inherited Lelo's curls and Amelia's round face, was squirming in her arms.

Padre Colletti rested his hand on the baby's head and said, “He looks better today.”

“Much better,
padre
. As soon as you baptized him, he turned the corner.”

“Never underestimate the power of prayer or God's love,” the priest said.

“That's what I tell all my children. Isn't that right, Isolina?” Amelia said, turning to her.

“Yes, mamma.”

The priest patted Isolina's shoulder and said, “Don't forget. The Lord is your friend in a time of need. With His blessing, love will shine again in your heart.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Isolina murmured, but Nonna Angelina, who overheard Padre Colletti, was quick to add, “Listen to him. Prayer soothes the heart. It's a balm to all wounds. After Nonno Carlo died, I went to mass and said the rosary every day for a year.”

Isolina frowned. She had enough of their moralizing. How could she place any faith in the mass or Padre Colletti, that bag of wind, that hypocrite? Just then, Lelo grasped her elbow and led her to a chair. “Sit, dear. You need to rest,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks. “I'm sorry about Rodi. If it was in my power to do something, I would have.”

“That's easy for you to say after he's dead,” Isolina told him. Lelo's face reddened, but he said nothing and walked off.

Donato had his turn. “I'm sorry about your loss,” he murmured, kissing her.

“I'm sorry for you,” she replied.

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“How can you sleep at night—given what's on your conscience? I swear to you, uncle, I'm not going to rest until you pay the price for turning in Rodi.”

“I did nothing wrong,” he insisted.

She leaned towards him and whispered, “If I die before you,
zio
, I'll come back from the grave to make you suffer.”

At a loss for words, he blinked and stared. Apparently deciding she was half crazed with grief, he walked off shaking his head. It was a small consolation to her that in his haste, he left behind his cigarettes and lighter.

Lucia grasped Isolina's hands and whispered, “When it gets too much, I'll take you home. But be careful. We don't want to anger them.”

Isolina sighed. It wouldn't be easy. Fury blazed inside her. Instead of love for her family, there was a deep and angry hole in her heart.

After repeated trips to the kitchen, Marcella blanketed the dining room table with platters of lemon chicken, grilled vegetables, a rice timbale, a loaf of
pane rustica
bread with a thick mahogany crust, wedges of pungent
provolone
and
caciocavallo
cheese, and a bowl of black and green olives, gleaming like jewels. Padre Colletti, Lelo, and Donato studied the food. “What smells so good?” Lelo asked, patting his stomach.

“It's the chicken,” Nonna Angelina said. “I told Marcella to make it the way I like—with lemon and breadcrumbs. Try some. It's still warm from the frying pan.”

Donato winked at Marcella. “If Nonna Angelina likes your cooking, you know it has to be good.”

Marcella paused and murmured, “
Grazie, signore.”
As she gazed at him, a smug little smile played on her lips, which Isolina couldn't help but notice.

“Hurry up,
padre
,” Lelo complained. “Say the blessing. I'm starving.”

Padre Colletti raised his cupped hands towards the ceiling and cried, “Dear Lord in Heaven. Bless us, your humble servants, assembled here. We thank you for the food we are about to eat and ask you to bless the soul of your son, Rodi Butasi, who has joined you in heaven. And dear Lord, bring peace to this family and our town. Restore our faith once again in your goodness and kindness, Oh Lord. Amen.”

While the rest of the family grabbed plates, Marie Elena and Crispino drew closer to her. Marie Elena muttered, “Look at those vultures. They care more about filling their stomachs than Rodi.”

Crispino whispered, “Rodi hasn't died in vain. The anti-Fascists in America are calling him a hero. One of their newspapers printed the details of the accident, which Rodi telegraphed to them, including Sofia's name and the village.”

“He wanted to make me proud of him,” Isolina said, “but I just wish he was still alive.”

“I know,” Crispino said, his eyes reddening.

Moved by their compassion and sorrow, she kissed Crispino and Marie Elena and wished all her relatives were as kind-hearted. Her gaze lingered on the priest, her parents, and Donato, who were still chewing and licking their lips.

“Just a bite,” Amelia urged, holding out a plate to her as if she were a child again.

“I can't mamma,” she said, but when Amelia insisted, she chewed a morsel just to please her, but it clung to her mouth like sawdust. Setting down the plate, she brushed past her mother and the priest and rushed into the kitchen where Marcella was busy grinding coffee beans. As she turned the crank, her big breasts jounced. Saying nothing, Isolina staggered through the swinging doors to the scullery, where Nonna Angelina stockpiled her china and silver. Waves of sorrow surged through her, leaving her gripping the counter, her knees trembling. “Help me, Rodi,” she begged. How could she stay here in Montebello? Lucia was right. It wasn't home anymore. But how could she live across the ocean, a world away from Rodi? Who would tend his grave and pray over him?

Ducking her hands into the bucket by the sink, she splashed her face with water. As it dripped down her chin, she grabbed the towel on the counter and plunged her face into the folds of cloth. Hearing something, she paused. All at once she recognized the voice whispering in her ear even though it came from a great distance, from the other side of the great divide that separated the living from the dead. “
Leave, Isolina,
” he said, “
before they kill you too
.” She could almost feel his hands brushing her face and his soothing arms enveloping her in a tender embrace. How she loved him. How she missed him. A cry caught in her throat as she raised her head. But in that instant, he vanished. As she dropped the towel and stumbled back to the parlor, his words spiraled through her head.

Nietta was standing in the hallway, her hands balled into fists. “Don't go in there,” she warned. “When the
padre
left, they started fighting. Zia Marie Elena is saying terrible things about my papà.”

“I'll take my chances,” Isolina said, walking into the standoff in the parlor.

Donato was jabbing his finger at Marie Elena, who glared at him, her hands planted on her hips. “Enough,” he cried. “I did what I had to do.”

“Had to?” Marie Elena said. “You wanted to.”

He puffed on a cigar, sending blasts of smoke into the air. “What do you take me for?” he cried, stamping out of the room. Lelo trailed him and so did Crispino.

Nonna Angelina turned to Lucia, her eyes narrowed. “Why didn't you defend him? He's your husband.”

Lucia shrugged. “But you're his mother. You know him best.”

Caught off guard, Nonna Angelina recovered quickly. “Well, if you won't say it, I will. Donato has always done what's best for the family.”

Lucia's cheeks filled with color despite her warning not to anger anyone. “How?” she demanded. “By turning Rodi into the police? Or by promising to take us to Boston? But instead of buying us tickets, he sent the money to you.”

Struggling to defend herself, Nonna Angelina opened and shut her mouth.

“We all knew about it,” Marie Elena added.

“For years,” Amelia said.

“I've had enough of your impertinence. All of you,” Nonna Angelina managed to say.

For once, Lucia had the final word. “No,
nonna
. I'm the one who's had enough. I'm going home.”

Nonna Angelina, who hadn't lost an argument since Nonno Carlo was alive, dropped into a chair, massaged her forehead and declared, “Lucia has given me a headache.”

“Can I get you an aspirin, mamma?” Amelia said, but Nonna Angelina was in no mood to be appeased.

“Just let me suffer. Isn't that what you all want?” she cried.

“We live for it,” Marie Elena said, but her sarcasm was lost on Nonna Angelina, who rallied for one last shot.

Pointing at Lucia, she declared, “The Lord will punish you for your sins. Mark my words. He's already started on your lover. You're next.”

“You've gone too far, mamma,” Marie Elena said as Lucia jumped to her feet, flushed and shaking.

“Come Nietta,” Lucia said, seizing her hand, just as the front door slammed and Charlie staggered into the room, his jacket ripped at the shoulder and his nose swollen and bloody. Within seconds the family converged on him, including her father and uncles who ran in from the kitchen. Lucia pinched Charlie's chin between her fingers and evaluated his cuts and bruises. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“All that blood,” Amelia cried. “I'm going to faint.”

Donato demanded, “What trouble did you get into now?”

Charlie's chin wobbled. “A reporter from a big
americano
newspaper is in town and he's asking questions about the accident. Prefetto Balbi said if I talked to him, he'd put me in jail. But I didn't do anything. I swear.”

“Can't they leave us alone?” Amelia cried.

“When did he get here?” Lelo demanded.

Charlie shrugged. “A few minutes ago, I guess.”

Isolina caught Lucia's eye. This was the last straw.

Amelia was whimpering, “What are we going to do? I've got my babies to think about.”

“What do you think we're going to do?” Nonna Angelina said. “We're going to do what Prefetto Balbi tells us.”

Lelo was insulted. “Treating us like criminals. He acts like Sofia dying is our fault.”

With one quick swipe of his hand, Donato cut through the cacophony of wails and talk. “We need to get out of the line of fire. We'll give Prefetto Balbi no reason to find fault with us.”

“How?” Lelo asked.

Donato told him, “You're going to take the women and children to the farm.”