“Let’s walk, Marco.” Emedio resumed walking, his head down and his hands clasped behind his back. The hem of his black cassock popped forward with every footstep. “It happened when you were a baby, but I don’t know more. She didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t want to press her.”
“I can’t believe this.” Marco raked his hand through his hair. He walked beside his brother, but had never felt so alone. “Does Papa know that you know?”
“No, and we’ve never spoken of it. I’ve gone from being his son to his moral compass. She told me years ago, saying they had both put it behind them.”
“Does Aldo know?”
“No, and don’t tell him. Mamma wants it that way. It’s in the past.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“For the same reason, and I knew you would have an emotional reaction.”
Marco boiled over. “It’s normal, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but it’s unpredictable. Anyway, you were younger then.”
“But Papa sets himself above us! He acts as if he’s perfect, without faults!”
“And now you know better, so you have to accept that.” Emedio looked over, his eyes frank. “You’re not naïve. You know that married men stray.”
“But not our father! Cheating on our mother!” Marco shook his fist. “I should tell him I know! I should throw it in his face!”
“Please don’t.” Emedio grimaced, as they walked under a tree. “You’ll only hurt Mamma. Let it lie.”
Marco sensed that Emedio was right. “But how could Mamma get over such a thing? Why did she forgive him?”
“Her faith.”
“Is faith the answer to everything?” Marco shot back, reflexively.
“Yes, exactly,” Emedio answered, amused. “What have I devoted my life to? Faith is the answer to everything. Faith in God, in love, in forgiveness.”
“Basta!” Marco threw up his hand. “Why don’t you feel angry on her behalf? Father Terrizzi, is there no limit for a father, who pretends to be a wonderful family man? Who pretends to be a good Fascist, who reveres law and order?”
“Our Father is in heaven. My mortal father runs a bar. He’s a human being who makes mistakes. And Fascism is no guarantee of moral rectitude. On the contrary.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Marco fumed. “I forgot you hate us now.”
“I don’t hate anybody.” Emedio turned onto Via di Porta Cavalleggeri, a main thoroughfare lined with offices and shops. “Mussolini may think war is strength, but I know different. Every Christian does.” He gestured at Saint Peter’s Basilica. “Look, isn’t that the most beautiful sight?”
Marco looked up at the lighted dome of Saint Peter’s, emanating a warm ivory glow against a darkening sky, under a moon as white and round as a Communion wafer. On any other night, he would have found the sight comforting, but not tonight. Tonight, nothing helped.
“Marco, I worship the Prince of Peace, so I’m no Fascist.”
“And I worship the Prince of War?”
“Let’s not discuss politics when I need a cigarette.” Emedio pursed his lips. “So what about Elisabetta?”
“What about her? She doesn’t know about Papa and her mother, and I’m not going to tell her, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant, you’re not going to keep seeing her, are you?”
“Yes.”
Emedio stopped. “You can’t, Marco. You can be friends with her, but no more.”
Marco stopped, too. “But I love her.”
Emedio frowned. “Can you imagine Elisabetta at our table for Sunday lunch? How do you think Mamma would feel, serving the daughter of her husband’s mistress? Think of Papa, too. Mamma says Elisabetta reminds him of her mother. It’s not tenable.”
“Papa deserves what he gets!” Marco’s gut wrenched. “I love her, and we’ve been friends forever.”
“But now that you know the truth, you can’t be together.”
“I can’t give her up.” Marco knew it was true, even though he understood Emedio’s objection. “And why did they let us be friends, anyway? Why allow it?”
“You were classmates, and it couldn’t be helped. They thought if they intervened, you’d only want each other more.” Emedio’s tone softened. “Look, you’re young. You can have any girl you want. You can’t tell me she matters that much to you.”
“She does.”
“How far has it gone?”
“You ask me that, brother?” Marco felt offended. “It hasn’t gone that far.”
“You? Wait for a woman?” Emedio lifted a dark eyebrow. “I don’t believe you.”
Marco’s mood worsened. “I have every right to be with Elisabetta.”
“It’s not about what you can do, but what you should do. Give her up.”
“I won’t. You know, Sandro wants her, too. You can root against