to the convent, noting that the colors of his world had changed for the better. He threw open the front door, grabbed Sister Domenica’s parcel for Signor Longaretti, and made his way up the hill to deliver it.
Ciro passed folks who greeted him, but he did not hear them. All he could think about was Concetta and the possibility of a long ride to Clusone alone with her. He imagined the lunch he would pack, the way he would take her hand, and how he would tell her all the things he had stored in his heart. His nails would be smooth and round and pink, the nail bed as white as snow, because he would soak them with a little bleach. Concetta Martocci would only see Ciro at his best going forward.
He would kiss her.
Ciro dropped the package at Signor Longaretti’s door. When he returned to the convent, Eduardo was busy in their room, studying.
Eduardo looked at Ciro. “You run around the village looking like that?”
“Leave me alone. I cleaned San Nicola today.” Ciro flopped onto the bed.
“You must have done a good job. Every bit of dirt is on your clothes.”
“All right, all right, I’ll take a good soak.”
“Use lye,” Eduardo said.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Roast chicken,” Eduardo replied. “I’ll tell Sister Teresa how hard you worked, and she’ll make sure you get extra. I need the keys to the chapel. I finished the mass cards for Sister.”
Ciro reached down to hand his brother the ring of keys. “Agh,” he said, “I left them at church.”
“Well, go get them. Sister wants these in the pews before dinner.”
Ciro ran back to the church across the piazza. The evening had a chill to it, and Ciro shivered, thinking he should have grabbed his coat. When he got to the church, he found the front entrance door locked, so he went around to the side entrance to the sacristy. He pushed the door open.
He could not believe what he saw.
Concetta Martocci was in the arms of Don Gregorio. The priest kissed her ravenously. Her gray skirt was lifted, exposing the smooth calf of her tawny leg. Her delicate foot was extended as she stood on her toes. In his arms, Concetta looked like a dove caught in the black branches of winter. Ciro stopped breathing; he swallowed air and choked.
“Ciro!” Don Gregorio looked up and let go of Concetta, who glided away from him as if she was on ice.
“I . . . I left my keys in the vestibule. The entrance door was locked.” Ciro felt his face flush.
“Go and get your keys then,” Don Gregorio said calmly as he smoothed the placket of buttons on his cassock. Ciro pushed past them and into the church. Embarrassment quickly gave way to anger and then fury.
Ciro ran down the center aisle, not bothering to bow or genuflect. When he reached the vestibule, he grabbed his key ring and the rag from behind the statue, stuffing both in his pockets, wanting to break free of this place as quickly as he could. The church’s grand beauty and the attention Ciro had lavished on every detail that afternoon meant nothing to him now. It was plaster, paint, brass, and wood.
Ciro had unbolted the main door to go when he felt Don Gregorio behind him.
“You are never to speak of what you saw,” the priest whispered with contempt.
Ciro turned to face him. “Really, Father? You’re going to issue an order? With what authority?” Ciro took a deep breath. “You disgust me. If it weren’t for the sisters, I’d take an ax to your church.”
“Don’t threaten me. And don’t ever come back to San Nicola. You are discharged of your duties here.”
Ciro stepped forward, within inches of Don Gregorio’s face. “We’ll see about that.”
Don Gregorio grabbed Ciro by the collar. In turn, Ciro grabbed the soft black linen of Don Gregorio’s cassock with his dirty hands. “You call yourself a priest.”
Don Gregorio loosened his grip on Ciro’s shirt, and dropped his hands. Ciro looked him in the eye and then spit on the floor at Don Gregorio’s feet. To think that all of Ciro’s hard work had been for the honor and glory of this undeserving shepherd of a most ignorant flock! Ciro unlocked the entrance door and walked out into the dark. He heard Don Gregorio bolt the church door behind him.
Don Gregorio looked down at his cassock, the chest placket rumpled and smeared with dirt where Ciro had grabbed it. He dipped his fingers in