their mother said. And now Ciro was furious that he had to live in a convent, which for him, was like asking un pesce di abitare in un albero (a fish to live in a tree). Nothing his mother had done made sense. Her explanations were not satisfactory. All he knew and had heard was that he must be good, and who decides what is good?
“Come inside, Ciro.” Eduardo held the door open.
“Leave me alone.”
“Now, Ciro.” Eduardo stepped outside, closing the door behind him. “I mean it.”
Eduardo’s tone ignited Ciro’s temper like a match to dry kindling. He was not Ciro’s mother or father. Ciro turned to his brother and tackled him. Eduardo’s head cracked against the bricks as Ciro pummeled him with his fists. Ciro heard the solid landing of the blows, but didn’t hold back, only hit his brother harder in his rage. Eduardo curled up into a ball to protect his face and rolled from his back onto his knees, crying out, “It won’t make her come back.”
Ciro’s strength gave out, and he fell onto the ground next to his brother. Eduardo held his knees tight as Ciro knelt and placed his face in his hands. He didn’t want Eduardo to see him cry. Ciro also knew if he began to weep, he wouldn’t stop.
Eduardo stood and pulled down the short cuffs on his shirt. He smoothed his pants and lifted them up by the waist. He patted his hair back into place. “They’ll throw us out if we fight.”
“Let them! I’m going to run away. I’m not going to stay here.” Ciro’s eyes darted around as he planned his escape. There were at least six ways out of the piazza. Once he was free of this town, he could go way up the mountain to Monte Isola, or a few miles down the road to Lovere. Someone might take him in.
Eduardo hung his head and began to cry. “Don’t leave me here alone.”
Ciro looked at his brother, the only family he had, and felt worse for him than he did for himself. “Stop crying,” he said.
The full morning sun was up, the shopkeepers were opening their doors, lifting their shades, and rolling their carts on to the colonnade. Vendors dressed in shades of flat gray, the color of the low stone wall that encased the village, pushed hand carts painted bright red, yellow, and white filled with bins of polished walnuts, silver pails filled with braids of fresh white cheese in clean, icy water, spools of colorful silk thread on wooden dowels, fresh loaves of bread in baskets, packets of herbs in linen sacks for poultice—all manner of needs for sale.
The presence of the others helped Eduardo gain control of his emotions. He dried his tears with his sleeve. He looked out to where the main road curved to connect to the pass, but it held no meaning for him; it wouldn’t lead him or his brother out of their situation. The morning mist had lifted, and the air was so cold that Eduardo could barely breathe. “Where would we go?”
“We could follow Mama. We could change her mind.”
“Mama can’t take care of us right now.”
“But she’s our mother,” Ciro argued.
“A mother who can’t take care of her children is useless.” Eduardo held the door open for Ciro. “Come on.”
Ciro entered the convent with his heart heavy with need for his mother’s embrace and a deep shame for having hit his brother. After all, their tenure at San Nicola wasn’t Eduardo’s choice, and the events that had led them there were not his fault either.
Maybe these nuns could be of some use, Ciro thought. Maybe they could pray their mother back before the summer—Ciro would ask them to offer up their rosaries for her. But something told him that all the glass beads on the mountain wouldn’t bring Caterina home. No matter how Eduardo might reassure him, Ciro was certain he would never see his mother again.
Ciro cried himself to sleep that night, and in the morning found Eduardo sleeping on the floor next to him, as the cots provided by the nuns were too small to hold both of them. Even when he grew to be a young man, Ciro would never forget this small act of kindness, which Eduardo would repeat night after night for months. Eduardo’s love was the only security Ciro would ever know. Sister Teresa would feed them, Sister Domenica would assign them chores, and Sister Ercolina would teach them Latin,