The Beauty Of Tears

NEW BEGINNING - 1948

Roberto was on his way home to meet his father by way of a donkey. He patted the donkey's ear and rode down the sloping path to his house. Frost covered the cobblestones on the uneven ground. He was not far now, but was already sighing at the earliness of the hour.

As the donkey plodded through the streets, Roberto noticed everything in his little village. He noticed the grey, cracked ground and the stone wall beside cream-coloured flat-topped houses. The houses had long, narrow double windows and balconies. In the distance were tree-topped mountains, and sloping paths that made lazy hikers stumble. The village of Eboli was serene in Roberto's eyes, a place of absolute peace, even at its most crowded. The ferny tree smell signified a fresh new morning, and the beauty of nature.

He took a deep breath as he reached home, then tied the donkey to the nearby post and hurried up to the rough stone house he shared with his family. It was a small house, with only two small bedrooms for the five of them. With so little money, they were barely able to buy food and the basic necessities.

He shivered as he opened the weathered wooden door and stepped into the cold, dense air of the living room. His family was gathered in the scantily furnished room, his father standing by the fireplace, his mother and his sister Angela with heads bowed down over needlepoint. His older brother, Filippo, was writing on a notepad, while his younger brother Edoardo lounged on a sturdy wooden bench which was covered with a crocheted blanket. With its worn concrete floors and thin walls, the house held little heat. Roberto could almost see the warmth leaking out around the window and door frames.

His father turned towards him. “What took you so long, Roberto? We must hurry for the wood.”

Edoardo moved his lanky frame and pushed himself off the bench. The top of his head came only to Roberto’s chest, but the finger he jabbed at Roberto’s midsection said he wasn’t daunted by his smaller size. Even though he was only ten years old, he tried to act older. He shook his head, green eyes darkening. “Why do you get to go with dad, and we don't?”

His father drew a hand through his auburn hair. “Because you are younger than your brother, and I only need one of you. You keep going to school.”

Filippo hesitated, then walked up to his father. “But, Papa, I am older than Roberto. I’m sixteen, and old enough. Can't I help?”

While Roberto waited for his father to respond, he glanced toward his mother and sister. They looked so different. Angela, at nine years old tugged at her long, jet-black curls, and his mother’s face was half-hidden by long copper hair highlighted with gold. Their anxious expressions were the same.

Papa glanced at Filippo, a pained expression on his face. “You, Filippo, must keep going to school. Roberto has always liked working with his hands.”

His mother looked up at her husband. “But Roberto should have a chance to go to school. He’s only thirteen.”

Papa cleared his throat, avoiding her eyes. “Maria, we discussed this.”

She put her hands up in protest. “But we didn’t really discuss it, did we? Can’t we find other ways to make the money? Hire someone else.”

His father sighed. “And then pay them an adult wage. It’s not possible. Not possible.”

His mother stalked towards the door to the hallway, then turned back. “You need to take more risks in business. How else do other businesses prosper? You don’t take any risks Giovanni, so how can you expect success? Fear doesn’t make you move forward.”

She walked off, sighing. Roberto looked back at his father’s distant gaze and sagging posture. “It’s okay, Papa. I don’t mind helping. I do like school, but I want to help the family as well. Let us go then.”

Roberto didn’t like it when his parents fought, and that was often nowadays. They always seemed to disagree on the business, but his Papa was doing the best he could. Roberto didn’t mind helping out the family, but he did miss his friends at school. Still, if he helped out in the business, his parents might not fight as much. They’d finally have more money to buy nice things and Mama wouldn’t complain about not having warm clothes or enough food.

His father led him outdoors, and loaded pieces of wood into a box, then attached the box onto the donkey's back. Papa tugged the donkey forward. It balked for a moment, pulling back against the rope, then lowered its head and plodded along beside Papa. Roberto tagged along behind. Together they started towards the village. “Papa, why can't I make this trip on my own?”

Papa sighed again. “Roberto, you must listen and listen carefully.” Roberto waited as he took in the mountainous views, enjoying the chill winter breeze, soft against his cheek. “You are now working with me, and because this is your first day, I must make sure you deliver the wood to the right people.”

“If only I could go to school and help you as well.”

Papa looked straight ahead. “I’m sorry, but for now this is how it must be.”

Roberto nodded. “I still don’t understand why Filippo couldn’t help you. He’s older. All my other friends are still going to school.”

His father swallowed and avoided his eyes. “It just is the way it is, Roberto.”

Roberto pushed him further. “Help me understand, Papa. What is really going on with the business? For many years, you didn’t need my help so why now?”

His father cleared his throat. “Roberto, please leave it alone. Now let’s get on with it.”

“ But Papa—if I’m old enough to work with you, then I’m old enough to know what’s going on.”

For a long moment, only the donkey’s hoof beats broke the silence. Then Papa said, “I can't do it on my own. We need the money, and with two of us working, we can double our funds. Do you understand that?”

“But you were doing much better before. What changed?”

“You don’t give up do you?” Papa shook his head and looked away. “Someone is hurting the business. I think people are getting most of their wood from someone else.”

“Do you know who it is?”

Papa shook his head and fell silent.

***

Giovanni’s face felt warm. He wished he could answer his son. Who would do such a nasty thing to someone who had a family to take care of? It was bad enough having to ask his son for help. Now Roberto had to hear about someone sabotaging their business as well? It wasn’t something a twelve-year old should have to worry about. His eyes burned with shame.

Giovanni knew Roberto wanted to go to school like his friends. It wasn’t fair but Giovanni had no choice. He couldn’t afford to pay someone else. Edoardo was too young, and Filippo needed to stay in school. His gift for mathematics needed to be nurtured.

No, Giovanni knew he had made the right choice. Roberto was good with his hands and had a good head on his shoulders. He enjoyed spending his time outdoors, savouring the natural scenery. Despite Roberto’s disappointment, Giovanni knew the boy was proud to be able to help out his family. The sacrifice would only be temporary; Giovanni told himself. Just until he got back on his feet.

Roberto gave the donkey a scratch. “What do they need the wood for, Papa?”

Giovanni suppressed a smile. His son never ran out of questions. “Well, the businesses need the wood for their ovens to cook bread. It's their living, just like selling the wood is our living.”

“And we will make good money if others don’t sell wood?”

Giovanni stopped and stared at his son, pensive. “Reasonably well. Not rich, but we will survive, my son. We will survive.”

Roberto had another thought “Papa. I’m happy to help, but you spend money on the wood, so how is that helping us?”

His father smiled. “I buy the wood from the lumberjacks, but then I sell it for more than I spend on it. Then we can make a small profit.”

Roberto nodded and continued to walk alongside his father, who laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. He noticed his papa’s sad expression, and had often wondered why his father didn't smile very much. He wondered what more he could do to help the family survive.

When they reached the village, his father called on a customer, who stood beside his steps, wearing a worn, grey cap, and waiting for them to unload his delivery. Papa unloaded the donkey and handed the customer the box of wood. The gentleman handed Papa the money, and Roberto saw the colour drain from his father's skin.

“This is not what we agreed upon,” Papa said.

“Well that's all you're getting. Take it or leave it.”

“But we agreed to five lire, not three.”

The gentleman sighed and shook his head. “I don't have five, so either take it or have your wood back. I can always get it from someone else.”

His father didn't say anything for a moment, and lowered his head “Fine, sir. I will take the three lire.”

“Very well.” The man left abruptly without saying goodbye.

Giovanni looked stricken, and Roberto didn't know what to say. He wished he could've spoken to the man. Maybe he could've changed his mind so his father could be paid what was owed.

After a few more sales around the city, his father and Roberto stopped for lunch outside the house of Italo, Papa’s friend who had brought them food. Italo rushed off on an errand while Roberto and his father enjoyed the outdoor scenery. They savoured some ciabatta bread with sun dried tomato and buffalo cheese. Roberto topped his bread with cheese, a sprinkle of pepper, basil, and several pieces of the sun-dried tomato before devouring it. He didn't usually get to enjoy such a treat. The tomatoes were tangy and salty on his tongue. If only they could afford to buy some.

They ate in silence for a while until Roberto broke the quiet.

“Papa, why didn't you fight for five lire back there? You shouldn't have given up. Why did you?”

His father took a long time to answer. “Sometimes, my son, you need to learn to make peace. Appreciate what you're given and not what you can get.”

“But Papa, it's not fair. You probably didn't make a profit on that sale.”

His father sighed and put down his bread. He looked over into the distance before staring straight into his son's eyes. “Roberto, promise me something.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Promise me that you will take care of your Mama.”

A niggle of worry fluttered in Roberto’s stomach. “What do you mean?”

His father avoided Roberto’s eyes. “Just promise me.”

“But why? You take care of her now.”

His father scratched his stubbled chin. “If anything ever happens to me, I want you to take care of your Mama. Maybe you will be stronger than me with the sales, but I am a humble man, and I simply take what I can get. Do you understand that?”

Roberto’s heart beat fast. “I think so, Papa.”

“Good. Now, there'll be no more talk about the profit or business. We must do what we can, and keep the peace for the sake of the community. People talk, and if people talk, then that can affect our business.”

“Okay, but—”

“But nothing.” His father rose from the table. “Come, we must get back to work.”

Roberto wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rose too.

At the end of the day they led the donkey back from the village. They didn’t talk much, but Roberto didn't mind the quiet. They’d said everything there was to say, and now he could focus on the natural views of the towering trees, hilly terrain and silent surroundings. Before he could think any further, he and his father were interrupted by someone he recognised in the distance. Roberto’s best friend, Andrea.

Andrea strolled towards them, favouring the leg he’d broken several years ago, and patted Roberto on the back.

“Roberto, my man. How are you doing?”

“Andrea, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?”

“Ah—the school isn't the same without you. Come back, man.” Andrea had the bluest eyes Roberto had ever seen. His hair was black and shiny, and he towered over Roberto. He was a good athlete too, except for the slight limp he had.

“I wish I could.” He looked at his father who gave Andrea a welcoming smile.

“Good to see you Andrea. How's your father doing?” Andrea's eyes darkened. He turned away, avoiding Roberto’s eyes. “He's fine sir. He says hello, and would like to buy some branches from you.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, he'd like to use them for something, but I can't remember what.”

“Okay, you tell him I shall be over soon for a special visit.”

Andrea nodded and fell into step beside them.

When they reached Roberto's house, his brothers and sister were sitting on the sturdy wooden bench making a telephone out of tin cans with a long piece of string. Roberto ignored them and headed towards his room with Andrea. They sat side by side on the bed. As Andrea shifted his weight, the sleeve of his shirt lifted slightly to reveal a sharp bruise on his right wrist. Roberto gasped.

“What happened to your wrist Andrea?”

Andrea grunted. “Oh, this old thing. It's nothing. Just fell over, that's all.”

Roberto chose his words carefully. “You would tell me if anything was wrong, wouldn't you?” Silence. “Andrea?”

Andrea’s laugh sounded forced. “Of course I would. Come on, why don't we play some bocce before you have your dinner?”

“There's not enough room. We'll have to go outside.”

“Let's go then.”

As they were about to leave, Roberto heard his parents' raised voices from the next room. His mother had just arrived home from an errand, and she seemed to be arguing with his father. Their words were muffled by the wall, but Roberto could slightly make out what they were saying. He stopped Andrea from leaving and they stood near the door, both listening.

His mother said, “We cannot keep living like this. Do you want us to starve?” There was no response from his father. “Why can't you be a stronger man? Fight for your family?”

“But cara, I am doing my best. Why can't you appreciate that?”

“Well your best is not good enough for now, Giovanni.”

Tears stung Roberto’s eyes. He closed them, and leaned his forehead against the door, his muscles tense. He didn't even care that Andrea was there, witness to his grief.

Roberto felt Andrea's hand on his shoulder but he ignored it. He wasn't feeling sociable. His dad was doing his best and what was his mother doing? Berating him, and showing no appreciation for all his hard work. So what if his father wasn’t rich? He was the best man—and the best father—Roberto knew.

Roberto lifted his head and squared his shoulders. With Andrea at his heels, he walked into the small living area, smelling the saltiness of a pasta sauce brewing. His father was lazing on the bench, reading the Italian newspaper. His mother came out of the kitchen and gave Roberto a hug, the aroma of fresh basil strong around her.

She broke from the hug. “How was your first day at work, darling?”

Roberto shrugged. “Fine, Mama.” He looked at Andrea. “Andrea's invited me to go to his place for dinner. Can I?”

“But darling, I've made your favourite orecchiette pasta. Don't you and Andrea want some?”

Andrea shook his head. “It's okay, Mrs Morandi. We'll probably have the same sort of thing at home, but thanks anyway.”

Her eyes darkened. For a moment, Roberto was afraid she would make him stay here and eat dinner with the family. Then she said, “Okay Roberto. You can go, but don't stay too long.”

Roberto nodded and rushed out before she could change her mind.

DISCOVERY

Roberto and Andrea walked around hilly slopes and along cracked walkways, as the old ladies of the village gawked in their direction. The wind grew chilly with the approach of evening. Shadows deepened in the dimming light.

As they entered Andrea's home, Roberto smelled freshly baked bread, and something else he couldn't put his finger on. The house was cosy but small, with a balcony, three bedrooms, a spacious kitchen that featured pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, and a rug-filled living room with antique furnishings. His own mother’s pots and pans were dented and scratched, looking nothing like the shiny, reflecting surfaces of these pots and pans. Roberto felt almost at home in this house.

This kitchen was as big as his whole house, and it made him wish for more. If only he could have nice things for once. If only they could live in a large house like this one. Maybe one day, his father would do well in the business.

Andrea's father, Salvatore, was sitting at the oversized timber top table, watching a television program with his housekeeper, Rosa, a short chubby woman who had been a part of the family since Andrea's mother had died two years prior. Rosa got up from the table, and ushered Roberto in. Salvatore smiled briefly, then turned back to his show. Rosa gave Roberto a kiss on both cheeks. She then grabbed both his hands and rubbed them gently. She smelled of fresh lavender and pasta sauce. She’d always been caring—like a mother to Roberto.

“My dearest Roberto. How have you been?”

“Good, thank you. And you?”

Rosa’s eyes turned for a moment. “Well, you know, cooking some lasagne. I had a feeling you were coming for dinner.” She smiled. “We also have freshly baked bread. Take a seat, dear. Dinner is almost ready.”

Roberto nodded, and Andrea grew quiet. They waited at the table while Rosa took the lasagne out of the oven and placed it on the stove. Then she began slicing the bread, which smelled delicious.

Andrea's father owned his own bakery in the main centre of the village, and worked there with his employees who worked various shifts. He worked for most of the day, sometimes rising early to get the bread ready for customers.

Roberto excused himself to go to the bathroom then headed upstairs. When he came out, he heard muffled voices by the balcony. He tip-toed closer to the balcony without being noticed, and watched as Andrea and his father stood deep in conversation. Salvatore towered over his son as if Andrea was a lowly ant. Salvatore's eyes were focused, his lips pursed. He shook his head vigorously. Roberto heard his own name and edged closer. His breathing shallowed.

“You should think long and hard about this,” Salvatore said.

“But Papa, Roberto is my friend—and Giovanni is a good man. Please don't say such things. They surely don't deserve it.”

Salvatore's brow furrowed and his fists clenched. He inched closer to his son, as if he was about to strike. “You shut your mouth.” Andrea said nothing. “Do you hear me?”

Andrea shrank away from his father, who must have taken his silence as defiance. Salvatore’s hand shot out and struck Andrea forcefully across the cheek. Andrea winced. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he pressed a hand against his reddened cheek.

Breathing heavily, Salvatore turned and stormed off.

Roberto was lost. He had to leave. How could Andrea’s own father have hit him like that? He had no right, for Andrea had done nothing wrong. Roberto ran down the stairs and met with Rosa who stopped him in his tracks.

“Roberto dear, where are you going? Dinner's just about ready.”