Woven in Time Read online

  “Maledetto! Of course I’m going to sell this cursed farm, and I will build my house in Casale.”

  Francesco became solemn. Benvenuto continued,

  “And I am going to set up a shop and do what I want with my life!”

  “And what about me?” Francesco asked quietly.

  “You’re already doing what you want, aren’t you?”

  Francesco shrugged.

  “What is it that you do all night when you are out there?” Benvenuto asked accusingly.

  Instead of retreating in shame, Francesco perked up.

  “We go to Guardistallo. Sometimes Montescudaio.”

  “But they are kilometres away. What do you do, fly?” Francesco thought this was funny and he chuckled.

  “I go to Gianni’s first.”

  “The Foti estate up the road!” Benvenuto was shocked. “Why do you still associate with them?”

  “It’s a short walk and we take the wagon. Anyway, he didn’t do anything.”

  “How can you be so sure he wasn’t involved?”

  Francesco knew Benvenuto didn’t trust Gianni Foti so he veered the conversation in another direction.

  “Sometimes, we meet girls.”

  Silence.

  “You should come with us,” he continued.

  Incredulous at his brother’s audacity, Benvenuto wanted to hit him in the mouth. Instead, he said in a scolding tone,

  “You should come with me. That would be the right thing to do.”

  Francesco gave it back to him:

  “What? You mean, work all day on this plantation like you do? That’s all you do. I’m not going to waste my life. Look where it got our papà? He worked all his life: the farm this, the farm that. His whole life was devoted to this cursed farm. What did he have to show for it? Niente. Tutto per niente.”

  “He had us. We were a family. He loved us. Everyone loved him. I think that’s a lot.”

  “It’s a lot of nothing is what it is. Where are you going to be in twenty years, brother of mine?” Francesco asked with bitterness and frustration and buried grief. Then he answered himself: "Here. You’ll be doing the same things you are doing now but you will be twenty years older. You’ll be tired and you won’t be able to get the best out of this land either. Then what? Are you going to do what Dad did? Suffer the same fate? Throw it all away? Tutto per niente."

  Benvenuto listened to him but was not convinced.

  “You’re an idiot,” he decided. “What you are doing amounts to nothing.”

  “Yah? At least I’m happy.”

  “Happy?” Benvenuto shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. They sounded like little children. “Where are you going to be in twenty years? All these so-called friends of yours will be settled into their fathers’ businesses. You’ll be left behind in a ditch somewhere, all alone wishing you had picked up where Dad left off.”

  “I won’t be alone. I met someone.”

  Benvenuto heard fear in his own voice as he repeated,

  “You met someone?”

  “A girl.”

  “Oh, a girl,” he said disappointed.

  “What do you mean by that? Do you think I’m looking for trouble?”

  “Don’t you dare get us into debt because you think you’re in love again this week.”

  “I’m not stupid,” he yelled, pushing the chair backward with his knees as he got up shoving his plate halfway across the table.

  “No? You fooled me.”

  "Me ne vado," he huffed as he walked away.

  “Vai a quel paese!” Benvenuto yelled after him just before hearing the door slam. “And now you’re going to break the blessed door. Maledetto!”

  Benvenuto finished his day’s work on the farm as the sun was setting. If he could have worked in the dark, he would have, but it was impossible. Home was a mess of dishes and dried food; clothes that needed to be washed in one corner and in another, clothes that he could wear again if he didn’t get around to washing them. As twilight faded into night, the darkness hid the mess. He lit a candle and lay on his bed.

  He picked up a book that his mother used to read to them. He thought about her a lot. Vivid memories still swirled in his mind; fond memories. He mourned her in his quiet moments. What a waste. She truly had been a victim. She didn’t know what his dad had done. He handled his business without consulting her. ‘What do women understand about business?’ he often said. But she paid the price for it. They both paid the ultimate price, but Benvenuto did not feel sorry for his father. He didn’t even feel sorry for Francesco who had been there, witnessed the whole thing. He felt a sadness like a weight around his neck that never left him. He wore it like a chain throughout the day working on the farm and at night in his solitude.

  The weight of knowing. The weight of not knowing.

  He determined to get out of this house, to get off the farm, to leave it all behind. He longed for his own destiny rather than indossare the heritage handed to him from his father’s grave. His mother had believed that he could break the chains. He would listen to her voice.

  As for now, he determined to make the harvest successful, sell the farm, build that house in Casale and start his own business in town. His brother, he could fend for himself. He will find his way and if not, so be it. Benvenuto Farné will not be drawn into someone else’s mess regardless of expectations and family loyalty. Swimming in these thoughts, he fell asleep.

  Benvenuto stared out his window with his hands on the curtains. What a beautiful morning! The sun caressed in gold the edges of the Casale silhouette. The stone houses rose up around the collina as he imagined the streets; at the peak, la chiesa di Sant’Andrea. Like every morning, Benvenuto spent his first waking moments, as the sun illuminated his land, allowing the light into his cluttered mind. He said a prayer of thankfulness. He said a prayer of protection. He said a prayer, more like a wish, as he focused on the top of that collina. Via del Rè.

  He had no use for the prayers he had learned in church. If he had memorised them, then how many more before him had memorised them? Hundreds of people prayed a memorised prayer every day, for generations. Those prayers were not relevant to his life, how much less to God’s life. ‘If I were God, I’d scream at them to stop the nonsense.’

  He wasn’t going to waste God’s time by babbling useless words. If God listened to him, then he was going to say something important. What was worth saying to God? He didn’t believe in asking for things. The things he wanted, he could get himself with a little hard work. But, he decided that he could express appreciation.

  Benvenuto was thankful for much. He found new things to be thankful for every morning. It wouldn’t hurt to remind God what he was working for. The prayer also reminded him to keep courage, to keep focused, to keep strong and to keep making decisions toward his goal. He must not get distracted. Francesco should not become a distraction. He was annoying, yes, but Benvenuto could ignore him. So, with hands on the curtains: ‘Thank you, protect me and there on top of that mountain, I want to build a house. Ricordatemi Signore.’

  With his morning ritual completed, he looked for a bite left over from last night’s meagre supper. Suppers were always meagre because he usually ate alone. Francesco cooked, yes, but he cooked at lunch, the only time they were together. Benvenuto walked out the door preparing to work. There was no reason for him to think that today would be different. He would swear at Francesco then Francesco would make lunch. They’d eat encased in silence until Benvenuto spoke. Their words would turn into an argument and Francesco would storm out finding his way into a town different from the one where he grew up, where he had gone to school, where he knew the families. And the evening would be the same as last evening: spent alone wishing things were different, remembering the way things used to be and hoping for a better future.

  The chores that Benvenuto repeated daily were not glamorous. Sweat of his brow, toil of his hands were all accomplished with anger and resentment. It spurr
ed him on each day. That raw energy drove his hands and strengthened his back. That was the force that pushed him, giving him the courage and strength to continue.

  Benvenuto heard the house door open. He saw Francesco’s form standing in the door, yawning, stretching like a lazy cat after a nap: no thoughts, no worries, no plans. Francesco walked away from the house toward Benvenuto who was working colla zappa in mano.

  “Benvenuto! Hei!” he called.

  “Maledetto! Perchè non mi aiuti?” was Benvenuto’s response.

  “I’ll help you. I’ll make lunch.”

  "Vai a quel paese!"

  And the dance continued. Francesco returned indoors. Benvenuto dropped the zappa and walked to the chicken coop. He sighed.

  “I don’t know how much more I can take of this,” Benvenuto confided to the chickens.

  “Can I have a volunteer? You? You? No? Hold still, you.” The chicken squawked when Benvenuto chased it. He grabbed it and immediately wrung its neck. “Lucky you. Your problems are over.” By the time Benvenuto entered the kitchen, he had almost finished plucking the chicken.

  “Are you going to help me with lunch?” Francesco was surprised to see him so soon.

  “I brought you a chicken.”

  “Bravo. Boil it in that pot.” He pointed to a large pot on the stove.

  Obediently, Benvenuto filled the pot with water, placed it over the fire and finished preparing the chicken. Once it was in the boiling water, he said sideways, “I’m going to get some verdura.” He left the house to go into the garden.

  As the chicken boiled, Francesco chopped an onion and heated it in olive oil in a large, iron skillet. Francesco removed the skin easily from the chicken when it was sufficiently boiled and pulled it apart into pieces. He dipped the pieces in a little flour and arranged them in the skillet to cook. After browning each side, he chopped up three tomatoes and dropped them onto the chicken. He went into the cantina for a jar of his mother’s tomato sauce and poured it over top of the mixture. He added two ladles of water to make a thin broth while the chicken finished cooking.

  Francesco dished out the chicken in silence. Benvenuto drizzled a little oil and salt on the lettuce in silence. They sat at the table and ate in silence. This time, it was Francesco who spoke first.

  “Uh, brother, why don’t you come with me today?”

  Benvenuto continued eating without a word. He was indignant. ‘Francesco had no right to break the silence. He owes me.’ Francesco’s silence was his penance and his penance was not yet completed. Benvenuto remained silent.

  “Hei! Ho detto, vieni con me.”

  “Spend all night drinking and be useless tomorrow? No thanks.”

  “That’s not what we do. We talk, we play cards. You can maybe meet a girl. I’ve met a girl.”

  “You told me,” growled Benvenuto, uninterested and irritated.

  “She’s nice. You will like her.” Then he added, “She has a friend.”

  Benvenuto grunted and waved him off.

  Francesco continued, “I told her I’d bring you, introduce you to her.”

  “Not today.”

  “Today is the best day.”

  “Why is today different from any other day?” Benvenuto took the bait.

  Francesco smiled. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. You don’t have to work.”

  “You should be in church tomorrow.”

  “Yah, yah, if it makes you happy, we’ll go to church tomorrow.”

  “Mio nonno.”

  “Tonight is the celebration of Guardistallo’s patron saint. There will be street celebrations and music. No one will be sleeping tonight. Come on. It’s a beautiful day. It will be a clear night. I feel romance in the air.”

  Benvenuto rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Francesco stood up, took his plate off the table, drank the last bit from his cup and turned to put it all in the sink. He looked out the window to see the priest from Sant’Andrea, walking toward the house.

  “Guarda chi c’è,” he said without turning around.

  Benvenuto stood up quickly clearing his settings and stepped outside the door to welcome the priest. After pleasant salutations and invitations to come inside, they sat in the front room and talked. The priest spoke softly.

  “What you boys have been through will surely test your faith. You need to come to church.”

  "We were just saying we’ll be in church domani, padre," Francesco volunteered.

  “This is good news. You boys must be strong and know God is testing you.”

  Benvenuto imagined God orchestrating the horrible events of the last year. He decided he did not believe the priest. God would not be so sadistic to murder his parents and leave him alone with his good-for-nothing brother. If that were the truth about God, then he would gladly abandon his faith. He returned his focus on what the priest was saying:

  “Jesus suffered, too. He sacrificed his life so that we could live. It’s up to us to accept that gift. Benvenuto and Francesco, you two should accept that gift.”

  Francesco was only half listening. He agreed with the priest and nodded pleasantly but his thoughts were in Guardistallo where he planned to return as soon as this bleeding-heart priest was done with his visit. The more he agreed, the faster the guy would leave.

  Benvenuto, however, listened incredulously and became angry. He engaged:

  “With all respect, I didn’t ask anyone to sacrifice his life for me. Not Jesus, not my parents, not anyone. Maybe we’d all be better off if Jesus hadn’t died for us. Maybe then, God wouldn’t expect so much from us.”

  “I know you are both still grieving. What your parents did for you, saved your lives. What Jesus did for you, saved your souls. We all, including myself, need to recognise and appreciate what others have done to make our lives better. That’s why I believe,” said the priest.

  Francesco rolled his eyes and signalled to his brother to end this conversation.

  Benvenuto’s voice quivered. He was angry, and his eyes welled with tears.

  “I need to get back to my work. Thank you for visiting.” He stood up.

  Francesco stood up, “We will be in church tomorrow.”

  The priest stood up and followed Benvenuto to the door. After more pleasantries, he was gone.

  Francesco went to his room to dress for the evening. Benvenuto stood by the door for a long time watching the priest walk away up the road into Casale.

  Francesco came back with clean pants on, no shirt, drying himself with a towel.

  “As if our parents died for us,” Francesco scoffed. Gianni’s dad gave them a bullet to the head. No mystery. No mythology. No ulterior motive. That priest puts a religious spin on every common event. If your dog defecates, he says it’s a blessing from heaven." Benvenuto watched his brother as he spoke.

  “Maledetto!”

  He turned his back on him and headed to the field. He hacked at the ground with the zappa.

  ‘There is no meaning to what happens? Things are random? I don’t believe it. Things happen by design and ordained by God? That would make Him cruel and sadistic. I don’t believe it.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother walking down their lane toward the road. He threw down his zappa and ran after him.

  “Is it too late to go with you?”

  “Ma, no. Go on and get dressed,” and then, “If you have any money, bring it,” he called.

  It was late that afternoon when Francesco and Benvenuto Farné approached the Foti farmhouse. Actually, it wasn’t that far away, but relations had been strained for years and the neighbours didn’t talk to each other. Somehow, despite the tragedy and maybe because of the tragedy, Gianni and Francesco had found each other. Together, they had made meaning out of senselessness. No, Benvenuto would not be softened by an amicable meeting! Most of their walk together was in silence with neither one daring to break it. What was there to say?

  Gianni spotted the brothers and ran to the roa
d to meet them. “Francesco! Ciao, Benvenuto. You’ve grown since I last saw you.” Benvenuto raised his eyebrows.

  “Buongiorno.”

  "Ragazzi, keep walking. I’ll hitch up the wagon and pick you up along the way." Gianni ran back to his place.

  “Is this how you do it?” Benvenuto asked.

  “Do what?”

  “You don’t actually go into the house?”

  “Ma scherzi? Pensi che sia scemo?”

  “Well, yes,” Benvenuto paused. “All this time I thought you see Foti every day and go into his home. How could you betray Papà that way?”

  “I usually howl.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “No, I usually howl. That’s our signal. Eventually, he comes out. Sometimes he brings food and asks me to wait. Other times, he just hooks up the wagon and we go.”

  Benvenuto was unimpressed.

  “You’ve got quite a system.”

  And the silence descended on them once again stifling their breath.

  Benvenuto found himself rethinking this situation. How did he get here? Why was he travelling to the next village? Why in the world is he accompanying the son of the man who killed his parents? Maybe Gianni doesn’t even know what happened. He must know. How could he not know?

  “I’m turning back,” blurted Benvenuto. He turned around and walked the opposite way.

  “What!” Francesco stopped, turned and followed his brother.

  “I’m going back,” he repeated quickening his pace.

  “I don’t understand. We agreed you come tonight and I will help you on the farm every morning next week.”

  “Non vale la pena, Francesco.”

  “Come non vale la pena? Having fun for once in your life, being with people your own age, that’s not worth it?”

  “But, Gianni.”

  “What about Gianni?”

  "Non ci credo! I don’t believe you can live as if nothing happened, especially you who were there. You saw the whole thing."

  "Ascoltami, pezzo di stronzo, not a day goes by that I don’t see everything that happened like I was still there. It must be burned inside of my eyelids because it doesn’t even disappear when I close my eyes. In fact, it’s even clearer quando chiudo gli occhi. Why do you think I stay sober as little as possible? Cretino! You think you’re the only one suffering?" Benvenuto stumbled.