The Fortunate Pilgrim - Mario Puzo [42]
The mother watched him intently. “You must be tired,” she said. “Go on to bed and sleep. I’ll send the children down to play in the street.”
When he had undressed and gone to bed she brought him a wet towel so that he could wipe his face and hands. He made no attempt to possess her or show any desire, and when he closed his eyes and sank back into the bed, it seemed as if he were closing his eyes against the world he had re-entered. Lucia Santa sensed something terribly wrong beneath the external health, the seeming good fortune. Looking down at him, she felt a strange pity for this man she had loved, who had been her husband so many years. As if in the course of every day, with each second, each minute, each day, she had spun out his fate, as if he were her prisoner dying in his cell. She was an innocent jailer, she had not pursued him, she had not condemned him, she had not sentenced him. But she could never let him escape. Lucia Santa sat on the bed and put her hand on his. He was already asleep. She sat so for a time, in some way glad that he would be sleeping safe in his bed when the rest of the family returned home, that Octavia, Larry, Gino, and Vinnie would see him for the first time defenseless, and so they could pity him.
That evening the family was at supper when the father rose and joined them. Octavia said “Hello” very coldly. Larry was warm in his greeting, saying with utmost sincerity, “You’re looking good, Pop. We missed you around here.”
Gino and Vincent gazed at him curiously. The father asked Gino, “Have you been good to your mother while I was away?” Gino nodded. The father sat down and then, as an afterthought, he took the two one-dollar bills from his pocket and without a word gave them to Gino and Vincent.
Octavia was angry that he had not asked Vincent if he had been good. She understood Vincent and knew that he had been hurt, that the dollar would not make up for this. It made her even angrier because she understood that her stepfather had not done this intentionally.
Suddenly the father made a statement that startled all of them.
“Some of my friends are visiting me tonight,” he said. He had never brought friends to the house. As if he knew or felt in some way that this was not really his home, that he could never be the chief of this family. He had not even brought card-playing cronies home for a glass of wine. Tonight Larry had to go to work, but Octavia decided to stay and meet these people, and give her mother support if they were in league with her stepfather against the family.
THE HOUSE WAS neat, the dishes washed, fresh coffee on the stove, and store-bought cake on the table when the visitors came. They were Mr. and Mrs. John Colucci and their nine-year-old son, Job.
The Coluccis were young, in their early thirties. Mr. Colucci was thin and saturnine, with only a slight accent to show that he was not born in America. He wore a shirt, tie, and jacket. His wife was heavy and voluptuous, but not fat. She had no accent, but she seemed more Italian than her husband.
The whole Angeluzzi-Corbo family was surprised at the affection the Coluccis showed for Frank Corbo. They shook his hand warmly, inquired after him tenderly, said, “And this is your wife” in admiring tones, and “These are your children?” as if awe-struck and incredulous. They treated him as if he were a rich uncle, Lucia Santa thought. And she could see her husband reacting to their love. He was never demonstrative, but she could tell by his tone, by his respectful voice, in which for the first time since their marriage she heard that note which means that the speaker will bow to the wishes and opinions of his listeners. He was nervous, anxious to please. For the first time, he seemed to want people to think well of him. He poured the coffee himself.
They all sat around the great kitchen table. Octavia was charming in the best American style, with frequent smiles and a low sweet voice. The Coluccis had perfect manners. It was obvious that Mr. Colucci worked in an office and not with his hands. Mrs. Colucci spoke a refined