The Fortunate Pilgrim - Mario Puzo [50]
When everyone left the table, Lucia Santa asked her husband if he was going to chapel. He answered that he did not need Mr. Colucci any more. The mother was astonished. Could it be that her husband, who, to his family’s detriment, had never been cunning, had used the Coluccis just to get work? But then why the illness? The contradiction troubled her.
Later, when bedtime came, Lucia Santa settled in her kitchen chair to sew until midnight. Now she always wanted to be fully dressed and ready when her husband had his attacks. If by midnight nothing had happened, it would be safe to go to bed; the danger would be over.
Frank Corbo watched her and, with what for him was tenderness, said, “Go. Go get some rest. I’ll stay up a bit and then come to bed.” She knew he meant until after midnight. It was nearly eleven now. Everyone else was asleep and Larry had gone to work. Lucia Santa felt a great surge of relief and pride that her judgment had proven sound. He was better. Men had these spells, but they passed. “I’ll finish this little bit,” she said. As she sewed, he smoked his cigar. He served her a glass of wine and even took one for himself, though it was against the Colucci religion. It was after midnight when they went to bed, with Baby Lena lying between them. It was very dark, the very black heart of night, when Lucia Santa woke to hear her husband repeating in a clear, even tone, “What is this doll doing between us? Quick, before I throw it out the window.” Lucia Santa put one arm over the sleeping baby and said in a low, urgent voice, “Frank, what is it? What’s the matter?” Still stunned with sleep, she could not comprehend.
The father asked in a low, menacing tone, “Why did you put this doll between us?”
Lucia Santa tried to keep her voice low. She whispered, “Frank, Frank, it’s your baby daughter. Wake up, Frank.”
There was a long silence, but Lucia Santa did not dare go back to sleep. Suddenly the whole bed shook violently.
He rose like an avenging angel. Light flooded the bedroom and the front room where the children slept, and there stood the father fully dressed. His face was almost black with the blood of rage. His voice was like thunder as he shouted, “OUT OF THIS HOUSE. BASTARDS, SONS OF WHORES AND BITCHES. OUT OF THIS HOUSE BEFORE I KILL YOU ALL.”
The mother sprang out of bed in her nightgown, the baby clutched in her arms. She went into the front room and told the frightened Gino and Vincent, “Quick, get dressed and get Salvatore and go to Zia Louche. Quickly now.”
The father was raving, cursing, but when he saw Vincent about to leave he said, “No, Vincenzo can stay. Vincenzo is an angel.” But the mother pushed Vincent down the corridor.
Father and mother were face to face. There was no mercy in the father’s eyes. He said quietly, but with real hatred, “Take your doll and get out of this house.” Lucia Santa looked at the only bedroom door, Octavia’s.
The father saw her look. He said, “Don’t make me knock on your daughter’s door. Get her down on the street where she belongs.”
The door opened. Octavia stood there, already dressed, and holding her dressmaker’s scissors in her right hand.
The mother said quickly, “Octavia, come with me.” Octavia was not afraid; she had come out of her room ready to do battle to protect her mother and the children. But now she saw on her stepfather’s face such a look of