Being as saturated as the ground was, it was easy for the shovel to slice through the grass and mud, a small area next to the villa the final resting place for Volpe. There were only three of us left at his gravesite, Brando, Guido, and myself.
Guido seemed to be taking Volpe’s death hard. If Romeo transferred his sorrow to his brother’s condition on behalf of losing Thomas, Guido was doing the same to Volpe. Dario was getting better with each passing day though. Volpe was dead.
None of us had been able to attend the funerals. We couldn’t show to offer our condolences (perhaps it was better for Santina’s family) or say our goodbyes for closure. Most of us had said what was in our hearts before we were forced to leave the restaurant, but there was something too traumatic about that night to bring forth anything but shock and fear.
Perhaps another goodbye, a decent one, would set Guido’s heart straight, or as straight as it could be.
I refused to wear black. Instead, I wore light blue, a peaceful color in honor of life, to celebrate it but at the same time convey the sadness I felt.
Cry when a child is born, rejoice when a life is taken, Maja used to say to me.For the child has inherited the weight of the living, while the dead has gone on to complete peace.
Mastino whined and nudged my hand. I patted his imposing head, pulling him closer to my hip.
“He was my cousin,” Guido said, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were intent on the newly covered grave, glistening with water and clumped with grass and mud.
Brando squeezed my shoulders and then laid a hand on one of Guido’s.
“Thomas,” I whispered.
“Sí,” Guido sniffed, but didn’t bother to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “Younger. By one year. He was more like my brother. He was not even married yet. Had no children to carry on his name. His parents are left with nothing of their son. Such good people. He was their only child.”
I took a shuddering breath, grasping Guido’s hand and holding it firmly in mine. The three of us stood in silence until Guido made the sign of the cross and called Mastino to his side, leaving Brando and me on our own.
A noise between a crazed burst of laughter and a sob tore free from my throat. Brando eyed me with caution, regarding me as though one touch andpoof!, I’d go off like an exploding sack of flour.
I can’t blame him, I thought, starting to laugh even louder.I was becoming a bit unsteady up top.
The volume and pitch of my laughter started to attract attention. A few people came out to see if a witch had touched down in the yard.
No, no, all is safe,only a loon,I thought and cackled, throwing my head back.
As quick as the laughter came on, so did a sudden rush of feelings that I couldn’t control. As swiftly as the sun could fade in the face of a storm cloud, so could the darkness of depression take over every bright spot in life. All of a sudden I felt cornered, trapped, arms raised in defense to the sudden rush assaulting me. The beating wasn’t physical; the shield was up to protect heart instead of head.
“I can’t—can’t believe someone p-p-poisoned him!” I sobbed. “Who d-d-does that?”
At the flick of Brando’s hand, he sent the watching crowd back inside as he cradled me close to his chest.
“It’s about time you cry,” he whispered. “You’ll feel better after you do.”
I didn’t believe him. It hurt to cry, and the more it hurt, the more I wanted to cry. It was a vicious undercurrent that was close to taking me under.
“H-h-he was j-j-just a d-d-dog! But.” I inhaled a lung full of rain-sopped air, scarcely breathing.
“But he was a good dog,” Brando whispered. “He’s worth crying over.”
I lost it even harder.
Brando’s shirt was damp from the rain, but with my tears he was becoming soaked through. It took a moment for me to realize that the wails that echoed were from me—some part of myself, the part that strives to preserve something of the core, shoved me into the newly discovered room inside of myself to hide the sane and complete part of me from the crazed and broken part.
Look at all the things you’ve had at your disposal, that you refused to see, but now can search through while the heart goes to pieces and the mind cowers in the corner from what it’s afraid to let the heart see—more truth.
Why is that when the trials of life sweep through, it conjures up other heartbreaking memories? It’s like watching dust motes dance in a sunlit window, knowing that once the light fades, the dust is going to settle once more, until you stir them up once again to remember. And then the newest heartache will be with the rest, ready to welcome more.Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Elliott, Matteo, my baby, my grandparents, Marzio, they all seemed to dance in the sunlight, a reminder of all that I had lost. Those small broken pieces had come to collect Thomas, Santina, Paolo, and every man who had lost his life to evil.
It took a few minutes for me to come back to myself, to realize that Brando was moving us around in a slow circle, almost dancing in the rain.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, looking up at him. Flecks of raindrops collected on my lashes but were not strong enough to wash away the tears and other liquids streaming down my face.
