have a brother in New York. What part of the city did you live in?" the monk said in English.
Luka's body tingled as he said quietly, "We moved around, my father and I. We never stayed in one apartment too long, but I think I liked Manhattan the best. Have you been in New York, Brother Guido?"
The blue eyes met Guido's in a direct stare. It was Guido's turn to flush; Luka had spoken in English, and he had been unable to follow all of the words. "I have never been in America. London once . . ."
Guido had not meant to pry, but he thirsted for knowledge of the outside world. Only he among them was an avid reader and had been to a university. He was fully aware of the trials taking place in Palermo, although it was frowned upon to read newspapers so he had no one to discuss them with. There was neither radio nor television in the monastery.
Guido was about to ask another question when Brother Thomas turned to him and said, "When Luka was here as a boy, we had an incident. A chicken was stolen from the pantry and consumed, and we were determined to discover the culprit. We knew it was one of the boys, but which one? They were told they would be denied all their privileges until the thief was caught: no football, no games, no country walks. Do you remember, Luka?"
Luka's face bore a childish, puzzled frown, his fine pale eyebrows slightly raised. "A chicken?"
"Yes, yes!" Brother Thomas rose to his feet, leaning farther across the table. "And I found a chicken leg under your pillow! You must remember, I took it into class."
Luka's laugh was high-pitched, almost girlish. His whole demeanor altered. It was such a light, fresh laugh that it surprised and charmed Guido.
Thomas pressed on. "Tell me, Luka, you got away with it then. Little Antonio accepted the blame, but you put him up to it, didn't you?"
Luka's smile showed his perfect, small white teeth and a dimple in his right cheek. "Brother Thomas, let me swear on my father's life, on the life of our benefactor, who we thank for the new roof, the plumbing ... I did not, Brother Thomas, ever steal a chicken leg. Pencils and books, I believe I did, but never that chicken."
Thomas sat back with a sigh. Angelo patted Luka's shoulder.
"There, Thomas, at last you have your answer. Now may I suggest, we retire? Our young guest must be tired. He has come all the way from America."
They rose from the table, Luka assisting Father Angelo, but Guido hurried toward them, carrying the walker. Having made sure that the father was firmly on his feet, he turned to Luka.
"Your father, Luka, he is Paul Carolla, no?"
Luka spun around, and Guido stepped back. "I am sorry, I do not wish to intrude. I am just interested. I have read of the trials."
"Read, Brother Guido?"
Guido, flushing, gave a furtive look to right and left before continuing. "Newspapers are frowned upon here, but they are often displayed at the grocery store."
Luka hesitated, then gave him that sweet smile. "Sadly my father is held in jail, but he is an innocent man, Brother Guido. I am here to pray for him, pray for his release."
Luka's heart was beating fast. He had not expected anyone here, in this sanctuary, to know. "Guido, I am a very good gardener. Would I be permitted to work on the vegetable patch?"
Guido nodded and said he would be more than happy to assist.
"That will not be necessary. I need no help, and I know where all the tools are kept."
Guido remained standing in the shadowy corridor until he heard Luka's door close. He was excited. He had no desire to garden, but he wanted to know more about the trials. They were, so the papers said, opening a new era in Sicily, the end of the Mafia.
In the safety of his room Luka stripped off his robe. Naked, he dragged at the mattress, checking that his precious bag was still there. Satisfied, he lay naked on top of the cotlike bed. His body felt light now, and cool.
He smiled, recalling old Thomas and his chicken leg. Luka had stolen it and had threatened
Luka's body tingled as he said quietly, "We moved around, my father and I. We never stayed in one apartment too long, but I think I liked Manhattan the best. Have you been in New York, Brother Guido?"
The blue eyes met Guido's in a direct stare. It was Guido's turn to flush; Luka had spoken in English, and he had been unable to follow all of the words. "I have never been in America. London once . . ."
Guido had not meant to pry, but he thirsted for knowledge of the outside world. Only he among them was an avid reader and had been to a university. He was fully aware of the trials taking place in Palermo, although it was frowned upon to read newspapers so he had no one to discuss them with. There was neither radio nor television in the monastery.
Guido was about to ask another question when Brother Thomas turned to him and said, "When Luka was here as a boy, we had an incident. A chicken was stolen from the pantry and consumed, and we were determined to discover the culprit. We knew it was one of the boys, but which one? They were told they would be denied all their privileges until the thief was caught: no football, no games, no country walks. Do you remember, Luka?"
Luka's face bore a childish, puzzled frown, his fine pale eyebrows slightly raised. "A chicken?"
"Yes, yes!" Brother Thomas rose to his feet, leaning farther across the table. "And I found a chicken leg under your pillow! You must remember, I took it into class."
Luka's laugh was high-pitched, almost girlish. His whole demeanor altered. It was such a light, fresh laugh that it surprised and charmed Guido.
Thomas pressed on. "Tell me, Luka, you got away with it then. Little Antonio accepted the blame, but you put him up to it, didn't you?"
Luka's smile showed his perfect, small white teeth and a dimple in his right cheek. "Brother Thomas, let me swear on my father's life, on the life of our benefactor, who we thank for the new roof, the plumbing ... I did not, Brother Thomas, ever steal a chicken leg. Pencils and books, I believe I did, but never that chicken."
Thomas sat back with a sigh. Angelo patted Luka's shoulder.
"There, Thomas, at last you have your answer. Now may I suggest, we retire? Our young guest must be tired. He has come all the way from America."
They rose from the table, Luka assisting Father Angelo, but Guido hurried toward them, carrying the walker. Having made sure that the father was firmly on his feet, he turned to Luka.
"Your father, Luka, he is Paul Carolla, no?"
Luka spun around, and Guido stepped back. "I am sorry, I do not wish to intrude. I am just interested. I have read of the trials."
"Read, Brother Guido?"
Guido, flushing, gave a furtive look to right and left before continuing. "Newspapers are frowned upon here, but they are often displayed at the grocery store."
Luka hesitated, then gave him that sweet smile. "Sadly my father is held in jail, but he is an innocent man, Brother Guido. I am here to pray for him, pray for his release."
Luka's heart was beating fast. He had not expected anyone here, in this sanctuary, to know. "Guido, I am a very good gardener. Would I be permitted to work on the vegetable patch?"
Guido nodded and said he would be more than happy to assist.
"That will not be necessary. I need no help, and I know where all the tools are kept."
Guido remained standing in the shadowy corridor until he heard Luka's door close. He was excited. He had no desire to garden, but he wanted to know more about the trials. They were, so the papers said, opening a new era in Sicily, the end of the Mafia.
In the safety of his room Luka stripped off his robe. Naked, he dragged at the mattress, checking that his precious bag was still there. Satisfied, he lay naked on top of the cotlike bed. His body felt light now, and cool.
He smiled, recalling old Thomas and his chicken leg. Luka had stolen it and had threatened
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