me, that he didn’t trust me, didn’t believe I had refused Klaus’s advances and preserved my innocence; then humiliation,
agony
at the thought of Sister Graziella watching us; and finally, there was Klaus and my confusion about him. I was indignant and determined to keep seeing him despite everything stacked against us. I was so attracted to him, and I really did respect his gentleness and restraint. Why should he—
Nazi animal—
be punished for something he didn’t do? But then—and here I cried the hardest, because the truth was so obvious—my father and Sister Graziella were right. Klaus was both an enemy soldier and a married man. Treachery had infused every aspect of this affair, and I needed to clear away the bilious green fog that had settled over me and clung like volcanic ash.
I picked up the front of my skirt and wiped my hands and face on the inside of it, then smoothed my hair as best I could. With one last swipe of my hands on my clothes, I got up and set off in the direction of the church and Don Federico.
Thinking about it as I walked, I looked forward this time to making a full confession. The reality of what I had done, after all, was so much more innocent than all the villainous accusations. In fact, I planned to weigh in heavily in telling of my own rebuff of Klaus’s advances and cast both my father and Sister Graziella as unjust in their leaps to a conclusion and their condemnation of me. Did I even hope that Don Federico would prove to be less than discreet? Maybe he could help dig me out of this hole.
But Don Federico, a hazy, stooped figure on the other side of the grate, did not quite see it my way. “Your first sin, Giovanna, which you neglected to mention, was lying to your parents and to your friend Violetta.”
“Oh, right, Father. That slipped my mind.”
“And then your intentions were clearly to meet this man, this enemy soldier, in private, alone?”
“Yes.”
“So you deliberately led him into temptation, inviting him to stray from his marriage vows?”
“No, Father.
He
is the one who invited
me
.”
“We are talking about you today, Giovanna. You engaged with him in sinful behavior, leading you both dangerously close to disaster. It is you, my child, who are responsible for your own acts in the eyes of God.”
“Well, but I was only—”
He interrupted me, droning on with no interest in hearing my defense. “The good Lord chose to intervene and save you from even greater sin. For this you must be eternally grateful to Him. But you are gravely at fault and must do major penance nonetheless.”
I was a bubbling well of spiritual zeal in those days—open, starry-eyed, and eager to receive its wisdom. But confession always seemed to end the same way: I wanted to come out sparkling like clear glass, ready for a new start, and instead I emerged feeling guilty, duplicitous, and fundamentally unclean. Why, in Don Federico’s version, was I—not Klaus—responsible for getting into this situation in the first place? Then, when it came to pulling back and drawing the boundaries, which I clearly did,
God
got all the credit?
I stayed in the sanctuary for a long time and dutifully prayed all the Hail Marys and rosaries I had been assigned. But on the way home, I felt no closer to God or to my father. I knew reconciliation would be difficult and was entirely up to me. It would happen on my own timetable, not my father’s. I found Mother in the garden,taking notes on a pad of paper. Working on the landscape was her form of denial in this war. If she could focus on beauty, on somehow maintaining an illusion of peace and prosperity, maybe it would all simply disappear. The proper care and feeding of roses, the need for pruning rosemary bushes and lavender…if she could lose herself utterly in it all, she could momentarily forget her worries about Tuscany’s future, about Giorgio, and now, I presumed, about me. Did she know? Had Father talked with her? I wasn’t at all
agony
at the thought of Sister Graziella watching us; and finally, there was Klaus and my confusion about him. I was indignant and determined to keep seeing him despite everything stacked against us. I was so attracted to him, and I really did respect his gentleness and restraint. Why should he—
Nazi animal—
be punished for something he didn’t do? But then—and here I cried the hardest, because the truth was so obvious—my father and Sister Graziella were right. Klaus was both an enemy soldier and a married man. Treachery had infused every aspect of this affair, and I needed to clear away the bilious green fog that had settled over me and clung like volcanic ash.
I picked up the front of my skirt and wiped my hands and face on the inside of it, then smoothed my hair as best I could. With one last swipe of my hands on my clothes, I got up and set off in the direction of the church and Don Federico.
Thinking about it as I walked, I looked forward this time to making a full confession. The reality of what I had done, after all, was so much more innocent than all the villainous accusations. In fact, I planned to weigh in heavily in telling of my own rebuff of Klaus’s advances and cast both my father and Sister Graziella as unjust in their leaps to a conclusion and their condemnation of me. Did I even hope that Don Federico would prove to be less than discreet? Maybe he could help dig me out of this hole.
But Don Federico, a hazy, stooped figure on the other side of the grate, did not quite see it my way. “Your first sin, Giovanna, which you neglected to mention, was lying to your parents and to your friend Violetta.”
“Oh, right, Father. That slipped my mind.”
“And then your intentions were clearly to meet this man, this enemy soldier, in private, alone?”
“Yes.”
“So you deliberately led him into temptation, inviting him to stray from his marriage vows?”
“No, Father.
He
is the one who invited
me
.”
“We are talking about you today, Giovanna. You engaged with him in sinful behavior, leading you both dangerously close to disaster. It is you, my child, who are responsible for your own acts in the eyes of God.”
“Well, but I was only—”
He interrupted me, droning on with no interest in hearing my defense. “The good Lord chose to intervene and save you from even greater sin. For this you must be eternally grateful to Him. But you are gravely at fault and must do major penance nonetheless.”
I was a bubbling well of spiritual zeal in those days—open, starry-eyed, and eager to receive its wisdom. But confession always seemed to end the same way: I wanted to come out sparkling like clear glass, ready for a new start, and instead I emerged feeling guilty, duplicitous, and fundamentally unclean. Why, in Don Federico’s version, was I—not Klaus—responsible for getting into this situation in the first place? Then, when it came to pulling back and drawing the boundaries, which I clearly did,
God
got all the credit?
I stayed in the sanctuary for a long time and dutifully prayed all the Hail Marys and rosaries I had been assigned. But on the way home, I felt no closer to God or to my father. I knew reconciliation would be difficult and was entirely up to me. It would happen on my own timetable, not my father’s. I found Mother in the garden,taking notes on a pad of paper. Working on the landscape was her form of denial in this war. If she could focus on beauty, on somehow maintaining an illusion of peace and prosperity, maybe it would all simply disappear. The proper care and feeding of roses, the need for pruning rosemary bushes and lavender…if she could lose herself utterly in it all, she could momentarily forget her worries about Tuscany’s future, about Giorgio, and now, I presumed, about me. Did she know? Had Father talked with her? I wasn’t at all
Similar Books
