Silvio had observed his mother fill with false hope whenever a child besides the steadfast and loyal Domenica Cabrelli befriended him. When a boy invited her son to play a street game, she hoped that it meant that Silvio was finally accepted by his peers. She would fortify any fledgling friendship with acts of kindness. She would send a cake or a pot of soup home with the new friend as a gesture of gratitude, in hopes her largesse might gently encourage the friendship to take root. In those moments, when it appeared that things had changed for her boy, Signora Vietro believed that the worst was over. But of course, it wasn’t. The parents of the children would sever any new ties when they learned of the circumstances of Silvio’s birth. They made a point of ostracizing the Birtolini boy from their proper families.
As Silvio grew older, the bullying deepened to contempt, the portal to violence. There was no way to change their perception of Silvio, especially one that was deeply ingrained in the people who perpetuated the pain. There was only one person in the world who could change people’s minds about Silvio, and he wouldn’t do it. Silvio was unwanted by his father, which made him unwanted in the world. Despite all of it, Silvio kept trying to fit in.
Every day of his life, Silvio Birtolini started over. He left his mother’s home with high hopes each morning, believing that this would be the day that would erase the sin, or at least leave it in the past to be forgotten. He tried his best to fit in, to be a good pal, but Silvio accrued no loyalty, even when he gave it. No kindness was returned when he offered it. No one thought to include him, even when he spent sleepless nights considering how to make friends and find camaraderie in simple connections that came so naturally to other children. If that weren’t enough pain to endure, he saw what it did to his mother. The rejection of Silvio by his teachers and fellow students was an open wound for his mother. It broke his tender heart to live a helpless life.
The only respite he had was the library, and now even that had been taken from him. Before the incident, if Silvio was quiet and followed the rules, he was allowed to stay as long as he wished, a privilege for a boy who wasn’t welcome anywhere. Silvio and Domenica spent hours in the library together poring over books that delighted them no matter how many times they read them. Domenica was encouraged to be bold as she read The Three Musketeers. The boy learned to cope by reading Charles Dickens, who wrote of Silvio’s circumstances like no other writer. The stories of the travails of others helped him make sense of his own; the only difference was, the fictional characters who endured hardship were safe inside of books. Silvio was not. He had to live in a village where he had no protection.
Silvio would turn twelve in a few days, and he was eager to become a man. Manhood meant he could finally seize control of his own life. There were signs that it was coming, so he was in preparation for the new role. He approached it in the same fashion he had studied for his sacraments. Silvio knew that his mother could not guide him in this regard, only a father could do so for his son. He would figure it out on his own by reading about it.
Before Silvio had taken the map from the library, he had lost track of the time in the stacks reading about the changes in his body in The Doctor’s Guide to the Adolescent Male. He read things that disturbed and thrilled him, so much so he almost forgot entirely about taking the map and meeting Domenica. But he would not let his friend down. If only he had kept reading and stayed in the library, he would have avoided the worst of this terrible day.
He wished that he would have had time to finish the book about puberty. He had read enough to discern that by the time he turned fourteen, he would physically be a man, well on his way to a strength, height, and weight that would make it impossible for anyone to cross him. At that point, he could leave school, apprentice at a trade, and get a job to earn a wage to care for his mother and himself. Silvio thought it was funny that his glands in puberty were in control of his fate and would be the catalyst to help him leave the pain of his childhood behind. According to the book, it would be so. Manhood would change his life. He would shed his boyhood on the road to Parma. He no longer wanted to explain himself, endure the daily taunts, and be forced to hide when he was chased in the dark. Beyond Domenica’s loyalty, there was nothing for him in this village by the sea. No matter what good he could do, or what he might attempt to achieve or become, in Viareggio, he would remain il bastardo.
CHAPTER 8
Domenica lay in her bed under the window in the kitchen and looked out at the night sky. She was attempting to examine her conscience, but the process was tedious. She disliked the spiritual exercise almost as much as her least favorite chore, the arduous task of pulling the tiny bones from the baccala to cure it for the winter. There were always more fish bones, no matter how many she removed. So it went with sin. She picked apart her actions to prepare for confession, but there were invariably more sins she could report. What good could come from going over and over events that had already happened, whose outcomes could not be changed, and whose residual effects could not be stopped? It all seemed pointless.