“Cabrelli, are you deaf?” Mironi shouted.
The men laughed.
Domenica turned and walked back to face him. “Signore Mironi.”
The men in his company began to taunt their friend. “Signore! Signore!”
“I went to school with her.” Mironi toasted her with a bottle.
“When you bothered to show up,” she said. “Excuse me.”
Mironi blocked her from moving past him. “I want to talk to you,” he said.
Domenica looked down the boardwalk, searching the crowd for Monica and the children. They were gone. “Signore.” Domenica folded her arms across her chest and planted her feet firmly on the boardwalk. As a small woman, she had learned how to take up space and fill it with confidence. Her stance and Mironi’s tone of voice caused a crowd to form around them in anticipation of an argument. Domenica searched the circle for a friendly face but did not find one.
“Stay out of my business,” he sneered. He handed the bottle of grappa to one of his pals in order to fish into his pockets. He reeked of wine but remained sober enough to stand, though his ample weight shifted from one foot to the other.
“What is this?” He waved a pamphlet in the air.
Domenica realized it was the booklet explaining family planning that she had given to Monica. She snatched it from him. “This is not the time or place to discuss private matters. Come to Dottore Pretucci’s office if you have questions.”
“I tell her what to do. Not you. Not Pretucci. Me.”
“She’s well aware that you’re the padrone.”
“I am the padrone!” Mironi roared.
“And now the entire village knows you’re the boss.”
The crowd laughed, enraging Mironi. He lunged for Domenica. He was big and lumbering, but she was quick and stepped out of his way. She folded the pamphlet and tucked it inside the sleeve of her dress.
“Stay away from my wife!” Mironi warned her.
The crowd split into two sides: men and women. Domenica felt the tension of the two camps as she became the voice of the women. She stood firm as Mironi turned back toward the beach, but instead of leaving, he spun around and spit at Domenica’s feet.
Domenica looked down at the ground and up at Mironi. “Aren’t you a big man in every way but the important one?”
A ripple of nervous laughter went through the crowd. The fight was lopsided, a bear and a mouse. The people were riveted by the sight of the young woman standing up to the giant.
“Guido Mironi, you have been a brute all your life,” Domenica said evenly. “You pulled your nonsense in the shadows so as not to get caught. But you and I know what you’ve done. You grew up to be a drunk: the fate of all cowards who cannot face themselves.”
“You told my wife to leave our bed. You go against the natural law. Against the Church. Stay out of my business, Cabrelli.”
The opening fireworks shot into the sky with a loud whistle until they found their highest peak and exploded in a shower of hot blossoms in the night sky. The whistle, boom, and shatter sounds of the fireworks drowned out anything further Mironi had to say.
Mironi’s gang pulled him off the boardwalk back onto the beach. Domenica turned her back on the spectacle. She walked home under the showers of light, whereas in years past, she had stood on the beach and reveled in their beauty. She did not show it, but she was afraid. Whenever there was a fight at school, at the bottom of the pile was a hot-tempered Mironi. That had not changed since they were children. But something had shifted for Domenica during the altercation. For the first time in her life, Viareggio did not feel like home. The locals had lost respect for Domenica somehow or were angry that she had the temerity to take a stand, or perhaps it was something worse: they sided with Mironi and wanted the young nurse to know her place in the long shadow of the Holy Roman Church.
CHAPTER 15
Domenica had never seen Pretucci angry. She had made mistakes for sure, but he was usually patient as she found a solution.
The shades in the office were pulled so far down over the sash, no light came in. The lamp over the examination table made a ring of light on the marble that looked like the moon. Domenica stood on one side of the table. Pretucci paced on the other. The doctor raised his voice for the first time to her: “You cannot give medical advice that goes against the Church.”
“I was not speaking out against the Church, I was trying to help Signora Mironi. She cannot keep having babies; she has weak blood.”
“That’s not your concern.”