Читать книгу Mirror, Mirror at 1600 D.C. - Edward Galluzzi - Страница 10

Chapter 3

The Holy Man and the Man of the Gun

Hannah and Harrison began walking the short distance to the restaurant. There was a brief silence interrupted by Harrison, “Have you worked long for the Washington Sun?” Before Hannah could respond, what sounded like gunshots rang out in their direction. Harrison instinctively cradled Hannah and crouched for cover in the doorway of a nearby building as a car sped by them with its wheels squealing. Puffs of white smoke were left in the wake of the car as evidence that the tires temporarily raced faster than the vehicle itself. Harrison stood cautiously and attempted a glimpse at the speeding vehicle, but was unable to determine the license plate number. Even without such identification, he had a very good idea of the origin of the gunfire.

Hannah cried out, “What’s going on, Harrison?” Harrison helped Hannah from the ground. He pushed her there rather roughly as demanded by the urgency of the situation. “Are you all right?” asked Harrison. “Just a scraped knee, I think” replied Hannah. She continued, “What was that all about? Was that…was that a gunshot?” Harrison thought momentarily of diffusing the situation with some half-truths, but he has grown increasingly weary of building relationships on hidden and twisted facts.

“Yes, they were Hannah” stated Harrison as calmly as he could. “But why?” asked Hannah in such a way as to imply, ‘Why you?’ knowing full well that she has no known enemies in Italy—at least not of the ilk that would hunt her down and kill her. Harrison took a deep breath and said calmly once again, “Sometimes my assignments for the President attract, shall we say, some undesirable, seedy characters. They would like nothing other than to see the President’s negotiating efforts fail if not at least interrupted. I’m sorry that you got involved in my little war. Perhaps we’d better take a rain check for lunch under the circumstances.” “Nonsense” replied Hannah in her best journalistic firm and assertive tone. “You invited me to lunch and you’re not going to get out of it that easy,” Hannah smiled. Harrison smiled back and approved of her moxie. He liked risk-taking in a woman, an appealing woman at that. Harrison asked mockingly, “So, you’re not afraid?” “Of course I’m afraid,” Hannah retorted. “I don’t usually get shot at when I’m in the company of a man, even a handsome man.”

Harrison accepted the compliment without a remark and countered, “It’s your life.” He swung out his right hand and motioned Hannah to finish their short walk to the Casa di Pasta. However, this time, Harrison was hyper-vigilant as he took in a panoramic view of their surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary although he knew that appearances could be deceiving. Harrison and Hannah continued walking ahead more cautiously than before. Harrison observed that even Hannah was looking around much more than before the brief barrage of bullets.

The couple, strangers to each other, arrived at Casa di Pasta without further incident and entered the cozy, dimly lit restaurant. It was busy as always, but Paolo Peddu, the owner of Casa di Pasta, recognized Harrison immediately. Paolo moved sharply through the gathering hungry crowd. He stepped lively toward the newly met couple and said excitedly, “Ciao, Mr. Rossetti. How wonderful to see you again!” “Ciao,” Harrison returned. “I would like you to meet Miss Littleton.” Paolo smiled as he turned toward Hannah and politely said, “Ciao.” He turned back toward Harrison, “Your usual table, Mr. Rossetti.” “Si, grazie” replied Harrison. Paolo motioned Harrison and his guest to a discreet table in the corner of the restaurant. He gave his special guests two menus and left momentarily.

There was a short silence between the strangers broken by Hannah. “What do you recommend?” she inquired looking up and down her menu. “The pasta is all good here because of their special sauce. It was a family recipe that Paolo received from his great grandmother—subtle and not too spicy. So, just order your favorite pasta and I promise you won’t be disappointed.” With that, Hannah and Harrison returned to their review of their menus and the mouth-watering entrees before them.

Paolo returned with the house salad and several loaves of hot Italian bread. ‘What a handsome couple,’ he said to himself and asked, “Are you ready to order, madam?” “Yes, I think I will have the cannelloni” Paolo smiled, “Si” and turned to Harrison. “Your usual sir?” “Si, grazie” replied Harrison. Paolo took their menus and left their table.

“Your usual?” Hannah smiled with some irony in her voice. “Is that another secret or can you tell me ‘your usual’?” “Meat ravioli,” came Harrison’s ‘what else’ kind of reply. Harrison’s thoughts drifted away from their conversation even with the striking distraction before him. He had a really good idea who was behind the spray of bullets. Harrison’s digression did not go unnoticed by Hannah. “Spia?” she said coyly. Harrison’s hair literally stood on end as he was shocked back to the reality of the present. He looked at Hannah and for one of the very few times in his life he was at a loss for words. The couple silently gazed at each other as Harrison’s shocked expression did not wane. A flash of Josetta’s image past by in memory as the name Spia was uttered so blatantly.

“I’ll ask you not to refer to me in that manner again,” Harrison said defensively and with ire. His facial expression betrayed the feelings he had not intended to expose to Hannah. Harrison was dismayed at himself for failing to control his emotions upon hearing the term of endearment coming from anybody except from his holy friend, Josetta. Yet, he was uncertain as to why it disturbed him so. He made no immediate sense of his reaction, which in itself told him he was analyzing the events too superficially. Perhaps that was it— thinking and analyzing—odd problem solving tools for trying to illuminate an emotional response. Harrison was only vaguely aware of Hannah’s distress in crossing a line that she had not known was drawn. She wanted to say something, perhaps that she was sorry; however, she dared not to at the moment given the consternation displayed by the complex man sitting across the table from her. Harrison continued his inner review of his…his what? His embarrassment of hearing Spia spoken out of the context of his relationship with Josetta…his anger because indeed that characterized much of what he was…his sadness due to memories of his holy friend flooded his mind…his secrecy for that which was always a part of him…his what? ‘Damn it,’ thought Harrison. Josetta again passed in his memory ensued by a quiet smile. Harrison’s egocentric thoughts were consuming him. He glanced upward and observed what appeared to be concern and hurt on Hannah’s face. “I’m sorry,” Harrison said as he shook his head not knowing further what to say. How could he tell Hannah why Spia upset him so when he was confused himself over the hold that it had on him…or was he simply ignoring the obvious?

Harrison again looked at Hannah. There appeared to be more concern than hurt in her expression now. She reached out her hand and gently placed it on Harrison’s arm. The gentle touch was reassuring to him and he nodded his thankfulness to her. “We don’t need to talk about that now,” said Hannah in a tender voice. Again, Harrison was at a loss for words and nodded. He thought to himself that there was no sense in trying to explain to this charming, sensitive woman who had moxie what he did not understand himself.

They quietly finished their salad aware of each other yet not violating each other’s personal and emotional space. Hannah knew that what she had said had struck a nerve, a deep nerve. It was not important to her now why that was. She sensed that she would find out some day what lay below the surface of this intricate man.

Paolo returned to the table with their main course. Hannah politely complimented the owner on the taste of his house salad. ‘A fine blend of seasonings’ she thought. Harrison reinforced the sentiment and said, “As always, Paolo.” “Grazie,” uttered the proud man before leaving the table. Hannah and Harrison began eating their main course. “This is wonderful,” Hannah said excitedly after consuming several mouthfuls. Harrison agreed and commented, “You know, for all the times that I’ve been here, the rich taste of the sauce never changes.”

“How long have you known Paolo?” Hannah asked. “Almost as long as I’ve known the Pontiff,” was Harrison’s reply. He continued, “Actually, Josetta introduced me to Paolo and the Casa di Pasta about—well, I guess it would be about twelve years ago. Josetta was a priest from one of Italy’s local regions at St. Maria Goretti parish. I was on special assignment at the time and much younger. Communism was a more severe threat back then than it is now. The covert operation in which I participated took an unsuspecting turn. We were betrayed and my colleague was killed. I was severely wounded. I wasn’t sure where I was going or who to trust when I came upon this small church. “St. Maria Goretti?” Hannah interjected. “Yes,” replied Harrison. “And the man that helped you was Joseph Josetta?” surmised Hannah. “Yes, except that was not his name at the time. His birth name was Josepha Modesta…Father Josepha Modesta. He was, and still is, a fearless man of God. Josetta helped me and he was well aware that he put his own life very much at risk. He sheltered me in his church and sent one of his parishioners to find the local doctor. Meanwhile, Josetta did what he could to clean my wounds and stem the tide of infection. He told me that this was nothing new for him as he often observed his father provide similar acts of benevolence in war-torn Italy during World War II.”

“I bet the Pontiff has helped you out of trouble many times since then,” smiled Hannah. “Trouble, always” mused Harrison thinking of his holy friend. “Well, obviously you pulled through since you are here,” noted Hannah. “I pulled through only because Josetta risked his life for mine—a stranger to him. The one who betrayed our operation got word that the local doctor was summoned to the church to treat ‘gun wounds.’ He had a very good hunch that I was the wounded man.”

“This Judas came to the church?” asked Hannah realizing that she played on the identified betrayer of Jesus. “Not only did he come to the church, he came even before the doctor arrived. Josetta was treating me in the small vestibule of the church. What struck me at the time was Josetta’s street smartness. You’d think a man in his line of work would be ‘brain smart’ and ‘street stupid.’ Josetta knew that I was still in danger and the fact that I escaped was a mistake that would not be overlooked. Once he dressed my wounds as best as he could, he took me through a hidden stairway under one of the pews. The crude stairs led downward under the church to burial vaults for the local priests and nuns. This burial place was not public knowledge. Josetta believed I would be safest there. He asked me to remain quiet and that he would return once the doctor had arrived. Josetta feared the worse and indicated he’d do his best to wash away the blood stains on the church floor and on himself.”

Hannah’s interest intensified as she peered deeper into Harrison’s eyes. He continued his story: “I could hear muzzled sounds coming from above and echoing in the silent vacuum. In the solitude, the cold dampness of the burial grounds began permeating my aching body. The pain of my wounds surfaced as my adrenalin slowed following the care provided by Josetta. He patched me up the best he could, but the tide of blood continued oozing from my wounds.”

Harrison stopped momentarily and winced as if he again was feeling the pain of long ago as it occurred then. Hannah leaned forward and gently stroked his hand. Harrison sighed at the touch of the beautiful woman. He continued, “I did not realize everything that was unfolding above me or how grave was the situation. What I tell you now was what emerged based on what Josetta told me and what I experienced.” Harrison’s attention was drawn briefly to the tender stimulation at the hands of Hannah. He regained his focus and continued, “Josetta had just completed washing away the bloodstains on himself and the church floor when two strangers entered the sanctuary. They did not approach the padre at first, but they began walking up and down the aisle glancing between the rustic pews. The bulges in their jackets did not go unnoticed by Josetta. He knew that they did not come to his church to pray, but rather they came looking for their prey.”

Harrison’s recounting was interrupted by Paolo who observed much food still on their plates: “The food… You don’t like?” Hannah and Harrison said together, “The food is wonderful. Grande!” “Ah, grazie” said the restaurateur. In a desire to justify why she still had much food on her plate, Hannah offered, “Harrison was just telling me about the time he first met Pope Josetta.” “Josetta,” said Paolo softly and with respect. He then made the sign of the cross by touching his right hand to his forehead, to his chest, to his left shoulder and then to his right shoulder. Paolo pulled a crucifix from inside his shirt; one blessed by Josetta, and kissed it reverently.

Upon paying his respect to the Pontiff, Paolo said to Harrison, “You owe much to Josetta—he gets you out of trouble, yes?” “Out of trouble, always” mused Harrison for the third time today. Paolo looked inquisitively at his old friend. Harrison waved his hand as if to say ‘never mind’ and then said, “Si, Paolo, Josetta has done much for me.” Harrison’s remarks brought an approving and knowing smile to the owner’s face. At that, Paolo said, “Mi scusi” and left the couple’s table.

Hannah was anxious for Harrison to continue his life story. “So?” she asked innocently. There was a pause before Harrison retorted, “So what?” Hannah simply stared at Harrison and he got the message. Harrison took a deep breath and commented, “Maybe we should take a moment to finish our food before it all becomes cold.” A furrow developed on Hannah’s forehead as she gazed intently at Harrison. She said in a loud voice, “Food! Food! How can you think of food at a time like this?” “Because I’m hungry” was the storyteller’s honest reply.

Hannah did not appear as amused as he did to his response, honest or not. Harrison decided that it was best to comply and recalled, “The men in the church were growing impatient, as they did not find me. They began opening what doors they could in the church. Josetta was concerned that they might find the hidden stairway under the pews. At grave personal risk, he decided to approach the gunmen. As Josetta approached one of the men, the stranger put his hand inside his jacket swelling the size of the already prominent bulge. The holy priest introduced

himself to the gunman and asked if he could be of service. At first, the stranger said nothing and continued his search. Josetta persisted in questioning the man and asked…” Harrison’s recanting was interrupted once again by Paolo who handed him a message. Harrison thanked the owner who withdrew and then quickly scanned the message given to him. Hannah observed a tense expression on her companion’s face and asked, “Is there something wrong?” There was a pause as Harrison thought for a moment as he stared away from Hannah. He turned toward her and said abruptly, “I have to go now. I’m sorry about lunch. We will have to finish our story later.” Hannah asked hurriedly, “Where can I get a hold of you?” He shook his head ‘no’ and said, “You can’t. However, tell me where you are staying and I will contact you when I can.” Hannah appeared disappointed wondering if she would actually ever hear from Harrison again. “I’m staying at the Albergo Sull’acqua.” Harrison nodded and called for the owner. Paolo appeared and Harrison requested, “Please take care of my friend, Hannah.” He gave Paolo fifty dollars in Italian lire, told Hannah that he would talk to her later and left the restaurant. Hannah sighed as she sat alone at the table. Unbeknown to her, it would be one of many times that she would find herself alone as ‘urgent business’ called Harrison away. She gazed at the exquisitely tasting food on her plate, moving pieces nonchalantly with her fork. “Well,” she said aloud to no one, “No sense in letting this fine cuisine go to waste.” As if receiving confirmation of her thoughts from nobody in particular, Hannah picked up Harrison’s plate of meat ravioli and gently moved the succulent pasta onto her plate. ‘Who said you can’t mix pastas?’ she thought rhetorically. Hannah devoured the food on her plate less delicately than if Harrison were still present. It was almost too much for her, but she managed to consume most of what remained on her, er, their plate.