“I remembered the beginning, and Nino filled in the story through the mine collapse. But neither of us can remember the ending. Do you know it?”
“Let me think.” Nicolina sat on the edge of the bed. “There was a fire. The elephant was pulling a flatbed of rubies. When she got outside the mine, the load was so big, it ripped away the roof, and it triggered a rock slide, which sealed the entrance.”
“Is that when the mahout died?” Matelda asked.
“He hung on, but then the smoke got him and he slid off the elephant and died.”
“Was he run over? I think he was run over by the flatbed.”
“I don’t remember, Mama. The elephant was free of the mahout and the chains and the beating. She began to run. She got to the town—”
“Karur!”
“That’s right. All the people in the town came out of their homes to cheer the elephant. The rubies were priceless, and the elephant saved the town. They took her to the river. She dipped her trunk into the depths and filled it with fresh water. She showered herself with the cold water, bathing herself. She slurped up more water and let it run off her back. I loved that part. Nonno Silvio was so funny when he did the snout.”
“My grandfather was funny too.” Matelda smiled.
“I’m sure he taught Nonno Silvio. He would watch Bisnonno Pietro act out the story sometimes.”
“That’s the beauty of all the generations in a family living in one house,” Matelda said wistfully. “Everybody shares the same stories. Go on.”
“There was the sad part. The elephant remembered her babies, and how she bathed them in the river. She remembered the faces of her children even though they were long gone. That was depressing enough, but then the story took a turn. The elephant laid down on the riverbank. Her head was resting on the ground when she heard the mountain collapse from within from the fire. The elephant understood what happened and she wept.”
“The elephant didn’t die at the end?”
“Not in the version I heard. Why, Mama? Are you disappointed?”
“Not at all. I remember the point of it was that you had one life to live and it was important to live it in service to others, no matter the cost. The noble elephant gave her life for the town.”
“That’s what you got out of it? I heard it differently. It was the story of how women, represented by the female elephant, are abused and lose their children just because they are more valuable hauling rock than they are free.”
“Nicolina, bedtime stories aren’t political statements. They weren’t to your grandfather, who told them—I promise you. He wanted you children to understand where these gems we cut came from. There was a great deal of sacrifice involved.”
“It made me want to visit India.”
Anina entered the hospital room, closed the door behind herself, and began to cry.
“What is it about this room?” Matelda looked at Nicolina. “I need to change my room.”
“It’s not the room! Pain follows us wherever we go.” Nicolina went to her daughter. “What happened?”
“I’ve been busy and I haven’t seen much of Paolo and he went out and kissed a girl in a bar.”
“That’s not right. I’m sorry, honey.” Nicolina held Anina close.
“Has he been pursuing other women besides you on a regular basis?” Matelda asked.
“Yes. No. Only one, he says. He just met her. He says he doesn’t remember her name.”
Nicolina looked at Matelda, who winked at her daughter. Matelda patted the bed. “Come and sit. If the story of the elephant in India is old, ancient is the tale of the Italian man who kisses women in bars whenever he pleases.” Matelda took Anina’s hand.
“It sounds like nothing,” Nicolina said to Anina.
“Not to me. I trusted him.”
“He has to make it right,” Matelda said.
“There are some things that are unforgivable. I can’t marry someone who forgets me so easily.”
“Did he confess?” Nicolina asked.
“Right away.”
“He made a mistake. You really want to break it off over one mistake?” Nicolina said diplomatically.
“Do I break it off after the eighth time he does it? Do I break it off when we have a baby and he goes out at night and doesn’t tell me where he’s going? Where is the line exactly?” Anina looked to her mother and then to her grandmother.
“You draw it,” Matelda said. “But it’s a line, not a barbed wire fence. You can’t police your fiancé. You shouldn’t make decisions in haste, and you don’t make a final decision until you’ve seen a priest.”
Nicolina put her arms around Anina. “Mama’s solution to most problems.”
“Because they’ve heard it all in the confessional,” Matelda explained. “If there’s a sin out there, someone has knelt in the dark to confess it. The priest will put this transgression in perspective for you. You’ll see.”
* * *
Don Vincenzo was the parish priest in Lucca. He had come from the north, somewhere in the Lombardia region in the Italian Alps, where year-round the snow glazed the mountain peaks like spun sugar. Occasionally, he made an inside joke about polenta in his homilies that the older parishioners who had family in the north appreciated. Though the priest wasn’t yet fifty, he seemed old to Anina. Whenever her grandmother referred to anyone as robusto, it usually meant they weren’t young but they were in good shape for their age. Don Vincenzo was definitely robusto. He resembled an Alpine bear, tall and broad with a big head.
Paolo had more interest in the priest and his premarital instruction than Anina did. He was, in fact, more religious than she. Paolo kissed the medal around his neck before bed and first thing when he woke in the morning. He was devoted to Our Lady of Fatima. He walked in the holy procession and said the rosary on her feast day.
“Let’s begin with a prayer,” Don Vincenzo said from behind his desk. Anina and Paolo bowed their heads. “You may join hands.”
Paolo reached for Anina’s hand. He placed his hand over hers, which remained on the handle of her chair.
“Tender heart of Jesus, teach us to pray, help us to think, and lead us to love.”