“I think Francesca was in love. But Mr. Cillo locked her away like a princess in a tower.”
Mr. Falso drew his hand away as if he’d touched a hot stove. “And that’s why they fell. You must be a pretty amazing kid, to have figured out something their father, their teachers, their relatives, their priest, and their spiritual director didn’t know.”
“They didn’t have a normal life,” Ben said, his courage building. Mr. Falso’s mood was tanking, but the relief of releasing the things he’d been carrying was great, and the words came tumbling out. “Something bad happened around the time Connie died.”
“It did. Connie died.”
“Something made them unravel, mentally. Something bad that no one knew.”
“Think carefully about what you’re saying, Ben.”
“I’m not making this up. I have proof. Mira complained to me.” Ben felt himself going out on a limb, but he couldn’t stop. “She said Francesca was having problems. Not eating. Crying a lot. That Mr. Cillo said her issues were in her head.”
Mr. Falso folded his hands over his knees and squinted up at the sky, as if in pain.“For someone who’s only ever climbed on plastic rocks in a gym, you did a good job today.”
“I’m sorry?” Ben said.
“Thing is, I did everything for you. Did you make sure the rope was threaded correctly through the belay device, and that the locking carabiners were actually locked? Did you double-check to see if your own knot was tied correctly? Tightened? Threaded through the harness, even? Was the tail long enough? Was my knot tied correctly? You didn’t look or ask.”
Ben’s mouth twisted.
“You stood there like a toddler and let me do those things for you. If you’d come out here and tried that descent yourself, you’d have dislocated a finger, shaved the skin off your palms, or cracked your pretty head against a wall.”
“I figured you knew enough for both of us.”
“Rock climbing is a risky activity, and many mistakes are unavoidable. If you’re lucky, your mistakes result in close calls that help keep you vigilant. If you’re not, the results can be tragic.”
The tops of Ben’s cheeks burned. He staggered to his feet, trying to gain height, perspective, something. “You’re saying I’m reading too much into what Mira told me.”
Mr. Falso turned away from the sun and gazed up at Ben with a terrifying calmness Ben had never seen in an older man—not in his father, not in his teachers, not in his coaches. Though Ben towered over him, Mr. Falso was the one in control.
“I’m saying that when you engage in a risky activity, you have to be absolutely sure you know what you’re doing. Maybe it’s not so much a matter of reading too much into something as reading incorrectly.”
Ben turned to storm away, tripped over his harness, and stumbled. He swore and spun around. When he turned, Mr. Falso was directly behind him.
“Did Mira come right out and tell you what was bothering Francesca?”
The note felt alive in Ben’s pocket. “Not exactly.”
“See, Ben. Here’s the thing. We can’t understand what was going on in that household. If Francesca was sad and withdrawn over something done to her, and her father was saying it was in her head, well, there are many documented cases of abuse where the abuser convinces the victim it’s in their head. To the point where it’s almost—God forgive me for saying this—a cliché.”
Ben felt as though someone had sucker punched him. Mr. Cillo had been abusing Francesca? She would have to have told this to Mr. Falso. And what did that mean for Mira? Even though the foundations of their homes were barely eight feet apart, he and Mira had escaped her father’s scrutiny a total of seven times. Seven times Ben had touched parts of Mira Cillo. Never more than seven. Not a lot. What did he really know about what went on behind closed doors? What did anyone know? Ben’s face burned. He thought of what Eddie had said about Mr. Cillo living among those girls, not knowing what to do with them.
What did he do with them?
“Ben? I asked you a question,” Mr. Falso said, his voice a low growl.
Ben looked up, startled. “What?”
“Have you spoken with anyone else about this?”
“No,” Ben whispered.
“That’s good. That’s very good.” He felt Mr. Falso rise to his feet, and watched as his long shadow overtook Ben’s own.
“Mr. Falso, Mira trusted me with information. I can’t look the other away.”
Mr. Falso pointed over Ben’s shoulder to a man taking an overhang, his partner belaying below. “See that climber over there?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Anytime you go out on an overhang, you’re in danger of putting your leg on the uphill side of your rope.” He pointed at the climber’s legs. “If you fall with your leg in the wrong position, you’re in danger of flipping upside down. Smack your skull right off the side of a cliff.”
Ben sniffed. “He doesn’t look like he’s going to flip.” He hated how childish he sounded, but he also couldn’t pull himself out of it.
“He’s not. Because what he’s doing, it’s subtle. He’s developed a sixth sense about when his leg has moved across the line too far. If it does, he corrects it.”
“How?”
“He pulls back. Immediately. Even if it changes his course.”
Ben folded his arms around himself and walked away, despite the fact that there was nowhere to go.
Mr. Falso called to him. “Did you know, Ben, that at one time, Bismuth was a town with no old men?”
Ben stopped and beat his upper arms. The sun had slipped behind a cloud, and the temperature at the bottom of Little Q dropped fast. “What does that mean?”
“Silicosis. Clouds of dust containing crystalline silica stirred up by drilling in the quarries. Exposure to silica dust killed off the men who operated drills and their helpers. Entered their lungs every time they breathed. Silicosis causes lungs to stiffen, making breathing more and more difficult. It makes you susceptible to infections, like tuberculosis. Most of the guys who worked in these quarries half a century ago never made it past age forty.”
“Sounds like a lousy way to die.” Ben no longer cared if he offended Mr. Falso. He wasn’t in the mood for a history lesson. He wanted to go home and reread every one of Mira’s notes and reconsider what they meant. Mr. Cillo touching Francesca. Her crying over it.
Mira knowing better.
Ben looked up at the wall he’d climbed down, a pleasant hour colored by endorphins and a single-minded focus on where to put his hands and feet. How could he, of all people, not have seen it? He, with his unique vantage. He, with his special knowledge. The deep grooves in the walls suddenly seemed unscalable. He felt a tightness in his chest. Mira knew better. She knew better because whatever Mr. Cillo was doing to Francesca, it was happening to her, too.