Pool_1

the soul of THIS boy" Mrs. Franchesca startled then swooned at the likeness to her Frankie, hastily recovering with a sign of the cross as he whispered to her as if in a confessional, it had been so long, "I swear my life to be free of my past. I will do my best." The silence was perfect. Unblemished. Godly. He had done his penance in advance of his confession which needed no utterance. It was in his face and demeanor. In the flawless silence of a genial wine cellar, sipping the primo, to a penetrating aroma of perfectly seasoned marinara. They lingered quietly adapting to one another's presence. This is how we all should die - then be reborn. But what a rebirth! She made the sign, done quickly, it looks like a sign of the cross, but forehead, right chest, left shoulder, right shoulder, left chest, forehead - the five pointed star - is Venus. Birth. Something was born here. She grinned that Italian lower lip over the upper lip grin as he fell apart with laughter at the subtlety of that seal. And sealed it was, but there are always pesky details. She knew that. He knew that she knew that, so he reasoned something to her, such as it would be dangerous to walk naked in the storm that his past created. Mrs. Franchesca was silently mouthing to a hurried cycle of rosary beads using the hem of her dress as a proxy as was common among the older Italian women caught without the real article. Things grew silent again. Then she looked at Prio over the photograph he had given her with a tear in her eye. She could not imagine such a loss. She knew. She understood, "Havea da wine." She poured, he again accepted. One wonders what either of them were thinking after they gracefully said their good-byes to one another and had only their own mentality to probe for echoes of reason.