Bewildered and in shock, he nodded yes. “Yes, I am. Antonio, what does this mean?”
Antonio said, “You are blessed by God and at some point in your life, he will use you. What did she tell you?”
Paolo paused for a moment, his mind blank. “I don’t remember,” he scratched his head in bewilderment. He knew, but yet he didn’t. “Something about God’s time…I’ll just know…Wow, we talked, but I can’t remember. We did find my family’s records, and I went to the cemetery.”
“And tell me, my friend, how do you feel?” Antonio looked at the young man.
“Great, I feel great.”
“Bene! Now tell me, how did my sister look?”
“She was beautiful, Antonio, alive and beautiful.”
“That makes me happy, she is no longer in pain,” he said, a tear in his eye. “And you, Paolo, brought her back. I am at peace now; my sister is with God. Come, come, my son, let us enjoy this festival.” Antonio took Paolo’s arm and introduced him to the town residents.
The party lasted through the night; the townspeople danced and laughed, drank the homemade wine, enjoyed life. Paolo wondered if the feast was for him or an excuse for the village residents to come together. His conversation yesterday with Antonio’s sister still baffled him. Tired, he left the gathering and went to his room and fell asleep.
She floated toward him, her eyes focused on his. Mesmerized, he could not move. She began to speak, but he heard no words. Tranquility engulfed the two…
Paolo awoke the next morning well rested. He showered and went downstairs to find Sophia in the kitchen cooking breakfast.
“Paolo, how are you today? My Antonio told me what happened. Come, come sit down. I will pour you some espresso.” She pulled the chair from under the table.
“Thank you, Sophia, I’m peaceful. I came here to find out who I am and I think I found out.” He continued, “You and your husband have been extremely kind to me. I cannot thank you enough. I hope I’ll be back to visit in a couple of years.”
“Well, when you decide to come back, you call us. You can stay here for as long as you like. Our home is your home.”
“Grazie. By the way, Sophia, where did you learn to speak English so well?”
“Before I met Antonio, I lived in Rome. My father taught English at the University.”
“Do you regret leaving Rome?”
“At first I did, but now my life is uncomplicated. Antonio takes care of me, and we enjoy life.”
“I find it amazing that everyone I meet says the same thing. In America, we have forgotten the simplicity of life. We’re more concerned with money and possessions.”
“Paolo, as you get older, life becomes more enjoyable when it is simple. You are a young man, hopefully you will discover the simplicity of life before you grow too old to enjoy life.” Sophia said this as she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. She folded the towel neatly, placing it on the countertop next to the stove. “I need to go to church now to help the priest. Antonio will be right back; he had to go to the store. Enjoy your breakfast. I hope we will meet again before I die.” Sophia walked out the back door.
Paolo sat at the wooden table with its white tablecloth and ate his breakfast of homemade bread toasted over the open flame, cured meats, freshly squeezed orange juice, and of course, espresso. Antonio will be here soon. The back door opened and a smiling Antonio entered the kitchen.
“Ciao, Paolo, how are you this morning?”
“A little overwhelmed,” Paolo said.
“And why is that, my friend?”
“Antonio, these last two days have been most heartwarming. The acceptance of me by you, Sophia, and the people of my grandfather’s birthplace touches my heart. I feel like I’m home.”
“It is home for you, my son. This is where your lineage begins. Your life was set in motion here in Ottati. Now you can take your story home to the United States ever entrenched in your heart. You will share this short stay with those you will meet and those you have known as you walk life’s journey. Remember this,” he pulled out a chair and sat across from Paolo. “Remember this, Paolo, tomorrow waits for no man. Life dwindles away every day. There is no way you can reclaim yesterday but tomorrow is in the palm of your hands. One cannot escape from tomorrow’s grasp—for there will always be a tomorrow. Even in death tomorrow still comes for it waits for no man. Now you must excuse me.” With a tear in his eye, he added, “Paolo, you are a child of God.” Antonio rose from the chair, placed his hands on the table, and said, “I should start preparing for the lunch crowd. I heard there is a bus of tourists on the way. This should be a very profitable day. When Giacomo arrives, bring him downstairs to the restaurant for lunch.”
“I will.”
Paolo sat contemplating Antonio’s words. A warmness and sense of peace traveled through his body. Someone touched his arm. Startled, he turned. No one was there. Sister Mary came to his mind. Paolo cleaned up, went upstairs, and packed.
Giacomo arrived right on time. They had lunch at Antonio and Sophia’s café, eating outside in the piazza. A blue-and-red Cinzano umbrella placed in the center of the table protected them from the heat of the sun. They said their goodbyes just as the small tour bus arrived with the twenty potential customers. Paolo and Giacomo jumped into the Maserati, Giacomo tooting the horn as they drove the winding road. Paolo looked back at his grandfather’s hometown nestled in the Alburni Mountains, the jagged cliffs embraced by the bright blue sky with the serene village located at the base of the mountain. As they passed the Church of Saint Biagio, painters began painting over the red doors with white paint, while others erected scaffolding. An unexplained tear trickled down Paolo’s face. With a lump in his throat, he said goodbye to the village of his ancestors.
CHAPTER 18
BACK IN NEW Haven, Paolo climbed the steps to his cousin Franco’s restaurant. A Christmas wreath with its passion-red bow hung on the brown wooden door. The ornamental fixture covered the oval-shaped window. The scent of evergreen was present in the chilly evening air, while Mother Nature waited to display the first snowfall of the season.
Paolo was of medium height and build. In good shape, five feet ten and one hundred and seventy-five pounds, the Italian was attractive more than handsome. He had the classic Italian ethnic appearance: olive-colored skin, a Roman-shaped nose, a rugged, square-jawed face, wavy brown hair, and penetrating brown eyes. He was still single, the last of his siblings to get married. He sat patiently at the bar and waited for Franco. The bartender, a girl named Victoria, waited on him.
“You’re Franco’s cousin?”
“Yes, hi. My name is Paolo, and you must be Victoria?” Paolo pointed to her nametag.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Glad to meet you, Victoria.”
“Same here, Paolo. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure, how about a rum and Coke?”
She poured the drink and asked, “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thank you, this will be fine.” He lifted the glass in salute.
Victoria was a pretty woman. Her face was thin and symmetrical; she stood five feet five inches. She had a skinny waist, shoulder-length brown hair, bright brown eyes, and an infectious smile. For some reason, Paolo remembered a saying his mother had told him, “You can’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Paolo, Paolo, a sight for sore eyes.” Paolo stood and the two hugged each other. Paolo kissed Franco on both sides of the face.
“Sorry it took me so long to get here. I’ve been busy in the city.”
“No problem. So tell me, how was Italy?” Franco asked with excitement in his voice.
“Unbelievable. I can’t even describe it. The mountains, the little villages, and the food—oh my God, the food was out of this world. You and Francesca definitely have to go.”
“Glad you came by. You wanna eat? I’ll get you a table.”
“No, I’m fine. Steve and Tony are going to meet me. I think we’ll eat
at the bar.”
“Your friend Tony, the writer? And Steve has the deli. Right?”
“Yep, Tony’s trying to be a writer. And Steve’s deli has excellent food, you gotta try it.”
“Yeah, I will. Victoria, how about some menus for my cousin?”
Victoria served a beer to a customer, picked up a menu, and gave it to Paolo.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said with a smile.
Paolo’s eyes met hers. Distracted, he said, “Franco, did you get the recipes I sent you?”
“Yes, they’re on the menu and our customers love the food. So tell me, what did you find out about our family?”
“I found where Poppie lived. I saw a picture of our cousin and he looks just like Anthony.”
“Where is he? Does he still live in Ottati?”
“No, sorry to say, he died. There was a picture of him and Poppie’s sister on the gravestone.”
“On the gravestone?” Franco grimaced.
“Yeah, it was kind of freaky. All in all, it was an awesome experience.”
“That’s great.” He put his arm around Paolo and quietly said, “The Giants and the Eagles are playing tonight. You wanna make a bet?”
“No, thanks.”
“Smart move. Now if only I can have a winning streak like your father had. I could retire.”
“Yeah, that was some streak.” Paolo briefly recollected the memory and pushed it back to his subconscious.
Franco placed his hand on Paolo’s shoulder and stood. “Listen, I have to get back to work. Enjoy your dinner with your friends. Oh, speaking of friends, your old roommate Rami was here. He looks good all dressed up in his Army uniform.”
“Yeah, he told me he stopped by. I spoke to him when I got back. Wish I could’ve seen him. Hey, what’s the story with your bartender Victoria?”
“Victoria, I’d be careful with that one. A good person, but a hot temper. She’s a hard worker, put herself through college, lives on her own. She’s a nurse at St. Raphael’s Hospital—works here part time.”
“She dating anyone?”
“Not that I know of. Do you want me to put in a good word for you?” Franco asked.
“No, I’ll take care of it.”
“Be careful, Paolo, remember what I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Go, your customers are waiting.” In his mind, he heard the words, stay away.
Over the next several weeks, while on vacation, Paolo would come to the restaurant almost daily with the exception of Christmas Eve and Christmas. Finally, he asked Victoria out for New Year’s Eve. He had his doubts about her. His intuition said, “Walk away from this.”
The day before their first date, he had considered cancelling. Paolo pushed his senses aside, not wanting to consider his thoughts or his feelings. For how could his senses be right all the time? His childhood memories, the prodding of his mind by Dr. Payne and his dad, swept over him like a cold winter wind. He shook off the memories only to revisit them at another time.
He kept his date with Victoria. The adage “opposites attract” was true in their case; they were complete opposites in every respect. Victoria was all about justice, an eye for an eye. Paolo was passive; his ability to see goodness in everything and everyone was a total contrast to Victoria.
They dated for a year before Paolo asked her to marry him. By this time, Paolo commuted daily by train to New York City, where he worked. Paolo was hired as a business mediator. His primary job was to mediate between the buyer and seller of Fortune 500 corporations. Paolo had recognized it wouldn’t be long before he had a family. The daily trek to and from the city gnawed at him. How can I have a family and commute? I’ll never be home early enough to be with my children.
Two nights before their wedding, Paolo picked up Victoria at her apartment for dinner. For their last date as singles, they agreed to eat at Leon’s, a local Italian eatery near the New Haven train station, at the time not a particularly safe neighborhood. A mandolin player roamed the interior of the establishment singing traditional Italian songs. They shared an appetizer of mozzarella en carozza. Paolo had veal parmigiana while Victoria ate half of her zuppe de pesce.
Paolo held Victoria’s hand and spoke. “Are you nervous about Saturday?”
“No, I just want to get it over with and start our new life together.”
He held up his glass of Chianti and stared deeply in her eyes. “May our marriage together be blessed.”
Victoria wasn’t able to hold his gaze. She turned away.
“What’s wrong?” He let go of her hand. “Do you have doubts about us?
“Sometimes.”
Paolo sat there, dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”
“Ignore me. Forget I even said anything.”
“What do you mean, ‘forget I even said anything’?”
“Just forget it, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Paolo was puzzled and taken aback. “Listen to me, Victoria, if you have any doubts, we don’t have to get married.” Paolo’s eyes penetrated hers; he looked deep within her, touching her soul. An eerie awareness overpowered him. Paolo sat back in his chair as if zapped by a stun gun. Bewildered, he tried to process what had just taken place.
“Paolo, Paolo, are you alright?” Words he did not hear sucked into the void of his subconscious. “Paolo, Paolo.” A cold hand touched his face.
“What?” he snapped back.
“Are you alright?” she said with alarm in her voice.
“Yes, I’m fine, fine. What the hell happened?” His voice rose in anger.
She began to laugh, “I don’t know. Your face went white, then red.” She took his hand. “Forget what I said, it’s my nerves, and it’s getting close to that time of the month.”
Boy, did he understand that comment. Almost every month, there was a contentious moment between the two. Victoria’s hormones raged with unbridled intensity. A week before, she was a hungry lion devouring everything in her sight. She was extremely vocal, even if it was irrational and cruel. Paolo believed he could live with the situation. He learned early on to adapt. Paolo’s father often told him that no matter what life throws at you, you either fight it or accept it. He adapted.
He gazed at Victoria as if he saw the darkness of man. A cold bead of sweat appeared on his forehead. Paolo tried to shake off the emotion. He said, “I guess I drank too much wine.”
“Paolo, you had one glass.” Victoria touched his hand. “Let’s go to your place and practice making babies.” She used her most seductive voice. “I’ll give you a backrub, and we can forget this ever happened.”
“Yeah, sure, sounds like a good idea.” His voice was less than enthusiastic. He leaned over and kissed her. They walked out of the restaurant into the dark, chilly spring air.
Paolo DeLaurentis and Victoria Trapani were married on an overcast day in May. Two hundred guests gathered at a local country club—the majority from Paolo’s family. Victoria’s guest list was shorter—the Trapani family and several friends from the hospital where she worked. They honeymooned on the pink sands of Bermuda.
Within a year of their wedding, Victoria became pregnant with twins and Paolo resigned his $150,000-a-year job. The New York City consulting firm Abrams, Sheehan, and Mylott tried in earnest to keep him, to no avail. As was his plan, Paolo ventured out on his own and started Ottati Consulting. New York provided Paolo a unique opportunity to network. He constantly made contacts and solidified relationships. His innate ability to understand and look ahead gave him an unequaled advantage over his co-workers.
Paolo called upon his associates in Italy—in particular, Vittorio’s son Sergio, who became the prime minister—as well as the contacts he developed in New York. Ottati Consulting flourished. Within five years, he became a multi-millionaire. Paolo used his gift to speculate on gold futures, as well as to develop a niche market that many tried to emulate. The company became one giant think tank, providing businesses and governments wi
th problem-solving ideas. A prospective client could seek advice on any number of issues, ranging from acquisitions and mergers to the selling of company assets and the restructuring of the corporate hierarchy.
Paolo’s business was growing, but his marriage to Victoria was disintegrating. After the birth of the twins, Giacomo Anthony and Rio Marie, Paolo noticed a change in her. At first, he accepted the mood swings. After all, she was home with the children all day long while he “sat on his ass all day at work,” a comment he heard more than once. Their relationship became extremely turbulent. Victoria’s emotional outbursts, coupled with irrational thoughts and actions, destroyed the fabric of their family.
Paolo tried to get Victoria help. “I’ve taken care of my issues in my life. I don’t need any more damn psychological help. This is the way I am. If you don’t like the way I am, leave.”
How he wished he could. Instead, Paolo wrapped himself in his work and defended his children against her tirades. After two years of verbal abuse, he gave up. Paolo hid within the peace and solace of his mind.
In 1987, Paolo moved the company headquarters to the Gold Building on Whitney Avenue in New Haven. The fourteen-story building got its name from the gold-mirrored windows that encased the offices. It was also befitting when one considered Paolo’s investment in gold.
With the help of his friend Bill Conti, Paolo purchased an array of electronic equipment. Bill was now a commander in naval intelligence.
“Pard, I don’t understand why you need this equipment. Damn, you know just about everything before it happens. What the hell do you need this shit for?”
“I need this shit, as you say, to mask my gift. I can’t allow people to know, not even my lunatic wife knows. And to be honest, Pard, the gift has been absent. Besides, it would be too controversial and would cause a media frenzy. And I would be a freak again like…”
Messenger From God (The Last Eulogy Series Book 1) Page 7
