Disposition of Remains Page 13

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Lippi kidnapped a’ her under da’ pretense of a’ using her assa’ model for a’ deefereent painting, and then had a’…how you say…? Relations weeth a’ her. He refused to return her onna’ several occasions when da’ nuns tried to reclaim a’ her. Lippi and Lucrezia were a’ released of a’ their vows to da’ Church weeth da’ help of a’ da’ powerful Medici family, and were a’ married. Da’ result wassa’ their son Filippino Lippi, who issa’ also pictured as da’ infant een da’ painting. Lippi died before he could teach hissa’ son to paint, so it wassa’ Botticelli who taught Filippino. He hassa’ painting over here, een da’ Botticelli room.”

  Sister Constance seemed to get such a kick out of telling the stories of those with less than virtuous morals. It made me wonder how she came to take the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience.

  “Did you always want to become a nun?”

  “No, no!” she laughed. “I am a old lady and a’ theengs are much deefferent than when I wassa’ young. When I wassa’ just a girl, I wassa’ een love weeth a boy—a poor boy. I came from a very poor family myself. My parents wanted me to a’ be taken care of, so they inseested that I become a novice, and become a ward of a’ da’ Church.”

  “Things aren’t that much different. My story is almost the same, except you married Christ and I married the Antichrist.”

  She shot me a look of horror, and then, after a tremendously tense moment, burst into laughter. Sister Constance was so outgoing and comfortable to be around that I often forgot she was a woman of the cloth. I resolved to choose my words more wisely.

  “I must a’ tell you that I’m a’ very happy theessa’ life wassa’ chosen for me. Da’ love of God hassa’ blessed my soul.”

  “What happened to the boy?”

  She hesitated before answering.

  “Thatta’ issa’ story for another time.”

  My curiosity was burning. How could she just forget about the boy—her love? How did she so graciously embrace a life she didn’t choose? I tried to squelch my curiosity so I could continue my lesson.

  She showed me Filippino Lippi’s painting in his room. Ah, the Botticelli room, another good place to stash my urn. In my rare moments of euphoria, it was tempting to just lie down and die in front of the Birth of Venus. But even if I could pick the exact time and place of my death, I figured it probably would have caused a scene. Instead, I settled for just staring at its beauty once again.

  Sister Constance then pointed out Botticelli’s self-portrait in his Adoration of the Magi. Botticelli was a handsome man, exactly my type: dark, wavy hair and large, soft eyes. I wished at that moment that I could be reincarnated back in time as Simonetta Vespucci, the object of his affection—although I would have preferred to avoid that whole death-by-tuberculosis part.

  “It issa’ recorded inna’ Vasari’s biography thatta’ Botticelli told people of a horrible nighta’mare he once had. Da’ nighta’mare, he said, wassa’ thatta’ he became married. He wassa’ so disturbed by da’ dream thatta’ he got up and walked da’ streets for da’ rest of a’ da’ night. He died atta’ sixty-five, wheech wassa’ a ripe, old age for da’ 1400s, but he never married.”

  If Botticelli weren’t already my hero, he certainly would have become it after hearing that. He was a genius on every level. To think how much I could have learned from him—how much unnecessary pain I could have avoided. Instead, Botticelli’s nightmare had become my waking reality.

  Sister Constance showed me everything in the gallery: Titian, Raphael, Michelangelo, Caravaggio, Rembrandt, and more. Finally, she took me through the Vasari Corridor, now discouragingly blocked at the end of the museum. We left the Uffizi, but not before stopping by the gift shop to pick up a copy of Vasari’s biography. It was a perfect day.

  CHAPTER 19

  My day at the Uffizi, while riveting, had left me exhausted and famished. No one appeared to be home when I arrived, so I let myself into the house. I set my backpack and my new book down in the guest room that Michael and Graziella had so graciously allowed me to use. Suddenly I felt a presence from behind. Whirling around, I almost slammed into Michael who was standing inches from me. It struck me that this was the first time the two of us had been alone together in the house.

  “What is it exactly you want here, Stacia?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I replied breathlessly as my heart began to race.

  He moved even closer, if that were possible.

  “Is this what you came for?” he demanded angrily as he grabbed my face and planted his lips on mine with force and fury. I didn’t know whether to kiss back or slap him. I took the middle road and wormed my way out of his grasp, then spun around and stared at him in shock.

  “Is that what you want, Stacia? For me to admit that I still love you so you can ruin my life twice?”

  “No, Michael! No.”

  I wanted so much to feel like someone in this world loved me, but not that way; it was all wrong.

  “I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t mean to do anything that would—”

  “Of course you didn’t,” he interrupted with disgust. “You never do.”

  Before I could respond, the front door opened and Graziella and the girls stepped inside with bags of groceries. I had never been so happy to see them. In a panic, we both scurried out of the bedroom and awkwardly greeted them with our best nothing-to-see-here smiles. Graziella looked at him sideways. I suspected that this was because he appeared more cheerful than his usual brooding self rather than because she had any knowledge of what had just transpired.

  Shortly afterward, Michael retired to his bedroom as he usually did, while Graziella, the girls, and I prepared dinner. He emerged only after dinner had been served and sat silently at the table without lifting his deep set eyes from his plate.

  I hadn’t eaten all day and I was beginning to feel a little lightheaded. With all the nervous energy I’d built up, I ate my dinner far too quickly. Shortly after, I felt the nausea come on and barely had time to rush to the bathroom to vomit. It was the first time I’d gotten sick in weeks. When I went to straighten up from hovering over the toilet, I experienced a monstrously sharp pain in my right lower abdomen. The world began to spin, and down I went with a crash. Before I could muster the strength to squirm out from between the toilet and the wall, Graziella had unlocked the door and entered the bathroom.

  “Are you all right?” she asked with obvious concern.

  “I’m fine; I just…ate too fast.”

  “I’ve eaten too quickly before and I haven’t ended up on the floor,” Graziella replied. “What is going on, Stacia?”

  Graziella had become like a sister to me in the short time I had known her. It was wrong for me to deceive her, and yet it was equally wrong to burden her. She had a full life. She was a kind soul who would not be able to look the other way.

  “I just slipped. I’m okay,” I moaned.

  But something had fundamentally changed in me. Florence, in general, but Graziella and her daughters in particular, had breathed new life into me. I had almost forgotten my illness, as though the joy of life with the Pendergasts had brought on a miraculous remission. But the moment Michael crossed the line—when his lips touched mine—everything suddenly changed. The shock of his indiscretion caused me to face the reality of what I had done to him in the past, as well as the rage my presence currently engendered in him. The weight of this horrible revelation had provoked my affliction to return with a vengeance. What had once been strong holistic medicine became a sort of toxic chemotherapy that threatened to kill the patient.

  Graziella hoisted me up from the bathroom floor and assisted me to the couch where the girls were engrossed in a DVD of The Lion King. She brought me a glass of water, then disappeared to join Michael in their bedroom. It had been a long day of walking so I kicked off the beat-up shoes that Misty had given me what seemed like ages ago.

  After finally regaining my bearings, I a
rose to move my shoes into the guest room which was adjacent to Graziella and Michael’s, so as not to cause Michael any more offense with the presence of my grimy shoes on his floor. What had started as a hushed conversation through the walls between began to escalate. Then I heard my name.

  “You’re spending so much time with Stacia; I just want our life back. Our life back!” Michael growled.

  “I know Michael. I get it. But can’t you see there’s something wrong with her?” Graziella calmly responded. “I think she needs our help.”

  The conversation then transitioned to Italian. I had picked up only a handful of words and phrases of the romance language in the few weeks I had been in Italy. They were arguing at such a rapid clip, it proved impossible for me to comprehend. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the rest anyway. I just couldn’t seem to avoid being the damsel in distress or the cause for despair. One thing was for sure: I couldn’t stay there any longer. I had to plan my next move. Immediately.

  Unsure of what to do, I ventured back into the living room and plopped down between Filipa and Bianca on the couch. The girls had put on The Lion King for me, explaining that it was the only movie that they had in English. Who knew family movies could be so entertaining! I completely forgot about the conversation going on in the other room when Mustafa explained to young Simba:

  “Everything you see exists together in a delicate balance. As king, you need to understand that balance, and respect all the creatures from the crawling ant to the leaping antelope. When we die our bodies become the grass, and the antelope eat the grass. And so, we are all connected in the great circle of life.”

  I was never so keenly aware that I was a part of the circle of life. I had to be. How sad that an animated lion was wiser than I. I liked the idea that I could serve some purpose in my death, even if it were just to become fertilizer. Despite the fact that I didn’t have a little Simba to pass my accumulated knowledge onto, I decided I wanted to see the lions and the antelope nonetheless. I needed to see them. But not at a zoo. I needed to see them in their natural habitat.

  CHAPTER 20

  Africa. I thought for hours about how I might make it happen. I pondered possible scenarios throughout the rest of the movie, while the girls got ready for bed, and as Michael and Graziella said their strained good-nights.

  Traveling to Florence utterly unprepared was one thing; it’s still part of the Western world. And even though I hadn’t realized just how much I didn’t know before arriving, I still felt as though I knew the essentials about Florence. I had almost no knowledge of Africa except what I had seen in movies, which usually involved graphic displays of human violence. The only other thing I knew was that there was a mind-boggling number of wild animals to be found there. After everyone one else went to bed, I watched The Lion King again, hoping to gain some more animated insight.

  The next morning I discussed my impulsive plan with my foster family. Michael and Graziella tried to convince me to stay—Graziella, more convincingly than Michael. She really didn’t understand why I would want to go when there was so much to see on the European continent. I wanted to experience it all, but I didn’t know when my number would be up and I had to choose my priorities carefully. I couldn’t disrupt Michael’s life any longer. The time had come. That silly animated lion had lit a fire in me, and I felt I simply had no choice but to go.

  I decided to call Misty even though I could have easily predicted what she was going to say. I was happy to catch up with her anyway; she was so easy to talk to. Coincidentally, she and Paul were planning a trip to Africa in the spring, but she understood why my circumstances meant that I couldn’t wait that long. She suggested that I call Wilbur, as he owned a travel company that specialized in remote places, and where else could be more remote than Africa? I was afraid of what feelings I might awaken, but since a pilgrimage to Africa was more important than schoolgirl emotions, I gave in and called him.

  “How are you, Stacia? I’m so glad you called,” Wilbur said cheerfully and genuinely.

  “I’m doing amazingly well, actually. I’m in Italy.”

  “I’m really glad for you. Now you can’t say you’ve never been anywhere.”

  I could picture his devastating smile as he spoke.

  “Speaking of which,—”

  I stopped myself, realizing that I couldn’t just start demanding information after the way I’d left things with him.

  “Listen, I’m sorry about running off the way I did. I had a really great time with you, and I’ve missed you since, but I’m actually calling about something else.”

  “Okay…? he queried, hesitantly.

  “Misty tells me that your company goes to Africa?”

  Wilbur gave me a definite affirmative, and never asked why. Africa, he warned me, was not a place to which I should travel solo, and I felt certain that he was right. I gave him Michael’s phone number and within a few hours he called me back with my itinerary, which would begin the very next day. Wilbur knew me so well without really knowing me at all. How could he understand that I would be so impulsive as to decide to hop a plane to Africa with barely any notice? I had really just called him for advice and now I was about to go on safari.

  I tossed and turned in bed that night, unable to sleep; so many things were racing through my mind. I had started this adventure to learn, to come to terms with my life… and my death. I had arrived in Italy with a grudge against the world. The anger was now long gone, replaced by a profound love for Florence and Michael’s family. Instead of coming to terms with my death, my experiences had only increased my will to live.

  Packing in a hurry wasn’t very difficult. I had only acquired a few additional items of clothing while in Florence. What I did have to take a moment to do was say goodbye to Sister Constance. Time was running out, so I jogged to the church to find her. When I approached the Ognissanti, the devout Sister Josephine was sitting in front with her offering bowl and her Miraculous Medal charms.

  “A gift for you.”

  “I have one already, thanks.”

  I showed her the charm on my necklace while I dug through my purse for some change.

  “Yes, of course. I remember you now,” Sister Josephine said.

  “I’m looking for Sister Constance.”

  “I believe she’s in the courtyard.”

  I made quick to stop bid farewell to Botticelli. Checking my watch, I dashed in the indicated direction and found Sister Constance sitting quietly in the courtyard just outside of the refectory.

  “Sister, I have a favor to ask. I’ll understand if you say no. But when I go, I want to be cremated, like my mother.”

  “I no understand. You want I should do thees’ for a’ you?” she asked quizzically.

  “No. See, I never knew what to do with my mother’s urn. She’s just sat for years perched on top of the piano collecting dust. If I find a way to get my ashes back here, could you put them near Botticelli? Even if it’s just for a day—even if you have to just toss a few of my ashes on top of him for a while. I’ll send you a DustBuster or something, so you can clean up the ‘me’ mess afterward. I just think all this will be easier for me to accept if I know I am going someplace great, even if only for a little while.”

  “I’m a’ ninety-three years old, my dear. I woulda’ be willing to do thees’ for a’ you, but I’ll not be around a’ forever.”

  “Remember when we first met, I told you that I’m dying?”

  “I thought you were a’ being… what you Americans call… a drama princess.”

  “Queen,” I corrected. “No, Sister Constance. I have cancer. I’m going to die—soon.”

  She studied me for a long moment, before replying, “I willa’ do what you ask.”

  “Thank you,” I said gratefully, fighting the tears that began to well. “Before I go, I wonder if you could tell me, what happened to the boy?”

  Sister Constance looked around, and then spoke in a soft voice.

  “I’va’ never told
anyone thees’, but I feel thatta’ Lord wants me to a’ tell you. You have a’ to understand that I love my Lord, and believe inna’ heez church. I have followed alla’ of my vows except one. I do not agree thatta’ God wants us to be unhappy. Antonio, my love, upon hearing that I wassa’ forced to become a novice, joined da’ monastery. We would meet secretly for a’ years. He died a long time ago, butta’ I will always treasure heem just as I do da’ Lord. You see, we a’ all have our own version of a’ faith. I believe thatta’ thees’ issa’ not quite da’ end for a’ you, and thatta’ God will surprise you.”

  “I feel honored that you told me,” I uttered in disbelief.

  “There issa’ more, I’m afraid. Antonio and I… we were a’ passionate lovers, careless atta’ times. Shortly after a’ coming here, I conceived and bore a child.”

  “What?! How did you keep that a secret?” I asked, shocked.

  She smoothed the skirts of her habit.

  “You could hide a’ anything under thees’ atrocious theengs. Antonio helped deliver my daughter, and then I deceived da’ head meestress eento believing thatta’ da’ baby wassa’ dropped here as an una’-wanted child. Normally, orphans would a’ go to Ospedale degli Innocenti, butta’ I asked for and wassa’ granted special permission to a’ raise her here.”

  “My God! What did she say when she found out?”

  “Despite my attempts to send her out eento da’ world, she became a woman of a’ deep, unwavering faith. I’m afraid she woulda’ be completely disillusioned by such a revelation.”

  “Sister Constance, where is she now?”

  “Sister Josephine, my dear, issa’ over there, een da’ church.”

  Part 3

  Bargaining

  CHAPTER 21

  I found it surprisingly heart wrenching to say farewell to the little girls. I had so much enjoyed their daily routine. Never having had nephews, nieces nor cousins myself, nor any of the extended family members that most people have, I was completely unaccustomed to children. My relationship with Bianca and Filipa was the closest thing I had experienced to motherhood other than taking care of newborns at the hospital. I so desperately wanted to say, “Fino alla prossima volta” or until next time, but I knew in my heart there wouldn’t be a next time.