Reyes blew out a breath and sat still. Just as he'd suspected. That was what this invitation was about. 'He was a good priest. Very likable guy. Young. Great sense of humor. Athletic.' Hard to believe it was the same man. All the warmth and fun gone. Not surprising, under the circumstances. The hearings were not going well. Emilio answered questions in monosyllables or got lost trying to recall technical discussions he said he'd only half-listened to. Reyes was embarrassed for him. He seemed inarticulate and confused at times, got angry and defensive when pressed.
They came about again and sailed toward another fishing boat. This time, the fisherman called out to the Father General. Felipe could patch together enough Italian to understand that Giuliani was confirming that he'd be attending a wedding in July. The Father General seemed to know a lot of the fishermen.
'Did you ever hear about the Basura Brigade?' Felipe asked suddenly.
'No. What was that?
'Right. That was typical Sandoz, now that I think of it. It was at the beginning, when he first got back to La Perla. The neighborhood—well, it was a slum, you understand. A lot of squatters. There was a sort of shanty town in the east end. And it was never incorporated, so there was no garbage pick up. People threw stuff into the sea or dumped it over cliffs. Emilio just started picking trash up in the streets. Bags and bags of it. And he'd carry it up to Old San Juan and leave it in front of the Edwardses' house so the city would haul it. He got in trouble with city council, but the Edwardses claimed it was their trash. So they got away with it for a while.'
'Coming about.'
Felipe ducked under the boom again, letting it pass inches above his head, taken up with his story. 'At first the kids would just kind of follow Emilio around—he was terrific with kids. Anyway, they'd follow him around, and he'd hand them each a bag, and pretty soon there'd be this whole parade of little kids with big bags of garbage, trailing up the stairs behind Emilio and leaving this incredible pile of trash in front of the Edwards place. And that was a very fancy tourist neighborhood, so there were tons of complaints.'
'Let me guess. The city finally decided it was better to pick up the garbage in the neighborhood than to make an issue about it with a very telegenic priest.'
'You bet. I mean, he could be so charming, but you just knew he would keep bringing the garbage up until hell froze over. And he pointed out that the kids were doing something constructive and let the council figure out that those same kids could be picking pockets in San Juan, so…'
Giuliani waved to another fisherman. 'You know, I have never been able to reconcile the stories I hear about Emilio with the man I know. The last word I'd choose to describe him is charming. He was the grimmest man I ever met, in formation. Never smiled. Worked like a dog. And just ferocious about baseball.'
'Well, you know, Latino boys still aspire to the F's. They want to be
'Well, I'd have said sullen and hostile rather than serious and correct. You know, I'm not certain I've ever seen him smile. Or heard him say more than three words in a row. When I hear people describe him as charming or funny, I think, Are we talking about the same person? Coming about.' Giuliani motioned toward another boat and Felipe nodded and changed the tiller position. 'And then I hear he does impressions and magic tricks, he's great with kids—' He fell silent but Reyes offered nothing further, so he mused, 'I have always found him stiff and standoffish, but he has an uncanny ability to make friends! Candotti and Behr would walk over hot coals for him.'
'Can I sit on the other side of this thing?' Felipe asked. 'This arm's getting tired.'
'Sure. You want me to take it? I sail alone quite a bit when I get the chance.'
Felipe was surprised to find he didn't want to give the tiller up. 'No. Actually, if I can just switch sides, I'll be fine,' he said and gingerly stood to move. He sat down rather abruptly, the slap of the waves pushing him off balance, but settled into the tiller again. 'I'm beginning to see the attraction of this sailing business,' he admitted. 'This is my first time in a boat, you know. When did you start sailing?'
'When I was a kid. My family had a thirty-two-foot cutter. My dad had me working out celestial navigation problems when I was eight.'
'Father General, may I speak frankly?'
There was a silence. 'You know, Reyes,' Giuliani said at last, squinting at the horizon, 'one thing I hate about this job is that everyone always asks permission to speak frankly. Say whatever you want. And call me Vince, okay?'
Taken aback, Felipe gave a short laugh, knowing himself to be utterly incapable of calling this man Vince, but then he asked, 'When did you get your first pair of shoes?'
It was Giuliani's turn to be taken aback. 'I have no idea. When I was a toddler, I suppose.'
'I got my first pair of shoes when I was ten. Father Sandoz got them for me. When you were growing up, was there ever any question about your going to school? I don't mean college. I mean, did anyone ever imagine that you wouldn't go to high school?'
'I see what you're driving at,' Giuliani said quietly. 'No. There was no question at all. It was absolutely assumed that I would be educated.'
'Of course,' Felipe said, shrugging good-naturedly, accepting the naturalness of such an attitude for families like Giuliani's. He didn't have to say, You had a mother who knew who your father was, you had educated parents, money for a sailboat, a house, cars. 'I mean, if you hadn't gone into the priesthood, you'd have been a banker or a hospital administrator or something, right?'
'Yes. Possibly. Something like that, perhaps. The import business or finance would have come pretty easily.'
'And you'd feel perfectly entitled to be whatever you wanted to be, right? You're smart, you're educated, you work hard. You deserve to be who you are, what you are, where you are.' The Father General didn't reply, but he didn't deny the observation's truth. 'You know what I'd be, if I weren't a priest? A thief. Or worse. I was already stealing when Emilio took an interest in me. He knew about some of it, but he didn't know I was already busting into cars. Nine years old. I would have graduated to grand theft auto before I was thirteen.'
'And if D. W. Yarbrough hadn't taken an interest in Emilio Sandoz?' Giuliani asked quietly. 'What would Emilio have been?'
'A salesman,' Reyes said, watching to see if Giuliani knew the code. 'Black tar heroin, out of Mexico via Haiti. Family tradition. They all did time. His grandfather was assassinated in prison. His father's death touched off a minor gang war. His brother was killed for skimming profits.'
Felipe paused and wondered if he had any right to tell Giuliani this. Some of it was a matter of public record; Emilio's file probably contained at least this much information and perhaps a great deal more.
'Look,' Felipe said, caught up now in the stark contrast between his life, Emilio's life, and the lives of men like Vincenzo Giuliani, who were born to money and position and security, 'there are still times when the thief I started out to be feels more authentic to me than the priest I've been for decades. To be pulled out of a slum and educated is to be an outsider forever—' He stopped talking, deeply embarrassed. Giuliani could never understand the price scholarship boys paid for their education: the inevitable alienation from your uncomprehending family, from roots, from your own first person, from the original «I» you once were. Angry, Felipe decided to say nothing more about Emilio Sandoz. Let Giuliani ask the man directly.
But the Father General said, 'So you memorize the rules and you try not to expose yourself to humiliation.'
'Yes.'
'And you are stiff and formal in direct proportion to how completely you feel out of your element.'
'Yes.'
'Thank you. That explains a lot. I should have realized—'
They were interrupted by another shouted conversation in Italian as they hove back in toward Naples and came near another boat. Reyes caught something about the bambinos. Irritably, he asked, 'Don't any of these people actually fish?'
'No, I don't think so,' Giuliani said genially. 'They certainly know their way around boats, but they don't fish.'
Puzzled now, Felipe looked at him. 'You know all these guys, don't you?'
