Standing fifty feet from him, dressed in a soiled white apron and black cap was Samuel. The priest’s legs went weak, but he managed to take a few steps toward the fish stand where Samuel was working. He tried to get the boy’s attention, but each time he made eye contact, Samuel turned away and continued to help a dark-skinned man with serious eyes and no nonsense jaw at the fish stand.
“Eduardo,” the man called, without looking at the boy.
“Si, Papa?” the boy answered.
“Get Signore Ugo ten fresh eel, rapidamente!”
“Si, Papa, rapidamente!”
“Eduardo?” Father Tolbert whispered. It’s not him. It’s not my Samuel.
Father Tolbert eased closer to the fish stand, keeping an eye on the thick necked Italian, who he assumed to be Eduardo’s father, but continued to focus heavily on the boy who could’ve passed for Samuel’s twin.
“Posso esserte utile desidera, Padre?” asked the thick Italian. “May I help you, Father?”
“No thank you. Just looking, Signore.”
“Ahhhh, Americano!” the man answered, his heavy demeanor transforming to one of delight.
“Yes,” said Father Tolbert. “I’m an American. Please excuse me my Italian is not so good.”
“Don’t worry, Father, we speak some English. It means money around here.”
Both men laughed, as Eduardo appeared from behind a drape with a fresh box of eel.
“And who is this fine lad?” asked the priest.
“Please, excuse Padre. My name is Armanno DiRisio, because my father and my father’s father were soldiers. I, sir, am not. And this is my son, Eduardo, because one day he will be a very rich man.” Eduardo gave a wide smile. “Si, Papa, very rich.” Father Tolbert introduced himself. Amazing, if I didn’t know it couldn’t be true, I’d swear this was my Samuel. Awestruck, he had to work not to stare at the boy too long or hard, not wanting his attraction conspicuous.
“Eduardo, give me the eel, and keep Father Tolbert company while I take care of Signore Ugo.”
Eduardo handed his father the box. The priest took a piece of candy from his pocket, knelt down and handed it to the boy. Eduardo thanked him, and pulled off his cap to reveal thick locks of jet-black hair, unlike Samuel’s dirty brown, but sported the same soft blue eyes. The longer Father Tolbert looked, the more enchanted he became. If he couldn’t have Samuel, this replacement would do.
“You’re a very handsome boy, Eduardo,” beamed the priest.
“Thank you, Father. Papa says I’m smart too,” said Eduardo, slipping the lemon-lime candy in his mouth, smiling.
Father Tolbert glanced over at Armanno, who finished his business with Mr. Ugo, and was attending to the next customer, an old woman wearing a black scarf and gray shawl, who couldn’t seem to make up her mind.
The priest reached in his pocket. “Do you like sports?” he asked Eduardo, gripping the rubber sphere.
“Si, Padre, I like baseball, but Papa says football is the game I should play.”
Father Tolbert knew Eduardo was referring to the game of soccer, and smiled at the opportunity. He put a finger to his lips and motioned for Eduardo to keep quiet. He slipped the ball from his pocket to the boy.
Eduardo’s eyes widened, his face brightened.
“I like baseball too,” said Father Tolbert. “We can play catch sometimes, but let’s keep the ball our secret.” Father Tolbert looked over at Eduardo’s father, who was still consumed with the old woman. He smiled at the boy. Eduardo laughed.
The priest put the boy’s hat back on his head, whispered in Eduardo’s ear that he had a baseball glove he could have, and would get it to him soon.
Eduardo gave Father Tolbert a hug. The priest folded another piece of hard candy, cherry this time, in the boy’s hand and kissed him on the forehead. Armanno finally finished with the old woman. Father Tolbert stood.
“Signore DiRisio, you have a fine son,” he said, walking over and shaking the elder DiRisio’s hand.
“Thank you, Padre,” said Armanno, proud, his barrel chest out.
“I think he’d make a fine altar boy at the Vatican,” said Father Tolbert, looking over at the boy.
Armanno’s face froze in shock. “My boy at il Vaticano?”
“Well, we can at least start the process,” said Father Tolbert. “I’ll need to spend time interviewing him. Preparing him before any formal application can be made.”
“Yes, of course,” beamed Armanno. “Just tell us what to do, and where to be.”
Father Tolbert took down their information and gave them his. He shook Armanno’s hand, said goodbye to Eduardo, and gave the boy a wink.
“Dio la benedica!” cried Armanno, waving as the priest walked away.
“Yes,” mused Father Tolbert, “God bless you too.”
29
S amuel dangled his arms out the window, four stories above ground, in the tower of a brown brick medieval building that reminded him of the old castles in the Robin Hood books he enjoyed reading at school. He didn’t know exactly where he was, because Father Sin had covered his head with a hood on the way there.
When they arrived he could tell they were close to the water from the sound of waves crashing when they exited the car, and the odors that came with fish and algae. As far as he could tell, he’d been at the castle for three days.
He leaned out the window as far as he could, but only saw water stretched out to the horizon on his left and right. As far as he knew, they were in the middle of the ocean on some small island, a thought that left him feeling depressed and hopeless. The nearest landing below was solid rock, inviting only if suicide was the order of the day.
Damp and rank, the room at the top of tower was barren except for a small cot, a beaten down couch with its stuffing protruding from holes splattered all over it, a rickety wooden chair, and a small table with a single large candle next to a large pitcher of ice water. A fireplace roared and crackled, the one item Samuel was happy to see. Without it I’d freeze at night.
He flopped down on the cot, which sent a cloud of dust bunnies into the air, and tried to organize his thoughts. He squeezed his eyes tight and cursed under his breath, imagining Luciano dead in the trunk of the Mercedes, his body now who knows where.
Samuel sat up on the side of the bed, arms on his knees, his brief depression mixed with anger. They need me, but for what? Why haven’t they killed me? If they were going to I’d be dead already. He walked back over to the small square window and stared out at the endless body of water. For some reason they need me. I don’t know why, and don’t care. I’m going to push until I find out why they took me. He planned to be more aggressive. If they were going to hurt me, they would’ve after I ran away.
The more he thought about having been caught, the more upset he got, especially when he remembered Dianora and her father, Rinaldo, who made a fool out of him, preventing him from getting to the U.S.
Embassy. For the first time in his life, he understood why some people killed.
Samuel poured himself a glass of cold water and plopped down on the couch, which to his surprise launched less dust than the bed. He sat there, wondering what he should do next. Since he figured they wouldn’t kill him, he decided to be more demanding, and press and push for more information. Wear them down the way only a kid could. Afterwards, he’d plan his next escape, but carefully this time. First, he had to find out where he was and get them to let him outside. The drive they took to the castle wasn’t long, so he knew he was still near Rome.
The idea of battle, of having some kind of plan encouraged Samuel.
The stronger he felt, the hungrier he got.
“I’m hungry, when can I get something to eat?” he bellowed, banging and kicking the weathered wooden door.
Nobody answered, but fifteen minutes later, he heard keys rattle and the door unlock. Sister Bravo walked inside, carrying a tray of hot food and a newspaper. She ignored him and sat it down on the table.
“I’ll thank you not to bang on the door,” she finally said.
“Then don’t take so long with the food next time,” he snapped, eyes tight, brow furrowed.
