GRACE UNDER PRESSURE

Chapter 4 His Story

When I got home from visiting the rabbi, there was an Email waiting for me, from Luke.

Both Sister Lily and me were stuck at home this morning -- she had morning sickness and my leg injury was hurting. We spent the time talking about my G.N.A. research. She pointed out that ordinary D.N.A. got involved in everything -- cells, sex, love, babies -- and asked if my G.N.A. would be equally important. I explained it wasn't stable enough to compete with D.N.A., and Lily said winning competitions wasn't everything; it's enough that something exists and has an effect on the world. That was an encouraging thought.

That narrative had an odd effect on me; compared to my recent experiences, it seemed to be from another world. It was certainly absurd to be jealous of Lily -- she was married to Luke's brother, and having his baby! -- but it should have been me offering that encouragement.

I had to clean up this business of Antonio and put it out of my mind.

The next day was Wednesday, and on getting home from work, I called the number Antonio had left. No answer.

He hadn't left an Email number; all I had was a street address, which seemed to be a small rooming house or hotel. I set at my computer and wrote out a letter:

16 August, 2006

Dear Sir:

I have received your apology. If you really want to do penance, please undertake never to come near me or my friends again.

Not Yours, Truly

Grace Polonski

Next question: how to mail it? By Italian post it may take days, and I wanted to be done with the affair. On the other hand, it wasn't worth paying for courier service.

Looking at a Rome transit map, I noticed a fortunate coincidence: his dwelling and mine were on the same streetcar line. A trip there, hand it to his own landlady, a trip back. It would be quick, and Luke might even call it symmetric. Not that I intended to tell him about this incident.

But my careful plan went all to blazes when I hopped off the streetcar at the destination. There were police walking around -- clearly recognizable in spite of different customs and costumes. There were also some people hovering around, looking rather nervous. I walked up to one young man who seemed harmless. "Parle Lei inglese?"

"Un po."

"What happened?"

He shrugged. "Two boys beat a boy named Antonio, he lives here. Then they beat each other."

"Why?"

"Non conosco."

This was getting nowhere, and of course it was my own fault for charging into a situation without knowing enough of the language. Seeing an officer walk up, I carefully composed the next question. "Dov'e Antonio?.

"L'ospedale di Santa Maria.".

"Grazie," I said, and made myself scarce before he thought to question me. A girl who knew the victim of a possible crime of passion? The sensible thing would be to go home and forget about this. But I was too curious. When another streetcar came by on the line, I asked how I could find St. Mary's Hospital.

At the hospital I had trouble getting beyond the admissions desk: after all Antonio might be considered to need protection. Finally I said "Tell him that Gracia is here." The message was sent and apparently he said I could visit.

He was lying in a hospital bed, with bandages to his left arm and head, but otherwise unharmed in body and spirit. "Buona notte, Gracia. So you have come to forgive."

"Um, yeah," I said awkwardly. "But mainly I came because I wanted to know what the hell is going on. Who were the guys who beat you up?"

"They did not give their name, but the first I ran into said that he was a lover of Francesca, and that I had dishonored his beloved."

"And the other guy?"

"He also said that he was a lover of Francesca, and that I had dishonored his beloved."

"But why -- oh. They didn't know each other existed?"

"No. Francesca had been clever up to now."

"So after taking care of you, they fought each other. Weird. But how did all this get started?"

"I tried explaining to you on the mountain. Beppo and I knew of a lake, bella, and decided to take a swim. We were surprised to find donne there. Beppo got frustrated and started to teasing your friends about sharing the lake, knowing that they would not be willing to do so in their, um, state of undress."

"Why didn't you stop him?"

"I have no dignified reason. It was the first time in my life that I had been in the presence of -- ah -- " he struggled for a proper English euphemism.

"Beauty bare?" I suggested, remembering a poem in English Lit.

"Si."

I remembered that awkward night when Luke and I had undressed for the first time in order to make love. Luke had been fascinated by my breasts, which I sort of took for granted, and thought my ass was sexy rather than repulsive. Guys and girls did weird things when sexual temptation was involved, and the main question was whether they were refrained from hurting anybody in the process. Antonio hadn't. It was an accidental meeting at the lake, after all.

Antonio had already started narrating how Beppo had snatched the clothes after I had hit him with the rock. He didn't know whether his brother really intended to throw them away or just wanted to give us a good scare, but he followed Beppo back to the road and persuaded him to surrender the clothes. After that Antonio was puzzled as to what to do next. He hadn't noticed that I was partially covered, and didn't know a polite way to deal with three naked girls. Then I had popped up. "It was very brave of you."

"I wasn't brave, I was mad."

"Whatever. I wanted to apologize for the whole thing but you did not give me a chance. But I knew where Francesca lived in the village. I apologized to her, and persuaded her to tell me how to find her friends."

"Okay. Now, I wished you tell Marghareta the same story you just told me. She has a boyfriend who was not pleased to hear about the incident. Don't worry, Michel is not the beating-up type."

"I will write again."

"Then let's get the whole misadventure out of our minds. Pretend it never happened."

"If you wish."

On the way out of the hospital I put my hand in my jeans pocket for streetcar fare, and realized that I still had the letter, the one telling Antonio never to try to see me again. I tossed it into a BIOHAZARD container and kept going.

TBC

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The poem Grace was trying to remember was Edna Millay's "Euclid Alone has Looked on Beauty Bare")