Earlier that day, Luca had asked Alberto's father a question.
As they waited for Alberto to wash up on the beach - as he was so often disposed of after Charybdis was done with him - he helped Massimo rowed back to port. "Massimo," Luca asked. "Are you Catholic?"
"Yes." Massimo was surprised that little Luca was getting so deep, but he supposed deep circumstances called for deep probing. Plus, they were in deep waters. "Why do you ask?"
"Is Alberto going to Hell?"
Massimo's hands stilled. Visibly shocked at the question, he observed the picoletto, who looked away in shame. "Cucciolo, what would make you ask a question like that?"
Luca's shoulders lifted infinitesimally, then sagged as he clumsily fumbled for the oar. "Just… I don't know. Whenever it's time for… you know."
If Alberto didn't end up coming back this time…
"I just don't want him to go to Hell," he finished quietly.
He almost jumped out of his skin at Massimo's hand on his shoulder. "God is not going to send that little boy to Hell," he declared definitively. "Or you, for that matter."
All the words jammed in Luca's throat, making it hard for him to breathe. That was exactly the next thing he was going to ask. But for now, he nodded.
He understands, Massimo unspoke. Do you?
So I ask myself
Over and over and over again:
"What did they know?
What did they hide?"
Sorry I forgot to post this Friday; Thanksgiving was crayzay! Happy holidays, everybody! And mangiamo!
