The Bottom of Your Heart by Maurizio de Giovanni, Antony Shugaar Page B

to me, to beg for forgiveness and mercy. Do you remember that, Rosine’?
    Everything, everything I’ve ever done in my life I did for you, Rosine’. The business, the apartment, the respect of my friends. Everything. For the dreams we dreamed together, side by side overlooking the water, that night I tasted the flavor of your mouth for the first time, the flavor that poisons me tonight, with the same moon in the sky, and the same mute stars gathering to weep with me. All of this, because of the oath you swore that night. We were children, but your voice was a woman’s voice.
I’m not going to leave you, Peppi’. I’ll never leave you
.
    Oaths are meant to be kept, Rosine’. Oaths are serious business. If you fail to keep an oath, you make a mockery of respect. And respect is the basis of life.
    Do you remember the day of our wedding, Rosine’? You were twenty years old. The sun, the sea, and the green of the hills rising before my eyes—none of these are enough to say how beautiful you were that day. It would take the sky reflected in the water, shattering into glittering sparks so they do harm to the eyes and good to the heart, it would take the calm mountain, resting and watching, it would take the trees tossing their branches in the breeze as if to applaud, and the waves breaking white on the rocks to say just how beautiful you were. The neighborhood girls insisted on being your ladies-in-waiting, you were the princess about to become a queen, and they walked one step behind you. And they were laughing in the sunshine when they arrived at the little church of Mergellina, by the sea, the one with the painting of the dragon with a woman’s head, the place you had chosen to tell me yes. I was waiting, uncomfortable in a suit I’d never worn, and I was thinking about my father who I’d never met, my father who died at sea, and I was also thinking that I would never, never again be as happy as I was then.
    I’ll tell you today, Rosine’, that you broke the oath you swore that night by the sea: I’d never seen anything as beautiful as your eyes and your smile, as you arrived with the court of your girlfriends at the little church with the woman-headed dragon. And we swore once more, before God, that we’d never leave each other.
    An oath is something you never break, Rosine’.
    And that night, do you remember that night? I thought I knew everything. My father’s brother had taken me up to that place where they teach you. But I didn’t know a thing. Your hands, my hands, our skin. With the moonlight pouring in through the window, the moon that had stood by us as our godmother, the same moon. You gave me life, smiling even through the pain, life, and tears of joy. And I wept too, Rosine’. Me, Peppino the Wolf, the boss of the quarter at just twenty-five; Peppino the Wolf, the man who incited respect and terror; Peppino the Wolf wept that night into his pillow, while you slept, happy in my embrace, your lips curving into the half smile of the woman you had become. And while you slept, I chased after the fears of the future. When a man is too happy, he cries, Rosine’. Now that you’re gone, now that you’ve broken your oath, I can tell you.
    What good is love, Rosine’? Can you tell me what good love is? Why be happy, if after happiness comes despair? What is a year worth, a miserable year of light, if after that you have to spend the rest of your life in darkness?
    Do you remember when you told me, Rosine’? Do you remember how long it had been since the day at the church with the woman-headed dragon and the sun that shone in your face, since the night with the moonlight and tears of happiness? Two months, that’s how long. Two months exactly.
    And one night, when I came home from a day of hard work, so tired I could barely stand, you took my hand and you put it on your belly. And then you told me: this is what love’s