The Gathering (37 page)

It wasn’t much in the annals of knight errantry. Manny’s open-ended warning was enough to quiet the situation. Alice was not only grateful, she was flattered. She couldn’t bring herself to thank Manny, although she did try to subtly express her gratitude. But she was never sure that Manny had caught the drift.

Besides, she was committed to the convent and a life remote from groping males, or, for that matter, any type of male. And Manny was headed for the seminary and the priesthood.

Alice did not quite grasp what the priesthood demanded. But then neither did she understand what religious life entailed. A more than casual study suggested that nuns did all the work and priests got all the glory. But that was how things were if one chose to enter and proceed. So, romantic thoughts unspoken, Alice remained secretly in Manny’s debt.

Then there was that brief interlude in the convent. Alice had learned in short order that she could never join Rose’s friendship with the demands of religious life. Alice concluded that she could be closer to her best friend as a layperson than were she to remain in consecrated life.

Then came the generous support and help from Rose’s father, followed by Alice’s hiring on at the law firm.

Rose was kept informed of each step along the way. Her information as to the events of Alice’s day-to-day life was far more detailed than it would have been had Alice remained in the convent.

Rose was disturbed by John Piccolo’s interest in Alice. Rose knew that Al had an undeservedly poor self-image. Rose noted how Alice had given herself over to John, almost as a slave to an owner. Rose suspected this relationship would degenerate as time went on, particularly if it led to marriage.

But Rose strongly believed that she could serve more constructively if she stayed on the fringe ready to help in any way she could in picking up the pieces. Besides, the communication between the two friends, while much freer now that Alice was unconstrained by convent rules, still was in no way what it had been before they had entered the convent.

Alice married John Piccolo. As a bride she was the centerpiece of the wedding day. She was immensely happy. She would need the memories of this happiness to give her strength to survive what was coming.

Alice tried to keep a stiff upper lip and hide from family and friends what she was suffering at the hands—and fists—of her husband.

Infrequently the couple would dine out, usually with John’s coworkers. John used such occasions as a showcase of his mastery over his wife. These displays were humiliating to Alice, and embarrassing to everyone but John.

The couple never entertained at home. Had they done so, the fact that theirs was a sadomasochistic relationship would have been obvious beyond doubt. And John wanted that doubt to take precedence over any certain knowledge. He knew that the firm had no place in its higher echelons for an overt sadist. And John very definitely wanted to climb.

His approach left room for dalliances with lower-level stenos. Far from attempting to shield these sexually gratifying games from his wife, he boasted of them to her in nauseating detail.

The word divorce seemed not to be in Alice’s lexicon. As a young girl, she had not always told the truth. On occasion, she had even lied to Rose—not often and not seriously. Sometimes she guiltily thought of what might have happened had Manny not intervened in the Stratford Theater.

That was it with Alice: guilt and punishment. She was supposed to love, honor, and obey—words that popularized the wedding ceremony but didn’t even exist in the Catholic ritual.

So there it was: Lies and adolescent desire—she had sinned, done something wrong. She
must
have done something wrong. She must be
doing
something wrong to be slammed around as she was.

Then came Manny’s phone call and finally her invitation to him to dine chez Piccolo.

It would have been outrageous for such an invitation to originate with Alice—something like inviting a friend to witness one’s torture. But it would have been inconceivable that the invitation issue from John Piccolo. And yet, though Manny had no way of knowing, that’s exactly whence it came. He had indicated to his wife, in no uncertain terms, that she should invite her friend—“this paragon of virtue”—to dinner “… so we can see what he’s really made of.”

John’s behavior that evening was beyond insane. Alice had never completely gotten over the memory of it. Occasionally, even now, when the Toccos dined out or had guests in, Alice would find herself stammering from the memory of those events.

She remembered how strong and fit John had been. She had had the bruises to prove it. She also remembered her fear that he would humiliate Manny.

As it happened, her fear for Manny turned into a fear
of
him. A fear that he would kill John. She had never witnessed such an uncontrolled fury, even with John at his worst.

Yet at her first hesitant touch, Manny had stopped immediately and called up an unlikely self-control.

The divorce followed and, mostly because, in the end, it was uncontested, it was not overly bloody. Next came the attempt at an annulment. Compared with the civil action, the Church’s procedures were like a bloodbath. Neither Alice nor Manny ever fathomed why the Church should demand in minute detail such intimate marital facts. In any case, the divorce was granted, the annulment denied.

Manny rationalized promptly and set his conscience at ease. Alice was not as successful. She never got over the fact that they were not validly married in the Church’s eyes. It was a continuing source of embarrassment to her.

Nevertheless Manny and Alice kept up with Church affairs, reading some of the more thoughtful books and periodicals.

They had become actively involved for the first time only recently when their grandchild, Louise, was denied the opportunity of making her First Holy Communion.

   
TWENTY-SEVEN
   

M
ANNY AND ALICE
named their daughter Rose, after Alice’s best friend. Little Rose would have no siblings, although they were desired. The doctor blamed Manny’s low sperm count.

Like most only children, Rose was cherished. She returned this affection. She loved her parents dearly, but bottom line, she was “Daddy’s girl.”

Manny and Alice attended Mass faithfully on Sundays and Holy Days of Obligation. But they never attempted to take Communion.

Rose was born in 1965 at approximately the conclusion of the Council. It was a much more love-centered time in the Church. So Manny and Alice didn’t feel overly compelled to explain to their young daughter about her parents being condemned to eternal hellfire because a priest hadn’t witnessed their marriage.

Because the role was so natural to him, Manny was Rose’s, as well as Alice’s, white knight.

In time, Rose grew up, fell in love with, and married Ralph Rigby. Shortly thereafter—nothing bashful about Ralph’s sperm—Rose became pregnant.

But something was wrong. The symptoms seemed to come out of the blue. First came the weight loss. Ralph had always been slim. But there was no obvious reason why he should be losing so much weight. Then there was bone pain, and a pins-and-needles sensation in the arms and legs. Blood tests revealed low levels of protein, calcium, and sodium.

All this had a disastrous effect on Rose. She was pregnant with her first child, and her husband, in desperate need of care, seemed unable to get an accurate diagnosis. Doctors tried everything, to no avail.

Manny and Alice tried to help. They insisted that Rose and Ralph move in with them. After weak and unconvincing demurrals, the move was made.

Despite heroic efforts from all concerned, Ralph continued to deteriorate. He died during Rose’s seventh month. The wake and the funeral were heart-wrenching.

Manny would have it no other way than that Rose stay on. Two months later, Louise was born. The happiness she brought to the Toccos and to Rose almost alleviated the sorrow of losing Ralph.

Then it began. The first sign occurred at the start of Louise’s second year. The three adults took the baby with them to an all-you-can-eat restaurant. Somebody gave Louise a cookie. Although part of it got crunched in her hair and all over her face, still she managed to down most of it. She was the life of the party.

It was not long after that—after some bread and more cookies—that the symptoms kicked in. As they developed and increased, finally a specialist correctly diagnosed her condition as celiac disease, an inherited illness. Actually, Ralph’s illness and death had been signposts leading to the identity of Louise’s illness. Ralph’s celiac disease had been passed on to his daughter. She had an allergic intolerance to gluten, a protein. In short, bread—among a few other foods—made her ill … very ill. And Rose, crushed by the death of her young husband, now faced a life-threatening disease in her daughter.

The family’s friends gave of themselves unstintingly. But when night came—no matter who had been there through the day—the friends would leave.

Manny would tuck in Louise; then, just as he had in her childhood, he tucked in Rose. Then he and Alice would seek comfort in each other’s arms.

As close families do, the Toccos took special care of Louise. The most important consideration in this case was diet. Even small amounts of gluten caused a reaction. All gluten had to be avoided. That abstinence included commercial soups, sauces, ice cream, hot dogs, as well as wheat and rye.

Rose, as did her family and friends, grew accustomed to recognizing and avoiding gluten in all its forms. Being aware became second nature.

By the time Louise was seven, the family had begun preparation for her long-awaited First Holy Communion. Of course there was the obvious consideration with regard to bread. But that had been handled for years with care and substitutes; surely it would be no problem now.

In the Catholic Mass, the priest consecrates bread and wine, just as Jesus did at the Last Supper. Catholic belief is that in this consecration the bread and wine become the living presence of Jesus Christ. Thus, bread and wine are central to Communion.

As Louise’s First Holy Communion approached, this was of no grave concern to the Tocco family. It was no problem; they would find a substitute for the bread. They always had. For everyone in any way connected with Louise, this was to be a joyful banner occasion.

Manny and Alice called at the rectory to arrange for an accommodation. No point in dragging Rose along; she was no stronger than a piece of wet tissue paper.

   
TWENTY-EIGHT