“Hugo, you are putting the family in danger! And you say you’re a family man!”
She loudly whispered in her heavy French accent, her expression instantly changing the moment I closed the door.
“I don’t see how bringing a friend home is some kind of dan-”
“He is a deacon, don’t you see? He wears the robes of Rome, the heart of the Church. I should know. Do you not think you would remember the people who burn your sister, your mother, and practically every single woman in your family! ” My wife’s indignant, malachite eyes met mine, and swiftly looked away, sighing softly. I felt her anger, her sorrow, deep in my heart. But I ignored her, and reassured her to not be unsettled, for Dante was just a harmless, young man, who had no care in the world. I doubted my own self, but it was already midnight, and I couldn’t allow Marie to rest on a pillow of fear and worry.
As I slept, I tossed and turned. But despite these restless nights, I allowed Dante to come back over and over again, for at least a few months. We always conversed about new inventions and different people and religion, actually, just about everything we knew. And every time he came, he brought companions, to quite possibly keep Marie company. Even then, Marie seemed happy to learn a few new recipes. I tricked myself into trusting him like I would a brother or son. Although my wife always said that I needed to be ten times more circumspect of what I said, I never tried to follow her advice.
Many days later…
We were on a family outing to the Ponte Vecchio and the Boboli Gardens, though this time we happened to run into Dante, and once more, my wife pestered me about my words. I went up to Dante, and he smiled sheepishly.
“I’d never think that I would see you around these parts of Florence this time of day.”
“I did not think so either. Little Joseph wanted to go to the Boboli Gardens. Where are you headed for, Mr. Cuoco?” He sat on the thought for a moment, giving the air a sense of, well, hollowness and confusion. It was as if he were trying to muster a lie from the back of his throat. Marie stared at me in a quizzical way.
“I was just about to go to the Basilica,” he said slowly, a tiny bead of sweat dripping bashfully behind Dante’s elf-like ears. “I have an errand to run.” He glanced at the ticking clock on the Palazzo Vecchio. A few minutes passed by. “I had better be going, then. Nice to see you around the city and not at the university all day.” I nodded as he bent down to greet Joseph, and he walked away.
