Snowfall in Venice

The Don's Decision

THE DECISION OF DON BENEDETTI

At 8:30 a.m. Carlos escorted us to an elegant dining room for breakfast. Two well-dressed servants offered steaming platters of breakfast meats, eggs of all types, and baskets of freshly baked rolls and crusty bread.

We were finishing our second cup of coffee when Benedetti joined us. He sat at the head of the table and asked the servant for a double black expresso. I thought The Don looked like he hadn't slept a wink.

"Doctor Gunderson," he began. "I have made my decision. Despite the trauma and many disappointments my daughter Angelina has already suffered, I will allow you to make one last medical examination of her condition."

I thanked him and attempted to shake hands, but The Don just stared at me with those cold dead eyes of his.

He pointed to his office. "Go, now, and do your examination. Angelina is waiting for you."

We left the breakfast table and moved to the office. Angelina was there, covered from head to toe as she had been the previous night.

At first, Angelina was reluctant to remove her facial covering. Gayle talked soothingly to her in Italian, and finally, she removed the veil. After an exhaustive examination of the young girl, I was ready to talk to her father. I found him still at the breakfast table.

"Don Benedetti, I have an important question to ask you. You mentioned that three doctors have tried to restore Angelina's face. Can you remember how many operations they performed?"

"Each of the butchers did one operation and then gave up."

I nodded. My hunch was correct. "Don Benedetti, I want to take some pictures of Angelina's face for a more thorough review. Then, if you will grant me some time, I will present my professional opinion to you later this evening."

The Don agreed, allowing me to spend the next hour taking close-up photos of Angelina's face from all angles. I spent the rest of the day in the solitude of our suite, making copious notes and diagrams based on my evaluation of the pictures. Occasionally I bounced an idea off Gayle to test my assumptions.

Finally, I said to Gayle, "I think I have everything I need. Let's go see The Don and hope we survive the meeting."

We found Benedetti in his study sitting in front of the fireplace. He wore an old-fashioned smoking jacket with black lapels and soft leather slippers on his feet. The Don held a glass of cognac in one hand and the ever-present cigar in the other. He stared broodingly at the flames. The hermit's last confession was resting on the coffee table at his side. He motioned for us to sit in the two stuffed chairs opposite him.

I took a deep breath and started. "Don Benedetti, I have to be honest with you. Angelina will never have the face of the Madonna again. The damage is too severe."

When The Don interrupted with a groan of anguish, I held up my hand and continued. "But, in my professional opinion, with the proper reconstructive surgery and a little makeup as she grows older, Angelina will look substantially better. At the very least, she will no longer have to wear a cover over her face every time she goes out in public."

Don Benedetti took a long pull on his glass of cognac and then said, "Why should I believe you? Every attempt has failed. Each time my poor daughter's face became more ruined."

I knew it was now or never. If I failed to convince The Don, it would be game over for us both.

"Don Benedetti, the missing ingredient that caused the past failures was simply time. The others tried to correct the problem with only a single operation. That approach was wrong."