Monday, August 22, 2011

Magna Mater VIII

That night, Servi was sitting on a wall on the Tiber Island.  Across the river, on the Lungotevere d. Ceni, he spied Francesca under a street lamp.  Just after he spotted her, she saw him, and yelled something, but she was too far away for him to hear her.  She backtracked toward the Ponte Quattro Capi behind him.  After a few moments, she was sitting next to him on the break wall.
            “Why the hell are you here?” she scolded. “We were supposed to meet at Enrioco’s.  Did you forget?  What else do you do with your time but remember our rendezvous?”
            “Did you know that your aunt was a whore for the Nazis?  That she revealed the location of hiding Jews?  That those Jews were captured and gassed in Auschwitz?”
            “Of course I know!  What would you like me to do about it?”
            “How about never see her again!”
            “She’s an old woman Aarone.  She’s all alone.  All those people have been dust for over fifty years.  I can’t bring them back from the dead by not bringing my Aunt her morning coffee.  Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Aarone, why should I live in a dead past?  What can I do about it now?  I live in the moment.  That is your problem, Aarone.  You are always postponing things, and for what?  For the day you die, which could be tomorrow?  Why are you waiting to live?  The same restraint that keeps you from fucking me keeps you from living!” and Francesca stood up, and pulling her short skirt down to just below her knees, began to walk away.  But then she suddenly stopped.
            “Yes, my Aunt was a whore.  She was a whore for Italian troops before the Nazis came, and then to the Nazis when they were here.  And from what I can tell, she was one in France for you Americans just before the war ended.  She gave information to the Italians, the Nazis, and to the Americans; information that they requested.  And why not?  She knew lots of people.  Millions of people died in that war; they were going to die with or without her information.  What would her death have proved on top of all the other deaths?  All those people are dead Aarone, they are ash in some forest in Poland and she is still alive.  And trust me, you naïve American, in your suburb with your full belly, there are people who did far worse than my aunt to survive the Second World War.  Take your putrid morality and fold it up you ass…” and she stormed away.

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