Mama used to make a big feast on Sunday evenings complete with appetizers, several courses and at least four dessert choices. We kids would always try to get stray pieces of parmesean cheese while Papa hand-shaved a block for the bruschetta. Unlike most Italian families we never had any wine at the table. We never had any alcohol in the house at all. Papa used to say that he was allergic to wine but I think his reasons for abstaining went much deeper than he let on. That was Papa, always wanted to protect us from everything including himself if need be.
Each night after dinner I would sit next to my father's chair as he would sip espresso while smoking his pipe and listening to old Italian folk songs. Sometimes he would sing along to the music in the old language. Mama would finish in the kitchen then come into the parlor and sit across from Papa. She always served ice water with slices of fresh lemon then sat back to enjoy the music and the scent of Papa's pipe smoke. He had so many beautiful hand-crafted pipes that were a joy to look at as well as smell. When it was my bedtime I kissed my parents and snuggled into my comfortable bed. The house felt, sounded and smelled so good. I always fell asleep very quickly during those times.
One night I woke up and heard some men talking downstairs. Mama was already asleep in her bed so I quietly walked to the stairs and saw Papa speaking with three other men in the living room. The men were dressed in suits that looked quite expensive. Papa spoke to them in Italian and they seemed to understand what he was saying. One of the men spoke in English and said "Looks like a long night, eh?" Then my father put his jacket on and left the house along with the three other men.
I never saw my father again after that night. My mother refused to discuss anything about him other than to scold us for asking. Eventually we knew never to inquire any more. Our house never felt the same again. There was, however, a lot of wine in the house after that.
Six months ago I was having dinner at a restaurant with my wife and children when a customer came in that I recognized immediately. It was one of the men that I saw that night speaking Italian with my father in the living room. He was much older than he was that night long ago, but he had the exact same suit on. When he went into the men's bathroom I followed him in. I did not know what to say or how to even bring up the subject of my father or that night. All I knew and cared about was the fact that one of those men was in the very same room as me. He must have felt my eyes upon him because he looked at me through the mirror above the sink. After what seemed like an eternity he said "Looks like a long night, eh?"
The rest you already know because it's all in the police report. The defense lawyer said that if I am lucky I'll get a life sentence without parole. I appreciate your attempt at saving my soul, Father, but that died many years ago. Please be with my family because they need all the prayer and support they can get now.
I have to go. There's this little old Italian guy on kitchen detail that I need to see.
