Page 11 of La Dolce Vita

His gaze scaled the stone structure to the steeple. The church bell gleamed in the sun above. August in Sorrento was a balmy time of year. In four short months, everything had changed for the family. Happiness delayed. Giovanni made the sign of the cross from his head to the center of his chest, and then shoulder-to-shoulder. He started across the sidewalk and went in through the gates.

Each step he took was weighted with his burden. No man, no matter his bravado, hurried to face his demons. Don Giovanni continued with his back straight, and no sign of regret or fear once he crossed over the threshold into the cathedral. Yes, his soul was lost. He had no doubt of that. Taking the life of Father Nicosia was only the beginning. He humbled himself to his enemies and broke every vow he swore allegiance to in his faith by doing so. And he'd do it again if it would lessen the suffering of his Bella.

Inside the sanctuary, he found a still quietness. His gaze switched from the altar of candles at the front of the church to the confessional booths. He started down the carpeted aisle. His vision was narrow yet focused on the crucifixion of Christ. The thorn crown his savior wore pierced his brow and sent trickles of blood down his face. He was impaled upon wood by iron stakes. He bled from his wrists, and his feet were nailed together. Still, Christ wore a look of humility, forgiveness, impunity, and righteousness. No trace of his suffering could be seen. Giovanni would never compare himself to Christ. He simply was not worthy. But he understood the rules of sacrifice. He understood silent obedience. He had that understanding drilled into him since he was a little boy. And if he weren't the son of the most wicked man in this region of the world, maybe his mother's dreams for him would have been fulfilled in the Church. Maybe the Campania would have truly been his sanctuary out of Sicilia like his father promised. The thought of him being a priest instead of a thug brought a slight smile to his face.

The Don knelt at the altar. He reached into the pocket of his blazer and removed the rosary. His lids lowered, and he prayed. He asked for forgiveness once more, for humility, for guidance. And then the prayer ended. Giovanni felt the cold stare of rejection. Not from Christ, but from one of his servants. He cast his gaze left. Father Álvaro observed him from near the confessional booths. He wore a long dark robe and a gold crucifix that hung from his neck. Giovanni nodded toward the priest. The priest turned and went inside as if commanding him to do the same. He pushed up from his knees and walked over to the confessional. With the rosary wrapped around his left hand, he made the sign of the cross before him. He entered the small wooden booth and drew the door shut. He sat on the bench. The window to the left of his face was open. He began to speak his confessions in Sicilian, not Italian.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was twelve years ago and... ah... these are my sins. I have missed Mass formanymonths. I have liedmanytimes. I have.... donemanythings."

"These things, Don Giovanni. What are they?" the priest asked coolly.

Giovanni didn't answer.

"You are in the house of God. You can hide nothing from him. Our Lord sees all. You cannot ask for absolution if you are not willing to confess. What are thesemanysins?"

"I have lied. I have stolen. I have taken the lives of others, and their brothers, and their sons. I have murdered with impunity," Giovanni confessed.

The priest fell silent.

Giovanni closed his eyes. "I have... taken the life of your brother. Father Nicosia."

"And do you regret any of it?" the priest asked, unable to disguise his disgust.

"I am guilty without regret," he replied.

"Then why are you here? To thumb your nose at God?" The priest asked.

"My wife... she's not guilty of my crimes. And yet..."

"She suffers the consequences." the priest answered.

"Yes, Father. She was poisoned months ago. At first, we thought her medical and emotional problems were residual from the poison. But... it seems she's had a few episodes that... lead me to believe there is something else. It has been hard on her. Recovery. She works at being a good wife, a good mother, and a good Catholic. She suffers the contradictions. She suffers because of me. And I know her suffering is my punishment. God is vengeful. He reaches through me to her and binds my hands so I can do nothing but watch," he said through gritted teeth.

"God forgives. He is not vengeful."

"Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord. Is that not right, Father?" he asked. "He is benevolent to those that are obedient, but will strike down those who aren't. That is his law and mine."

"You are not God!"

"But I strive to be godlike..."

"You do not! You do not! You twist scripture to hide from what you know to be true. You think you are above the church, above God's law."

"And that is my curse," Giovanni said. "Because I am."

The priest gasped in shock. Giovanni could sense the grimace on the priest’s face without looking over to see it. Giovanni sat in silence and waited for him to speak.

"Are you willing to cast your sins away? To humble yourself and truly repent. Are you willing to be a different man?"

"No," Giovanni replied softly.

"Then I'll ask again. What is it you seek from a God you mock with defiance, and refuse to obey?"

"Blessings for my wife, my children,la famiglia. Not for me," Giovanni said. "My soul is not in the bargain. I accept that."

The priest did not speak or refuse to offer his penance. Giovanni continued.

"I ask for God's mercy for the innocent, and tolerance for the guilty."

---