Celtic Crossing: A Novel by Len Mattano

Author:Len Mattano
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Paraclete Press
Published: 2019-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Monday, 26 July 2010, Pontifical Gregorian University

Kyle stood in front of the Central Building and scanned the piazza nervously. Streams of pedestrians converged toward the entrance as the eight o’clock hour neared, intimidating even Vespa riders to wait quietly to the side.

Soon bells tolled, from steeples and towers and cathedrals. Then they were silent and the noise of nearby traffic could be heard once again. Sidewalks cleared, leaving the gray cobblestones to leashed dogs and passing bikes.

If asked, he could not have explained why he thought Cristina would appear from across the piazza, nonchalant in a slow promenade, sundress billowing gently about with the morning breeze.

“Buongiorno, Kyle.”

The voice was like air, drifting softly into his vision as if real.

“Shall we start with coffee, perhaps?” She touched his arm.

He jolted alert.

“I’m sorry. Did I frighten you?” Her head inclined in a look of tender concern.

“What? Nah, I’m fine.” Turning, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly more startled than his reply suggested.

“There is a nice café here. We can get our drinks and sit in the garden. Sì?”

“Sure, sì.”

The building was spacious and evoked a modern, neoclassical grandeur. They made their way past offices and lecture halls, strolled through the central atrium, and eventually stood in queue with a dozen other, mostly clerical, patrons.

“So, Kyle, tell me about your home.”

“My home? With my parents?” He felt uncomfortably like an adolescent whose guise of maturity had been stripped away.

“Yes. I would love to hear all about your family. Maybe they are a bit like mine.”

“That I doubt,” he laughed. “It’s just me—I don’t have any sisters or brothers. We live in a small city, a village, really, on the Atlantic. Have you been to Ireland?”

“I want to, someday.”

“Well, we’re over here.” He held out his right hand, upright with fingers half-flexed, and pointed to the base of his thumb as southwest. “Where are you from?”

“Ah, from the most beautiful part of Italy, of course. Our little village is named Cagnano Varano, in Puglia, here.” Leaning down, she touched a spot low on her right calf. “If we want to swim we can choose the sea or, much better, Lago di Varano—it is warmer, with no salt.”

“What about your family?”

“I was the only child too, but only for a year. Now there are five. Lucia and Ricco are still home. Terese, Camilla, and I are at university. Our parents are happy that the government pays for tuition. Is it the same for you?”

He shook his head emphatically, as much astonished at the family size as the notion of free college. “Not a chance. I have a scholarship. I did, anyway.”

“I don’t understand.”

He shook his head again, this time with a slight shrug and prolonged blink.

“Scusate, cosa desiderate ordinare?” the server interrupted.

“Sì, un attimo, prego.” She turned to Kyle. “Do you know what you want?”

“Uh, I guess a latte.”

“Un caffè latte e un cappuccino. Grazie.”

The cashier line moved quickly, and a moment later their order was ready. Outside, they found an empty table on the patio and sat opposite each other.

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