*Lesley not repentant in the slightest!
*
And you've achieved the impossible and made me feel sorry for Marco!
Thanks Pat.
| The CBB http://www.the-cbb.co.uk/ | |
| Biddy's Brother: Marco's Story
(Complete!) http://www.the-cbb.co.uk/viewtopic.php?f=14&t=4080 |
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| Author: | Frogize [ Mon Feb 25, 2008 4:19 am ] |
| Post subject: | Biddy's Brother: Marco's Story (Complete!) |
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Lesley, this is all your fault! You’re the one who let the PB loose with your question about Marco! [p8 of “Francesco’s Story” 26-11-07 you wrote “I do wonder how Marco can come from the same lineage as the rest of his family.”] Well, it’s been nibbling away ever since – and this is the result! I hope you’re satisfied! Frogize. When Marco finally returned home from the hotel that night he went straight to his study, intending to work on his monthly report, but instead sitting idly at his desk. He knew he’d be sitting there again after church tomorrow, waiting to hear what Alessandro had to say for himself before he announced his latest punishment, and he wondered how everything could have gone so horribly wrong. His life had always been something of a mess – as far back as he could remember. When he and Franco were boys together it had always rankled that Papa favoured the older boy. It wasn’t Marco’s fault that he was younger than Franco – and it was only by ten months, barely that! It wasn’t his fault that he was built on the tall slender lines of his mother’s family while his older brother took after Papa’s family – equally tall, but well-built and muscular. Papa had never appreciated Marco’s academic skill. His passion for books and learning had been considered a waste of time, and of very little value beside Franco’s strength and ability, both on the farm and in the mountains he and Papa loved. Marco simply didn’t have Franco’s stamina and Papa continually nagged him to keep up, to be like his brother, until it was little wonder the two boys were constantly in conflict with each other. And it only got worse after Luigi arrived! Five-year-old Marco had been delighted to hear he had a little brother. Maybe now he’d have someone he could share things with, someone who’d understand the things that fascinated him – but, no! Luigi had been a builder of things, someone who could work out how to do something simply by looking at it, and then just do it seemingly without any effort at all – another brother with practical ability to whom he was constantly compared unfavourably! Taking out his frustration on Luigi had been easy! There was always something under construction – a newer, better version of something that worked perfectly well already – and he’d found great satisfaction in destroying these, often before Luigi had even completed the project. Many times Franco had joined him in his furious rampages, though he’d never really understood Marco’s frustration. Franco had simply revelled in using his physical strength, and had never suffered from the consequent thrashings Papa had administered in the same way Marco did. Emilia and Mamma had been as close as mother and daughter could possibly be and, though they’d never actually said as much, he’d known he was unwelcome there as well. He’d never understood what it was about Luigi that made them so protective of him – especially Emilia! – but they seemed to welcome his presence in a way they never did with either himself or Franco. Emilia said Luigi was ‘a nice quiet useful boy’ but as far as Marco could see that just meant he ignored everyone most of the time and was never required to do much in assisting with the hated farm-work! On the day he and Franco started school – Marco a whole year earlier than was usual – he’d been the youngest pupil ever enrolled there. He’d worked hard, and the school-master had applauded his progress, but no-one else seemed interested in the things that books taught Marco. By the time he was ten he’d long ago surpassed any other student and, if only Papa had agreed, he might have attended the church school in the nearby town. But Papa had insisted he must work on the farm and help to support the family, and so his dream had had to be abandoned. When the war had come, in may 1915, and Franco, Luca, and Luigi had all gone off to join the Alpini, 20-year-old Marco had been left at home to help his father and Signor Linetti to run the two farms. The work had been endless, but Marco had knuckled down and done his best, and he’d been as anxious as the rest to have news of his brothers. Luca’s return at the end of 1915 – Emilia always insisted it was her best-ever Christmas gift! – had shocked him. Luca had always been a mainstay on the farm, and to see him in such a state, with a crooked leg and permanent limp as a result, was something unexpected. Of course, he’d recovered eventually and married Emilia on her 21st birthday, April 1st 1917, and Marco had been glad to have him back on the farm. Now, at last, he’d been able to take a little time for himself and he’d avidly studied everything he could find in an effort to discover ways to increase the productivity of the two farms. Food production was an important part of fighting the war, though no-one but Marco seemed to appreciate that fact. By the end of 1917 the Linettis had found it impossible to manage their farm alone and had come to live with the Destis. Marco, now 23, did his best to make sure their farm was utilized to everyone’s advantage, but Signor Linetti didn’t always agree with him regarding its use and Papa seemed always to side with his old friend, however carefully Marco tried to explain his decisions. His willing use of the so-called ‘returned soldiers’ was an act of desperation, the only way he could find of getting the work done and, though he’d been roundly condemned by everyone for making use of them, no-one had made any alternative suggestions or offered any other assistance. At least the men so employed had eventually been able to return home to their families! In February 1918 his sister had given birth to a son, Mario, and he’d been delighted when he was asked to be the boy’s godfather, though he suspected that if Franco had been present the honour would have gone to him. By the end of the year the war was finally over but there had been no news of Franco or Luigi and he’d begun to make permanent plans to run the farms without them. Then, in February 1919, just after Mario’s first birthday, Luigi had suddenly returned, though he was in no fit state to do anything, and Emilia had immediately elected herself his nurse even though she was pregnant once again. As the year progressed and the Spanish flu epidemic made its presence felt, 24-year-old Marco had watched over Mario whenever his sister would allow it. During Emilia’s pregnancy the two sets of parents had one by one succumbed to the disease, and they had all died within a matter of weeks. By the time the twins arrived, in July 1919, Emilia herself had needed nursing and Sofia had cared for her as well as young Mario, though she herself had struggled with the loss of her own parents. Marco – chronically over-worked and trying to carry on despite the loss of most of his family – had looked on helplessly as 16-year-old Caterina sank into a state of feverish activity as she tried to cope not only with the loss of her parents but the growing certainty that Franco, too, was gone for ever. Early in 1920 Sofia had been taken by the flu epidemic and Caterina, alone in the world now and almost in a state of total collapse by this time, had come to rely on him more and more. As the months crept by and there was still no word of Franco he’d begun to consider the future. Caterina was still only 17 and, though there had been no formal engagement between her and his older brother, there had certainly been an understanding among them all that when Franco returned he and Caterina would marry, so it was obvious that Marco couldn’t simply abandon her. He knew she didn’t love him but, since his brother hadn’t returned, he was willing to marry her, if she’d have him, and in December 1920 that was what they’d done. It had been a purely practical arrangement at the time, and no-one was more appalled than Marco when, only three months after the wedding, Franco had finally dragged himself home. Three-year-old Mario had come running to find him, while the two-year-old twins had run to their mother in fright, when the strange man had appeared at the farm, and he’d found Caterina staring at his brother in silent and horrified amazement as the full impact of what had happened began to dawn on her. It had been a very difficult meeting for all of them, and the shocked expression on Franco’s face as he saw Caterina’s mute acceptance of what could not be changed had caused Marco to blush furiously, though he knew he had no reason to feel ashamed. However, it had been a bitter blow to Franco, and he hadn’t been at all surprised when his brother moved to the old Linetti place with Luca and Emilia. When their daughter, Natalina, was born only a few months later in August 1921, Franco had found it all too much and headed for the mountains. Although he’d fully understood Franco’s reasoning it had made working the farm even harder and, with only the disabled Luca – who still managed to work like two men! – and the ever-reluctant Luigi to help him, Marco had been desperate to get the work done. Over the next year there was constant unrest throughout the country as the Communists encouraged strikes and he’d become more and more angry and frustrated with the situation – especially so once Caterina informed him she was expecting his child. He knew his was a loveless marriage but he’d tried to do the right thing and was determined that Franco should never be able to accuse him of not providing for Caterina and their child. The new Fascist Party had seemed to be strong enough to combat the Communist way of thinking and, after Mussolini took over as Prime Minister, he’d gladly been instrumental in setting up the local band of Black Shirts. He knew it made him unpopular, but that was hardly a new thing – when had he ever been anything else? At least the work got done and the people who depended on him were able to eat and survive. Throughout this whole period his nephew, Mario, had been the only one who’d willingly spent time with him and, though the boy was only four, he’d been delighted to discover that Mario shared his love of books. The two had spent as much time together as possible and he’d happily taught Mario to read. His daughter, Isabella, had been born in January 1923 and both he and Caterina had been delighted with her. H4e’d hoped to improve the relationship he had with his wife after that, but she’d become totally absorbed with the baby and he’d resigned himself to being left on the sidelines of her life, especially since Luigi had now left the farm. Once again he’d become embroiled in simply getting all the work done and, with his extensive involvement with the militia, he’d been ashamed of some of the things he’d had to do in order to accomplish the task. In March 1923, Emilia had given birth to another son, Pietro, making Mario – only just turned 5 – the eldest of five siblings. The boy had often sought him out simply in order to get some much-needed attention, and the bond between them had become even stronger. By 1924 Marco’s office was already firmly established at the barracks in the nearby town where Luigi worked and when the government official had visited him there in February of that year, demanding he find someone to fill the vacant position on the Olympic team’s staff, he was sure Luigi would take it. By the time Luigi left, at the end of April, Caterina had informed him she was to have another child, but he’d been unable to feel hopeful about the future then and, when Maria duly arrived in September – shortly before his 30th birthday – he’d felt none of the pride that Isabella’s arrival had induced in him. All his hopes were with Mario, now 6½ years old. In November 1925 Emilia had a second daughter, Lucia, and Mario had once again come to his beloved Uncle Marco for reassurance and attention. When Caterina told him at Easter the following year that she was pregnant again he’d hardly dared hope that he might finally have a son of his own, while the arrival of Emilia’s third daughter, Francesca, in September 1926 had driven Mario, at 8½, back to the only person he really felt understood him. When his son was born, on November 21st 1926, he’d been absolutely ecstatic. He’d named him Alessandro, after the legendary Greek hero, hoping it would inspire greatness in the boy, and Mario had wondered if he was still welcome at his uncle’s home. Marco had been swift to assure his nephew that Alessandro would need him as much as he did, and Mario had become devoted to his cousin as a consequence. In fact, the boy had spent far more time with Alessandro than any of his own siblings, even the ones who arrived after his cousin – Domenico in July 1928, Bianca in June 1930, and Marco in December 1932. After Alessandro’s arrival he’d developed, at 32, a new enthusiasm for improving his own prospects in order to advance his family and, despite Caterina’s protest and refusal to maintain their marriage relationship, he’d bought a large house in the town and moved his family into their new home. He was determined that his children – and particularly his son – would have the education he had been denied, and any other advantages he could secure for them! As the Fascist Party increased in power and took control of the country he’d been carried along with them, finding that at last he was able to achieve his own goals without continually having to justify every decision he made. He devoted himself to advancing his position and found that, as long as he concentrated on his own family, he was able to ignore the suffering he inflicted on others, telling himself he’d worked hard for what he had, while they had only themselves to blame. Mario, then aged 10, had come to live with his family in the summer of 1928, when Domenico was born and Alessandro was eighteen months old. He, too, had been offered a place at the same church school Marco had hoped to attend, and his uncle had made certain that the boy got his opportunity. He’d done well, both in school and in the ONB, and Marco was immensely proud of him, while Alessandro had adored his clever older cousin. By June 1935, when the priest had visited from Milan and told him of Luigi’s impending death and Emilia had later phoned him with the news his brother had left two children to be cared for, he – now approaching his 41st birthday – had tried to find a solution to the dilemma. Why was he always the one expected to solve the family’s problems? In the end the only thing possible was to make arrangements with the priest to have the girl sent to an orphanage – there was no way he could arrange papers for a child who had no official connection to either his family or the country – though the boy’s situation had been different. When Emilia arrived home with him he was reluctant to take on the boy himself, and was glad to leave him to Luca and Emilia. His own children were all growing up now, and he knew he’d long since outgrown the patience required to cope with such a young child whereas their youngest boy was only a year older than Luigi’s. By that time 12-year0old Isabella and 10-year-old Maria had been attending a small private school in town, while 8-year-old Alessandro had also been in a private school and was enrolled to attend an exclusive military academy in Milan after he turned 10. It was unfortunate that his work meant he saw so little of his children. He’d seen very little of Caterina, either. She’d stuck to her decision to have no more children after Alessandro’s birth and that had necessarily meant avoiding contact with her husband. He knew he could have forced the issue, but his heart had never been in it and he’d had no desire to hurt her. He’d always been faithful to her until then, despite the fact that there had been no shortage of women willing to share his bed, and Caterina had not objected to his doing so once her decision had been made. He’d always avoided any kind of emotional involvement, though – his encounters with women had never been anything more than purely physical, and he always insisted on discretion, not wanting to embarrass either Caterina or his children. Mario’s decision to enlist in the army after he finished school had been a source of immense pride to him, and he’d been instrumental in seeing that his nephew joined a good regiment with ample prospects for advancement. He knew that Emilia and Luca were disappointed – they’d wanted their eldest son to return to the farm – but he was sure his nephew would enjoy a far better future as a soldier. Mario, at 18½, had paid him a visit after completing his training, just before his deployment to Spain in August 1936, and he’d been almost envious of him, a young man embarking on his chosen career, while 9½-year-old Alessandro had longed to be like his cousin. There had been only brief messages from Mario while he was away, a situation that he, in his position as head of the local militia, had understood much better than the rest of the family. When even this infrequent contact ceased he hadn’t been particularly concerned – a fighting man’s life was not his own, after all. The civil war in Spain had officially ended on April 1st 1939, Emilia’s 43rd birthday, and he’d eagerly anticipated Mario’s return but, as the weeks passed, he’d grown more anxious. He’d been devastated, at the end of January 1940, when the news of Mario’s death exactly one year earlier had finally filtered through the system. The agony he’d felt on hearing the news had almost broken him, and he’d been compelled to completely shut off his feelings in order to cope – he’d forced himself to only think of Mario as Emilia and Luca’s son, not connected with himself in any way. Luca’s inability to comprehend the news had almost undone him and it was only by maintaining the tightest possible rein on his feelings – hardly daring to even look at his brother-in-law and speaking as little as was absolutely necessary – that he’d got through the interview. When Franco attacked him in his office later that day, and threatened Alessandro as well, he’d been appalled at the implication against his son – even more so when he’d later discovered the claim was true. Alessandro was thirteen then, and had been boarding at the military academy for 2½ years, since September 1937. He’d noticed a distinct change in his son since he’d begun attending the academy but had told himself it was simply that Alessandro was growing up fast, living away from home, and mixing with different boys. He’d probably grow out of it. Alessandro hadn’t ‘grown out of it’, and he’d found himself punishing his son for his bullying ways more and more often. Caterina had resented his treatment of the boy and had deliberately flouted all his commands concerning his son, insisting on treating him as a child and thoroughly spoiling him, until Marco was sorely tempted to insist the boy remain at school permanently instead of returning home on a regular basis – and always with his friends in tow. He’d become equally exasperated with Alessandro’s so-called friends, too. Though he knew they both came from well-to-do families, Enrico and Maurizio seemed to bring out the worst in his son and he’d done what he could to discourage the friendship, though he admitted now that he hadn’t done enough. Perhaps he should have spent more time with Alessandro himself, instead of relying so much on Mario, but it was too late to change that now. Having his three young nephews in the house had become a most unsettling experience, too. He’d been reluctant to have them there initially, but now he was forced to admit – if only to himself – that, despite the disruption to his ordered life, they were all fine boys, sons any man would be proud to call his own. He envied Luca his long family, and idly wondered if it was too late to claim Luigi’s boy – he was a Desti, after all! He swiftly abandoned that idea though, already knowing that Luca and Emilia would never agree to it – not after Mario. He was certain his children would be mortified at the very idea, too – though he wasn’t so sure about Caterina. He’d watched her with the boy – and wondered. And what was he going to do with Alessandro now! He’d have to hear what young Francesco had to say before he could decide, but it would have to be something that would make an impression on his son’s increasingly thick hide! He was determined not to allow Werner Bachaus to return to Germany with a less than favourable impression of Isabella’s family, and Alessandro’s behaviour left a lot to be desired. And last, but certainly not least, he allowed his thoughts to linger on Sarah Taillier. A simple French dress-maker was what he’d expected Bertolli to deliver, and instead he’d brought…..Sarah! He was approaching his 47th birthday now, and yet the young French girl – no, French woman, he admitted – had only to smile at him to reduce him to the status of blundering school-boy, making a fool of himself whenever he saw her. It was embarassing – and yet he eagerly sought her out, only to hurry away again as he saw the laughter in her eyes and hated the thought she might be laughing at him. But she certainly hadn’t laughed that evening! He flushed angrily as he remembered the way she’d looked down her nose at him – even if she was at least eight inches shorter than him! – as though he were something nasty on the sole of her shoe, and had stared disdainfully at him before turning her face away as she passed him on her way out. He knew he’d handled things badly and treated the boys unfairly. He hadn’t even tried to discover the cause of the disturbance – just shouted at them all as he frequently shouted at his office staff, demanding his own way. Was there some way he could ensure she’d be there after church when he dealt with the boys? Some way he could show her he wasn’t the unfeeling monster his reputation suggested? With a loud sigh and a heavy heart he got to his feet and, closing the door softly behind him, made his way upstairs. He was surprised to notice the light under the sewing room door as he passed by, and considered knocking on it in hope that Sarah would be there. But, even if she was there, what could he possibly say? Sighing once more, he continued slowly down the corridor to his bedroom. | |
| Author: | Lesley [ Mon Feb 25, 2008 7:01 am ] |
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*Lesley not repentant in the slightest! *
And you've achieved the impossible and made me feel sorry for Marco! Thanks Pat. | |
| Author: | Alison H [ Mon Feb 25, 2008 7:06 am ] |
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Thanks for reminding us that there's always more than one side to every story. | |
| Author: | Elbee [ Mon Feb 25, 2008 9:13 am ] |
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Alison H wrote:
Thanks for reminding us that there's always more
than one side to every story. Agreed. Thanks, Pat. | |
| Author: | PaulineS [ Mon Feb 25, 2008 12:13 pm ] |
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Thanks Pat Lesley wrote Quote:
And you've achieved the impossible and made me
feel sorry for Marco! I agree | |
| Author: | leahbelle [ Mon Feb 25, 2008 5:18 pm ] |
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Me too! | |
| Author: | Fiona Mc [ Tue Feb 26, 2008 2:58 am ] |
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Pat that was wonderful. I'm glad Lesley inspired that and you wrote about Marco. I really felt sorry for him and could see how he turned out the way her did. Thanks | |
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