Authors: Jeffrey Littorno
Anyway, it was about seven o’clock in the morning when we passed the small green and white sign that simply read, “San Pietro”. A beautiful day was beginning with the sun shining and a cool early morning, slightly-salty breeze coming off the nearby ocean. The streets were busy even at this time of the morning. Several coffee shops had sidewalk tables where people sat talking and having breakfast. Store owners greeted people walking by. Everything about the scene was appealing. I had never been the kind of person who was looking for some place to settle down and live a comfortable life, but I could see myself living an enjoyable, quiet life in this place. The whole scene seemed to be something out of a movie or TV show where everyone knew each other’s name, and lives were somehow connected.
Maybe the notion of this being such a welcoming place was a side effect of driving all night. I don’t know. The thing I know for sure is that one tall, thin, slightly-stooped older man in a black business suit crossing the street that morning in San Pietro was very lucky. I know this because I damn near ran over him.
He came strolling off the sidewalk into the street without even a look. In one hand, he held a large white and green cup of what I assume was coffee. In the other hand, he held a large black book that I assume was a bible.
My eyes came away from the people chatting and smiling on the sidewalk and back to the street ahead just in time to see the tall, thin, slightly-stooped older man in the black business suit step right in front of the car.
I slammed on the brakes. The result was a squealing as the tires slid a little and a thud as the car came to a stop and stalled. Joey and Louis were both abruptly tossed from their dozing.
There was no sound at all for a few seconds.
I could see the tall, thin, slightly-stooped older man in the black business suit. Or rather I could see the half of the tall, thin, slightly-stooped older man in the black business suit that was draped over the front of the car’s hood. His body was twitching. He raised his head slightly to look at me as blood streamed from his mouth. His lips moved but nothing came out of his mouth other than a gurgling sound.
Then I felt his scowl, and the other picture retreated back into my imagination. I raised my eyes from the hood to see the older man glaring at me as he held his stance right in front of the car. I am not sure how I had managed to stop. The car was just about six inches from the spot where he stood defiantly. He took a few steps toward me and as we made eye contact, all thoughts of this being an appealing place to live were swept away.
Only a few thoughts managed to make their way into my head as my eyes were locked with those of the man standing in front of the car. During those seconds which seemed to stretch into hours, my mind was filled with horrible pictures of twisting, burning bodies and people screaming like they were being tortured. The worst part about the pictures in my head was they seemed somehow familiar to me. Something told me I should know those people. The sense of connection with the atrocities in my head made them unbearable.
The best comparison would be to a gory horror flick. Not really anything more than a way to pass time. But imagine if you really knew the people getting sliced and diced and turned and burned. Suppose instead of just some dumb blonde screaming as the knife slid slowly across her throat and left a widening red line, it was your sister. The mangled body rolling around the floor in agony was your next-door-neighbor. And the face staring out at you through a wall of fire was your best friend from high school.
Believe it or not, that is what flew through my brain in the seconds spent staring into the man’s eyes. If not for Joey’s comment, I might still be on that street in that car staring into those eyes.
“Hey, Father! You expectin’ a flood?” Joey said loud enough for those of us in the car to hear but not the man outside.
It took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about. I had not realized the man was obviously some sort of minister. I then noticed his pants. The black suit pants ended a few inches above his ankle and revealed dirty-looking white socks. I suddenly realized something; it is impossible to take someone seriously when he is wearing pants ending three or four inches above his ankle.
I could not help but to throw my head back and let out a howling laugh. As soon as I could catch my breath between gasps of laughter, I added, “Hey, Noah, you better get home and finish that ark!”
Louis was silent and then burst out, “Yeah, Reverend, the Great Floods acomin’! Good thing you prepared by wearing your
high
waters
!”
A bit of confusion flashed onto the long face of the man in the black business suit standing in the street just in front of the car. I can not even imagine what he must have been thinking as he stood watching us inside the car laughing like crazed hyenas. The confusion was replaced by a smile of understanding and superiority. He stood motionless in front of us for a long moment with the stupid expression.
We were still howling with laughter in the car as he strolled around to my window which was rolled down. The tall, thin, slightly-stooped older man in the black business suit stooped even further to peer through the space into the car. Once he got close, I recognized in the man the same strange impression I had gotten about Louis in the grocery store. He possessed the same sort of pale, pockmarked face with crooked yellow teeth peeking from beneath a smile. The same sort of glow spread from the smile throughout his body.
The others in the car continued laughing, but I had lost any sense of humor as I stared into the face of the man just outside the car.
“Better be sure you know where you are headed, son. Otherwise, you’re liable to end up someplace you sure don’t want to be.”
I gazed at the man as he spoke. He did not sound like I expected him to sound. His voice had a slight southern twang to it, but what surprised me was the comforting, absolutely calm nature of his voice.
I had never been the kind of person who followed others blindly, but I heard something in the voice and saw something in the minister which I would have followed. None of this mattered though, because I never got the chance to hear any more from the guy.
Joey leaned over toward the man at the window. “Hey, Father, we’re headin’ out to get some pussy, wanna come?” His laugh held no humor at all.
The tall, thin, slightly-stooped older man in the black business suit kept the smile on his face even as he shook his head. He looked at me for a second before turning and slowly walking away.
From the backseat, Louis’ voice came in almost a whisper, “Well, now that we nearly killed a man of the cloth, perhaps we should get going.”
“Where to?” I asked as I looked around to find the minister without success. The tall, thin, slightly-stooped man in the black business suit had vanished.
“Yeah, Lou, we made it to San Pietro just like you wanted. Now where’s the big score you were promisin’?” Joey was already sounding impatient.
Louis did not say anything for a few seconds. When he finally spoke, it sounded like it came from a different person. The voice which had sounded sapped just a minute earlier was now full of energy and cheerfulness. “You are correct, Joey! We have indeed made our way to beautiful downtown San Pietro.” He made a show of looking around the streets as a big smile stretched across his face. “I am pleased to see not too much has changed in the years that I was forced to spend away from home.”
“Yes, welcome home, Louis!” I replied with unmistakable sarcasm. “I’m kinda surprised there is no parade for you. I mean they should celebrate the return of the prodigal son and all that, right?”
“Hmmm, that is an interesting analogy, Thomas.
The return of the prodigal son
...” Louis was quiet for a few moments as if carefully considering some idea. In the meantime, I had pulled the Chevy into a parking space along the street.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t even know what it means.” I admitted. “It’s something that my grandma used to say.”
“The tale of the prodigal son is central to Christianity.” The old man said in a way that sounded like he was talking to himself.
Joey and I twisted around in our seats to look in the backseat. Stoaffer had his head tilted down in a way that made it look almost like he was sleeping.
Joey chuckled, “Gonna tell us another story, Uncle Lou?”
Stoaffer raised his head to look up at Joey and then at me. There was a sort of twisted grin on his face. “Well, I’m not sure about telling a story, Joey. I was just con-sidering the idea of the ‘prodigal’ son.” He spoke slowly as if choosing his words carefully. “I have never made any claim about being a religious man, but the story of the prodigal son is one of the biblical tales which I happen to know.” He nodded and smiled warmly. As before, I for-got everything else except the old man’s voice. “The story involves a rich man with two sons. The first son was hardworking and obedient to his father’s every request. In contrast, the second son was what we would call a playboy fixated upon drink, games of chance, and pleasures of the flesh.”
Joey let out a whoop and cheered, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” He looked around expecting to be joined in his merriment but found only disapproving looks from Stoaffer and me. Joey instantly got quiet.
“So as I was saying, the sons were very different in their reaction to their father. One son sought only to follow his father’s wishes. The other thought just of him-self and selfish gains. According to the tale, the situation devolves to the point of the irresponsible, younger son asking for his share of the father’s estate. The request is granted by the kind father.”
“Sucker!” Joey laughed.
Louis glanced at him before continuing, “Well, you may be correct, Joey. As soon as the younger son got his share of his father’s estate, he lit out of the territory to foreign lands. He lived a life of complete debauchery and quickly ran through his fortune. Being utterly destitute, the younger son was forced to take a degrading job tending to pigs. Eventually, the young man descends to the point of envying the pigs and the slop they devour. At this low place in his life, he swallows his pride and returns to his father to beg forgiveness. Of course, rather than punishing his wayward son, the father forgives him and celebrates his return by throwing a huge feast.”
“What the fuck!” Joey yelled and bounced up and down on the car seat. “What about the son that did everythin’ his old man asked? I mean, really it’s bullshit! His sorry-ass brother comes home and gets a huge fuckin’ party! If it was me, no way I’m puttin’ up with that shit!”
“Calm down, Joey. It’s just a story.” I attempted to defuse his anger which is something I should have known better than to try.
“Fuck you, Thomas! I know it’s a story!” Joey was still bouncing in the seat. “It’s a screwed-up story! Think ‘bout it. The one guy stays around and does whatever his crazy ol’ man wants him to do. And his brother … his piece-of-shit, screw-off brother takes the money and pisses it away on partying and getting pussy!” His voice was getting louder and his face looked red. “So then once the bucks are all gone, the bastard has the balls to drag ass back home. But that ain’t the worst part! No the worst part is that when the sorry sack o’ shit gets back home the old man treats him better than the son who stuck around and kissed his ass! What the hell?”
“Well, Joseph, I believe that it is supposed to be an illustration of a father’s love for his children. He assures both sons that he loves them and everything he has will be theirs. In the case of the returning son, it is right to celebrate the rebirth of a son who had been dead to the father,” Louis explained in his calm preacher voice. “There’s no reason to get so upset over the story. It’s simply a parable.” Stoaffer must have seen the blank looks on both Joey’s and my face. “A parable is a short, simple tale used to illustrate some moral or religious lesson. In this case, who do you think the father is supposed to represent?” He paused for a moment as he waited for an answer.
I’m not sure exactly where it came from, but I blurted out, “The father is supposed to be God!”
The glow I had seen surrounding Louis in the grocery store now looked to be doubled. It was like someone had turned on a spotlight pointed right at him. But the light seemed to be inside of him too. It was some strange shit, I know. On his face was an expression like of pure joy. I don’t think … no, I am sure that I have never seen anyone so happy about an answer that came out of me.
Tears appeared in his eyes as he said, “You are exactly right, Thomas!” He looked straight at me, and I couldn’t look away. “The father in the story is supposed to be God. He is a loving, forgiving god. He welcomes the son home even after the child has shown only disrespect and scorn for the father.”
“Oh, fuck no! I’d waste both of ‘em!” Joey was bouncing again.
I was curious about just how Stoaffer would react to the comment. And like everything else about the guy, his reaction was not what I expected.
After a couple seconds of silence, laughter burst out of Stoaffer. “Ha! Joey …” He was having trouble speaking while he was laughing so hard. After a moment, he caught his breath enough so that he could continue. “Joey, you certainly have a way of putting things in perspective.”
Joey’s bouncing stopped, and he sat up straight with the pride. “Well, Lou, I mean what hell! One son takes off and whores it up with his dad’s bucks. The other one stays home and does whatever he’s told, right?” He looked at the old man for some sign that he had the facts of the story straight. Louis smiled and nodded. “Then the pops pays him back by droppin’ everythin’ to celebrate the fuck-up brother comin’ back! It really makes no damn sense to me. I got to be missin’ somethin’.”