The Sea Dove
By John Schmidt
Here are the first ten of the 22 scenes in The Sea Dove. After you read the scenes, you will be invited to purchase the rest of the play. The cost is only $3.00. Contact us at path2@pathpublishing.com and we will email the whole play to you, hopefully on the next business day. Manuscripts sent to you will be in Adobe® Reader®, pdf files. If you do not have a version of Adobe® Reader®, download at no charge from www.adobe.com.
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Copyright © 2005 John Schmidt
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The Sea Dove
ANTONIO, a sailor in his twenties, wise beyond his years, who wants to marry SIMONA.
SIMONA, intelligent lady in her twenties who loves ANTONIO, who wants him to give up the sea, marry her, and take up a shop.
NONNA FIORELLA, Grandmother Fiorella (flower), the sister of SIMONA’S deceased grandmother on her mother’s side, a keenly sensitive and wise person.
CORRADO, orphan about age 20, taken in by DANTE; CORRADO is in love with GIOVANNA; he was the older of the three boys living with DANTE, but he moved out, no longer tolerant of abuse and drunkenness—changed by the love of GIOVANNA and Christ.
GIOVANNA, farm girl who is spiritual, and loves the once rowdy CORRADO.
DANTE, dangerous old drunk who has taken in street boys like CORRADO, BANDINO and ANDREA and calls them sons.
BANDINO, older teenager, taken in as a boy by DANTE—has most of DANTE’S bad qualities.
ANDREA (pronounced An-dra-uh), boy in his early teens, smallest of DANTE’S three boys—has most of DANTE’S good qualities.
DOMENICO, village priest who cares much for his people but feels powerless to save them from starvation and immorality.
AMBROSIO, a starving street boy, loved by ANTONIO, SIMONA, and others.
Villacella, near the west coast of Italy not far from Genoa—circa 1350. Center stage is the bench, which becomes all things to all scenes: a garden seat, a street bench, an altar, a stone in the woods, a church table A scrim is at back; behind it are three crosses. The center cross, the largest, is illuminated in church scenes, while the outside two are invisible until the end of the play. The three entrances are right, up right, and left.
NONNA, alone, pondering life.
Morning, the garden at NONNA’S house. NONNA enters from stage right. She is an older woman, walking through her garden, saddened about the difficult conditions in which her village and region are experiencing.
NONNA: If I were God, I would change things. I would bring a mighty rain to the parched land. Eight months with only a few sprinkles to wet the ground before they quickly dry. The flowers Simona planted in the garden, I would bring back to life and water for days so they would again show their beauty, which they themselves can’t see. Or can they? Can they sense each other and our sadness for them?
If I were God I would bring Antonio back safely, the man most longed for by my young Simona. I would show my respect for them, and if I sensed he loves her as much as he did at our last sight of him, I will tell them this home is now theirs, to freely marry in, and live in as long as they care for me and my servant, Lombarda. He said he would not only bring back food for my household, but for many families in our village. For his thoughtfulness in our time of greatest crisis, I will bestow on him my humble home, where he can rest his head till the end of his days, and he and Simona can bring into the world happy children. If he can give up his ties to seawater and live in landlocked Viachella, he can walk in this garden daily and be content within these walls. Odd that he has seen so much water through the summer, and we none, but for our wells, which have almost dried up.
If I were God, I would bring civilization back to our village, which once was great, but now is threatened by those starving, where some nightly steal from the homes of the rich or walk the streets in search of food. Our priest, Father Domenico, has so little left that they say he almost fainted while giving Mass. Even the homes of the poor, if they have a little bread, can feel threatened by the less fortunate. The street children, the orphans who have always lacked, would rob even the dogs for the scraps they find in trash heaps. Yet they are in danger from the common folk, who increasingly join them.
We would ask for help from neighboring villages, but the drought has so infested the region that as far as anyone can ride for days in three directions, the message of starvation is the same. Many have traveled to Genoa, riding a day to the west to fish for food or find work of any kind. My dear Simona, Lombarda and I have no talent for fishing; we only know our laces, which in these times are only purchased or rented to adorn coffins. Antonio, being young, and a man, finds easy escape, while we women have trials. Yet he is our salvation, and the sky, which daily brings clouds with a hope of rain. I’ve said my prayers a thousand times, and clouds grow more abundant, yet do not give what is most needed. We could have crops in only a few short weeks if the sky would bless us but once or twice, greatly. So many near death would be spared.
Many have left, with all they could take. Everything else was sold or offered to the few who have food to sell. But few sell what little food they have. Some of the rich hire guards to watch their houses, paying them with enough food to stay alive. Nothing more is required.
My Villacella, where I have lived all my years, and my husband’s years before he passed away, has turned on itself for lack of rain.
We took for granted all those good years, the long rains, and made our bounty known throughout our Italy. Yes, in some years rains were slow in coming, but they always came. We never starved. Now the skies offer us no bread. We send out all our money and possessions, hiring sailors to buy and barter for our very existence, to bring back vegetables and animals that are eagerly devoured.
Odd how we gave so little thanks to God in those good years, thinking we mostly do the work, yet blame Him in the lean years. We never blame ourselves for not putting aside enough grain to last even a year.
If I were God I would do things differently. I would revive my village. I would answer the prayers of my people, forgive their sins, if sins have caused this.
But who have we sinned against? We only have ourselves. Or have we forgotten God, as the maker of rain and our prosperity? Or does He give us this time to test our faith in Him and make us stronger?
No, I’m not God, but I wonder why these plants must suffer. Why the animals, what few are left, must suffer. Why my people nearly starve to death.
(Looking right.) Our pantries are almost empty. Yet Simona and I still weave our laces for sale for far-off grain and vegetables.
We heard by letter that Antonio would be returning soon with enough food for us for a while. He may be arriving this day. He and Simona will have a brief time together, to consider becoming man and wife, before he will be off again. I have already given my permission.
Life gives us only a little time to raise the young, then they must be off to carry their own—before my time with them passes. Humankind steadily rises to new heights, sons and daughters on the shoulders of those before. My old shoulders sink as I pray my soul to Heaven.
NONNA and SIMONA, discussing the
future and their current plight.
NONNA is on stage; Simona enters stage right.
NONNA: Good morning, Simona. I wanted to check the sky for clouds this morning.
SIMONA (looking up): Did you find one?
NONNA (sitting on the bench): Sit with me. Let’s talk of better times.
SIMONA: What times?
NONNA: The future.
SIMONA (she also sits on the bench): If we have a future.
NONNA: We do. We’ll survive this.
SIMONA: I don’t know how many others will.
NONNA: I was thinking…how Antonio has had a world of water under him almost all summer while Nature has granted us none.
SIMONA: I don’t think of him much.
NONNA: The man you would marry?
SIMONA: A sailor. Who leaves in me each time for the next departure in only a few days.
NONNA: But it’s not his ship to guide.
SIMONA (rises and moves off): On the coast a few days, to unload and load, ride a horse most of a day to see me, a few days here, then back again. Then no word for weeks or months except perhaps a letter or a word from a sailor who tells me he was at this or that port and he was still alive.
NONNA: I understand your concern. (Rises and follows SIMONA.) My brother was a sailor and would be gone for months, and we would know nothing of his safety. Except perhaps rumors.
SIMONA: More unsettling still, for a potential husband.
NONNA: I know you love him.
SIMONA: I phrased that carefully: “potential husband.” If one dares.
NONNA: You dare. Have faith in him. Hasn’t he always come back? Hasn’t he spoken often of his love?
SIMONA: And then off again. To ports seen before. Nonna, you know I have only had four periods of time with him in these two years, our longest being his last wintering here in Villacella. Five if you count the day we saw each other at the church.
NONNA: And he asked around about you.
SIMONA: And found me. Four times—with months between. Each separation seems to be longer, not shorter. If I weren’t in love with him, I would be looking for another man.
NONNA: Who would that be?
SIMONA: He would be a local man, who would walk me to church, talk to me everyday—and I wouldn’t be afraid for his life at every storm cloud I see.
NONNA: Antonio will settle down. I feel he will.
SIMONA: He talked of taking a shop the last time he was here. He said we could move to Genoa where he could sell ropes and nautical equipment to shipmen. I’d have a husband who sends off other husbands to their graves.
NONNA: But he would stay behind. And he would sell them the best, and train them in how to use the equipment, if they needed to learn. He would be helping them return safely. We are a nation of sailors, Simona. We eat and breathe the sea.
SIMONA (sad, ironic): As my father did.
NONNA: His fate will not be shared by Antonio. Was a strange turn, that your father stepped on a boat at the request of friends for a day of pleasure fishing and all drowned.
SIMONA: If he hadn’t died, my mother wouldn’t have died soon afterwards, from grief, and the hounding of debtors who all suddenly wanted payment.
NONNA: I cannot speak of the greed of some men.
SIMONA: Nor can I. It seems like another life, before I came here.
NONNA: It has been a good life for us. I’m no longer lonely. You have been the granddaughter I always wanted.
SIMONA: I had no one else to write to.
NONNA: I’m glad you came to me.
NONNA hugs her and SIMONA hugs back, kissing her face.
SIMONA: I have been greatly blessed. I’m certain I would have been one of the street children in my old village if it hadn’t been for you—and long since dead.
NONNA: We don’t always understand God’s plans, but they exist.
SIMONA: Antonio has been one of the three hopes of my life. My father, you, and him.
NONNA: I’m glad I’ve been one. We all need hope. In times like these, we have little else. And when I am gone—
NONNA releases her.
SIMONA: Don’t talk about leaving.
NONNA: I’m old woman. An old woman who needs to tell her wishes.
SIMONA: Go on, then.
NONNA: I want you and Antonio to live here. In my imagination, I see the flowers blooming. I see many children.
SIMONA (limiting the observation): I see a few.
NONNA: Well, that will be your decision. I think I hear Lombarda speaking with someone. May be Antonio. I want to greet him, then you two can be alone.
NONNA exits right.
SIMONA and ANTONIO, first scene
together—their hopes and the sad past.
The garden. SIMONA is onstage.
SIMONA: They say a sea gull can live for months on the sea, especially if near a ship’s scraps. But how long can a wife exist, with worry and dread for him? If he’s lost—like a father—what will be her fate? She’ll have no grandmother to run to, who went to Heaven even before the first-born arrived. I see something of my future, but it’s not bright. I don’t want to be the doubting sort, the woman who sees only darkness. I want the light—and here he comes.
ANTONIO enters right, taking her hands.
ANTONIO: I’ve longed so many days to see your face again.
SIMONA: And I, yours.
ANTONIO: Did you get my letters? —that I was safe?
SIMONA: I received two, the first after weeks of waiting, and the second still longer.
ANTONIO: Though I told you I had to stop at Crete before I could send back a letter. And once I cross the Mediterranean it’s hard to find someone who’s coming back to Genoa who will deliver it. And then my man in Genoa has to find someone coming to Villacella.
SIMONA: I understand. Are you well? Were the seas rough?
ANTONIO: On the return, at times, but not more than our sailing skills and my prayers could handle.
SIMONA: I’m glad you pray, Antonio. Most men think they are beyond fate and Heaven’s power, and see none but their own.
ANTONIO: We rounded our Italy, then to Crete and points east. I heard the drought in this area had worsened. On the return, I spent most of my pay for food for the four of us—and for a boy I’ll soon look for. I would have perhaps had enough for a shop if I hadn’t needed to spend so much on food.
SIMONA: You’re very thoughtful.
ANTONIO: Nonna and Lombarda will be preparing a feast for us, which I brought on my horse. Your two wagons of food will be here tomorrow. They were happy to see me.
SIMONA: We all are. And it will be delightful to have something new to eat, besides pasta and dried fruit.
ANTONIO: Before coming here I told Annibole to spread the word to the families I bought food for, that they can ride to Genoa and fill their wagons. Within days there will be food for many.
SIMONA: You’ll be a hero to all of us.
ANTONIO: I only want to be a hero to you. Trust me in this; I may have to go back to sea once or twice more, as I see it now. My sum is mounting, but I don’t have our fortune yet. Before I came here, I was able to add a few more coins and jewels to my hiding place the woods. Once again on this voyage, when we were in ports and other sailors went to taverns, I spent each night on board, or walking the beach to dream of my Simona. (He kisses her hands.) I’m content with my dreams of the future and seek nothing but that day to be ours.
SIMONA: I hope I’m worthy.
ANTONIO: You are. My heart, not hardened by cold wind or stale bread aboard, readies itself to sail someday to a land of love.
SIMONA: Then I’ll try to be stronger.
ANTONIO: There’s little real danger when I’m away.
SIMONA (breaking from him): Antonio, every day on the sea is a danger to me. If you were to send a hundred letters, the last one would still have doubt attached—if something had happened between then and now.
ANTONIO: I’m a good sailor. Some say, none better. And I have my captain’s promise to ask the owner to pay me better on the next voyage—for the shop, and our future.
SIMONA: I’m glad you pray for the shop.
ANTONIO: I’d sell seamen everything they need.
SIMONA: And you wouldn’t be going away again.
ANTONIO: No.
SIMONA: And we would be honest with each other.
ANTONIO: Yes.
SIMONA: And have children.
ANTONIO: Of course. After only one or two more voyages.
SIMONA: With the drought, money is very hard to find, and food. Perhaps a shop owner in town would take what you have now for his shop?
ANTONIO: What good would it be to have a shop and starve to death like the others?
SIMONA: Forgive my impatience. Sometimes I don’t know the greater danger, death on land or at sea. But I would be willing to risk my life now, on land, for yours at sea.
ANTONIO: Have faith in providence, that we are meant to be together, and I will safely return.
SIMONA: I had a naive hope for my father, that he would always be there for me.
ANTONIO: As I did of my father before he died in a tavern brawl and I was left for an uncle to raise. I know what it’s like to be raised by a relative, never really sure if you’re a burden or not. I left my uncle as soon as I could for the sea, though he loved me and waved at me on the dock as I set sail. I think he was sad to see me go.
SIMONA: I’m sure he was.
ANTONIO: But going was the right thing to do.
SIMONA: But not always the right thing. Don’t forget, I know what the sea can do to a family. I lived near the sea while you were a boy living inland. But enough of the past. Did you sell our lace?
ANTONIO: All of it.
SIMONA: Did you tell them how long it takes to make it?
ANTONIO: I did. I got the best prices I could. I used some of your money for food and gave the rest to Fiorella. Though I gave a portion to my captain, as we agreed I could. He’s been very good to me.
SIMONA: Everyone should be. You deserve only good.
ANTONIO: I deserve you.
SIMONA: I pray I can deserve you.
ANTONIO: You do.
SIMONA: I can smell the preparations.
ANTONIO (teasing): Will you let me join you ladies?
SIMONA (teasing him): Do you have your manners about you?
ANTONIO: I do.
SIMONA: We are not sailors, who drool their drink and rub their mouths on their cuffs.
ANTONIO: I will pay attention.
SIMONA: Very well. We’ll be honored.
ANTONIO: And I’ll enjoy your home.
SIMONA: Our home. Nonna said it is ours.
ANTONIO (smiling): Our home.
SIMONA and ANTONIO exit right.
CORRADO and GIOVANNA, first scene together,
their hopes—with AMBROSIO entering.
A street in Villacella that night. Lights are dimmed to denote a night scene, perhaps with blue lights. GIOVANNA and CORRADO enter up right. CORRADO is one of the street orphans DANTE has taken in over the years, though CORRADO now lives in a barn owned by a neighbor of GIOVANNA. Once as rowdy as any, he has been softened and converted by the love of GIOVANNA. She is in love with CORRADO and hopes to marry him.
GIOVANNA: You have been very quiet, Corrado. What are you thinking? Are your thoughts as dark as this night street?
CORRADO: Thoughts that would make the sun rise in a moment if I demanded it.
GIOVANNA: Such power!
CORRADO: Grown by your love.
GIOVANNA: Do you think the love of man and woman has such power?
CORRADO: Ours does.
GIOVANNA: Or does such power come to us from God?
CORRADO: Both—either will work for me.
GIOVANNA: They say the stars are human souls who continue to shine on us.
CORRADO: They must all take second to your light.
GIOVANNA: You say words that open doors in my soul that I never knew were there.
CORRADO: May I open them all, in time.
GIOVANNA (moving away from him): Not all, sweet Corrado, for, they say, once the mysteries of a woman have been given up, the man may disappear as easily as a star on the horizon.
CORRADO (following her): What they say may fit some men, Giovanna, but my love for you is like a field of spring flowers that, like a bee, I glide on, one flower to another, continually filled yet wanting more.
GIOVANNA: What if night makes them unseeable, even to a bee?
CORRADO: I would lie near them and wait.
GIOVANNA: Not return to the safety of your hive?
CORRADO: It’s only until morning.
GIOVANNA: But what if a night storm knocks off all their petals and nectar? Surely you would buzz on to another field.
CORRADO: I would wait until new blossoms are born.
GIOVANNA: That would be next season.
CORRADO: I would wait.
GIOVANNA: A full winter without honey?
CORRADO: I would store it up to see you again in bloom.
GIOVANNA: But they die, Corrado. In a great drought, they wither and die.
CORRADO: Not to imagination, or memory. As I know the stars and the forms they take in man’s imagination, if clouds cover them, they are still in me, and in my soul.
CORRADO starts to kiss GIOVANNA, but she moves off.
GIOVANNA: You have been reading too many books.
CORRADO: But I have learned to read, thanks to you.
GIOVANNA (scolding playfully): I taught you to read so you could read the Bible, not books of love poetry.
CORRADO (grinning): But both were made under God’s Heaven.
GIOVANNA: One woos the soul, and the other, the wife to be.
CORRADO: Then I want both.
GIOVANNA: We’ll see… (Changing the subject.) This afternoon I saw Antonio in the street walking into a shop, and ran to him to learn the news. My father has left for the coast for our wagon of food. Antonio is planning to take a shop—here in Villacella, I hope.
CORRADO: I’ll believe it when I see it.
GIOVANNA: You don’t believe him?
CORRADO: He’s a sailor. I’m not saying a sailor can’t find home on land, but for how long?
GIOVANNA: For a life.
CORRADO (mimicking her): We’ll see…
GIOVANNA: And how long before you return to Dante’s?
CORRADO: The thought is as far as the farthest star. If your father’s neighbor continues to allow me to stay in his barn and work for him and your father for bread, then I’ll see you everyday until we are wed. When the drought is over, I’ll find more work, in the harvests forever—or in a shop.
GIOVANNA: Do you fear for Andrea, left with Dante and Bandino?
CORRADO: Andrea was an orphan before Dante look him in. He can defend himself—or run away to me, if he has to. He knows where I am.
GIOVANNA: Would Bandino hurt him?
CORRADO: Bandino hurts everybody. He can remember his parents; he says he was stolen. But he knows he would have to answer to me.
GIOVANNA: But if you are the oldest, and away, he might consider himself the oldest now, and hurt Andrea or even Dante.
CORRADO: Dante is indestructible—a sailor and trader and scoundrel beyond injury.
GIOVANNA: You use strong words for an uncle who took you in when no one else would.
CORRADO: I owe him nothing. He’s no kin of mine, no more than a dog.
GIOVANNA: Are you being unkind?
CORRADO: As kind to any animal in the streets that would keep food from starving boys and girls.
GIOVANNA: I feel there’s hope for him, still.
CORRADO: And I have no feeling for him at all, except in leaving. And I did. Good riddance.
GIOVANNA: He is your family.
CORRADO: I have no family. It was him who made up the story that he’s our uncle. True, I don’t remember much of my parents, but I know he’s no kin.
GIOVANNA (trying to soften him toward DANTE): You can’t be entirely sure.
AMBROSIO enters up right, searching along the buildings for food.
CORRADO: A man who takes in boys from neighboring villages to protect him from his own neighbors, some who would like to have him put away because they know he can be dangerous. When he’s drunk, I’ve seen him go into the past, like he’s living old times but has lost the present. And since his past has been murderous…
GIOVANNA: I don’t want to think any more about them. I only want you safe with me.
CORRADO: Are you sure you’re safe with me?
GIOVANNA: Of course.
CORRADO: Then so be it.
GIOVANNA: I will put them all in my prayers, and the parents left behind or gone to Heaven.
CORRADO: I’ll pray too, though fewer prayers in number.
GIOVANNA: There’s Ambrogio. Simona said Antonio would like to see him again. (To AMBROSIO as she takes from a pocket a small loaf of bread wrapped in a towel.) Ambrogio, come here. I have some bread for you.
AMBROSIO runs to her.
GIOVANNA: I was saving it for Corrado, but he isn’t hungry.
CORRADO: Well, I wouldn’t say…
GIOVANNA (quieting CORRADO with a wave of her hand and feeding AMBROSIO): Have you had anything to eat today?
AMBROSIO shakes his head “no” and eats once the bread is in his hands.
GIOVANNA (folds the towel back up and pockets it, kneeling): One day, when the drought ends, we’ll have food enough for everybody. We’ll have a celebration in the square and have fruit and vegetables, and kill caves for the feast like we used to.
CORRADO (kneeling, to AMBROSIO): And when I have my land, and I will someday, you’ll work there and never go hungry again.
AMBROSIO: Thank you, Corrado.
CORRADO: Until then, I might even get some money from Dante to feed you.
AMBROSIO: One lady said he is too stingy to drop a coin on a dead man because the man might come back to life and run off with it.
CORRADO (to GIOVANNA): See? (To AMBROSIO.) Then Giovanna and I will marry and her father will share his land. I’ll work hard, grow a fine crop, and feed us.
AMBROSIO: I’d rather have a boat.
CORRADO (a little taken aback, but recovering quickly): Then I’ll buy you a boat.
AMBROSIO: I’ll sail far off and bring back food like Antonio. I’ll save you both from the drought.
GIOVANNA: Thank you, Ambrogio. Did you know Antonio is looking for you?
AMBROSIO (excited): For me? Is he here?
GIOVANNA: Yes, and he has something for you.
AMBROSIO: What?
GIOVANNA: I’m not supposed to tell you.
AMBROSIO: Where is he?
GIOVANNA: Where does he usually have a room?
AMBROSIO (pointing left): Right over there, at Annibole’s.
GIOVANNA: Then in the morning, be waiting for him at the front door.
CORRADO: Or ask Annibole to let you in early. Antonio wouldn’t care.
AMBROSIO: Thanks for the bread.
GIOVANNA: I’d give you more if I had it.
AMBROSIO: I know.
GIOVANNA (rubbing AMBROSIO’S hair): You are a good boy. May all the blessings of Heaven fall upon you. (She kissed his head.)
AMBROSIO: I’d rather have a loaf.
GIOVANNA (smiles): That too.
AMBROSIO: Simona has fed me almost as much as Father Domenico.
GIOVANNA: They both love you. But be understanding if Father can’t feed you much. I don’t think he even has enough for himself.
AMBROSIO: Then who will say Mass?
GIOVANNA: When he was hearing a confession this afternoon, I left some bread for him. Why don’t you run along and be waiting for Antonio at sunrise?
AMBROSIO: All right.
AMBROSIO punches CORRADO in the side and darts away.
CORRADO (rising, to AMBROSIO): Hey!
AMBROSIO exits left, laughing.
GIOVANNA rises. In these next few lines, GIOVANNA becomes more amorous toward CORRADO—but this is subtle. Her talk with AMBROSIO has increased in her the desire to be a mother. She is a good Catholic girl, yet still a girl, learning how to handle the affections of a young man while needing to wait for marriage. In the next few lines, she takes his arm, and may touch his shoulder or lean her head on his shoulder. She becomes quieter. These are indications of how their story will unfold next.
GIOVANNA (takes CORRADO’S arm): And our first little Corrado will be just like him.
CORRADO (taking her arm and kissing her face): And many more.
GIOVANNA: When the time is right.
CORRADO: I’ll pray for rain for two reasons, that we survive, and that you and I can wed soon.
GIOVANNA: God knows our needs.
CORRADO: And I need to get you home so your father knows you are safe.
GIOVANNA: I’m safe with you.
CORRADO and GIOVANNA, holding hands, start toward the left exit.
CORRADO: We’ll let the stars guide us...
GIOVANNA: Yes.
CORRADO: …to a home where you’ll read the Bible to me and I’ll read love poems to you.
CORRADO and GIOVANNA exit left.
Scene 5
BANDINO, ANDREA and DANTE, drunk the first time.
CORRADO passes by.
The street later that night. BANDINO, ANDREA and DANTE enter up right, drunk, singing, arms over their shoulders. BANDINO and ANDREA hold up DANTE, who, though drunk and can barely walk, is keenly aware of his purse. The villagers avoid the old man as much as possible. He is a crook, though he has taken in street boys from other villages and saved them from starvation. He tells the locals that the boys were related to him and now homeless but for his generosity. Unfortunately for all concerned, he teaches them to steal, and they gradually learn the ability to drink as heavily as he does.
The three most recently in his care have grown past childhood. Earlier that year, CORRADO became fed up with the old man and moved out. In his last year with DANTE, he tried to bring some sense to their foolishness but did not succeed.
BANDINO is of manly statue but of boyish whim. He has something of a hold on DANTE and ANDREA because he is stronger and more threatening. He was delighted when CORRADO left DANTE’S house so he could play boss. Although he has considered the fact that CORRADO might return long enough to make right any foolishness that he does, he is wild enough to not care. He has a sense of humor, but his greed, anger, physical might, and assumed intelligence make him dangerous.
ANDREA is learning the ways of thievery, has only been with DANTE a little over two years; he still has uncorrupted good qualities and a sympathetic heart for the way BANDINO and DANTE treat other people. Being the weakest, and still sensitive to the needs of other people, he loves his adoptive family in their crazy ways, but is afraid of BANDINO’S physical power DANTE’S ability to throw him back to the streets. He likes to have a good time, but wants most to simply survive a bad situation so he can someday escape to a place of greater sanity. This terrifying time in his country’s history, with its drought and violence, makes him cling even more to the security of DANTE’S money.
They are singing as the younger two help DANTE along. The boys carry rapiers, as always. DANTE conceals a dagger.
Midway into the song, CORRADO enters from left, walking slowly. He is pondering the effect of his lying with GIOVANNA only an hour or two before. He is heading to the church to pray and garner a morning confession time from DOMENCIO. He once carried a sword, like the others, but no more.
DANTE, BANDINO and ANDREA:
Way oh—the sailor blows and blows
To misery and black sorrow—
On seas so deep and dark he’ll morn
His birth in raging storm by storm—
Lady that once he loved to find
Takes another in time, in time—
Way oh—
BANDINO: Hold on—
DANTE (continuing to sing): —way ho, way ho—
BANDINO (to ANDREA): Lug the body here. I see an old brother.
BANDINO and ANDREA put DANTE on the bench, and in a moment he falls over on it.
BANDINO: He’ll go nowhere without us. (To CORRADO) Corrado! Older and wiser brother…
CORRADO (acknowledging him): Bandino.
BANDINO: Come, join us for the night. Our dear uncle is not yet so drunk he can’t walk. Though getting close.
CORRADO: I don’t need the streets anymore, Bandino. I have my dreams.
BANDINO: Of Giovanna?
CORRADO: Of a future of peace, without the street.
BANDINO: But you love the street.
CORRADO: I love peace more.
BANDINO: But we are at peace. Look at ’im. (He sits on DANTE’S head.) What’s more peaceful than this?
ANDREA: Don’t. You’ll hurt ’im.
BANDINO (mocking ANDREA): Don’t you’ll hurt ’im.
BANDINO slaps ANDREA on the arm and returns to CORRADO.
BANDINO (coolly, to no one in particular): As if I could hurt one as thickheaded as a statue. (To CORRADO.) So Giovanna has changed you?
CORRADO: For the better.
BANDINO: Any man who would let a woman reform what he wants to do in his evenings is no longer a man.
CORRADO: Or more of one.
BANDINO: Less.
CORRADO: Look at ’im, (Meaning DANTE.) how the evenings over the years have made ’im what he is. Can you call him more of a man than yourself?
BANDINO: He’s a fool. I don’t compare myself to fools.
CORRADO: And I’m sure when he was your age he said the same thing.
BANDINO: Will you come with us or not?
CORRADO: I need to go to the church—
BANDINO: The church?
CORRADO: I need to talk to Father Domenico.
BANDINO (grinning widely): Marriage plans?
CORRADO: Something like that.
BANDINO: At this hour…must be of the urgent sort.
CORRADO: A matter of conscience…
BANDINO: I sold my conscience—kept gettin’ in the way of my fun.
CORRADO: Perhaps you should find it, to be happy.
BANDINO: I’m happy! See my good uncle and brother there, my happiness in life.
CORRADO: I have a new family, Bandino. Giovanna, her parents, Father Domenico, Simona and Antonio.
BANDINO (disbelieving): Antonio?
CORRADO: He’s a good man—better than most.
BANDINO: A sailer?
CORRADO: I like him. Can’t you?
BANDINO: How can I like a man I’ve never agreed with?
CORRADO: Now you sound like Dante.
BANDINO (meaning ANTONIO): Who won’t even carry a weapon.
CORRADO: I don’t either anymore.
BANDINO: Aren’t you afraid, in these streets?
CORRADO: They’re safe enough.
BANDINO: In a famine?
CORRADO: It wouldn’t be so bad if the rich would give more to the poor. (He looks toward DANTE.)
BANDINO: And have us all starve to death? That Giovanna has indeed made you into a fool.
CORRADO: Good night, Bandino.
BANDINO (appearing to soften): Come with us, please… I miss your comfort. I have only a dyin’ old man who mumbles, and a child who has seen nothin’ of the world.
CORRADO: I would be a bit of both, to you.
BANDINO: No, a comfort. You know how to attract the girls. And an intellectual masterpiece to bounce ideas off of.
CORRADO: I would rather have my dreams.
CORRADO exits right.
BANDINO: A fool...a fool.
BANDINO walks toward ANDREA.
BANDINO (screaming at him): Andrea!
ANDREA jumps a bit.
BANDINO: Why do you jump when I call you? What are you afraid of? Me? Afraid of your good uncle who adopted you for your own good?
ANDREA: You know he’s no kin to us.
BANDINO (softly, mincingly): Then why do we live with ’im? How can you call yourself an intelligent boy and live with ’im?
ANDREA: He’s all I’ve got.
BANDINO (Sitting on DANTE’S stomach or legs): But he’s nothin’.
ANDREA: He took me in when nobody else would. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for him.
BANDINO: A bag of wind is nothin’ but wind.
ANDREA: You’re hurting ’im again.
BANDINO: And you want me to get up. What if I don’t, Andrea? If he doesn’t care, why should you?
ANDREA: Don’t tempt me to push you off.
BANDINO (rising, more to himself): We are the idiots of all idiots. To live daily in the house of the town fool. (Looking at DANTE sleeping.) Let’s lug the body home, for another night of vomit and smells. (To ANDREA, suddenly honest.) Don’t hate me, Andrea, for what I do. I only do what I do.
BANDINO violently grabs DANTE by an arm and forces him up, tuning him wildly to the left.
BANDINO: Come on, you bag of wind—a sailer full of the wind he once sailed.
DANTE: Ahhhhh! Don’t spin me. Don’t spin me. Or I’ll let go my wine… It costs me money… I want to keep it… (He falls to his knees.)
BANDINO: You have nothin’ in you but wind.
DANTE (with a terrified look in his eyes): I dreamed I was in Hell…
BANDINO: No, you have retuned to Hell. The Hell you make for us.
DANTE is confused.
ANDREA (to DANTE): Were you forgettin’ again who you are?
DANTE looks at ANDREA, as if not remembering who ANDREA is. Before he can respond, BANDINO grabs him.
BANDINO (to DANTE, treating him roughly): Come, you bag of worms waiting for earth to put you where you belong. You need to sleep tonight so you can walk again to the wine tomorrow night.
DANTE resists being forced to rise.
BANDINO (to ANDREA): Let’s get ’im up, Andrea; the wind needs its sails to get home.
ANDREA takes DANTE’S other arm and they get him up.
DANTE (rises, but stops them from doing more, as if what he had to tell them was urgent): I heard Corrado’s voice in Heaven.
BANDINO: But you went to Hell. Then you heard ’im in Hell, not Heaven.
DANTE: I thought it was Heaven.
BANDINO: No, it was Hell.
BANDINO turns DANTE stage left. ANDREA has to let go of DANTE, yet follows along. As BANDINO and DANTE head left, DANTE looks right, to see if he can see CORRADO. BANDINO pushes him on, hard—
BANDINO: Home, old man!
ANDREA looks at BANDINO, upset at his treatment of DANTE.
BANDINO (to ANDREA, pointing a finger): Don’t say it.
They exit left, DANTE, BANDINO, then ANDREA, who looks right for a moment before exiting.
Scene 6
SIMONA and ANTONIO, their second scene—
some hope after shopkeepers
have been talked to.
The garden, later that evening. Antonio and Simona enter right. Light is still subdued, for this scene is at night under the stars.
SIMONA: Has been a wonderful day, almost the whole day with you—now under the stars. I haven’t eaten so much since the day you left and we had wine together.
ANTONIO: When I promised to keep our dream.
SIMONA: I believed you. Though I hoped your last voyage would be your last.
ANTONIO: It almost was. (Meaning, he almost died.) You said this morning we should be honest with each other. Does honesty include what almost happens?
SIMONA: It might.
ANTONIO: Then the last voyage was almost my last. I did say it was rough. But in one storm we lost two men. The man at the wheel would have gone over if he hadn’t tied himself to a post. I was below deck, praying. I’ve never been so frightened in my life. You may think I’m a coward for saying that.
SIMONA: No sailor has never been afraid. If he has no fear, they say he is near death, for not caring if he lives or dies.
ANTONIO: With the ship rocking, I thought of you. I would be the greatest fool of all to have gone away and lost you forever—when I could have worked in Villacella at some kind of labor. And now, I wonder if I am being the fool again.
SIMONA: You have to decide, Antonio. We are a nation of sailors, but not all have to be sailors.
ANTONIO: Two nights after the storm, I was on deck and the sea had never been calmer. It was like a blanket on a bed. I looked out at the moonlight. I said a prayer of thanks, that I had been spared. Then, I saw again the vision I told you about on my last visit, of a house filled with children, and Ambrogio was one of them.
SIMONA: Did you find him this afternoon when you were out looking at shops?
ANTONIO: No, but I told people I was looking for him. I talked to five shop owners, for us. None of them have plans to sell and no one knows anyone who wants to. They know of temporarily vacant shops, but the owners will probably return after the drought. One of them said he would make me a partner with what money I had.
SIMONA: Wonderful.
ANTONIO: But he only wants to sell lace and household items.
SIMONA: Nonna and I both make lace.
ANTONIO: I doubt we could support ourselves selling lace.
SIMONA: Some do, if they make it themselves.
ANTONIO: But while on board I met the son of a man who builds boats in Genoa. Once I join their guild, they will send their clients to me so I can sell them instruments they need. He said everybody thought I was a good sailor, so who better to buy from than a sailor?
SIMONA: But we have to move to Genoa?
ANTONIO: I want to sell more than lace. I asked around and there are no places here to open any kind of a shop.
SIMONA: What if we used the bottom floor of this house, soon, if Nonna would allow it?
ANTONIO: And all of us live above it? I don’t think so. There still isn’t enough room down below. I want to sell nautical equipment, even if we aren’t by the sea.
SIMONA: Wherever…we would sell ropes and things to sailors, which would lead them to the sea.
SIMONA moves away. ANTONIO follows in a moment.
SIMONA: Sell them what may kill them…and make their wives into widows. (Changing moods.) Never mind me, I’m too concerned for others and need to be glad in our home and business prospects.
ANTONIO: It’s your love for others that draws me to you.
SIMONA: Then we’ll pray about it.
ANTONIO: But there was more in the vision this time. The house grew larger and I was able to bring in all the street children.
SIMONA: All of them?
ANTONIO: I know it’s crazy. But it’s what I saw.
SIMONA: It could happen, I guess. Our village has always needed its own orphanage. Until recent times, relatives were sufficient to keep most of the orphans. You and I might be the ones to open one, if given enough time.
ANTONIO: And time, I have so little of. Almost had no more of, a week ago.
SIMONA: Was it on Wednesday?
ANTONIO (thinking back): Yes.
SIMONA: I felt it.
ANTONIO: What?
SIMONA: A feeling. It’s like something touches the back of your neck, and you don’t know what it is.
ANTONIO touches her.
ANTONIO: My fear?
SIMONA: Or your prayers. I’ve had nothing like it since my father died. I’ve never told this, even to my mother. She was not a believer in such things. But you are. I packed my father’s last meal, and as I walked with him to the boat, I got the coldest feeling, like he shouldn’t go. I didn’t tell him; I didn’t know if it was a daughter’s place. He would have probably dismissed me anyway, reminded me that he was going out with experienced fishermen and the sky was not stormy. He was a good swimmer and grew up by the sea. So I went back alone, and have been alone ever since. A storm came up. When they sent more boats out at dusk, I knew he wouldn’t be found alive. The waves weren’t very high. One of the mysteries of the sea, they said. As I look back, I should have told him.
ANTONIO: Your mother wasn’t able to find a man to help you run your shop?
SIMONA: The only men we found were ones who my father had debts to, which he never burdened us with knowing. We were allowed to live above our shop for a while, until she got well and we could find a new place to stay. So each day below us we could hear the men who wanted us out. Her illness dragged on, as if she was keeping a roof over our heads by staying ill. When she was nearing death, I wrote to Nonna Fiorella. I think she died so she wouldn’t have to hear them downstairs. The church helped pay for her burial. If Father hadn’t ventured out that one day, my mother would be alive and I wouldn’t be a burden to my grandmother’s sister.
ANTONIO: You’re not a burden.
SIMONA: Sometimes I feel I am. She grants me life by her husband’s fortune, though it’s dwindled to almost nothing. We exist only on that, our laces, and the vegetables we grow in this garden and on a small piece of land in the country.
ANTONIO: Then I’ll be the provider you need.
SIMONA: Nonna says, “Times can hard, but they come and go. A marriage is for life.”
ANTONIO: I’d risk my life for you—I already have twice.
ANTONIO wants to kiss her cheek, but she moves off.
SIMONA: You men don’t know what waiting is like. The weeks or months without a word, or only an occasional letter or a few syllables spoken by a sailor who does a favor by telling us a bit of news. And if he forgets to tell words to wives or friends, or doesn’t because he would be too inconvenienced—no matter—only matters of the heart. You men take women’s hearts as...as flowers, easily seen, and easily not seen if waves call you into their bloody gales.
ANTONIO: I would rather have both loves. When I first saw the sea, I fell in love with the freedom, with the endlessness.
SIMONA: Like death?
ANTONIO: But I’ve found something more beautiful. The men I travel with are excellent sailors. It would take a mighty wave to capsize us.
SIMONA: You’re not the first sailor to say that.
ANTONIO: I’ll be careful.
SIMONA: The sea is a mistress. She’ll use you for her purposes, then discard you to a grave. I’ve seen sailor’s wives walk back to their quiet homes, landlocked by fears in the night. Every storm cloud they see, they wonder if one like that, far away, has just taken their man. You don’t notice them. You’re walking to your next ship, hoisting your sails, rigging your way to some new adventure. Or an injury, where your wife will look after you for years and your children will feed you. If you die, you have no children to worry about, then.
ANTONIO: I know several graybeards who outlasted every storm; still manning admirably—better than most.
SIMONA: But have their wives survived? Or have they died from loneliness when their men obeyed a mistress? Even if they talk to their neighbors, raise the children, their hearts may be dead. A man should have but one woman. Few sailors I know are in full manhood—only those who stopped riding the sea and have a business. The rest are like children, following the stars to untouched promises.
ANTONIO: I prayed every day to stars or dawning sun for landfall to this garden and its promises. I will take a shop of some kind as soon as I can. I promise, again. Being young and with not too many storms to quake my courage, I must risk my life once or twice more for us.
SIMONA: Nonna read a poem to me, which said that a man speaks of love as if it were rain, here now and gone in next wind. To a woman, love is an ocean, deep—and though sometimes disturbing, fathomless.
ANTONIO: My heart dives into that ocean.
SIMONA: But in another poem a sea bird got caught in a storm and drowned before it could find land.
ANTONIO (with a touch of humor): I guess even a bird can’t always predict the weather.
SIMONA: She calls you my “sea dove”: gentle and strong, but wise in the ways of the sea. Two years I’ve known you, off and on. It’s a short time for an ocean, but it seems like an eternity for the friend of a bird that’s flown off. Some birds fly the ocean their entire lives, even sleep above it, but most find home on land and are content.
ANTONIO: I will be. Will you be my wife?
SIMONA: My heart says “yes,” but my head holds back. I would be pleased to be your wife, and would say “yes” once the shop door opens.
ANTONIO: Won’t be long. And I won’t share your father’s fate. I promise. (He kisses her hand or forehead.) Although my father traveled in trading, he loved his home.
SIMONA: And strange how he died, in a tavern brawl, frequenting such places as often as my father spent time at sea.
ANTONIO: Had my mother lived—giving birth to one who would have been a sister...
SIMONA: Our lives have many parallels. You have your uncle…
ANTONIO: Who not only kept me alive, but taught me in his evenings: the classics of literature, religion, philosophy, sciences, astronomy for navigation, even the mathematics of waves, how they work and why.
SIMONA: Does that give you more composure in a storm, to know the math behind the waves?
ANTONIO: No, but he taught me to pray for things beyond my control. He taught me about people too, that we are ruled by spiritual math, cosmic patterns which govern us. Once we have been tossed by the winds of life, we come to self-examination. On quieter seas we have time to examine our motions and those of others. We learn the surety of stars and the constancy of Spirit. As he was waving from the dock as I took my first passage, I said a prayer for both of us. Twice I’ve come near death—after Father’s death, when I wondered if I would be in the streets, and last week.
SIMONA: What does your spiritual math tell you about me?
ANTONIO: Maybe I’m too close to tell. I’m like the schoolboy who holds his page so close that the words are a blur.
SIMONA (moving back): Then stand back and take a long look.
ANTONIO: I see love.
SIMONA: Marriage is for life.
ANTONIO: Every word on the page is love.
SIMONA (Turning): You haven’t seen me in the early mornings, how grouchy I am. Lombarda says I should sleep late, just to protect the world.
ANTONIO: I’d tell you to go back to bed.
SIMONA: With six children to feed?
ANTONIO: They can feed themselves.
SIMONA: Even the two infants?
ANTONIO: The older ones can feed them.
SIMONA: Oh yes, I am having a baby. No, triplets. I would be even meaner. I would say things to you that a sailor would blush at, then act the next day like I never said them.
ANTONIO: I’d forgive you.
SIMONA: How can you say you’d forgive when you’ve never heard me be mean?
ANTONIO: Test me. Say what you would say then.
They play a game of make-believe.
SIMONA: You have warts on your nose.
ANTONIO: I don’t.
SIMONA: They grew when you weren’t looking. They make you look ugly.
ANTONIO (pretends to shave then off with a straight razor): I’ll shave them off.
SIMONA (pretends to cry): You don’t love me. You’ve never loved me.
ANTONIO: I do.
SIMONA: Do not.
ANTONIO: Do.
SIMONA: Do not.
ANTONIO: Do. You know I do.
SIMONA: I hope you did.
ANTONIO: Do.
SIMONA: You know I hope you did.
ANTONIO: I did. Do.
SIMONA: Your words are twisted!
ANTONIO: You twisted them.
SIMONA: Go back to your old uncle and let him teach you how to love a woman.
ANTONIO: I don’t think that’s in his books.
SIMONA: Then you never learned it.
ANTONIO (with some pride, meaning his sexual prowess): When we first married you thought I loved you well.
SIMONA: Six children later, three to come, I don’t think so.
ANTONIO: I’m sorry you feel that way.
SIMONA: I don’t feel. I hate you!
ANTONIO: Well I still love you.
SIMONA: Then feed the little brats, and the twelve you plan to take in off the streets next month.
They come out of the game of make-believe.
ANTONIO: I see your point…word games…
SIMONA: Women are good at them.
ANTONIO: …and reality.
SIMONA: As I heard Giovanna once say, “Since we have no swords to cut with, we women use words.”
ANTONIO: And men build shields.
SIMONA: I’d break yours.
ANTONIO: Would not.
SIMONA: Would.
ANTONIO: Would not.
SIMONA: Would.
ANTONIO: Would not.
SIMONA smiles, and then he does.
SIMONA: Oh, you’d hate me in a year. A month.
ANTONIO holds her.
ANTONIO: Would not.
SIMONA: Seriously, you are a fool for loving this orphan.
ANTONIO: I’m one, too.
SIMONA: A tiny fool.
ANTONIO: A happy fool.
SIMONA: All the girls in Villacella with rich fathers—all of Italy—and you attach yourself to an outcast?
ANTONIO: I attach myself to a star, which will guide me.
SIMONA: I’m a distant star, small, so far from this world that even the best of sailors can hardly see me.
ANTONIO: One does.
He kisses her softly.
SIMONA: I love you. I think I loved you the first day we noticed each other at the church.
ANTONIO: I going in and you coming out.
SIMONA: A glance, but a constant glance…something…
ANTONIO: Forever…
SIMONA: But in the night, the doubts come.
ANTONIO: Don’t let them. I’m with you.
SIMONA: On the other side of the world in a ship is not “with me.”
ANTONIO: I’ll have a shop and be lying next to you in bed.
SIMONA: My faithful husband.
ANTONIO: Two more times away.
SIMONA (she sighs): Will you come early tomorrow?
ANTONIO: Yes. Early.
SIMONA: We’ll talk over breakfast. Let me make breakfast for you.
ANTONIO: All right.
SIMONA: Good night, Antonio. I want to stay here and talk to our stars.
ANTONIO: In the morning, then…
ANTONIO kisses her hand or forehead and exits right.
SIMONA: Do you wrong us, Antonio, to love me? An orphan, blown by old winds, who has only an old woman between her and the streets. We have so little to offer each other—but promises. And hopes.
But if hopes are of the young, then the old are living out their past hopes, aren’t they? We are meant to hope, and pray for happy endings.
Dear God, may this drought end—and Antonio’s love of the sea come home to me. With that water, I’ll grow gardens of flowers, children, and greater hopes than we have ever dreamed.
SIMONA exits right.
AMBROGIO and ANTONIO, meeting.
The street later that night. AMBROGIO enters up right, looking for food.
AMBROGIO: The bread from Giovanna was not enough. Enough is never enough. Even if I’m lucky to find a meal, my stomach quickly remembers all the hungry times, and tells me about them. Maybe if I can fall asleep I can stop it from talking to me. (He sits on the ground, holding his stomach, hoping to in that way find relief.) Annibole said Antonio was not in his room and left no messages. And I couldn’t wait there. He doesn’t trust me, and maybe he has heard stories of me stealing. (He lies down and closes his eyes.)
ANTONIO enters right, walking back to his apartment.
ANTONIO: Annibole said Ambrogio and other children walk this way often in their rounds. Hard to believe that children are left to the streets and begging. In the vision I told Simona about, there was a third part, where I saw far into the future: large houses for orphans all over the world, and none of them ever having to beg again. How that much money could be raised, I don’t know. Perhaps a tax of some sort. But what do we pay when our children walk the streets, when our poor of every kind enter the streets or live in the woods to hunt animals and dig for roots to daily survive? We go back in time before we were civilized people and all of us lived like animals.
I see myself as a caregiver in our house. Could I someday have the money for every child in this village? In our part of the country?
(Seeing a boy who he thinks might be AMBROGIO.) And if I find a boy of exceptional grace, and would care for him like a son, shouldn’t I do all in my power to save him from the streets and chance? (He gets down on one knee to be the boy’s height.) Ambrogio?
AMBROGIO (startled, rising at the waist, not used to hearing his named called unless he’s in trouble): Some might call me that.
ANTONIO: It’s me, Antonio.
AMBROGIO: Antonio?! It is you.
AMBROGIO rises and hugs him.
ANTONIO: Ha-ha! Did you think I had forgotten you?
AMBROGIO: No. I missed you. Simona did too.
ANTONIO: I know. I’ve been with her almost the whole day.
AMBROGIO: How long will you stay this time?
ANTONIO: Only four days, and one is spent. But one day, Ambrogio, I won’t leave again. I promise.
AMBROGIO: But you’re a sailor.
ANTONIO: Yes, but I can buy a shop. Simona and I discussed it.
AMBROGIO: You will let me work in the shop?
ANTONIO: Of course. I’ll teach you the use of every rigging and every instrument. I’ll teach you the parts of ships, make you a great sailor—or a shopkeeper, if you want to be that.
AMBROGIO: And we’ll eat and never be hungry again.
ANTONIO: Lot’s of food.
AMBROGIO hugs him again, then steps back after a line or two.
ANTONIO: Simona and I will take care of you.
AMBROGIO: Even though I’m an orphan...
ANTONIO: So are we. But we had relatives who took us in.
AMBROGIO: I’ve got nobody.
ANTONIO: It doesn’t matter to us. You’ll be our first son.
AMBROGIO: When will you marry Simona?
ANTONIO: This year or next. I have to go on two more voyages. But I’ll open a shop next year and we’ll live above it, or at Nonna’s.
AMBROGIO: Fiorella won’t let me live with her now.
ANTONIO: With the drought, she only has enough for Simona and her maid. But before I leave they’ll have more food and money—for you, too.
ANTONIO rises and pulls out a small purse, handing AMBROGIO three or four coins.
ANTONIO: Take these coins now, as proof.
AMBROGIO: Wow! This is the most I’ve ever gotten from a friend. And it’s mine?
ANTONIO: Yes. I want you to come with me to my room and leave the streets. When I leave, I’ll pay Fiorella or somebody to take care of you until I return. Do you understand?
AMBROGIO: Why?
ANTONIO: Because you deserve it.
AMBROGIO: One man said I’m just a dog.
ANTONIO: These people would feed you if they could. They can’t feed their own families right now. And if I could, I would feed all the street children. The feeding has to start somewhere, and it starts with you.
AMBROGIO: You’re my best friend, and if you want, I’ll be your son.
ANTONIO: Please do.
ANTONIO squeezes AMBROGIO’S shoulder.
AMBROGIO: You’re good to me, like Father Domenico and Simona.
ANTONIO: And I’ll be better. I’m sorry I left you last time and didn’t take care of you. But I had to go to save for the shop. And I didn’t know the drought would be this bad. I want to tell you what happened on the last voyage. It was the biggest storm I’ve ever experienced. The waves were like mountains, and it was night. The steersman tied himself to a post so he wouldn’t be washed overboard. Most of us were ordered down below. And there, in the dark, I prayed.
AMBROGIO: Were you sacred?
ANTONIO: Very. I prayed for the men who were around me in the dark, the water coming in when someone opened the door. We were soaked. I don’t know how men live who don’t pray. How can they live without being able to talk to a Higher Power when they need one the most? They must live very lonely lives, be dead to much of the happiness in the world.
AMBROGIO: I’ve seen dead people on the streets.
ANTONIO: We thought we would be dead before morning. But I prayed, that if God spared me, I would come back and help you and all the other orphans. As the night wore on, and the prayers continued in my mind, I knew we would make it. I was thankful for you and Simona, and thought of how I left you behind but I wouldn’t do it again.
AMBROGIO: But you’re leavin’ again.
ANTONIO: I won’t leave you on the streets again. But I have no other way to make money. I can’t farm and make a living. I can’t be a city official and make a living. The only thing I know how to do is be a sailor. But one day I’ll run a shop for sailors.
AMBROGIO: Or we’ll build boats.
ANTONIO: There’s a craft in that, too. You may learn it and teach me. We’re going to have some good years together, Ambrogio.
ANTONIO holds him close for a moment.
ANTONIO: There in the dark, I saw a big house, and you were in it. And every orphan in this village. And no one was ever hungry or afraid again. Come with me. You’ll sleep I my bed tonight, and never be out here again.
ANTONIO heads them left.
AMBROGIO: Do you have some bread?
ANTONIO: In my room. And tomorrow we’ll visit Simona and talk of times ahead.
AMBROGIO: Antonio?…
ANTONIO: What?
AMBROGIO: She loves you.
ANTONIO: How do you know that?
AMBROGIO: Giovanna told me.
ANTONIO (smiling): …I believe her.
ANTONIO and AMBROGIO exit left.
Scene 8
Second scene for CORRADO and GIOVANNA—
the confession to Domenico.
Start of the second full day after ANTONIO’S return. In the church. A light shines on a single, central cross behind the scrim up center. The light level is somewhere between the light of day and night. DOMENICO, the Catholic priest in the village, enters up right, saying ten times the short prayer, “Jesus, mercy upon my people.” He lays his Bible on the bench, which now becomes a table in the sanctuary. DOMENICO is a good and sensitive man who loves people, but is wrestling with the conflict between the promises of plenty in the Bible and the starvation of many of his people. He feels powerless. He can only ask the rich to help the poor get through these days. He wants to be reconciled by his faith—that there is a spiritual solution to all this suffering—also not in his power to give. So as people often do when confronted by an impasse, he does what he can, though it be small, and never gives up hope for better days.
DOMENICO: Jesus, mercy upon my people. Jesus, mercy up