Every time I see your arts and stories, I feel a real passion behind it. A contagious passion in the best way possible. Whether it's about Åse or any other character, you always put everything you have into your creations, and believe me, it shows. I admire how thoughtful you are, how enthusiastically invested you are into everything you do. Let this joy always fill your heart to the brim.
I'm really happy to be your friend and witness of your fascinating creative journey - let it never end. 💖
If Maura marries Rocky how would Augusto feel about his new son in law?
Oh gosh, tysm for such a wonderful question honeybun, it's a pleasure to write a reply 🥺💖
Actually, Maura and Rocky technically are married since early spring of 1928. It was a pure accident — due to a series of silly jokes that were uttered by both of them without thinking they ended up in the Arbogast Funeral Home in the middle of the night and coerced kindly persuaded Abelard to marry them only to find out later that it was an actual marriage. They both immensely panicked and planned to divorce at first, but then decided that they're both alright with the fact.
They hid it, but Augusto knew about that quite soon in the middle of 1928. He was quite shocked by the fact — he was always suspicious about Rocky's presence in Casa di Rondine and knew from the first glance that Rocky was a slippery guy, so of course he was hostile towards him at first after such a "magnificent" revelation. He had a very strong urge to choke Rocky and kick him out every time he saw him. xDD
But Augusto is totally his girl's papa and, because he trusted in Mau, he made himself not only to humble with the fact that this joke of a marriage has already happened, but also to give Rocky a small vote of confidence. Staying watchful and suspicious, of course.
Augusto and Rocky had more than a year to get used to each other. And, despite finding Rocky's actions too impulsive and his behavior too peculiar, soon Augusto couldn't help but... uh... warm up to Rocky? In his youth Augusto also was very loud and hot-headed, and, though because of very different circumstances than Rocky, Augusto also ended up on the streets, being abandoned by his family and having no one to rely on, only, unlike Rocky, Gusto in addition had a little baby to care about. Not to mention Augusto also agreed to help in illegal matters to his only friend, so... he kind of understood Rocky's situation and fell to sympathize to the guy, because Augusto knew on his own skin how harsh the world can be and how your own stupidity's consequences snowballs until it crushes you completely or until by some miracle someone will offer you a helping hand and you manage to take it. Since Christmas of 1928 Augusto clearly showed Rocky that he considers the young man a part of the family, appreciates Rocky's care about Mau and trusts him with doing so. After that they quickly built up a nice, warm and strong mutual father-and-son dynamic — Augusto was very willing to genuinely give Rocky a "father's shoulder" that the guy lacked all his life and basically family things (look after him being fed, having a place to sleep, having warm clothes etc.), and Rocky didn't hesitate to take it all, praying not to screw everything lose it. But, alas, November of 1929 separated Rocky and the Venza family.
If Rocky and Mau reunite in 1931, Augusto will be happy with the fact and will support their little family until his very end. If no, he will help Maura to raise Niccolò and will become very sadly thoughtful every time a flicker of Rocky appears in his grandson, feeling the need to wander alone and smoke until his melancholy (and resentment towards Rocky, if the latter is alive) mutes for a while. He will miss the guy as a real son.
This note was supposed to appear in a Christmas fanfic, but after @acesandocs sent me an ask about RoMaunce "Who leaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does it usually say?)" with an art request, I made a decision to post both the fic and the note much earlier. The fic is under the cut, enjoy the Christmas spirit in the middle of summer. :D
Bonus: the fic also tells the story of The Most Ridiculous Scarf's creation. x))
The Winter Wonder
Working until the last client was an awful practice.
Mau couldn't remember when she had gotten a good night's sleep. Hiding behind the storefront window, she rested her head on her hands folded on the counter and tried her best to keep from falling into slumber. She might have fallen asleep for real if it hadn't been for the cheerful music that was playing from the radio.
“Let's not disturb Miss Maura,” a cheerful whisper sounded barely audible next to Mau. A few coins tinkled quietly as they fell onto the counter, and two visitors headed for the exit.
She didn't instantly realize what was happening, and raised her head too late. Before the front door slammed shut, all she could see was Rocky wrapping a threadbare blue scarf around his neck with one hand, and gently pushing his cousin toward the street with the other.
The two young men who frequented the eatery, and who were different from most of the visitors, were constantly drawing a lot of suspicious stares. When Rocky had first brought his redheaded cousin to the place a few months ago, it had been noon on a workday, and the workmen who lunched at the eatery had become strangely quiet when the two young men had taken the only available table near the exit. Until that day, Rocky had always sat at that table for some reason, but every time he had been lucky enough to come to the eatery when there were few or no other guests. On his first visit with Calvin, though, it was as if he had deliberately chosen the busiest time of day. Like he wanted them to be noticed. But Rocky had guessed, apparently, that they had attracted too much attention, and since then, alone or with his cousin, he had shown up at the eatery either when honest people were busy working or at closing time, when honest people were getting ready for bed.
Such was the case to-day.
“And the following composition will immerse you…”
With a click of the switch on the radio panel the main room fell into silence. Despite the approaching Christmas, Mau was in a horrible mood, and even with all her love of music, she had no desire to listen to another sickeningly festive song. It was a cloudy, unusually snowy day in St. Louis, and Mau was apparently infected by its grayness, so even her usual chores were draining. Mau's father and the owner of the eatery, Mister Augusto Venza, had been away for a couple of weeks in Chicago on extremely urgent business, so Maura had to serve the clients alone and, moreover, had to meet 1928 all by herself. Though she was rather glad of the latter.
There will be no fuss.
Slowly, one by one, Mau counted the coins that Calvin and Rocky had left as payment for the coffee, and was surprised to find a piece of paper folded several times next to them. Unfolding it, Mau saw some amusing, almost childish, drawings in red crayon. On the first one, she herself was sleeping with a terribly sullen expression in a daisy field under a big, angry raincloud. In the second, Rocky held a sheep, which resembled a cloud of cotton candy and was eagerly munching on that raincloud, above his head, while the cartoonish Mau was already smiling. Next to these sketches was a wry caption:
“Don't be sour! Let sweet dreams eat all the bitter thoughts. R.”
Chuckling, Mau shook her head. She scrutinized the drawing for another minute or so, then sat down on the floor behind the counter and pulled one of the wooden baseboards towards herself.
“Come on, stop being stubborn…”
Finally, the baseboard gave way, revealing a narrow gap at the bottom of the counter that Mau used as a stash for part of her tips. She folded the sheet tighter and put it with the notes Rocky had sometimes left on his previous visits.
The front door suddenly swung open, letting cold air into the room. Mau's heart leapt, and she hastily pushed the wooden flap against the gap, then hastily stood up from the floor and shook off her knees.
“What is it, my dear? Are the spoons running away from you again?” the old Missis Bruno creaked in Italian.
“A keen eye you have,” Mau answered her also in Italian and added: “The usual for you?”
The woman nodded and headed for the far table. As she looked at her, Mau noticed the bright green knitted scarf under her coat and walked to the kitchen to serve Missis Bruno her favorite cheese ravioli.
“You have such a lovely scarf,” she said as she passed by. “Where did you get it?”
“Knitted it myself,” the woman's eyes flashed with pride. “There's some wonderful yarn at Scaffidi's now.”
“You're such a talented needlewoman,” Mau said, putting the pot on the stove. “I can't knit at all.”
The eatery became awkwardly quiet for a moment. Maura's revelation made Missis Bruno squirm uncomfortably in her chair. The mere thought that a woman of Mau’s age could not knit not only disturbed her, but appalled her. From the kitchen, Mau couldn't hear the old woman muttering worryingly to herself:
“Poor girl, there was no one to teach her…”
But even that wasn't enough of an excuse for her. She had friends, neighbors, and yet Maura Venza, at the age of twenty-two, could not knit! It's not a long way to ruin one's fate, thought Missis Bruno, nervously rubbing her napkin in her fingers. No, she could not let it go! A little while later, she said loudly:
“This is just unacceptable. What's your father thinking about? Certainly not that his daughter is so mature and can't knit. That's embarrassing,” her tone changed from condemning to admonishing. “Tell you what, Mau, honey, I'll teach you how to knit. It's easy, you'll see. Mama left you needles and yarn, didn't she?”
“I don't think so. Even if she did, it remained in Kansas City,” Mau lied habitually, barely containing a grin. She was amused at Missis Bruno's attitude toward such things. No wonder, though; things had been different when she had been young. Mau couldn't prove to her that knitting wasn't a required skill now.
“Not good. Not good at all,” the old woman continued to wail. “Back in my days…”
Mau sincerely hoped Missis Bruno hadn't heard the low chuckle that escaped her lips. She pulled a small bag out of the freezer. Knitting. Well now! There was a book she couldn’t finish for more than a month, and today there were mountains of plates, cups, and baking pans to wash. What knitting to think of.
Listening to Missis Bruno half-heartedly, Mau soon put a steaming plate of cheese ravioli with pesto in front of the old lady and returned to the counter. With the toe of her shoe, she again tried to discreetly slide a piece of baseboard back into the gap.
“…and then on Christmas Day…” Missis Bruno persisted. The wooden part wasn't falling into place. Mau frowned and mentally cursed. Why had she even opened the stash in the middle of the day?
Oh, yes, Rocky. Rocky and his funny drawing.
…and his old worn-out scarf.
Mau looked outside the window, watching the snowflakes fall slowly. She rarely got a chance to go outside, but Rocky, given his very specific occupation, had to be out in the cold a lot. And sleeping in the car in this weather must have been uncomfortable, too… it wouldn't take long to get sick. The mere thought of that made Maura uneasy. She pictured him huddled under his coat and a thin, shabby blanket, huddled in the back seat of the car, and she clenched the side of the counter tighter. He had been taking time out of his day for so many months now to come to her and just cheer her up with something: a humorous story, a funny trinket, or a little candy. As if whenever by any means he could find a little bit of warmth somewhere, he had always rushed to share it with her. And now, more than ever, she felt the desire to return that warmth to him a hundredfold. Slipping the teaspoon to the floor, Mau ducked under the counter and pulled back the flap of the stash.
“You know, Missis Bruno… I think you're right. I really should learn to knit. Could I ask you to lend me needles until my father returns and show me how to do it?”
“Of course,” the woman said enthusiastically, obviously pleased that her story had piqued Maura's interest. “Maybe you want to make something specific?”
“A scarf,” Mau answered without hesitation.
“Oh, a scarf is quite simple,” the woman squinted her eyes, smiling broadly. “With my advices, you’ll do it in two evenings. It's the dresses that require all sorts of tricks, but this…”
After a moment, Mau sat down in the chair opposite Missis Bruno and handed her a few crumpled bills. All her tips from the last couple months.
“Good. Can you buy a couple skeins of good yarn for me, please?”
Two evenings was easy to say! A week had passed before Mau could manage to do anything right at all. And Christmas was the day after tomorrow! So little, so little time… Mau yawned. She could hardly keep her eyes open, and therefore even had stopped watching whether the rows of stitches were knitted straight or not. She finished her work only in the morning, and fell asleep, holding her knitting in hands, with the needles dangerously close to her eyes.
And overslept.
In the morning, after freshening herself up, she hastily stuffed the scarf into a bundle of paper and rushed to the eatery. She spent the whole day in anticipation, hoping Rocky would come, and every time the bell over the door jingled, her heart jumped in her chest. Until finally the young man appeared on the doorstep, shaking off the snow from himself.
“Today is on the house, in celebration of Christmas,” she told him, setting coffee and a plate of chocolate pancakes with raspberry jam, garnished with three raspberries and sprinkled with powdered sugar, in front of him. And while Rocky, as if being hypnotized, stared at this gorgeousness and tried to guess if the berries were purposefully arranged in a heart-shaped pattern or not, she shoved the bundle into the pocket of his coat, which hung on the clothes rack behind him.
When Rocky walked out of the Venza family's eatery that evening, he couldn't stop smiling dreamily. He passed by the lamppost, dancing around it, and laughed softly, putting hands into his pockets. To think that Mau had baked pancakes just for him, and damn, what pancakes they were! But… what in the world was that?
He stared in puzzlement at the slanted bundle, and immediately opened it.
Seeing… a scarf.
Or rather, it looked like a scarf, except… the blue stitches wiggled from side to side, the crookedly sewn buttons reminded two eyes, and what should have been white trim on both ends looked more like jagged teeth. If it was a scarf, it was the most ridiculous scarf he had ever seen.
“How did you knit to me, buddy?” Rocky murmured, twirling the knitted mess in his hands. But there was no clue neither on the scarf nor in the paper shreds of the wrapper. Frowning, Rocky looked over his shoulder at the eatery and bit his lip.
Could it be that it was made by Mau?
There was certainly a chance that someone had put the bundle in his coat by accident, but somehow Rocky felt like there was no mistake. It was definitely a present. A self-made Christmas present. From Mau. For him! Rocky straightened the scarf and lifted it as high above his head as his arms could reach, looking at it like at an absolute miracle. The scarf, swaying in the wind, stared up at him with its button eyes and its crooked, white-toothed grin. And Rocky, as he continued his way toward the Little Daisy, smiled broadly back at it.
“Zib, please have mercy,” he kept whimpering, clutching at the man's pant leg. Zib made another attempt to make a step, but after dragging Rocky across the stage floor a little more, he gave up again.
“Kid,” Zib sighed, “if you don't let me go, I'm just going to sit on you.”
“Oh, please! I'll even be your personal horse, taking you out to the audience every night, right under the spotlight…”
Zib gave him a confused look and snorted nervously.
“No, I think I'll pass, thank you.”
“It's a matter of life and death, Zib! What can I do to get you to say yes? I'd do anything. Give anything. Literally. Even my eye teeth.”
“Why on earth are you so damn eager?” The man flailed his arms up. Rocky pulled himself closer to Zibowski's legs, squeezing them like a vise.
“It's just Christmas. I can't resist the urge to do good deeds. What a stale dry man wouldn't be heartbroken at a picture like this? Just imagine: a poor, unfortunate soul burning with a passion for music, but locked in a prison of pots and pans… as the servants of Euterpe, it is our duty to rectify such injustices! Even if only once a year.”
Zib groaned doomedly. He looked down at Rocky tiredly, then up at the ceiling, then back at Rocky, whose blue eyes stared back at him, not even with a plead, but with an almost childlike hope.
“I'm going to regret this…” he muttered, sighing heavily.
The next bright, frosty morning, Mau went down to the eatery and began her routine. She wiped off the dust, pulled open the curtains, opened the window vent, turned on the stove and set a batch of muffins to bake, began to prepare the batter for tomorrow as usual, and then…
…heard the music.
From the street, very close by, came a jaunty jazz tune, accompanied by the singing of several male voices. Mystified, Mau rubbed her hand over the fogged glass of the window and looked outside… no, it couldn't be. She ran out onto the porch and, still not believing her eyes, stared at the whole orchestra on the sidewalk in front of the eatery. When Rocky noticed her, he stepped forward and twirled around himself, playing his violin with an unusually wide smile. Looking at him, Mau laughed warmly and outlined the musicians with her hands, as if silently asking: How? How is this possible? Rocky only fleetingly lowered his gaze, paying her attention to his new scarf, and then winked at her, continuing his improvised dance with the violin.
It was a real wonder.
Soon the music and singing subsided, and Maura, still grinning happily, loudly applauded.
“Bravi! Bravi! Oh, but please hurry inside, I don’t want you all to catch cold! Come on!”
Zib's band could barely fit into the cramped space of the eatery, but that only made the atmosphere more welcoming. When Rocky cheerfully introduced Mau to all the musicians, whose names immediately mixed in her head, she brought out cinnamon coffee for each of them and a vase of ginger cookies to bite until the cupcakes were ready.
“Mind if I smoke?” Zib asked, making himself comfortable in the old chair. Mau shook her head, locking the door. No, there will be no working until the last client today. Today will be only the celebration.
“How could I say no after such an amazing concert? How did you all even sign up for this?”
Zib chuckled, giving Rocky a sly look.
“Well, let's just say he's got a long way to work it off.”
“Oh, it was worth it,” the young man shrugged nonchalantly.
Following the cozy Christmas aromas, the tiny room was filled with stories from Zib's band's past, music and laughter. Mau couldn't remember when she had felt so alive, so it was like a dream. Such a sweet, sweet dream. In her mind, she went back to those distant noisy evenings in New York, when every holiday she and her father celebrated in the large company of the Riva family. When there was no fear or anxiety, when there was warmth and hope in everything. Mau's gaze lingered on Rocky. She didn't understand how he, with all his troubles and hardships, every time managed to do the impossible: even if only for a short period of time, but to bring her back that long-lost hope. But it was then, on that sunny Christmas Eve, when she finally heard in herself undeniably loudly: I love you.
After more than one hour and more than one cup of coffee, after a series of stories and a particularly noisy argument, Sy climbed up on the counter and began to dance and juggle apples to the lively rhythmic clapping…
When suddenly, dumbfounded, with a key in his hand, Augusto Venza appeared on the doorstep.
The evening before his birthday Åse receives a small package from Rocky, that is signed by Mau. She doesn't know where Åse lives, but knowing he and Rocky work together, she decided to pass a present through him. It was risky, considering Rocky's penchant for somersaults, and definitely would've caused a talk between the two later, but fortunately, the package reached the receiver intact with a clear instruction: not open it until tomorrow.
Whether Åse followed this instruction or not, inside she finds a mug with an awful goat pun on it, something reminding a hot chocolate substance with a surprisingly hazelnut aroma in a jar inside a handmade cardboard package, and a birthday card, stating:
"Dear Åse,
Happy birthday! May all your days be as bleat-iful as this wonderful Sunday.
I also asked papa to make gianduja for you, just like he made for me in my childhood (hope you'd like it more than my sugary pizza, ha-ha). You'll also find some recipes from him below, but I'd say you can simply brew it with coffee or milk, based on your preference.
Love you much.
Yours truly,
Mau."
Thank you for gifting such a wonderful character to the world, my dear friend @acesandocs 💖 Hope your Sunday is just as nice as Åse's. ✨
Maura isn't superstitious in the common way, but when she was younger, she became used to developing sort of rituals for herself from time to time (not everyday). For example, "if I jump over those tiles, today will be a lucky day", "if I won't drop any spoons today, something good will happen to me" and so on. It's hard to say where she took that habit from, but it mostly works, aside from simple entertainment, as an affirmation or coping mechanism with the anxious, messy and unpredictable life she has. She subconsciously encourages herself to think positively through performing rather simple tasks.
Hi, Edd! ✨💖✨ Thank you for the ask, hug you tightly! *w*
If we're speaking about furniture, Maura's wardrobe is very simple. She and Augusto literally live in a very cheap, small and cramped apartment. The furniture there is just the same. Something like this, but even simpler:
(pictures are simply taken from google)
If we're speaking about what she wears, Maura's clothes mostly aren't hers — these are clothes given to her by her aunts and neighbors, so thank God some of them even match in colors/shapes not to look too awkward. I put everything under the cut.
Mau has:
Four skirts (brown, beige, bottle green (teal) and warm navy one for winter).
Four blouses (coral with white lace, turquoise with white embroidery, yellow/amber with 3/4 sleeves, yellow/amber with half-sleeves).
Pink sweater-blouse for autumn/winter with 3/4 sleeves.
Cream-white knitted cardigan for autumn/winter.
Two yellow/amber everyday dresses (one with flower embroidery, the other is more like a gown).
A bottle green / teal evening dress.
A black winter coat, a black hat and a green scarf that you, my dear friend @acesandocs, and Ace gifted her.
Five pairs of shoes: (brown shoes, cream-white shoes (I've drawn them with coral and turquoise parts, but that's not true :D), yellow/amber heels, grayish-brown heels, autumn/winter half boots).
A cream-white nightgown.
Mau also was drawn with Rocky in some other outfits (coral flowery evening dress, wedding dress drawn by amazing @aghostnamedclamity and a dress-i-ll-show-you-soon), but I don't consider them canon for her, I guess? Maura can't afford neither a wedding dress, nor an evening dress of such quality as a coral one or that one which I'll show you soon. But who knows? Everything is possible. :3
im really curious about: ''Don't be sour note'' and ''Maudern Times''?
Oh gosh xDD Thanks for asking, broski!! ✨💖✨ Usually my WIP art files are a disaster, 'cause I just throw smth into it to fix the idea for further development xDD
But here they are, sneak peaks from my Maudern Times & Don't be sour note WIPs files 😂
And as I promised, right in a row, the 2nd part (the 1st) of the answer on number 19 from that list for @coffeintheface @acesandocs. 💖
Note: that ficlet highly depends on a joke headcanon that Mau and Rocky really married by accident. I wrote about it in the very old answer to an ask, but I'll also place it here for convenience.
"I can even imagine how these two might spontaneously get married because of an accidentally blurted out series of utterly stupid puns. Because it’s simply something fun to do. Like, they sneak out on the roof in the night, chatting incessantly, and then
Mau: You won’t do such a felony to me.
Rocky: A fell-on-knee? Well, I can dare.
Mau: And if I agree you’ll dare to do it right now?
Rocky: Oh, Miss Venza, it would be such a delight, but no one will marry us in the dead of night.
Mau: The dead of night, huh? I remember you told me about some business you run with a funeral home. There's supposed to be a minister. A funeral home marriage in the dead of night. Sounds like a perfect match.
And soon Rocky, arm in arm with Mau, will be banging on the door of the Arbogast Funeral Home, and if the face of sleepy Abelard Arbogast could have stretched more from their request, it would have stretched. :D"
So, here's the ficlet. :3
The Dawnright Truth
Note: Italian speech
“Hush!” Mau shushed Rocky, barely holding back a giggle herself. He habitually helped her to get over the window and then sat on the window sill, gesturing that he wouldn't utter another sound. Mau smiled. She only had a couple hours of sleep left, but for nights like this, she was willing to sacrifice even them. It was impossible to count how many conversations, how many laughs and fiddle tunes the roof of this house had heard… and Maura hoped that tonight would not be the last and that roof would hear a lot more.
As she took a step back inside her room, Rocky gently squeezed her palm and pulled Mau lightly toward him. Please don't go. She shook her head with a chuckle. No. It's almost dawn. Not letting go of her hand, Rocky pressed his fist to his chest. Waved one way, then the other in some strange pantomime, looking at Mau with the most sorrowful expression that he was capable of. Jokingly sorrowful, of course, but there was truth behind the joke. If it were up to him, he would make sure that this moment would never end; the moment when the whole city was asleep and no one but the stars in the sky could hear them. So that there would be no need to carve out time for secret meetings. And so that he wouldn't have to hide what he put into every melody he played to her at nights, behind the stares and smiles in the daytime.
Alas, now he didn't even have the violin in his hands to tell her, as usual, everything without words. He was about to hop back to the fire escape and continue to amuse her at least with his ridiculous silent performance, when Mau, laughing inaudibly, stepped forward and kissed him. So easily and openly that Rocky held his breath in surprise. But soon he loudly exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes and relaxing his shoulders. All thoughts, all words and images froze for a moment, and then swirled in his head in a fantastical dance again, as if drawing new music from that gentle touch. Rocky moved forward, toward her, giving himself over to the sensation of flight that had taken over him…
…when suddenly there was a loud thud.
The landing from heaven to earth was disgustingly hard. Rocky rubbed his chin, which had hit the floor just a moment ago, and propped himself up on an elbow.
“Mau? Is everything alright?” came a voice from outside the room.
Maura looked worriedly at the door and pointed Rocky under the bed.
“Quick!” she whispered to him, rushing over to the chair and placing it headboard down on the floor. Much louder, she replied: “Yes, I’m fine!”
A knock sounded.
“Are you up already? Can I come in?”
Mau clasped her hands together. Anxiously, she leaned closer to the bottom of the bed and muttered:
“I beg you, not a sound,” and then answered her father: “Of course!”
Not more than a second later the door opened and Augusto peeked into the room. Mau smiled awkwardly at him and pretended to pull up a chair.
“Was reaching for a book and dropped it. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you.”
Augusto nodded, seemingly paying no attention neither to the strange excuse nor to the wide-opened window.
“I was already awake. But why did you get up so early?”
“Couldn't get any sleep… tossed and turned for a while, and then decided, why lie around for nothing? Better go and bake some muffins before opening…”
Rocky didn't understand a word she was saying, but the tone in which Mau was speaking… no, not speaking, chirping with her father, caused him to laugh inaudibly. He wondered if it was from anxiety or if she always acted that way with him. The dust made his nose terribly itch. But Rocky didn't risk moving and only wrinkled his nose, hoping the sensation would go away soon. After examining all the cracks in the bedframe, he turned his head to the side and suddenly saw the jewelry box next to him. And he wouldn’t pay that much attention on it if he didn’t notice the tip of some kind of note sticking out of the box. A letter? From whom, he wondered?
Meanwhile, Augusto walked into the room.
“How lucky. I was just about to leave the keys for you in the hallway, but I heard you were up. I have to go out for a while.”
“Oh, sure,” Mau accepted the keychain from his hands. “For how long?”
When Rocky carefully pulled the sheet from under the lid, he was surprised to find out that it was his note. One of many he had left for Mau at the eatery. In some he had doodled all sorts of silly things, in others he had hastily made up short humorous poems that vanished from his memory as soon as they had hit the paper. And she… kept them? No way she did. Neglecting all precautions, Rocky lifted the lid of the box… and immediately slammed it shut.
But it was too late.
Several seconds of his confusion were enough for a tinkling melody to fill the room.
Mau's heart sank. Augusto stared in puzzlement at the direction of the bed and, not listening to his daughter's objection, looked underneath it. Rocky waved at him awkwardly.
“Good morning, Mister Venza.”
“You!” the man exclaimed angrily, pulling the guy out from under the bed by his coat. “Parasite!”
“Papa, stop swearing,” said Mau with pressure. Augusto stood up, not letting Rocky out of his grasp, and shook him as if he was holding not a young man but a weightless rag.
“What is this, Mau?”
“Please leave him alone.”
“I knew that scoundrel wasn't just hanging around in our eatery for nothing. Do you realize he's a criminal, Maura?”
“No more than we are!” objected Mau.
“That's already too much, sweetheart!” groaned Augusto and shook Rocky by the scruff of the neck again. “I've seen enough of his kind, you can see 'em a mile off! A swindler, a bandit, a rascal! What if he tells anyone about us? Or even worse, what if he hurts you?”
“He won't hurt me ever!”
“Of course, he won't. And he won't show up on our doorstep again either. I respect your choice, darling, but that! I simply can't allow that to happen! For me to willingly entrust you into the hands of some thug, some… some…”
“He's already my husband, papa!” Mau moaned in despair and immediately regretted what she had said. Augusto froze with his eyes wide open, now filled with true dread, but still didn't loosen his grip.
“Maura,” he began cautiously. “Don't tell me you're expecting a child from him.”
“What?! No!” exclaimed Mau indignantly. “It just happened… accidentally!” she tried to justify herself, but seemed to make it worse.
“How can you accidentally marry a man?”
“We thought it was in jest. I never would have thought a priest at some backwater funeral home could actually wed people! We were going to get a divorce somehow…” sighed Mau, and then, after a moment of hesitation, added in a low voice: “…but I don't think that's necessary anymore.”
Augusto unclenched his fingers, releasing Rocky, and slowly lowered himself onto the bed. With a trembling hand he fumbled in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, took one out and lit it. For several long seconds there was absolute silence in the room.
“What's your name even, hubby?” Augusto finally asked, so quietly that Rocky could barely make out the words.
“Roc… Roark Rickaby, Mister Venza,” Rocky held out his hand to the man, but he didn't even look at it.
“Does he know? About us,” he questioned, clearly referring to the disastrous troubles with mob that had been the reason the Venza family had fled New York. Mau nodded.
“Yes. I told him everything.”
The room filled with heavy silence again. Augusto took a long, nervous puff and stared at the floorboards for a long moment, unblinking. Finally, he covered his face with the palm of his hand and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.
