Marital Bliss

marriage misadventure

Mastro Nicola and Filomena had already spent more than forty years of a life notable for the absence of memorable events. Never married, they seemed satisfied with their uneventful lives, finding meaning in a life guided by a regular rhythm and supported by stable human relationships. Mastro Nicola made a meagre living working part of the day in his shoe-repair shop in his basement and part in the small and unproductive plot of land he inherited from his deceased parents. Village folks called him “mastro” more out of personal respect than for his skills. Filomena lived at home, helping her old, widowed mother. The small house that she would eventually inherit and the savings from odd jobs would help her survive after her mother’s death.

The idea of getting married and raising a family had vanished from their minds with the passage of time. To his friends who encouraged him to search for a wife, mastro Nicola initially responded that he did not have the financial capacity to support a family. Later, when the insistence of his friends turned into teasing, he changed his tune and replied brusquely, “mind your own damn business.” For Filomena, the subject of marriage had become a taboo. Everyone knew that, for a poor woman who had long passed the age of eligibility, a marriage proposal would be a rare miracle. Even her friends, who were all women of faith, had become convinced that the prayers of the entire village population could have not produced such a miraculous event.

But the wheels of destiny pay no attention to human plans and aspirations. Mastro Nicola was offered the opportunity to emigrate to America and take up a job that would let him save enough to support a family on his return home. This was a life-changing decision and he decided to discuss his options with his sister.

“Peppina,” he said, “I have the opportunity to get a good job in America. In a few years I can make enough money to secure financial stability. I could even start a family. I am not sure what I should do, and I need your advice.”

“You know you can always confide in me,” replied Peppina. “What is it that bothers you about this job?”

“It’s not the job,” continued Nicola, “it’s my whole life. As a single man, I am satisfied with my lot. I earn enough to get by and have enough friends. I need the job only if I decide to get married; but I have never given any thought to marriage because I did not have the means to support a family. What should I do?”

“I don’t see why you should deprive yourself of a family if you can support it.”

Nicola was still perplexed. “But I do not know any suitable women and I will probably have to leave in about a year.”

“I can take care of that,” said Peppina. “Leave it to me."

Two days later she paid a visit to Filomena’s mother to present a marriage proposal on behalf of her brother.

Filomena’s mother was one of those people whose mental capacity was ravaged by the passage of time, but she could still recognize a good opportunity.

“This is an unexpected gift from the Divine Providence,” she said to Filomena after Peppina left. “You will get some help in caring for me and will be taken care of when I am gone. Don’t dare offend the Almighty by refusing his gift.”

Filomena did not want to argue with her mother and tried to appease her.

“Don’t worry, ma. I will pray about it.”

She believed in the power of prayer, and she asked for Divine counsel, but she also needed some human advice. She turned to her friend Sarina, who had been married for a long time and had practical experience in these matters.

“Sarina,” she asked, “I need some help in making a big decision. Peppina, mastro Nicola’s sister visited us last night and presented a marriage proposal on her brother’s behalf,”

“Wonderful,” exclaimed Sarina before Filomena could continue. “Mastro Nicola is a good man. You will be set for life.”

“I have not accepted the offer yet,” replied Filomena.

“Why not, silly girl? Don’t you know this is your ticket to peace of mind for the rest of your life?”

“Yes, I know, my mother explained it to me. Still, I am afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” asked Sarina, who was growing impatient.

“I have never thought of a man as a husband,” replied Filomena timidly. “You know, as a single woman one must turn away from certain sinful thoughts. I don’t know if I can handle being in the same bed with mastro Nicola.”

“Oh my God,” exclaimed Sarina with a loud laugh. “There is nothing to fear. I will teach you everything you need to know; go home, tell your mother you have accepted mastro Nicola’s proposal and I will pay a visit to Peppina and tell her to come and see you.”

The wedding was a simple family affair. There was a small procession of family members that followed Filomena and mastro Nicola from her house to the church and a dinner back at the house. Mastro Nicola moved into Filomena’s house the same day to complete the marriage arrangements.

The daily routine of the newlyweds changed little. Mastro Nicola continued to spend his day between the shop and his land, while Filomena stayed home with her mother. She cooked the same meals as before marriage, adding some extra noodles for her husband, and had to do a bit more laundry and ironing. The major change occurred in her nightly routine, but in that area she received the expert advice of her friend Sarina.

The new life seemed to benefit both spouses. Mastro Nicola replaced a frown with the hint of a smile, became more cordial in his human contacts, and acquired a more erect posture and a crisper walk. Filomena exhibited the interior peace of those who are totally content with their lot in life. Though their daily routine had changed little, the seeds had been sown for dramatic and unforeseen changes in their lives.

The realization early in life that she would not be a prime candidate for marriage had turned Filomena into a deeply religious woman. She now wanted her new human union to be imbued with the same faith. Mastro Nicola initially showed some resistance. He was a practical man and had performed his basic religious duties all his life. That was not enough for Filomena. She started by requesting his participation at the evening prayers with her mother and then asked him to go to Mass with her every Sunday morning. This was too much for mastro Nicola. Pleasing his wife in the privacy of their home was acceptable but showing excessive religiosity in public was too much.

“Dear Filomena,” he explained to her, “everyone in the village knows me as a good Christian man. I go to Mass on the occasion of the main feasts, go to confession and take Communion at Easter, and contribute according to my means to the collection for many processions. Sometimes I even help carry the statue of Saint Rocco during the procession in his honor. More than this cannot be expected of a man.”

“I know that you are a good man,” replied Filomena, trying not to anger her husband. “I just want for us to go to heaven together.”

These words softened his resolve and he tried to show that he wanted to please her, but tradition only allowed him to go so far.

“Dear Filomena, I don’t mind accompanying you to church, but I cannot appear to have become overly religious. You know what people would say: Nicola has become a sissy. His wife had put on the trousers in the family, and he follows her like a puppy dog.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble for you,” responded Filomena, “it’s not for me that I have asked the favor, it’s for our souls. You understand.”

“I suppose nobody would criticize me if I just accompanied you to the door, but I cannot sit with you in church,” suggested mastro Nicola, hoping that this compromise would please his wife. “I can go to the back of the church and stand with the other men during Mass.”

This compromise was acceptable to Filomena, and it helped strengthen their marriage bond. On Sunday mornings, they would walk together towards the church, sometimes hand-in-hand as if they were a newly engaged couple. In the church, they went their separate ways. Filomena sat in the second row in order to observe every detail of the celebration and to ensure that the statues of the Saints would not miss hearing her prayers. Mastro Nicola would remain standing at the back of the church together with a group of friends who used this occasion to exchange information about village events. He would interrupt the conversation only during the short homily to ensure that he could answer his wife’s questions about the topic of the sermon.

This blessed life did not last long because in less than a year mastro Nicola received his visa. The separation was painful for the two spouses who, in a short time, had built a practical and loving relationship. They knew, though, that this was a short separation, made necessary by the need to guarantee their material well-being for the rest of their lives. Initially, Filomena’s life changed little, and she continued to divide her day between home and church. A few months after her husband’s departure, she also suffered the loss of her mother. All of a sudden, she was left alone and with no apparent purpose in life. Her life of service, first to her mother and then also to her husband, which had given meaning to each day, was over. Alone, with a life devoid of purpose, she started for the first time to feel the pangs of loneliness. She missed repetitious stories and expressions of advice from her mother, which kept her emotionally anchored, but she suffered particularly for the lack of spousal affection, an aspect of the conjugal relationship which had never occupied her mind before the marriage, but which was now developing into an obsession during her husband’s absence. To lessen the pain of that affliction, Filomena intensified her daily prayers and increased her visits to the church. This public expression of her faith elevated her standing among the village folks who admired her modesty and faithfulness to God and husband.

Away from home, mastro Nicola concentrated his life on his work and on the ways to save as much as possible so he could return to his village and his beloved Filomena. On the occasion of his name day, mastro Nicola decided to give himself a treat and bought a large steak. He fried it and ate it together with fried potatoes and a tomato salad. He ate very slowly in order to extract the full taste from every single morsel of this meal that he knew would not be repeated. The half-bottle of red wine that he consumed with this unforgettable dinner sent him to bed early that evening.

That night, mastro Nicola did not have a good sleep. He turned and tossed in bed for several hours. Then, all of a sudden, he was shocked by a short but alarming dream. He heard an unfamiliar voice calling him and admonishing him in a grave tone, “Nicola, pay attention to the flesh.”

Mastro Nicola woke up stunned and started looking around to make sure that he was still alive and at home. Then he got up and walked to the kitchen to drink a glass of water and returned to bed. During the whole week he could think of nothing else but that disconcerting dream. At the end, exhausted by this mental search, mastro Nicola became convinced that the dream was an order from God to stop eating meat. From that day on, he changed his diet and replaced meat with fish.

He had almost forgotten the troubling experience when he was revisited in a dream by the same voice, “Nicola, get free of the flesh.”

This time mastro Nicola woke up disconcerted and was unable to go back to bed.

“I stopped eating meat a month ago,” he said to himself in a loud voice as if he wanted to test that he was awake. “I have already freed myself of meat.”

He remained silent for a few minutes while he contemplated the meaning of such an occurrence. I am sure this is a supernatural message that carries a special meaning. I have to consult an expert.

Saturday evening, mastro Nicola went to church at the hour of confessions, not because he believed that he needed to clean his soul, but to ask advice from the priest in private setting. “Do not be worried by such dreams, mastro Nicola,” assured the priest. “Maybe the voice was the effect of indigestion.”

With these words the priest gave mastro Nicola the absolution and sent him home without prescribing the customary recitation of the ten “Our Fathers” and ten “Hail Mary’s” because mastro Nicola’s preoccupation with those dreams was enough penance.

“This priest is an idiot and understands nothing,” exclaimed mastro Nicola when he arrived home, dissatisfied with the failure of his mission. “He brushed me off without paying the least attention to my problem. He won’t see me again in church.”

The metaphysical dream still needed an explanation. How could mastro Nicola go on with life without knowing the hidden message in his dream? If this is a supernatural message, the key to its meaning must be found in the word of God.”

Armed with this firm conviction, mastro Nicola started to search his mind for fragments of the homilies he could recall in search of references to matters of the flesh. Slowly, expressions that at first appeared to be disconnected started to take the form of coherent thoughts. What, at the time of delivery, sounded like empty words were transforming into meaningful messages. Mastro Nicola noted in particular that in the homilies the references about flesh and spirit were most often related to the letters of Saint Paul. Excited by this discovery, mastro Nicola immersed himself in the reading of those epistles. At some point in his endeavor, he jumped from his chair as if he had discovered the secret of life.

“This message is crystal clear,” he exclaimed in a loud voice, though he was alone in the house. “It has nothing to do with meat. I can eat all the meat I want. What I need to abandon are the desires of the flesh.”

This momentous discovery deserved a minute of pause and reflection. As he sat down to let this insight take hold of his entire being, mastro Nicola’s thoughts turned to his wife. How would he tell Filomena about his new life? Would she understand?

“Among all women, Filomena is the best equipped to understand my decision,” mastro Nicola said to himself. “She is a woman of deep faith and knows well that to make room for the spirit one must give up the desires of the flesh.”

Another thought came into his mind. Should he tell her now by letter or wait until he got back and explain it in person? He considered the early communication so she could prepare herself mentally and emotionally but was concerned about writing ability.

“I can barely write,” he admitted aloud. “How can I explain such a complex concept on paper?”

He finally decided Filomena deserved an in-person explanation, and he would wait to announce such a monumentally important resolution. With the supernatural message fully deciphered and a new direction for his life clearly drawn, mastro Nicola dedicated himself entirely to his work and his efforts to save and return home as soon as possible.

In the meantime, Filomena was engaged in her daily struggle between flesh and spirit with the help of her prayers and frequent visits to the church. She rejoiced when she got news that her husband would return soon. As the arrival date approached, the intensity of her prayers was heightened, and the frequency of her church visits increased. The day of the arrival, Filomena focused entirely on her exterior appearance because she immediately wanted to capture her husband’s attention. Driven by nervous tension, she paced through the rooms of the small house, never failing to admire her new look each time she passed by a mirror.

Mastro Nicola arrived home in the late afternoon, in a car driven by his cousin Giovanni, who met him at the train station in the city. Giovanni did not stay long in his cousin’s house, understanding that this was one of those occasions that required privacy. Filomena had prepared a special dinner with her husband’s favorite food. After dinner, the couple spent some time exchanging notes on their life apart. It seemed, however, that this conversation had no purpose and no direction. Mastro Nicola didn’t even notice her new hairdo and her beautiful dress. He appeared distracted, as if his body was in one place and his mind in another. They gave the impression of two acquaintances who exchanged tales of no interest to either of them, just to pass time until they parted. Neither of them dared interrupt that aimless conversation for fear of showing disinterest or, worse, disrespect.

At some point Filomena could no longer hide her impatience and exclaimed, “Nicola, you must be tired. Get ready while I wash the dishes and then we can go to bed.”

While Filomena was taking care of the kitchen chores, mastro Nicola arranged the suitcase in the small bedroom next to the master bedroom, took out the presents he had not yet shown to his wife, and got ready to go to bed. Filomena completed her kitchen tasks, prepared herself for the night, went to the master bedroom, and stretched on the bed waiting for her husband. She did not have to wait long. Mastro Nicola approached the master bedroom, but instead of going in he stopped at the entrance, gave an innocuous glance to his wife, and said in a natural tone of voice as if he was repeating a daily expression, “I am tired Filomena. I am going to sleep.” Then he turned around and went back to the small bedroom.

Filomena remained motionless, stunned as if struck in the head. She reviewed in her mind the events of the evening. I don’t understand what happened to Nicola. I spent hours and good money to make myself more desirable to him and he totally ignored me. How can he have nothing to say after being away for so long?

In her state of stupor, her mind kept repeating: Why did he go to the small room? If he is tired, I will leave him alone, but why doesn’t he sleep in our bed?

When her thoughts became unbearable and prevented her from falling asleep, Filomena got up and went to visit her husband to seek an explanation.

“Dear wife” replied mastro Nicola as if he was talking to a casual acquaintance, “during my time abroad I received a divine order. I wanted to tell you about it earlier, but I thought that it would better to do it in person. Tonight, I was too tired, and I decided to leave the task for tomorrow.”

Filomena became nervous and started thinking the solitary life abroad may have affected her husband’s mental health.

“What do you mean Nicola? Are you saying that you talk with God?” Filomena spoke with a tone that combined a sense of mockery with concern.

“No, Filomena. God does not talk directly with us as if He is using the telephone,” mastro Nicola said, who had interpreted his wife’s inquiry as a sign of genuine interest. “This divine order was given to me in a dream. This dream was so direct and clear that there is no doubt about its meaning. You see, dear wife, the body is like a stone around the neck of the spirit and constrains its movement. If we seek eternal life, we must abandon the desires of the flesh.”

At this point, Filomena’s initial suspicion about her husband’s mental health started to become a firm conviction. She decided not to pursue the matter, bid her husband good night saying she would like to continue the discussion tomorrow and returned to the master bedroom.

Filomena did not get much sleep that night. She woke up early the next morning and went directly to her husband’s room to re-start the discussion of the previous evening, but in a casual manner to avoid making him defensive. She wanted to hear the truth about his sudden change because she did not believe a word about the dream and the divine message from a man who for all his life had shown little interest in matters of the spirit. But mastro Nicola responded as if he was playing a broken record. He did not understand why Filomena required an explanation. For him the message had been clear and there was no need for further discussions.

“Dear wife,” he replied before closing the debate for good, “I am surprised that you ask so many questions. I thought that you of all people would understand what I am saying without the need of explanations. How can one explain God’s will?”

Filomena, whose disappointment was turning into anger with each passing day, did not surrender. She could not imagine spending the rest of her life in limbo, chained to a marriage and yet unmarried. Having failed with the direct communications route, she tried a more devious approach. One evening she faked being sick and, lying in bed, called her husband for help.

“Nicola, I feel so weak tonight, almost like fainting. Can you sleep in our bed tonight in case I pass out and need medical attention?”

He obliged, having no suspicions about his wife’s plan. After the light was turned off, Filomena tried to get closer to her husband, hoping that the physical contact would bring him back to reality.

She underestimated the strength of his resolve. Without uttering a sound, mastro Nicola moved away when he felt her touch. She continued her pursuit, slowly and delicately, but he would not allow himself to be touched. This cat and mouse game went on for quite a while because her progress was being measured in inches. Eventually the width of the bed could no longer accommodate these moves and mastro Nicola fell to the floor with a loud thump. Filomena jumped out of bed and turned on the lights to check on her husband. As she approached him, mastro Nicola raised his arms to ward off her advances and exclaimed in a fearful but stern voice, “Get away from me you Satan. Do not contaminate my spirit.”

This episode ended any possibility of a negotiated solution to a situation that had become unbearable for Filomena. Desperate and short of new ideas, Filomena decided to seek the advice of her friend Sarina, who also had to cope with the absence of her husband for a few years.

When Filomena’s described what happened on the first night of her husband’s return, Sarina interrupted.

“Maybe he was really tired. Didn’t you try your feminine charms on him the next day?”

“Of course I did,” replied Filomena. “I lured him to our bed with the excuse that I was not feeling well and then tried to get him involved once he was in bed. It was a disaster.”

Sarina remained silent for a couple of minutes and then exclaimed solemnly, “This is a very serious situation. He must have received a powerful shock when he was abroad; he needs another shock.” She paused, waiting for some prodding from her friend, and then continued, “I do not know anyone with your predicament, but I know more than one wife who had to struggle with the demons of passion when their husbands were away. Fortunately for them, there are always good men in the village who understand their needs and are willing to offer their comfort in a discreet manner. One of those good men is Giacomo, the husband of Concettina.”

Sarina paused again. When her friend’s face erupted in disgust, she retraced her thoughts and said more reassuringly, “Not that I know these things by experience, God forbid the thought. My husband has always been a good man and I would never dishonor him. I am not suggesting that you should even consider this course of action. I am just mentioning how some women of weak moral fiber and little faith do wrong to their husbands. We are women of strong faith. For us the only solution is an intensified effort at prayer.”

Following her friend’s advice, which she thought genuine, Filomena turned directly to the Almighty.

“Merciful God,” she started praying while kneeling in the first row of the church pews, “you know my love for you and the affection I have for my husband. He is a good man�"honest, decent, and respectful. Before going to America he behaved well with me in all departments. Now he has come back totally changed, almost inhuman. I think this new idea that the spirit came to him was a strategy for staying faithful to me while he was away. We all know the temptations that the world presents to people who are alone, especially to husbands and wives who remain alone for long periods of time. But now he is back home again and no longer needs this strategy. I implore you, merciful God, who knows all the secrets and desires of our hearts, to give me back my old husband.”

At home, Filomena repeated this prayer three times a day for a whole month as if she were taking prescription pills to cure a physical ailment. But this spiritual treatment produced no results.

While Filomena’s anger and scorn grew each day that went by, mastro Nicola had established his incorruptible daily routine. Each morning he got up early, drank a cup of coffee with milk, and walked to the nearest church to attend Mass. Then he proceeded to his piece of land located on the opposite side of the village. Crossing the entire village, mastro Nicola stopped by each church situated along the main street to pray. Depending on the length of the prayers, which changed from day to day according to his spiritual needs, sometimes he arrived at his plot just in time to sit down for his meagre lunch. In the summer, after that meal, he normally entered the small hut and rested until the heat subsided and working outdoors became bearable. He did a bit of work, more to pass the time than to accomplish anything useful, and then started his walk back home, never forgetting to stop by all the churches on the way. When he had some shoes to repair, he spent his day at the shop instead of going to the land, but the religious routine was the same. Following a simple dinner that he prepared himself, mastro Nicola would sit on a chair to read some religious writings, prepare for sleeping, and then kneel in front of his bed for his nightly prayers.

This routine did not leave Filomena entirely out of mastro Nicola’s life. On the contrary, he became more attentive to her. Every morning he prepared extra cup of coffee and brought it to her bedside table before leaving the house. During the month of Filomena’s prayer treatment, however, the oral communications between husband and wife practically came to an end. Mastro Nicola considered the end of oral communication as a sign of the spiritual evolution of his wife, a sublimation of their physical marriage into a fully spiritual relationship that had no need for concrete expressions. For him this was true love that would overcome the temporal limitations of the flesh and unite them for eternity.

“We will be in heaven together as we are on earth, Filomena,” he would periodically say to his wife before leaving the house in the morning.

Filomena’s condition was quite different. She was ready to explode. When neither body nor mind was able to contain her anger, she rushed to church to give the Almighty a good lesson.

“You are an unjust and cruel God,” complained Filomena. “In my youth I prayed constantly for You to send me a husband, but I received no reply. You decided to send me a husband in my advanced age when I had already settled for unmarried life. At the beginning Nicola was a good husband. He had little faith but was good and affectionate. When I finally fully adjusted to married life, you transformed him into a monk, and a good one too, one of those who respects the rules.” Filomena stopped to catch her breath and to reorganize her thoughts, then continued her tirade. “He tells me he will pursue a strictly spiritual life, but I do not want to be the wife of the Holy Spirit. If he was truly a spirit, like a shadow floating through the house, I might accept it. But he is made of flesh and blood, and I see him every day. What kind of life is this? You have condemned me to hell on earth.”

Filomena’s ire was rising with the articulation of these thoughts and so did her blood pressure. Then she exploded in her final lament. “I have spent a life of prayers, work, obedience, honesty and faithfulness, and this is my reward. As long as I live I will never set foot inside a church again.”

And with these words, Filomena got up from the pew, left the church, and marched straight home.

From that day on, the spiritual peace that mastro Nicola so highly prized was destroyed. Filomena started to hurl insults at her husband, in the morning before he left home and the evening when he returned. He no longer dared to visit her in the morning before he left for fear of being hit with a steaming cup of coffee. These insults, which became more vulgar with the passing of days, had no effect on maestro Nicola’s behavior. It was like yelling at a marble statue. This routine soon turned into a form of entertainment for the neighborhood kids who gathered in front of their house to hear the new insults proffered by Filomena, so they could use them on each other on the way to school and during recess.

As time went by, Filomena’s outbursts subsided and the two developed a routine that allowed a cohabitation with minimum contact. Filomena remained in bed until her husband left, and mastro Nicola came back home late in the evening and walked around the house before entering to ensure that his wife was in bed, signaled by the light in her bedroom. He would leave his dirty clothes in a basket in his room. She washed and ironed them and put them back in his bedroom. Social life was also minimized and was largely confined to daytime visits from Sarina, who had disciplined herself from commenting on Filomena’s household arrangements. The neighborhood children continued their daily mocking of Mastro Nicola, who for his part ignored them completely. He would simply make the sign of cross, utter “Go away, Satan,” and march on.

This external peace concealed an unbearable turmoil inside Filomena’s heart and mind. Ready to explode, she decided to visit the local fortune teller.

“Donna Nunziata, I have reached the point of desperation with my husband. He was a good man until he left for America, but he became insane and is driving me crazy. You have to do something about it.”

“Have you tried to talk to him?”

“It’s not possible to talk to him. He lives in a different world.”

“You could live separately. You would stay married but would not see each other and leave in peace on your own.”

“Where would he live? Besides, we would become the laughingstock of the village.”

‘I don’t know what I can do,” replied donna Nunziata.

“You can give me some potion or spell that can send him directly to hell.”

“Filomena, faciti piccatu.”

“I don’t care about sins anymore. God abandoned me long time ago. I am in the hands of the devil now.”

“We can try something, but I am not sure whether it will work.”

“I will try anything to get rid of him.”

Donna Nunziata took a pen and a piece of paper and wrote down a special incantation. She gave it to Filomena, saying,

“You must memorize this incantation. This evening, before you go to sleep, you kneel in front of your bed and recite this incantation three times. In the morning you wait to see whether you notice any changes in your husband’s behavior. If nothing happened, come back and we will try a different one. Be aware that these are instruments of dark powers and we do not know what may happen.”

Next morning, the children had gathered in the usual spot, but waited in vain for mastro Nicola’s exit. They moved closer to the door to check what was going on inside the house. They still heard no sound.

“Let me go on your shoulders and look through the window,” said the smallest boy to the oversized one.

“What do you see?” the children asked. “Are they still in the house?”

“Are they in bed together?” said a boy with a loud laugh.

“Don’t be silly,” replied another boy, “he is a monk, he does not do those things.”

“I don’t see anybody and don’t hear anything,” said the small boy. “Maybe they are gone.”

“Or maybe they killed each other,” uttered another boy, laughing.

Bored, they decided to go to school, but the small boy was concerned and decided to go back home and alert his parents that something wrong was going on. His father, who had not yet left for work, went to mastro Nicola’s house, and knocked at the door. When there was no answer, he decided to call on Giovanni, mastro Nicola’s cousin, to inform him of the strange situation.

Giovanni had a key to his cousin’s house and went promptly to investigate. He first knocked at the door as a sign of respect. When he received no reply, he opened the door. As soon as he entered the house, he started calling his cousins with a loud voice. “Cousin Nicola, Cousin Filomena,” but there was still no reply. Worried, he walked slowly towards the kitchen, but he saw nobody there. He proceeded towards the small room, quietly, as if he was afraid to wake somebody up. As he opened the door he was struck by a ghastly sight: there, on his knees, with his head touching the bed was his cousin Nicola, devoid of life. He moved closer, cautiously, not knowing whether he was still alive and whispered, “Niciola, Nicola.” Receiving no answer, he touched him gently. In the end, convinced he was dead, he turned around and walked to the master bedroom. There, on her knees, in the same position as her husband was Filomena, also devoid of life.

As a faithful cousin, Giovanni took the responsibility for all funeral arrangements. He was not sure of what to do about the eulogy which was usually delivered at the burial site. In the village, there was a man called “l’oratore,” who prepared a eulogy that contained praises for the deceased in relation to the remuneration paid and delivered the speech at the time of interment. The delivery of the eulogy�"the tone of voice, the facial expression, the movement of his arms, and his extraordinary verbosity�"had become a public attraction and helped increase the number of village folk that joined the funeral procession. Even though l’oratore would have no difficulty making up praises for his cousin, Giovanni was not sure about this arrangement.

“Giacomina,” he asked his wife. “What do you think about the eulogy? Should we have l’oratore deliver it?”

“Are you out of your mind?” she retorted. “It would be a total waste of money. Everyone in the village knows every detail of their life; people would burst into laughter as l’oratore would go on with his pompous delivery of invented stories. You would pay good money for a laugh.”

Giovanni, who felt a sense of obligation for his deceased cousin. “But somebody has to say some good words about these two dead people. I have never been at a funeral without some kind of eulogy. It would be a shame on us.”

“It will be cheaper and safer to ask the priest,” replied Giacomina, who was getting annoyed by her husband’s concerns.

The priest was reluctant to perform the task. He could not say negative things about them at their burial and he could not appear to lie openly by saying good things for fear of losing respect from his parishioners.

“I respect you, Giovanni, and appreciate your request,” replied the priest, “but this is not a simple case. As you know, Filomena in her last years rejected the Grace of God and the community of faith. Mastro Nicola was religious in his own way, but his faith took on a strange form. I don’t know what I could say at the funeral that would be honest and fit the occasion.”

“I understand, Father, but these were good people throughout their life. I am sure God will take that into consideration. Don’t you think God will be angry if we show disrespect for two of his children who, in their own peculiar way, tried to do his will?”

The priest reflected on Giovanni’s words.

“What if these two are in heaven after all? Would they have the power to harm me if I refused to deliver the eulogy? Why take such a risk?”

The priest decided it would be safer for him to accept Giovanni’s request but keep the eulogy short and simple.

At the cemetery, when all those who followed the two departed people to their final resting place had gathered around the burial hole in the ground, the priest started his eulogy.

“Dear friends, today we say good-bye to two twin souls, united in love by God’s will. When no one thought possible that Filomena and mastro Nicola would ever get married, the Lord brought forth an unrequested miracle, uniting them in holy matrimony. Another divine miracle took them to eternal life together, united in faith as they had been united in love.”

Giovanni thanked the priest for his short but meaningful words and promised to make a larger donation next time he went to Mass. The funeral procession was streamlined in single file to offer sympathies to Giovanni and his family and then it dispersed along the way back to the village into small groups that, as usual, started to dissect the eulogy and exchange gossip about the life of the couple that had just been buried.