Why care about something that seems to have no purpose or explanation? In the back of my mind are the lingering questions of why the Russos are involved in these otherworldly activities and what their endgame is. Something feels off, or bad, about all this, but is it really, and should that matter to me? Can I put it aside?
My chosen path is to do nothing. I continue to regard the references and invitations by Giovanni’s parents to partake in their spiritual practice as nothing short of stupid, even though Giovanni has taken the time to elaborate on the subject and reveal that he has taken part in some of his parents’ séances and has seen greater things than I could even imagine. I express my doubts concerning a personal investment of any kind into such ridiculous spiritual activity by remaining silent on the subject, simply not replying to their inquiries when provoked to do so. Only when I acknowledge the legitimacy of the inexplicable cause of the events that have taken place concerning the Russos’ involvement in my life, or the UFO we saw together, do they relent on the topic. What I take away from all these events is that these people live by some sort of combination of La Cosa Nostra code and guidance from spirits conjured up during séances hosted in their living room.
It’s not that I don’t believe Giovanni when he says that he has recently seen a spirit appear in human form walking right into the room out of a solid wall . . . but what am I supposed to do with that? I grew up roaming city streets after school, looking for a friend or classmate to stay with, bouncing from house to house ever since I can remember. I have no desire to seek help or direction from God, the universe, spirits, UFOs, or anything of the sort. I’ve made it this far on my own without any of those being there for me.
One evening I ask them point-blank at the dinner table in a sort of jovial tone, “So, are you guys in the mafia?” All I receive in response is a glare from Francesco that lasts for what seems like forever. He puts his fork on his plate while he glares, and Greta, Adriana, and Giovanni just sort of stop eating and look at the floor. This is when I realize just how secretive these people are. In fact, whenever I press them for any direct information about themselves and the shadiness that defines them (although I don’t phrase it like this), I am always met with an evasive or vague response. It becomes clear that they are so dead serious about maintaining whatever path of life it is they’ve chosen that they won’t even let me in on it, even though I’m becoming more and more like an adopted son.
The only information I ever get comes from Francesco directly, as he loves preaching about how life is meant to be lived. The gist of it is to basically play society’s game well enough to stay off the radar, but to live under the authority of a code that is to be followed in order to gain respect, be feared even, and get what you want . . . money, power, sex, drugs, a house, a car—anything. I feign interest when he says these things, and then simply turn a blind eye and figure that as long as I am loyal to them, I can continue to enjoy the ride.
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