Chapter 9 Nine

Nine The rest is up to Cranston, Rhode Island.Cranston is located south of Boston, while Ipswich is north of Boston, and Cranston is slightly further away from Boston.I introduced Jennifer to her future in-laws, things blew up (she said: "So I'm going to call them gangsters, then?"), and I've had to meet her ever since Father, my heart beats like a drum.Because, at this meeting, I still had to wrestle with amorous Italian-Mediterranean maladies, and since Gianni was an only child, and she had no mother, she must have been unnaturally close to her father.I have to deal with all the emotional forces written in psychology books.

1 The original text is outlaws, here it is a pun, which contains two meanings of "non-public and non-female" and "bandits and gangsters". Plus, I don't have a penny. I mean: Suppose there's another Oliver Barreto, a nice Italian guy from the next neighborhood in Cranston, Rhode Island.He came to see Mr. Cavilelli--Mr. Cavilelli was a working pastry chef in the city.The young man said: "I want to marry your only daughter, Jennifer." How would the old man ask the first sentence? (He has no doubts about Barreto's love, because it is a universal truth that since he is on good terms with Gianni, he must love Gianni.) No, Mr. Cavirelli would ask questions like: "Barreto, what do you support her on?"

1 "Luo" and "Tuo" are Italianized suffixes. Imagine the reaction of that good Don Caveleri if Barreto had told him that, on the contrary, it would be his daughter who would support his son-in-law for at least the next three years?Wouldn't the good Don Cavilelli want to drive Barreto out?If Barreto can't reach my figure, won't he be beaten up by him? It would be strange otherwise. Perhaps it was for this reason that on that Sunday afternoon in May, when we were driving south along Highway 95, I followed the speed limit on the road signs. .But Jenny had grown fond of the speedy car I was used to, so she complained once that I only got to forty in a forty-five section.When I told her the car was in need of repairs, she didn't believe it.

"Tell me that again, Jen." Patience is not Jenny's strong point, and she answered some silly questions I asked without repeating them to boost my confidence. "Say it again, Jenny, please." "I called him. I told him. He said OK. It was in English; because, didn't I tell you? You still don't seem to believe it: he doesn't speak a word of Italian." I understand, I can only scold a few words at most." "But what exactly does OK mean?" "You mean, the graduate students accepted by Harvard Law School don't even understand the meaning of OK?"

"That's not a legal term, Janney." She strokes my arm.Thank God, now I understand.However, I need further clarification.I must know what kind of problems I will encounter. "OK can also mean 'I agree'." She then became merciful, repeating the details of her conversation with her father countless times.Her father is very happy.I'm so happy.When he sent his daughter to Radcliffe, he didn't expect her to come back to Cranston to marry the boy next door (who, by the way, proposed to her just before she left home) .He couldn't believe at first that his daughter's fiancé was really Oliver Barrett Fourth.He later warned his daughter not to break the eleventh commandment.

1. The "Ten Commandments" are the basic commandments of Christianity, and the so-called "Eleventh Commandments" here comes from this. "The Eleven Commandments? Which one?" I asked her. "Don't talk nonsense to your father," she said. "Oh." "It's over, Oliver. I won't lie to you." "Does he know I'm poor?" "Know." "He has no objection?" "He and you have at least this in common." "But he'd be happier if I had two dollars, wouldn't he?" "Won't you change it?"

I stopped ringing and never spoke again along the way. Janney lived on a street called Hamilton Road, a long row of wooden houses with many children in front of them and a few sparse trees.I drove down the street, trying to find a place to park, but I just felt like I was in a foreign country.First of all, there are so many people here.Not only the kids were playing, but the adults were all sitting on the porch as a family. They didn't seem to have anything to do on this Sunday afternoon, so they all watched me park the MG sports car. Jenny jumped out of the car first.Once in Cranston, she was astonishingly responsive, like a lively little grasshopper.The people watching on the porch saw who was coming, and there was only a chorus of cheers.It turned out to be a good girl from the Cavilelli family!I was so ashamed that I almost didn't dare to get out of the car when I heard the greetings that greeted her.I mean, I'm not at all worthy of being that imaginary Oliver Barreto.

"Hi, Jenny!" I heard a standard fat lady shout happily. "Hi, Mrs. Capodilupo," I heard Gianni answer loudly.I got out of the car and felt people's eyes on me. "Hey—who's this boy?" cried Mrs. Capodilupo.People here don't seem to have a lot of heart, do they? "He's no big deal!" Jenny answered loudly.That statement did wonders for boosting my confidence. "Yes," said Mrs. Capodilupo aloud to me, "but the girl he's with has no character at all!" "He knows it all," Jenny replied. Then she turned to deal with the neighbors on the other side.

"He knows it all." The enthusiastic neighbors on the other side are also very large.She took me by the hand (I'm a stranger in Paradise) and led me upstairs to Room A at 189 Hamilton Road. It was such an awkward moment. I stood there dumbfounded.I only heard Gianni say, "This is my father," and Phil Cavilelli's hand reached out to me.He was a rugged Rod Islander in his late fifties, about five feet nine inches tall, and weighed an estimated one hundred and sixty-five pounds. We shook hands, and he shook hands firmly. "Hello sir!" "It's Phil," he corrected me. "My name is Phil."

"Yes, Phil," I replied, continuing to shake his hand. It was another scary moment.For the next moment Mr. Cavilelli let go of my hand, turned to his daughter and uttered an earth-shattering cry: "Jennifer!" There was no movement for a while.But in a blink of an eye they hugged each other.Hold tight.Very tight very tight.Still shaking vigorously.Mr. Cavilelli could no longer speak, but called his daughter's name over and over (now very softly): "Jennifer".His daughter, who was about to graduate cum laude from Radcliffe, had to answer over and over again: "Phil."

I've really become a superfluous person. My good upbringing helped me a little that afternoon.I have been taught since I was a child that you should not talk when you have food in your mouth.Now that Phil and his daughter acted in unison to deliver everything to my mouth, of course I don't have to talk.The amount of pastry I ate that day must have been a record-breaking portion.Afterwards I made a long discourse about my favorite pastries (I ate at least double of each, so as not to offend either party), to the delight of both the Cavilellis and their daughters. up. "He's OK," Phil Cavilleri told his daughter. What does this mean? There is no need to explain the meaning of OK; what I want to know is that I only have a few cautious actions, which point has won me such a loving evaluation? Is it right for me to say which kind of pastries I like?Is it because of the strength of my handshake?Or something else? "Phil, I told you he was OK," said Mr. Cavereri's daughter. "Yeah, that's all right," said her father, "but I've got to see it for myself. Now I see it. Oliver?" He talked to me. "What is it, sir?" "It's Phil." "Yes, Phil, what's the matter?" "You are OK." "Thank you, sir. I'm so grateful. Really grateful. You know how much I feel for your daughter, sir. And to you, sir." "Oliver," interjected Jenny, "don't be so babbling, put away that goddam stupid preppy look of yours—" "Jennifer," Mr. Cavilelli interrupted her, "don't swear, will you? This son of a bitch is a guest!" When it was time for dinner (so much pastry was only a snack), Phil wanted to have a serious talk with me, and of course that was the subject.I don't know what weird reason he relied on, but he thought he had a way to reconcile Oliver's third and fourth words. "I'll give him a call and talk to him, daddy to daddy," he said. "Stop it, Phil, it's a waste of time." "I can't sit here and watch a father who doesn't know his son. I can't leave it alone." "Yes. But I don't know him anymore, Phil." "I don't want to listen to your words," he was really a little angry now. "Father's love should be cherished and respected. It is rare and precious." "Especially in my house," I said. Jenny stood up, sat down, and kept busy serving food, so she didn't participate in most of these conversations. "You go and hang up on him," Phil repeated. "I'll talk to him." "No, Phil. There's a cold line between me and Dad." "Well, I say, Oliver, he'll be soft-hearted. You're right, he'll be soft-hearted. When he goes to church--" Jenny, who was serving dessert at that moment, called out to her father in a very serious tone on hearing this: "Phil...?" "What, Jen?" "Speaking of going to church..." "how?" "Well—kind of the opposite opinion, Phil." "Oh?" Mr. Cavilelli responded, and immediately came to a wrong conclusion, so he turned to me apologetically and said: "I—er—not necessarily saying you have to go to Catholic Church, Oliver. I mean, Jennifer must have told you, too, that we're Catholic. But I mean, go to your church. Same goes, Oliver. God will bless the marriage in whatever church it is, I assure you." I looked over to Gianni, who apparently hadn't talked about this crucial issue during the phone call. "Oliver," she explained, "you can't talk to him about such a lot of things at once, lest the blow be too great." "What's the matter?" asked the always amiable Mr. Cavilelli. "Son, don't be afraid of blows, just say it, say it. I'm not afraid of blows, if you have anything on your mind, just pour it out." How could it be at this very moment that my eyes caught sight of the porcelain statue of the Virgin Mary on the wall shelf in Mr. Cavilelli's dining room? "It's the blessing of God, Phil," Janney said, avoiding his eyes. "What, Jen, what?" Phil asked, fearing his worst fears were about to happen. "Er—sort of the opposite opinion, Phil," she said.Then she looked at me and asked me for help—and I tried my best to give her support with my eyes. "Not even God? Whose God doesn't want it?" Jenny nodded "yes". "Can I explain, Phil?" I asked. "please." "Neither of us is religious, Phil. And we don't want to be duplicity hypocrites." It was I who said that, I thought, and that was why he endured it.If Jenny had said it, he might have punched her.But now he was isolated, an outsider.He couldn't lift his eyes and looked at no one. "Okay then," he said after a long, long time. "Then can you tell me who will do the wedding?" "We'll do it," I said. He looked at his daughter, wanting to confirm.She nodded.It shows that what I said is true. After a long silence, he said again: "Okay." Then he asked me, I will be a lawyer in the future, so I would like to ask if such a marriage counts—how should I put it? —Yes, is it legal? Gianni explained that our planned wedding would be officiated by the University's Unitarian pastor (Phil whispered. "Ah, pastor!"), and that the bride and groom would talk to each other in the pastor's presence. sentence. "The bride's talking too?" he asked, almost as if this one--nothing else mattered, but this one--would kill him. "Philip," said his daughter, "do you think I can hold myself back?" "That's true, honey," he said, forcing a small smile on his face. "I think you have to say a few words." As we drove back to Cambridge, I asked Janey how she thought the day was going. "OK," she said.