| I939: BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS A bright light glared out of a kitchen window overlooking Fishermen s Wharf. It was at the foot of Fleet Street. The old man, Gustavo Menesiero, sat on a wooden chair facing his youngest grandson, Bephino. The tan-year-old boy stared into the eyes of his grandfather as tales and fables, mixed with truths and wisdom, were passed down through the reflections of blood-ridden history-- a moment of closeness for both the man and the boy. Gustavo was short, stocky, and powerful. His white hair, brown eyes, and unshaven face gave him an innocent look. The young boy s red lips and absorbing eyes were set off by a nest of curly brown hair. He watched and listened silently and |
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