The Coming of Fabrizze: A Novel (Black Squirrel Books) (12 page)

“But what's to be done?” said Vivolo.

“I'm not sure,” said Fabrizze. “Look at this. Do you know what it is? Take a guess.”

“A cup of earth,” said Vivolo. “A sample of the land?”

“It's from a mountain near my village,” said Fabrizze.

“A cup from a mountain,” said Vivolo.

“A mountain from a cup,” said Fabrizze. “Let me explain it to you. I was telling Grace about it. Yesterday I woke with a feeling I used to have. A cup was full inside me. I began to rush around. I emptied the cup. A little here, a little there. A pinch here, a pinch there. I looked back and saw nothing. It was like I lost it. Today I feel better. I did something. I made plans.”

“Stop a moment,” said Vivolo. “I want you to know something about me. Can you spend a day with me?”

“It isn't necessary,” said Fabrizze.

“Do you know anything about the stock market?” said Vivolo.

“Nothing at all,” said Fabrizze.

“Come with me on Monday,” said Vivolo. “You'll be interested. And I'd like to have you with me.” Monday was memorable.

First of all Fabrizze and Vivolo took breakfast together. They downed raw eggs mixed into cream. They drank black coffee and then they marched forth as though to slay the dragon. The street came alive at the sight of them.

“Look who's there!”

“Bravo, Fabrizze! He caught the panther!”

“Take him away!”

“Have a care!”

“Let him go first!”

“But where is he taking you, my boy?”

He was taking Fabrizze downtown to the stock exchange.

The exchange was located in a great room on the second floor of a black building. The room was already busy with people. Most of the men were down to their shirt sleeves. Women sat in high straight chairs. The focus of interest was a blackboard running from floor to ceiling on the front wall. The blackboard was covered with numbers and symbols. Three young men were going up and down ladders to change the numbers. They changed the numbers again and again. It seemed that nothing satisfied them. Another man sat on a stool in the corner. He was reading a yellow ribbon that came from a ticker with a globe of glass. It was his word that set the others dancing back and forth and up and down the ladders. Each report from him brought a change in the numbers and a comment from the crowd.

“Opening is firm.”

“Tide may turn.”

“Futures, futures.”

“Something to set the pace.”

“Steel is the key.”

“Watch the utilities.”

Vivolo drew Fabrizze aside.

“Do you hear the ticker in the corner?” he said. “It gives the sale and price of stock shares. The announcer calls it and these men change the prices on the blackboard. It's done in a matter of seconds. Look up there.”

“At the man on the ladder?” said Fabrizze.

“Do you see him erasing that number?” said Vivolo. “Just above there you see N-S-X. It stands for Great Northern Shore Railroad.”

“But I worked there,” said Fabrizze.

“I know, I know,” said Vivolo, smiling. “A hundred shares of it changed hands. While we talk here. It's up two dollars a share on the day. He changed the price on the board. Why were the shares sold? Someone thinks they are going down. Why were they bought? Someone thinks they are going up. You said that things were happening. But this is the place, my friend. Fortunes are made and lost every day. And sometimes in an hour. The only thing sure is change. Come this way.”

Vivolo found a chair for him.

“Don't leave this chair,” said Vivolo. “Someone will take it and you'll be forced to stand. Sit here. Watch and listen. I'll be back for you.”

Vivolo slipped into the crowd.

All day Fabrizze sat in the second row of high straight chairs. He could make nothing of the announcements. He watched the blackboard. Startling changes took place. Change melted into change. The ticker seldom stopped. It sounded more and more urgent. Hour by hour the tension mounted in the room. Telephones kept ringing. Men called advice to each other. There were sudden cries of anger and delight. Fists were raised. Above them hung a cloud of smoke in the blaze of white light.

“It's time to buy.”

“On the margin.”

“Bull is waking up.”

“Block of a thousand.”

“Long position.”

“At the market.”

“Shorts running for cover.”

An old man was sitting beside Fabrizze. He wore a battered brown hat. The lines of his face were drawn by the swoop of nose. His pale hidden eyes followed every change on the blackboard. A friend came to whisper in his ear. The old man gave him an order.

“Sell it, Casey, sell it,” he said.

“It's wise, Rafferty, it's wise.”

“They're marking time,” said Rafferty.

Casey went away. Presently he was back.

“Ten thousand,” he said. “After that dip.”

“Load up on it,” said Rafferty.

“All of it?”

“Loosen up the shorts,” said Rafferty.

Without turning Rafferty spoke to Fabrizze.

“How are things?” he said.

“Good, good,” said Fabrizze. “Thank you.”

“How does the market look to you?” said Rafferty.

“It's exciting.”

“A bit ragged,” said Rafferty. “Are you buying?”

“I'm just watching.”

“Looking before you leap?” said Rafferty. “Good for you.”

It was even more exciting in the afternoon. By then the room was packed with people. There was no longer that moment of silence for the flash of news from the ticker. Delight in the crowd carried over to drown out the words of the announcer. He was raising his voice to be heard.

“Block of a thousand,” he said. “Thirty.”

“A new high.”

“Talk of a merger.”

“Earnings improved.”

“Declared an extra.”

“The trend is up.”

“Ticker running behind.”

There was an argument about a chair in the first row.

“It's mine”.

“It was empty.”

“I went back to the broker.”

“It's the way I lost my own chair.”

Vivolo danced out of the crowd. He made a sign that everything was going well. He went back to talk with one of the men in a glass office. He came to Fabrizze.

“I put in an order to sell some stock,” he said. “Do you see that man in the office? He's called a broker. He buys and sells for us. I'm selling to take a profit.”

A man hurried past the chair.

“Textiles, textiles,” he was saying.

Vivolo followed him into the crowd.

The announcer pointed out that the trading would be finished in half an hour. His white shirt was dark with sweat. Ribbon came into his hands again.

“Voted that split,” he said.

“Sing it out.”

“Three for one,” said the announcer.

“Look out for that baby.”

“Good for ten.”

“A real performer.”

“Hold on,” said the announcer. “A block of ten thousand here. Up eight on the big mines. Ninety, ninety.”

“Eight on the mines.”

“Breaking through.”

“Word was out.”

“Thousand on the mines,” said the announcer. “Up three.”

A single roar went up from the corner. Several men had come together. They were closing in on the announcer. They were laughing and shouting.

“Box of cigars for that.”

“Do it again.”

“I dare you.”

“Thousand on the mines,” said the announcer. “Up five.”

“Listen to this.”

“They struck something.”

“A strike, a strike.”

“Ninety-eight closing,” said the announcer.

“Give us a hundred.”

“Do it again.”

“What is it?” said Fabrizze. “What's happening?”

Rafferty turned to give him an old sweet knowing smile.

“It must be gold,” he said. “It must be gold.”

V
IVOLO was in bubbling spirits. He promised to explain everything at the end of the week. Meanwhile he was enjoying himself. One morning he left his briefcase in the store where Rumbone would be sure to find it. Rumbone pounced with an air of breathless excitement. Inside was a bottle containing a map. The map showed the location of treasure forty paces east of the public square and forty paces up in a black building.

Poggio slipped down to investigate. He spent three hours there and then they chased him out. No one could follow his story.

“I'm going back,” said Poggio. “They'll never keep me away. They can throw me through the door, glass and all! It's the ticker, it's the ticker. I sat in a chair right under it. I was like a king. And then I heard it. It was in my ear and my head. It was going through me. I was sweating with it. My feet were tapping. I forgot everything. Someone left a cigar and I was smoking. The spittoon by the chair was all gold. And then it started. Everyone cried out. I shook my fist. I jumped up and down with the crowd. A man caught my arm. He said I was in his chair. I blew smoke in his face. ‘Iron and coal,' I told him. He threw me out. I went home to lie down a little. And now I hear that Fabrizze is buying a ticker for the store here. Ask him. He'll tell you about it.”

Fabrizze was waiting to ask Vivolo about it. Vivolo came for supper on Friday. Fabrizze poured wine and right away he began to fire questions. He went round and round the table.

“What happened on Monday?” he said. “I couldn't understand it. Not even what they were saying. And what were they doing?”

“It was perfect,” said Vivolo. “And you helped me just by being there. I knew you would. What a week it's been! The market broke through again.”

“Do you like your fish fried in oil?” said Grace.

“I prefer it broiled,” said Vivolo. “Listen, Fabrizze. Do you know how much money I made on Monday? Take a guess. Never mind, never mind. I made over a thousand dollars.”

“A thousand dollars?” said Fabrizze. “How is it possible?”

“It's only the beginning,” said Vivolo. “Let me tell you what happened. Week after week the market was going near the top. It kept falling back. And then on Monday it broke through. It set a new high. And then another. And then another. The market is learning to fly, my friend. And so am I. I may fly away.”

“Before supper?” said Grace.

Vivolo laughed in a soundless way. His dark eyes closed and the laughter turned in and flowed through his body. It seemed he was saving it for another time.

“But how is this money made?” said Fabrizze.

“A company issues stock,” said Vivolo. “Wait then. Say that you wanted to open another store.”

“But I do,” said Fabrizze.

“I thought so,” said Vivolo. “Say that you needed money to do it. You might issue shares of stock. I might buy them and be a partner in the store. Later I might sell them. Shares of stock on the exchange are bought by men called investors, or speculators, or traders. They hold the stock if they think it will go up. Otherwise they sell it.”

“Sell it to whom?” said Fabrizze.

“To those who think it will go up,” said Vivolo.

“And it's going up?” said Fabrizze.

“Straight up,” said Vivolo.

“But why are they selling it?” said Fabrizze.

“Some will take a small profit,” said Vivolo. “They have no faith in the future. They don't know how rich this country is. I tell you, Fabrizze, a giant is stirring. One of the traders used to say, ‘It's beyond the realm of the imagination!' And then he was saying, ‘It's beyond the realm!' Now he says, ‘Beyond!' It's a revelation.”

“It sounds like a fever,” said Grace.

“It's a sensation,” said Vivolo, gravely. He drained his glass of wine and leaned forward.

“Say it then,” said Fabrizze. “Tell us what you think.”

“I think the fish is done,” said Vivolo.

Rumors flashed through the neighborhood. It was as though a great whip had been cracked. Time and again Fabrizze was asked for a description of the stock exchange. His account was as baffling as it was vivid. The clues led back to the first clue of a black building that ticked in the heart of the city. No one could grasp the idea of the stocks. One thing sure, Vivolo was winning huge sums of money. Josephine heard the word thousand falling here and there like a cannon ball.

“Is it work?” she said. “How do they call him?”

“He calls himself a player,” said Rumbone. “A player, my dear, a player. He's playing here.”

“It's the rest of you who are playing,” said Josephine.

“He won a thousand dollars in seven hours,” said Rumbone. “Or was it seven thousand in an hour?”

“Go away,” said Josephine. “Let me think about it.”

She sat rocking on the porch. She rocked and rocked until she was dizzy with it. She gave a cry and put her hands to her temples.

Vivolo was waving to her from the sidewalk.

“Wait, wait,” said Josephine, swooping down.

Smiling, Vivolo leaned on his cane. Josephine held the fence for support. She caught her clean little apron and covered her mouth with it.

“Come closer then,” she said. “Why are you smiling? How did it go today?”

“Up, up,” said Vivolo.

“You won again? Don't say you won? You won?”

“Three hundred,” said Vivolo.

Josephine wiped her face with the apron.

“Or more,” said Vivolo.

He reached into his pocket as though for the money. He took out his golden watch. It held the sun and blinded her. She shook it off and gazed into his eyes. Suddenly she was dazzled by the light of his golden tooth.

“Come closer,” she said. “Let me look in the briefcase. Never mind! You'll finish me with it! How my heart is pounding! Wait, wait. Just one look. Do it then!”

“But I don't carry the money,” said Vivolo.

“Listen, listen. I have money saved from the boarders and the wine. You won three hundred?”

“Or more,” said Vivolo.

“Talk to Fabrizze,” said Josephine. “Tell me what he makes of it. I leave it to him. But why is he waiting?”

Fabrizze was somewhat bewildered. Day after day he hurried home from the store to follow Vivolo with questions. Something was eluding him.

“But how much money is needed to own the stock?” he said.

“It depends on the market price,” said Vivolo. “Some of it runs over five hundred dollars a share. There's one I'm studying. It costs twenty dollars a share. Two thousand dollars will buy one hundred shares. Are you listening? I'll make a hundred dollars if the stock goes up a point. I believe this stock will go up ten to twelve points in the next two months.”

“But why are they selling it?” said Fabrizze.

“They think it will go down.”

“And they are wrong,” said Grace.

“So it seems,” said Vivolo. “Listen a moment. Think of Paul. Watch him. He's full of energy. Talking and laughing. Running and jumping. Digging and climbing and pounding. He's busy all day, eh? It's the same with this America.”

“Why not buy more of the stock?” said Fabrizze. “Why not buy a thousand shares? Why not ten thousand?”

“Why not?” said Vivolo.

“You say its value will increase by half?”

“Or more,” said Vivolo.

“And if we bought a hundred shares we'd make a thousand dollars in two months?”

“Or more,” said Grace.

“Exactly,” said Vivolo. “Tonight I'll go over it again. It must be perfect.”

Fabrizze lay awake for hours. Igino was playing the harmonica in the night. The last song he played was for Fabrizze. It was a song of welcome and highest hope. Fabrizze sat up.

A door opened. Vivolo slipped out of his room and down the creaking stairs. Secret thrilling laughter escaped him. There was laughter in every corner of the house.

“Wait, Vivolo, wait,” said Fabrizze, going down. “Will you buy the stock for me? How does it look?”

“Perfect, perfect. They may even raise the dividend.”

“My mind is made up,” said Fabrizze. “Stop at the store in the morning. I'll have the money for you.”

“We'll make a fine team,” said Vivolo.

They shook hands on it.

Several days later Vivolo brought the certificate of stock to the store. Mancini framed it and nailed it on the wall. Friends came behind the counter for a close look. The color and flourish of it gave them a feeling of excitement. The certificate let it be known that Fabrizze was an owner of one hundred shares of oil stock.

“The truth is, he has ninety shares,” said Poggio.

“And the rest of it?” said Gritti.

“I own two shares,” said Poggio. “Fabrizze is taking the money out of my pay. It's the same with Rumbone and Mancini. They bought eight shares between them. Fabrizze shares everything.”

“And what about me?” said Gritti.

“You'll be left looking out the window,” said Poggio. “How can we lose with Fabrizze? Everything he touches comes alive. Think of the railroad. And the wine. And the store. Look at Bassetti.”

“It's true, it's true,” said Gritti.

“Wait a little,” said Poggio. “Vivolo is coming with the news. I'm going out to watch for him.”

Vivolo came in the afternoon with a report from the stock exchange. He strolled through the market. He stopped to look over the fruits and vegetables. Suddenly he held his thumb up.

“Look, look!” said Poggio. “It jumped up!”

Fabrizze hurried outside with Rumbone and Mancini. They were cheering Vivolo. Several customers joined in the applause.

“How far did it go?”

“Two points.”

“Wonderful!”

“But what's he done?”

“A look in the briefcase.”

“I don't carry the money,” said Vivolo.

They marched him into the back room. Bassetti had prepared a snack of ham and cheese and wine. Customers drifted in.

“What's happening?”

“Where's Fabrizze?”

“Give him a glass.”

“How much did I make?” said Rumbone.

“Eight dollars,” said Vivolo.

“And eight tomorrow,” said Rumbone. “And eight and eight.”

Fabrizze hushed them when Ravello came into the store. Ravello had his hands in his pockets.

“Way, Fabrizze, way,” he said. “Where are you? Come out, come out. Today I brought a dollar. A bit of Romano and nothing more. One miserable dollar, do you hear? But where are they?”

They pounced on him and put a glass of wine in his hands.

“Who didn't know it?” said Ravello. “Who didn't know it? No one shows his face for a dollar.”

Poggio had Gritti in the corner.

“What ticker?” Gritti was saying. “What is this ticker?”

“Some day I'll take you down there,” said Poggio. “It will be the end for you. It's like a song. You'll forget where you live. We'll never hear from you again.”

The next day Vivolo turned thumbs down.

“It jumped down,” said Poggio. “A day wasted.”

“A setback,” said Vivolo. “But it's a good sign. Rumors are going around. They started buying. They started buying in big blocks just before the ticker closed.”

“Big blocks?”

“Look out when they buy the cats and dogs,” said Vivolo.

“Cats and dogs?”

“Something must have happened,” said Vivolo. “We'll know tomorrow. It must be good news. Why else would they be buying? It may surprise us all.”

And so it did.

Vivolo came through the market with both his thumbs held high. Shouts were heard as he made his way down the aisle. All at once he was a familiar figure there.

“Here's the one in the derby.”

“It went up again.”

“But what is it that goes up and down?”

Their cries emptied the store.

“It jumped up!” said Rumbone. “It jumped up twice!”

“I sold the stock, I sold the stock,” said Vivolo. “Are you listening, Fabrizze? You made over a thousand dollars.”

“A thousand dollars?” said Fabrizze.

“The broker's commission is paid. A thousand dollars in five weeks. It's a magic touch you have! The company struck oil! I never gave it a thought. They say it's an ocean of oil. The stock went up eight points this morning!”

They were struck dumb. They watched Vivolo. They feasted their eyes on him. They waited as though for his blessing. One word would have brought them to their knees.

“And there's more to tell,” said Vivolo, winking. “You'll hear it after supper.”

Fabrizze heard a great deal during supper. He heard it from Grace. She was still trying to understand it when Vivolo came down from his room. Vivolo sipped wine and listened.

“Vivolo is right,” said Grace. “It is a revelation. You make a thousand dollars and never once leave the store.”

“I made nine hundred dollars,” said Fabrizze. “The rest of it is between Poggio and Rumbone and Mancini.”

“Where is the money?” said Grace.

“Downtown,” said Fabrizze.

“But how did you make it?” said Grace.

“By putting in two thousand of my own,” said Fabrizze. “It's a risk. Wasn't it a risk when I opened the store?”

“But you work in the store,” said Grace. “Wait then. I can't get hold of this. You made a thousand dollars. Where does it come from? Did someone lose a thousand? What good will come of it?”

“Give me a chance to spend it,” said Fabrizze. “Isn't it good to have a thousand dollars to spend?”

“But you had a thousand,” said Grace.

“Isn't it twice as good to have two?” said Vivolo.

“And what of the man who loses a thousand?” said Grace.

“He was playing to win,” said Vivolo. “Besides, you make it too exact. It isn't a game of cards.”