The Coming of Fabrizze: A Novel (Black Squirrel Books) (16 page)

“Is it better to turn away from them?”

“It isn't that,” said Vivolo. “They were counting on him. It's hard to put into words. It's like everyone was up and running a little. Do you remember when he spoke of that? It will be easier if they don't have to see him and ask questions. What is there to say? I agree with him. Wounds will heal. Soon they'll be watching and hoping for his return.”

“I wish he changes his mind,” said Grace.

“I was trying to change it,” said Vivolo. “I knew how you'd feel. I offered to pay the debts. But he is set on leaving. Perhaps it's one of the reasons he borrowed on everything.”

“I'll talk to him when he comes,” said Grace.

“May I have more wine?” said Vivolo. “Do you realize that I haven't even counted my money? I made well over a million. Take a glass with me.”

Grace poured the wine. Suddenly she was afraid to look at him. She could feel his dark steady eyes.

“I was thinking of something,” said Vivolo. “I saw Fabrizze coming tonight if he'd won. There would be a celebration. I came like a thief. And now I leave like one.”

“Are you leaving?”

“There will be nothing here for me,” said Vivolo.

“But where are you going?”

“Around the world,” said Vivolo. “It means nowhere. But I'll rest and see different things…. Let me drink a toast to the days I spent here. A string of jewels to carry with me.”

“We'll miss you.”

“Before I forget,” said Vivolo. “Fabrizze will know that everything is all right if he sees you on the porch swing. He says he remembers another night.”

“I'll go out then.”

“Don't worry about him,” said Vivolo. “Now he'll be sure of what he has. I would trade places with him. But he's done with trading, eh? Listen then. I'll be leaving here in a few minutes. I packed my bag yesterday. I'll take a room in town until my things are in order. There'll be too many questions after you go.”

Vivolo drained his wine and stepped to the door. He was tapping his right foot. His dark eyes were bright.

“What if you have a baby girl?” he asked. “What name would you give her?”

“I don't know,” sad Grace. “I don't know.”

“There was a girl in my village,” said Vivolo. “We used to walk together. She died when she was seventeen. Her name was Fantina. I liked it.”

“I'll call the girl Fantina,” said Grace.

Vivolo was gazing down as at a grave.

“Many lovely things,” he said.

T
HE neighborhood was astounded by the sudden disappearance of Fabrizze. Indeed, the shock was so great that no one believed it. Friends hurried to the house on Jackson Street. The old place was warm and alive with his presence. True enough they had heard the reports of disaster on the stock exchange. But it was over. Surely Fabrizze would be there to tell what happened and to show a secret startling way out of it.

“Come to the basement,” said Rumbone. “Fabrizze buried wine. He wants us to have it. And there's a barrel to be finished.”

“Drown me in it,” said Cardino.

“Where is he?” said Josephine. “Why isn't he here?”

“He'll be coming,” said Rumbone. “First he wants to pay the debts. I'm selling the house and land for him.”

“You mean he lost everything?” said Gritti. “I can't take it in. I can't believe it.”

“It's a serious thing with these stocks,” said Rumbone. “The newspaper tells about it. Everything is falling.”

“But what are these stocks?” said Cardino.

“When is he coming?” said Josephine.

“How could he lose everything in two days?” said Gritti.

“Because he risked everything,” said Rumbone. “He borrowed to save your money. He borrowed on everything he owned. He lost the store, too. Ask Rossi.”

“I can't believe it,” said Poggio. “I have the bottle here and the cork is stuck. I can't take it out.”

Rumbone sold the land in the suburb. He took the nine hundred dollars to Josephine. The old lady was suspicious. She thought it was some sort of bribe.

“I'll take it,” she said. “But I believe nothing. Poggio says the stocks are jumping up again.”

“It's too late,” said Rumbone. “Listen then. There'll be more money for you when I sell the house and furniture. Fabrizze says we should take what we like and sell the rest. I took the dictionary to remember him.”

“Tell Fabrizze about the stocks,” said Josephine. “And let me know when he comes. Send for me even if it's in the night.”

It took a month to sell the furniture. Rumbone stalked each customer. He asked searching questions. He wanted to be sure that the tables and chairs were going into the right hands.

“Five dollars for a kitchen chair?” said a man. “Are you out of your mind? Who sat there?”

“Why do you shout?” said Rumbone. “I'll tell you the news, my friend. The price to you is ten.”

“Ten? Ten?”

“Shout, shout,” said Rumbone.

“Keep the chair!”

“I will keep it,” said Rumbone.

Last to go was the furniture in the bedroom. A German came with his wife and son. He took the dresser and lamp and table. He came again and was bouncing on the bed. His eyes glittered. He looked at his wife. Her eyes glittered as she squeezed her son's hand. The boy kicked Rumbone in the shin and challenged him with fearless blue eyes.

“This is good,” said his father, bouncing. “How much?”

“A thousand dollars,” said Rumbone.

He gave the bed to Mancini.

The crowning blow was the sale of the house. Nothing was left for Fabrizze. Worse yet, no one could explain how the house fell into the hands of Fasano. The strategy of Rumbone was baffling.

“Who didn't know it?” said Poggio. “Rumbone fought for three days over the spoons and forks. He almost came to blows over the cups and saucers. And then he gives the house to a man like Fasano. We'll see about this.”

Friends gathered in the street on the dark day that Fasano took possession. Adelina was wringing her hands. Josephine gave a sob. There were tears in the eyes of Lucia. Bassetti watched with his hands hanging helplessly at his sides. Poggio sat brooding on the porch swing. Fasano gave him an ugly look and went inside.

He found guests. Gritti and Cardino and Rumbone were drinking wine in the basement. All night they had been drinking. They were trying to finish the last barrel. Fasano cursed them. He chased them out. Rumbone staggered into the crowd with a cup held tight against his hip.

“What's in that cup?” cried Fasano. “It's mine! This is all my property! I bought everything here! Stop that man! What's in that cup? Thief, thief!”

It was the cup of mountain earth from the Abruzzi.

The next morning winter came in a black rush. The trees were blown bare. Strange clouds swam up like whales to swallow the sun. A sick feeling of loss crept through the neighborhood. Every heart swelled with longing to see Fabrizze and hear from him a word of shining hope. They spoke of him as of a child stolen away. It was a bitter thing to look at the house on Jackson Street. The shades were drawn. The gate was locked and the swing had been removed in the night.

“Swinging is for children,” said Fasano. “I don't swing here and so no one swings. And I'll get my cup. No one plays tricks on Annibale Fasano!”

He was wrong. The best news of the day was that someone had thrown a rock through his window. Tied around the rock was a note telling him there would be no peace in his life until he found the stolen cup. Poggio reported the news. He reported it to Cardino an hour or so before it happened.

“One thing more,” said Poggio. “Annibale stopped at the store this afternoon. I was there to serve him. He wanted cheese ground up for spaghetti. He made me so nervous I dropped a piece of soap in the grinder. A good thing it was the white soap.”

“Tell me what happened to Fabrizze,” said Cardino. “Where is he? Why isn't he here to tell us something?”

“He's coming,” said Poggio. “First he'll pay the debts. The house and land brought forty-four hundred dollars. Or more. All of it went to Josephine.”

“I have this feeling,” said Cardino. “I have this feeling he left something for me. What is this feeling?”

“He left word for you,” said Poggio. “I'm here to tell you the sun never sets. Can you remember? The sun is always shining!”

“It's better to talk to myself,” said Cardino. “Go home. Take some Brioschi. Your system needs cleaning out.”

“Wait then,” said Poggio. “I was with Fabrizze the last day. He said you must gather all the money you can. Beg, borrow, steal. There'll be another experiment with the stocks in the spring!”

Cardino closed his eyes.

“What a day, what a day,” he said, wearily. “I was looking in the mirror. Do you know what I saw there? An old man. Look how gray I'm getting. How gray, how gray!”

“How black it is among the gray,” said Poggio.

“I went to work with Gritti,” said Cardino. “I was watching him. It's like I was seeing him for the first time. What a face! All dark and lumpy like a stew.”

“You're talking about Gritti,” said Poggio.

“He was watching me,” said Cardino. “I could feel it. ‘Look how gray,' he was thinking. He took my arm. We helped each other to the tool shed. We sat in the corner and talked. We were trying to understand about Fabrizze. Rossi found us and sent us home.”

Cardino drained his wine and leaned back in the chair. He was gazing at Poggio. Poggio fell right in with it. He watched Cardino. His eyes opened wide.

“How gray it is among the black,” said Poggio.

“Brioschi for you,” said Cardino.

A time of trouble had come. It seemed that everyone was in pain. Cardino complained of hot flashes in his legs. Now and then he had the curious feeling that he had sprung a leak and was losing his strength little by little. Gritti dreamed that he had been hit by a boxcar and for weeks he was aching all over with it. Mancini broke out in a rash. Bassetti was so exhausted that he fell asleep wherever he sat. His appetite was gone. He prepared a new list of pallbearers. Adelina was taken with dizzy spells. Josephine had two teeth left and they kept her awake at night. In the morning she had the old throbbing pain in the side near the pocket. Poggio had to lie down a little.

There was no help in the rumors going round. It was known that Fabrizze had promised to return. Now came word that he had never left. He was nearby watching them. Mysterious notes were flooding the neighborhood. Gritti received one with instructions to look on his door step at midnight on Sunday. He was warned to keep it secret. There would be “a surprise of green as a reward for your money and your trust and that other money, too, all of it.”

“Can it be?” said Gritti. “A surprise of green? How he puts things! But it's a trick! I'm sick of everything!”

Sharp at midnight he opened his door. He flung it open with the awful cry of a man plunging into darkness. Before him was a basket of endive.

Josephine was on the list. She heard that a package would be delivered by a pair of loyal friends. The package would “fill the empty places, my dear, like a music.” It was delivered by Rumbone and Poggio. The old lady was breathless as she fumbled with string and three layers of brown paper.

“The empty places,” she said. “He was waiting then!”

“Cut the string,” said Poggio. “Cut it, cut it.”

“How exciting,” said Rumbone.

“He was waiting,” said Josephine. “He was waiting!”

They reached the choral stage by the time Josephine unwrapped the shoe box. She tore off the lid. Within was a length of pepperoni. A last hasty bite had been taken. Josephine turned away. She dragged herself into the closet and shut the door.

“O, Fabrizze,” she wailed. “Look what they've done! Where are you then? What's to become of us? O, Fabrizze!”

“Come back, Fabrizze,” said Poggio, lamenting. “The coffee is on. The stocks are jumping up.”

“All that money,” said Josephine. “Poor me, poor me!”

“Cheese and bread,” said Poggio.

“O, Fabrizze,” said Rumbone, from the depths. He was bringing a quart of wine from the cellar.

“Tomato and pepperoni,” said Poggio.

“It's like a dream,” said Josephine. “But where are you?”

“Come out and I'll tell you,” said Poggio.

There was silence. Josephine came out.

“I believe nothing,” she said, grimly. “I believe nothing until I hear it from Fabrizze. And that's all.”

“You're making a mistake,” said Poggio. “The mistake, my dear, is in thinking that Fabrizze is gone. He never left. He's living in disguise around the corner. He's disguised as Salupo. And sometimes he goes as Bassetti.”

“Fabrizze went back to the Abruzzi,” said Rumbone. “I know it. I feel it in my bones. I'm writing this letter to Augustine. We'll find out for sure. And besides, I want a wife. It will be a bad winter without Fabrizze. A bad winter.”

Rumbone wrote the letter. He gave a stirring account of his brilliant progress in the New World. He asked for a wife.

“Let her be sound in health,” he said. “A clear eye and full lips. A soft voice. She should be happy in the mornings.”

Rumbone told the story of the stocks. Suddenly he charged that Augustine was hiding Fabrizze in the mountains.

“We know he is there,” said Rumbone. “And he belongs with us. Never mind that our savings were wiped out. Yesterday is behind us. We will save again. Fabrizze is welcome to the money! Tell him so. Tell him to come home then. We are taking up a collection. We want him here for the holidays.”

There was a long rambling letter in reply. Rumbone read it to a gathering of friends. Augustine made it clear that the success of Rumbone came as no surprise. Where was the barrier to such a blend of passion and intelligence? Things were different in Rivisondoli. Passion there was, and guile enough, but all doors were bolted fast. As for a wife, Rumbone would surely get what he deserved.

At length Augustine informed them that he was hearing about Fabrizze for the first time.

“What are these stocks?” said Augustine. “I swear to you that Fabrizze is not here. If he comes I will send him to you with my sons. Two fine boys I have. Fabrizze told me to have them ready. I packed their things. All in one bag! They have nothing but hope. Poor darlings. I had them doing little exercises to be strong for this America. Now it is the end. Winter is here. An avalanche of snow. We are struck dumb. All day we sit by the kitchen stove.”

Augustine begged them to have patience with Fabrizze. All at once he cried shame. The thought of his nephew took him prisoner. He wrote in glowing terms. It was like a poem. Augustine trembled with warmth in his icy corner of the world.

“Tomorrow lies before you,” he said. “And I say that you will soon have word from Fabrizze himself!”

Augustine went further. He swore that Fabrizze would return to them. How could they doubt such a thing? How happy he would be in their place! How he envied them in beautiful America! How sick it made him to sit and sit by the stove!

“I am in chains!” he said. “Send something for the holidays!”

There were excited cries.

“Did you hear him?” said Gritti.

“Read it again,” said Adelina.

“I'd like to see him,” said Penza.

“A collection for Augustine,” said Poggio.

“But he says there'll be word from Fabrizze,” said Josephine.

They drank to it. And it was so.

A letter came to Rossi before the holidays. Fabrizze was writing from Chicago. It came as a shock. So absorbed was everyone in the speculation about him that it would have come as a shock to hear he was anywhere at all.

The letter was passed around. Few of them could read and yet it was a delight to follow the sweep and flourish of the writing. Fabrizze belonged to them once more. Everyone wanted the letter and in the end everyone had it. Poggio made copies to fill the demand. The details varied.

“I see my name!” said Cardino. “What's written here?”

“Fabrizze had this dream about you,” said Poggio. “He dreamed that the seas turned to wine. And where were you? You were left right here to repair the switches. But you were smiling through the tears. How proud he was!”