The Coming of Fabrizze: A Novel (Black Squirrel Books) (3 page)

“He's like a light in the house.”

“It will be a great loss for your mother. How is she then?”

“She was praying for me to come home,” said Augustine. “And now she's praying for me to take Cennino away.”

Augustine was right. One hope Rosa had and it was to get her grandson started in a new life in America. Day and night she argued with Augustine. Thwarted, she put her hands to her temples as though something had caved in on her.

“Everyone talks of going,” she said, spitefully.

“But it's not what you think,” said Augustine.

“Nor is it what you say,” said Rosa. “You sing in the square and with me you talk out of the corner of the mouth. Is it true that hundreds are going from Naples each month? Did you see them in America? How do they fare?”

“Dropping to the left and right as though shot down. There was one who became a sailor. He was going back and forth and in the end he chose the sea. The world outside,” said Augustine, pointing to the west.

“Listen then,” said Rosa. “Let me tell you about this Cennino. You left a boy here and found a man past twenty. I'll tell you about that boy before you lose him. He did everything for me. He plowed and planted and brought in the grain. He took care of the cow and the pigs. He helped to put up ham and cheese and lard against the winter. And then one year I was sick. Three months in bed with a stiff back. I couldn't move. I couldn't even sit down. He watched me like a baby. In the afternoon he lifted me out of bed and held me in the sun a little. He was up before the light to make bread. And in the night he would read the books that Don Antonio brought from Rome.”

“And so you'll send him away,” said Augustine.

“All he talks about is this America,” said Rosa. “He's ashamed to trouble you with his questions. But he follows you in the day.”

It was true. Now and then Augustine heard that soft dancing footfall. He would turn in the cobbled street. The young man had withdrawn into a doorway. Suddenly he stepped forth. His golden hair held the sun and his blue eyes were big with wonder.

“Why is it you follow me?” said Augustine, startled by the shining look of him.

“I like to be with you.”

“You're mixing it up. I'm not your father.”

“He went away. He wrote a letter about a wild horse.”

“I heard about that horse,” said Augustine.

“He said he woke one morning and the horse was pounding outside the door. He jumped on and rode away.”

“He left you here to starve,” said Augustine.

“We were starving when he was here.”

“At least you have the truth of it,” said Augustine. “And I don't like this name he gave you. It's for a boy and not a man. It's better if you answer only to Fabrizze. Say it for me.”

“Fabrizze.”

“It's Fa-
breets
-eh” said Augustine. “The stroke of an axe.”

“Fabrizze!”

“Fabrizze!”

“Fabrizze!”

A window was opened.

“What's happening?” said Filomena.

“Where, my dear?” said Augustine.

“I keep hearing the name Fabrizze,” said Filomena.

“Your condition is interesting,” said Augustine. “Put the coffee on and I'll be up in a moment…. Go home, Fabrizze. At supper you'll sing for me.”

Fabrizze hurried home to help Rosa prepare the supper. They rolled veal in flour and egg and then fried it in olive oil. They toasted mellow bulbs of mozzarella cheese. Rosa cut three great slices of dark sweet bread. There was red wine and strong coffee and little yellow apples.

“He's coming, Nino, he's coming,” said Rosa. “Spare him nothing when you sing. Fall to the floor at the end of it. Put your hands on his knees. Pay attention!”

Augustine came in and sat down.

“Sing for your uncle,” said Rosa. “His food will taste so much the better. Sing ‘Mama.'… No mercy, do you hear?”

Fabrizze planted himself six feet away from Augustine. He took aim. Suddenly his voice filled the house. He cried out for his lost mother. His eyes were shut and his face was white with passion. The last wild gesture almost brought Augustine headlong into his arms.

Augustine had dropped his fork. Violent shivers were racing up and down his spine.

“He has no one, poor child, no one at all,” said Rosa, clasping her hands. “What's to be done, what's to be done?”

“Give me a kiss,” said Augustine. “Your poor mother is dead, my boy, and the song runs me through like a sword.”

“What's to be done?” said Rosa, wailing.

Just before he woke each morning Augustine would hear Fabrizze singing in the old stone house. A remembered song seemed to send a silver light into his sleep. Augustine would lie in bed for a long while. From the stable below his room rose the strong homely smell of livestock. A horse went its lazy clip-clop over the cobbles. Men saluted each other in bursts of recognition. Voices were packed with surprise and delight.

“Folino.”

“Gullo.”

“Rumbone.”

They waited to give and take a bit of warmth in the clear tremendous morning. Their eyes were sharp and steady and yet their sudden smiles would melt the heart.

“A bright day,” someone would say.

“A light to keep us honest.”

The men were going to the fields. Some were dozing as they rode patient little donkeys through the cool streets and down the path. Here and there old women in black were saying the rosary on steps of sunlit stone. Presently the men were free of the village. Everywhere the mountains told a mighty story.

“Fabrizze,” said Augustine.

Fabrizze brought a cup of black coffee. He sat away from the bed so as not to intrude on his uncle first thing in the morning. Augustine beckoned him closer to feel the warmth and love in those deep soft eyes.

“Listen to me,” said Augustine. “It's not true what you hear. You have wrong ideas…. Look outside. Do you see how it seems with the sun? The sun must climb the mountains to bring light into this village. Always the same hard climb to win the day. It was the same for me in America.”

“But we'll climb together. How I look forward to it!”

“You must forget what I've been telling the people here. It's true enough that America is a good place. For the young it's even better. But it means work. It means work.”

“I'm not afraid,” said Fabrizze. “I take hold of things with both hands. I push or pull and it's all the same to me. I'm never tired. I love to work.”

“You've been at the wine, eh?” said Augustine.

“I'll work for us both.”

“All right then,” said Augustine. “We'll go and be together for a time. But I'm coming back. I'm getting older and I want a family of my own.”

“When will we leave?”

“In the spring of the year.”

“The spring, the spring!”

“We'll go to a place called Cleveland. There'll be work on the railroad. Perhaps you can go to school at night. Now you must get some books from Don Antonio. Do things right. Learn the language and the ways of this America. Do it with your heart.”

“Which way is it? Which way will we go?”

“After the sun,” said Augustine, carried away.

Fabrizze gave a cry and hurried to the kitchen. Rosa took her milky hands from a pail. She was making mozzarella cheese. She stopped to prepare the breakfast. She set forth a dish of sweet white butter in coils. She poured coffee and cream into three cups. As always there was the great loaf of bread with the sign of the cross in it.

“Sing for your uncle,” she was saying.

“Stop with this singing,” said Augustine, coming in. “It's all settled. I'll take him to America.”

“What is it?” said Rosa.

“I say we're going to America.”

“But when?” said Rosa, aghast.

“Why so surprised?” said Augustine. “It's the only thing I've been hearing from you.”

Rosa rushed outside with hands against temples.

The village shared in the excitement and preparation. There was endless talk about it. A sudden unrest gripped the young men. It seemed they were imprisoned by the dead black wall of mountain. They threatened to leave as soon as they could save the fare. They begged Augustine to send for them. One night the ancient midwife Caterina packed her things and said she was determined to go unless she received better treatment at home.

Fabrizze had everyone speaking a few words of English.

“Hello, hello,” he would say.

“Hello, hello,” said the neighbor Ferrari.

“And goodbye, goodbye,” said Fabrizze.

“And goodbye, goodbye,” said Ferrari.

Gifts were brought during the winter. Here was a woolen blanket. Consolo made fine strong shoes for them. Someone left an axe. Ferrari came with a sheath of long white underwear for Fabrizze.

“Made by my Anna,” said Ferrari. “It will keep the warmth of you inside. You'll remember old Ferrari, eh?”

“And for me,” said Augustine. “Is there nothing for me?”

Ferrari gave him a little whip cut from leather.

“For your imagination,” he said.

Augustine was troubled. He spent the winter girding himself to act on his decision to leave. The thought of America tied his stomach in a knot.

“I tell you it binds me,” he said.

He proclaimed himself sacrificed in advance.

“I feel like an old man,” he said. “All my bones ache.”

“At the age of forty?” said Rosa.

“This voyage will finish me,” he said. “You don't know what it is. They'll put us below the water. Like animals in the dark. What smells and dialects! The women are everywhere putting things in place. And the sea begins to laugh. And the women get sick with it. And then the children get sick. And then the men. I tell you I'm finished.”

“Send for Don Antonio,” said Rosa.

A
UGUSTINE was more cheerful with the coming of spring. The excitement in Fabrizze gave him strength and courage. It would be good to see America once more.

“But when will it be?” said Fabrizze.

“Soon enough.”

“But when? Please tell me the day.”

“One week from tomorrow,” said Augustine. “After the feast of Ascension. We'll feast while we can. Two days later we'll start for Naples. Just in time to catch the ship.”

And so they set forth on a morning in May.

All doors in the village were open. They stopped again and again to take wine and coffee. By the time they were under way a crowd was following them down the mountain path.

Cipitti played the accordion.

“Augustine, you'll send for me?” said a man called Rumbone.

“Send for me,” said another.

“Have a care! He'll send for your wife!”

“All these broken hearts!”

“The church will be full again!”

“Anything to be the ear of Don Antonio!”

Augustine looked over his shoulder. The women were lovely beyond words. Their faces were strong and rosy and their clear eyes were shining with laughter. Augustine glanced up at the village cradled high in the mountains. He saw the clean soar of the church steeple and he thought of the sunny little square and the intimacy of cobbled streets.

“They're really going, eh?” said a voice, sudden and fatal in the crowd.

Rosa was slowing down. She stopped for a moment to wipe her face with her apron. Augustine and Fabrizze were moving away.

All at once Rosa realized what was happening.

“Madonna mia,” she said.

She sank down by the side of the path.

“I'll never see them again,” she said.

Two women stayed to comfort her.

Augustine and Fabrizze went on down the mountain.

“And goodbye, goodbye,” said Ferrari.

Suddenly Fabrizze was frozen with the agony of parting.

“Uncle, Uncle!”

“Don't stop,” said Augustine, taking his arm. “Don't look back any more.”

“O my God!” Rosa was sobbing. “The house will be a grave! O my lovely boys! Augustine! Nino, Nino!”

The names echoed down and round the mountains.

W
EST and west and west,” said Augustine. “We marched from the mountains to the sea. We sailed after the sun. Twelve days, twelve days. Finally we landed and took the train. Six hundred miles to the west again. And then one morning Rossi was there. He put his arms around me. ‘He makes his own bread,' he was saying. There were tears in his eyes. He had a surprise for me. My shovel was waiting. I cried like a baby. I was calling Fabrizze to help me. He was bringing water in a bucket to the labor gang. It was over for him, too, with his golden hair.”

It was beginning.

Fabrizze moved from water boy to laborer on the Great Northern Shore Railroad. Three nights a week he studied the language with an old railroad worker called Bassetti. They bought the newspaper and went through it page by page. Fabrizze never turned up without a bag of oranges for the old man. Toward the end of the summer Bassetti realized that his pupil had become his teacher. He pointed out that the oranges were losing their sweetness now that he gave nothing in return. He made an end of it and sent Fabrizze home.

Home was the red rooming house on Harrison Street. Fabrizze and Augustine shared room and bed on the seventh floor. They shared everything else with some fifty other immigrants packed together for warmth in this New World.

“What smells and dialects!” said Augustine.

No doors were closed in the day. People wandered through the halls. Long into the summer night there was talk running from window to open window. Augustine had the curious feeling that if something happened to one of them it would happen to all of them. He soon decided it was already happening.

“They dream and dream,” he told Fabrizze. “I had supper with Penza on the second floor. The man who works with us. I was telling him how bad it is here in America. He put his finger on his lips. He doesn't want to hear about it. He has two shirts. He wears one and washes the other. He has a hole in his shoe. But in a few years he'll send for a wife. ‘Look at this place,' I said. He put the finger on his lips. He has a window in the room. He looks out and it's good. There's a boy next door who plays the harmonica. The music is good. ‘Wake up,' I said. He put the finger on his lips.”

“I understand it,” said Fabrizze. “Something is in the air. It makes you want to run. It's exciting.”

“It's garlic and codfish,” said Augustine. “Rumbone is making supper downstairs. It happens to be where I'm going. We have this plan for you. I want you to keep your eyes open on the job. Go to Bassetti again. Ask him questions about the work on the railroad. Learn everything you can. Be ready.”

Rumbone winced when he saw Augustine.

“Just in time for supper,” said Rumbone.

“You don't mean it?” said Augustine. “There isn't enough.”

“Say no more,” said Rumbone.

“Enough for one, enough for two, eh?” said Augustine.

“Enough for one, enough for one,” said Rumbone. “Don't mix it up, Augustine. We know each other from the village.”

“You run me through,” said Augustine. “Pass the fish then.”

“I've been thinking about Fabrizze,” said Rumbone. “We must let these people know he's there.”

“It isn't right for me to take his part,” said Augustine.

“I'll take his part,” said Rumbone. “I've been watching this Rossi. The man is nervous. I'll bring him down from behind.”

Rumbone had the keen look of a hunter. Carefully he set about to stalk the railroad supervisor. He froze in his tracks whenever Rossi came in sight. He gazed in silence. Pale troubled eyes aimed down that blade of a nose.

“You there,” said Rossi. “Stop it, stop it.”

Rumbone put up his shovel and came over.

“I didn't mean that,” said Rossi. “I want you to stop looking at me. I feel unbuttoned with it.”

“What is it?” said Rumbone. “Who's unbuttoned?”

“Never mind,” said Rossi, starting away. “Back to work.”

“What's happening?” said Rumbone, following him. “They told me to stay here. But where you are taking me?”

“Go back to work!” cried Rossi. “What a fool!”

After several weeks of this Rossi took it into his head that Rumbone might be a source of information about the men. Rumbone sensed that the time was ripe. He winked and called the supervisor aside. He asked mysterious questions.

“You see him there?” said Rumbone. “Tell me his name. The one with a face like a big potato.”

“You mean Gritti,” said Rossi.

“So it's Gritti,” said Rumbone. “So it's Gritti then.”

“What about him?” said Rossi. “Tell me what happened. Why do you ask about Gritti?”

“Never mind,” said Rumbone. “Let's wait a little.”

The supervisor warned Gritti to be careful.

A few days later Rumbone was winking again.

“I have news for you,” he said. “The pusher knows less than the men. And he works less.”

“What pusher?” said Rossi. “There is no pusher here. Wait, Rumbone, wait. Which one said he was a pusher? Show me.”

“I see,” said Rumbone. “The smoke is clearing.”

“Show me this pusher!” cried Rossi.

“It's for us to settle with him,” said Rumbone.

Rossi carried the conversation for weeks. He went out of his way to find Rumbone. He listened and listened and heard nothing. One morning he called Rumbone into the tool shed.

“I want you to tell me something,” said Rossi. “Let me warn you that everything depends on it. Yesterday my heart was pounding when I saw you. My blood came to a boil. My stomach was all upset when I left you. Now I want to know why. Do you understand me? Speak now or never!”

“I have one more question,” said Rumbone. “Where is it you go in the day? Why are you never here?”

“It's not for you to ask,” said Rossi. “I make no account to you, my friend.”

“You should stay here more,” said Rumbone, significantly. “I speak as a friend. Really now, where do you go?”

“Leave me alone!” said Rossi. “There's too much work these days. I have to be near the steel mill. A coke plant is going up. Switch crossings must be put in…. A friend, eh? I'm giving you a last chance. Come closer. Do these men talk about me? Do they mock me?”

“They have a little game,” said Rumbone. “They pretend you don't exist…. My dear Rossi, it's the mark of a leader that he knows how to pick a leader. Isn't it so? Someone to give orders in his absence. Consider it. You take credit for the dance without piping the tune. These men are making a fool of you. I don't like to see it.”

“Is this the only gang I have?” said Rossi. “Can I be everywhere at once? The work is out of hand. We're short of men. But who is this leader? Is it you? Are you the piper? Tell me, tell me! Let me laugh out loud in your face! Let me laugh a little!”

“No, my friend, no,” said Rumbone, with a sneer. “Your leader has iron in him. He understands the work here. He knows a bit of English and he can talk to important men when it's necessary.”

“But who is this man? Must I send a ship for him? Speak up, Rumbone. Where is this giant? I'm sick of looking at you!”

Rumbone made a strange little gesture. He drew his fingers up his neck and out under his chin, as if to say, “Not even another look are you worth.”

“You mustn't do that to me,” said Rossi. “I'm the supervisor and I don't like the look of it. Come closer. Tell me who it is you're talking about.”

“Find out yourself,” said Rumbone, making the gesture.

“Don't do that!”

“And once more,” said Rumbone.

A week later Rumbone cornered him again. He put his hand on Rossi and waited there in silence. He was listening for the leak in the supervisor that was the source of all the trouble. For a moment Rossi was listening.

“But what day is this?” said Rumbone.

“Thursday, Thursday,” said Rossi.

“It's a holy day, eh?”

“What holy day?” said Rossi. “What are you saying? Take your hand off me.”

“I noticed the men had extra time for lunch,” said Rumbone. “I thought it was a saint's day. Just a moment, Rossi. Let me ask you something. It's between the two of us, eh? What time does the work begin here in the morning? Really now. There was a little quarrel among the men.”

“Line them up!” cried Rossi. “This miserable crew! Must I be here every minute? Line up, I say! You there! All of you!”

Rossi was surrounded.

“Do you know who I am?” he said, in crisp Italian. “I want you to pay attention! Do you know who's talking to you?”

“It's Rossi, eh?” said a voice.

“Be quiet,” said another. “It's the supervisor.”

“No talking out of turn!” said Rossi. “Come closer. Look at my right hand! Look here at my right hand! Do you know what's in it? Think a moment! I want you to think a moment!”

“He speaks a dialect from the north.”

“North of Rome, be sure of it.”

“No talking!” said Rossi. “Do you know what's in this hand of mine? You don't? Let me tell you what's in it! The fate of every man here! Your whole life is in it! Let me tell you that no man makes a fool of Giuseppe Rossi!”

“Not one word of it do I understand.”

“Stand back!” said Rossi. “Why are you closing in like this?”

“How nervous he is.”

“I told you to line up!” said Rossi. “You call this a line? Never mind, never mind! Get away from me! How you make me sick! All I smell is garlic!”

“There was something nasty, eh?”

“How flushed he is.”

“Get away!” said Rossi. “It's over! Back to work with you!”

“Not even one word.”

“Stand back there!” cried Rossi. “Stop pushing!”

“Stop that pushing.”

“It's the supervisor, eh?”

Rossi had pushed two men away. They were pushed back from the rear. Rossi pushed again. There was a curse. An argument started. Suddenly the mass of men began to sway and close in. Rossi's hand went up. He was sucked out of sight. A moment later the crowd came apart. Rossi was down on one knee. He was livid.

“Rumbone, Rumbone,” he was saying.

“I'm here,” said Rumbone. “Get up, Rossi.”

“Rumbone.”

“Stand up, Rossi. It isn't right. It isn't right to be seen like this before the men.”

“I'm giving an order,” said Rossi. “I want the name of the man who'll take charge of these animals. I'm finished with them. This is an order.”

“It sounds like a threat,” said Rumbone, starting to make his gesture of contempt.

“If you do that once more, Rumbone, I'll break your face! Back to work with you!”

Rossi turned up early the next morning. Like one enthralled he made his way to Rumbone. Rumbone was leaning on a shovel and stroking his chin.

“Hard to believe,” he was saying. “Who'd believe it?”

“What is it?” said Rossi, tightly. “Now what is it?”

“Nothing, Rossi, nothing. Why do you get so excited?”

“What's happening here?” said Rossi, making circles in the air with his cupped hand.

“It was a surprise,” said Rumbone. “A little surprise.”

“I'll strangle you on the spot!”

“But it was nothing at all. One of the men brought wine and a deck of cards to the job. What do you make of it? Wait, Rossi, wait. The time has come.”

“It's your time that's come!”

“Listen, listen,” said Rumbone. “One word will solve your problems. I want you to look down the line of men digging there. Watch the first eight of them. They dig in the same rhythm, eh? Why is it? The old man Bassetti sings and sets the pace for them. Watch, Rossi, watch.”

“I'm falling asleep with it.”

“Speak softly,” said Rumbone. “You'll wake them.”

“Are you telling me to get rid of Bassetti?”

“Why should you?” said Rumbone. “A man must eat whether he works or not. Isn't it so? Besides, he's retiring soon.”

“They'll never let him go,” said Rossi.

“Now I want you to look down at the end of that line. On the other side. Do you see the golden head? Watch, watch. Up and down twice while the others are down. There is the man who'll set fire to this row.”

“You mean Fabrizze.”

“He is the piper.”

“A baby. They'll swallow him up.”

“Is he the best worker? Does he know the job?”

“He seems to know it,” said Rossi.

“He's a favorite with the men. Try him. It will be the first clever thing you've done in years.”

Rossi made the gesture of contempt.

“Are you telling Rossi a new thing?” he said. “I know about this Fabrizze. I've been watching him. Why do you think I'm here so early? To listen to you? Back to work.”

Rossi went over and tapped Fabrizze.

“Come aside here,” he said.

“I was waiting,” said Fabrizze.

“Really?” said Rossi. “Who are you?”

“I am Fabrizze.”

“And so everything is settled? You dig as though a treasure is there. Do you know me?”

“You are the supervisor. Your name is Giuseppe Rossi.”

“Are you as strong as you look?”

“Strong as a bull,” said Fabrizze. “And more intelligent.”

“Did you hear my speech yesterday?”

“It put a chill in my bones,” said Fabrizze. “You handle the language like a whip. Near the end your voice would've filled a cathedral. It was when you explained that we were in the palm of your hand.”

“I'm outnumbered here,” said Rossi, scratching his head. “So you say that you're intelligent? Do you know what a stock rail is? What is the function of a frog? What is the best ballast for the ties? Can you put in a switch crossing? Can you get work from a pack of buffoons?”