Locri, Calabria
‘Salvatore, how many times do I need to tell you this? Put the white cap on your head when you are in here.’
‘But I’m completely bald, Capo.’
‘That is why I am not making you wear a hairnet, too. Put on the cap and carry that bag of sugar over here while you’re at it. Mind your step, the tiles are treacherous with lemon juice.’
Salvatore, seventy-two years of age, arms as thin as tendrils, his face as dark as a rusty nail, lifted the thirty-pound bag of refined sugar as if it had been filled with feathers, and set it down on the zinc counter beside his boss, Basile. As well as lifting heavy weights for Basile, it was his job to keep the conversation serious and on-topic while Basile feigned disinterest. So, putting the sugar down, he returned to the conversation he had started ten minutes before. ‘It is unthinkable that a sorella d’omerta would spontaneously report to a magistrate like that. Especially her. She has been treated with nothing but the greatest respect, even though she comes from outside.’
‘The things we have lived to see, Salvatore. Personally, I’m not inclined to believe it for one moment.’ Basile swiped his hands together, in what looked like a gesture of finality, a closing of the argument for good, but also happened to be the most efficient way of getting the sugar and starch off his hands. Salvatore waited to see which it was.
Basile turned his back on Salvatore as he washed his hands under the tap. ‘Who is the source of this accusation against Maria Itria?’ he asked.
‘One of our people in the Palace of Justice in Rome. It’s part of the swirl of rumours around the dramatic warning issued to the magistrate.’
‘And we really have no idea who decided to drop a corpse outside the Palace of Justice in Rome?’
‘Not yet. Everyone seems to think Agazio ordered it; no one is sure.’
‘And this magistrate to whom the message was directed, he has a confession from Maria Itria?’
‘So it is rumoured.’
‘Rumoured?’
‘Reported. Yes, he does.’
Basile pulled sheets of green paper from the wall dispenser, dried his hands, crumpled up the paper and dropped it into the rubbish bin below. ‘None of this makes much sense. Least of all the intimidation of the magistrate. Excuse the noise, Salvatore. I want to beat these egg whites.’ He threw the switch on a white appliance and dialled up the speed. ‘Come closer to me so you don’t need to shout.’
Salvatore came closer, but remained silent, as he knew he was supposed to, watching the white foam rise in the copper bowl.
‘One of the churning blades in the Vita 30 60 ice-cream maker needs replacing. Apparently it needs to be shipped from China,’ said Basile. ‘So now the Chinese are in the ice-cream business. Nicaso repaired his own machines, re-pumped the refrigerants, and calibrated the compressor so you could hardly hear it even when it was cooling a full batch. He was the real artisan, not me.’
Salvatore knew Basile was thinking and wanted the conversation to drift towards neutral topics until he had made his decision. ‘Some people find it strange that you should want to ply a trade at all.’
‘What, am I supposed to spend my days playing briscola and inspecting my lands? Did you try the last orange sorbet I made?’
‘You know I cannot taste sweet things, Capo.’
‘I think it was even better than the turruni gelatu I made last winter. I added three grapefruits and reduced the sugar by about one-fifth. It was a bitter sorbet, which I thought you might like because there is no sweetness in you, my old friend. And you say you didn’t even try it?’
‘You never told me you had changed the recipe.’
‘Pity. It’s the first real experiment I have made since taking this place over. When Nicaso was in charge, he was always experimenting. Licorice in the coffee granita, kiwi and figs together. I never had the courage or the imagination. And I am too old.’
‘Nicaso was always breaking with tradition. That is one of the reasons he lost his gelateria.’
Basile’s laugh was joyless and asthmatic. ‘That is not the reason he lost his gelateria.’ He pointed to a heavy steel cabinet with fat glass jars filled with red and green liquid. ‘My strawberry and mint is commercial concentrate, sent down from Naples. Nicaso never did that.’
Basile pulled open the door of a refrigerator as large as the backdoor of a truck, and nodded to Salvatore to lift out a deep lozenge of stainless steel brimming with bright green ice cream, which started steaming as it entered the warmer air of the kitchen. Salvatore’s hand stuck briefly to the icy zinc, and he felt momentary pain.
‘Leave it to soften, Salvatore.’
Salvatore discreetly blew on his cold hands, and adjusted his white hat.
‘Would Agazio goad the authorities into inquiring into the activities of the Society in Rome?’ asked Basile. ‘Killing in Milan, which itself requires permission, and disposing of the body in Rome and mocking a magistrate as he did so? I am supposed to think that Agazio, who has always been subtle, disrespected the families in Rome and Milan?’
‘Perhaps he obtained permission from one or two of the families.’
‘And we heard nothing about it? That would be the worst option from our point of view. We can talk at the Feast of the Madonna next week, but I hope that that is as unlikely as it seems. For Curmaci, the assassination of the magistrate’s namesake is doubly destructive. It angers other ’ ndrine and will make the authorities determined to get him. It is better to assume this is the act of a hotheaded and rash person. To my mind, that would exclude Agazio.’
‘You realize I have great respect for Curmaci,’ said Salvatore.
‘Of course you do.’
‘I also have great respect for Maria Itria.’
‘Naturally. She is a good woman.’
‘The magistrates and police grow more despicable by the day. I believe it is quite possible they used Curmaci’s wife to generate suspicion and dissent. Indeed, we do not even know whether Maria Itria received a phone call from the magistrate or made one of her own volition.’
‘Or whether the call took place at all,’ added Basile.
‘Indeed. But would you not say that Curmaci, who is above all a man of principle, might have allowed himself to be swayed by his rage at this dishonouring of his wife and delivered an unambiguous message to the magistrate? The fact that he did not kill the magistrate himself and cause an overreaction by the authorities in Rome stands to his credit and would be typical of the man’s admirable combination of severity and subtlety.’
‘You make a plausible argument, Salvatore. Even so, where self-interest blinds many, it enlightens some, and I have always considered Agazio an enlightened man…’
‘Another thing we must bear in mind, Capo, is the unfortunate trend towards independence in Lombardy and Germany. That has already led to the need for punishment expeditions to the north and forceful realignments. We are constantly working to maintain the faith and loyalty of the locali in Milan and Germany.’
‘That is a generational problem that affects the younger men in the ’ ndrine of Lombardy. These youths speak with Milanese accents and deal with northern separatists who despise the south. But Agazio Curmaci is in some ways the opposite. He reinforces the rituals and maintains the tradition. He is not interested in independence. He was born in Gerace.’
‘Typical of the rebels is their willingness to use persons external to the Society. It seems East Europeans were used in this case,’ said Salvatore.
‘Why did I not know that?’
‘We have only just found out.’
Basile slowly removed his apron. Although it was splashed and stained, he folded it up as neatly as if freshly washed and ironed. ‘Salvatore, it pains me to say this, but could your suspicions of Curmaci be connected to your kinship with Tony Megale? Your father and Domenico Megale’s father were cousins and blood brothers.’
‘They were, and my sister married Domenico’s martyred brother.’
‘What happened to him was tragic. Some things are not healed by time.’
Salvatore bowed his head in memory of a brother-in-law killed thirty years earlier. Then, his posture still prayerful, he said, ‘It makes no sense for Tony Megale to have done this.’
‘Who was the fool who says otherwise?’ said Basile.
‘Not a fool, Capo. I can see his name in your thoughts.’
‘So now you read my thoughts and call me a fool?’ said Basile with a smile.
‘I would ask again,’ said Salvatore, ‘what interest could Tony have in doing something such as this?’
‘To make good men like you have evil thoughts about the Curmacis,’ said Basile. ‘If he and Agazio have had another falling out, as they did in the early years, Tony might have tried to frame Agazio.’
‘I think we must appeal to Domenico,’ said Salvatore.
‘Sadly, Domenico cannot make it to Polsi this year. They say he grew old in prison, though I believe he is no older than me. If Agazio and Tony have become enemies, it may well be a battle for succession. I would not wish to put Domenico in a difficult position. He has always expressed full faith in both Tony and Agazio, and, apart from that misunderstanding many years ago when they were immature, they have since expressed full faith in each other. Curmaci’s son Ruggiero has been partly brought up by Tony’s sister-in-law. Domenico cannot be seen to choose the wrong side, and it is inhuman to ask him to. It may be a decision we have to take for him. For now, his very silence is a message.’
‘We do nothing?’
Basile tested the thawing of the ice cream by pressing a small indent with his thumb. ‘Quarrels would not last long if the fault were on one side only. It might be both are to blame, it is more likely neither is.’
‘May I speak frankly?’
Basile sighed. ‘I would prefer to have this argument done with.’
‘So would I. But we will achieve greater peace and harmony by promoting the cause of Tony Megale. I say that not because we are related, but because his father…’
‘Not his natural father,’ interrupted Basile.
‘Even so. The Megales are more established. The Curmacis are new. Agazio’s father was the first. They have no roots.’
‘The Megales have few people left here. Perhaps they are on the wane.’
‘They have a man, Pietro.’
‘Pietro is limited.’
‘But he is a man. Curmaci left only his woman and her children.’
‘I say we do nothing for now.’
Salvatore nodded. It was time to play his trump card. He pulled out a phone, and placed it on the counter, amid the droplets now falling from the sides of the ice-cream container. ‘As you know, the Finance Police have tapped Agazio’s home number. This conversation took place last night. I had it sent to me as a matter of urgency. A captain of the Finance Police is about to get a new car, thanks to this act of cooperation.’
He pressed a button, and a woman’s voice could be heard. ‘That’s Maria Itria. The man she is speaking to is Agazio.’
‘I recognize their voices, Salvatore. They are talking about his arrival… what’s incriminating about that?’
‘Wait… coming up now.’
Maria Itria: ‘ What do you want for your dinner on your first night home with your family? Something special? A spezzatino d’agghjiru. I know just the person who can get me the ingredients.’
Agazio: ‘Too fancy. And you always overspice it. A good plate of Maccarruni cu’zugu ra Crapa e ru Porcu. That’s what I prefer.’
Maria Itria: ‘Maccarruni cu’zugu ra Crapa e ru Porcu? ’
Agazio: ‘? Si. Boni! Also, it’s legal. Imagine if some policeman were listening to us now. If they had nothing better to do than to listen to us, then maybe they’d try to arrest you for killing and cooking a dormouse for your returning husband. Better cook me some pork and pasta!’
Basile raised his hands. ‘I don’t see what’s so damning about that.’
‘Capo, that was code.’
‘It may have been a joke code, Salvatore. They know the Finance Police are listening. Agazio even teases them.’
‘It was emergency code, Capo, and you know it. He sent her a warning.’
‘My ice cream is melting, Salvatore.’
‘He was telling her to flee.’
‘He was telling her eating dormice is illegal.’
‘He was trying to cover up the shocked pause she made when he asked for Maccarruni cu’zugu ra Crapa e ru Porcu. He knows about the confession and he’s trying to save her.’
‘Bring the tray of ice cream out into the cooler in the bar, Salvatore.’
Salvatore did as he was told, removing his white hat and flinging it onto the counter as he left the kitchen. He dripped the tray into the slot, and picked up a star-shaped sign on the end of a short spike, and sunk it into the green mass, muttering to himself, ‘Sickly
… sits in the stomach like a brick, tastes of…’
‘Did you just stick the mint sign into my pistachio ice cream?’ said Basile, his voice coming from directly behind Salvatore’s head.
Salvatore kept his head bent down and his voice casual. ‘Silly mistake, Capo. I must be preoccupied with other things.’ He stuck in the right sign, and turned to face his boss.
‘I want the children to taste my latest ice cream,’ said Basile. ‘Have a group of them brought here after football practice tomorrow morning. Remove their phones, and we shall keep them out of circulation for a few hours. Agazio’s son Ruggiero and Tony’s son Enrico must be among them. They are best friends anyhow, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, they are.’
‘Good. They can stay here all afternoon.’
‘You know Enrico’s aunt will panic immediately if Enrico misses his lunch. You know what Rosa is like.’
‘I know about Zia Rosa. She has overfed and coddled that child. It is hard to imagine he is really Tony Megale’s son. Old Megale could at least disown him as not his flesh and blood, but Tony must claim him as his own. That child needs some toughening up. Ruggiero, on the other hand, is like a reincarnation of his father. I see something in him.’
‘I agree that Enrico is hardly a worthy successor, but he’s young yet.’
‘Not so young he can’t start acting like a man. Perhaps it is time to give him some lessons in courage.’
‘As I say, Zia Rosa will certainly panic when Enrico vanishes for a few hours. That could be misconstrued.’
‘I told you, I know. We shall consider how the families react and draw conclusions later,’ said Basile. ‘If Maria Itria, who keeps her neighbours at a distance, were to start phoning and visiting them inquiring in worried tones about Ruggiero, that, too, might signal a bad conscience. Do not forewarn the Megales or any other family, Salvatore. Make sure the sons of several families are here tomorrow. We must be seen to be just.’