“Calm down Battista. Anger won’t bring back the old social order any more than the Pope can bring back the people’s morals.”
“Easy for you to say old man. What am I supposed to do? My life is in Naples and I have too much time left – the thought of moving north makes my skin crawl.”
“Perhaps you could find work at the factory in Turin?” Salvatore replied, a sardonic grin flashing across his wrinkled face.
“I’m too old for that now. You know the bloody Americans are behind all this – all that money spent developing the likes of Genoa, Turin and Milan and nothing for the south – why? Did they assume we were all lazing about in the sun living la dolce vita?”
“Calm yourself Battista – you’re making a scene.”
Battista drew on his pipe deeply and then let the apple-laced smoke slowly escape from his mouth. He knew the old man was just winding him up. “Mi dispiace,” he said quietly.
“Your life no doubt has inconveniences my friend but you don’t know real suffering,” the old soldier admonished, letting each word linger on near stationary lips.
* * *
Raffaele had the week off. The long train ride down from Milan via Rome was exhausting but the sight of the Bay of Naples made the journey worth every lira. His mother waited for him home in Sorrento, south of Naples where generations of his family resided. He would have stayed in Sorrento had he accepted the old ways but times were changing and Raffaele was part of that. Now thirty, he was the first in his family to own a TV and had long since traded in his Vespa scooter for a Fiat 1400.
Raffaele strode quickly and elegantly on his way to visit his girlfriend Berenice left behind in Naples. He was filled with the hopeful anticipation of a young man about to get laid. Berenice asked to meet at a posh café further along the Via Toledo and away from the old residential area. Raffaele wore a double-breasted suit made by one of Italy’s new breed of fashion designers. His jet-black hair was slicked back in the modern style and heavy set eyebrows framed his hazel eyes in a way that seduced many a Milanese girl.
On his way along the street, Raffaele passed two old men. The older of them was seated on a bench in front of an imposing “birra PERONI” sign. Perhaps he was just tired but Raffaele sensed immediately a vitriolic and bitter aura emanating from them. He walked on, turning his head away and biting his nails in a nervous reflex. The two old men and even an obedient spaniel pretended not to notice him at all.
© SPF Cameron (2012)
VERITA VERISSIMA
Please come in. Sit down. Make yourself at home. You look like you could do with a warm drink. Coffee? Here, let me take your umbrella. It's a horrible day no? Nasty weather. And your coat? Ok so here we are. It's very nice of you to come. The ad has been out for a few weeks now and I see it everywhere. There's one at the end of this street, just outside the petrol station. Did you see it? When I leave the house it's like heading straight towards the past; ten feet by twenty, right in front of your face. It hits you like the smell of cooking. I can remember everything about it right down to the smell of tobacco on a damp winter morning.
Are you comfortable? Good. It's very nice of the company to send you all this way. Do they treat you well? You have a lovely smile if I may say so. I see you have the picture with you. Yes, let's take another look. Can you see it's me? Look closely. If you passed me in the street would you recognize me? No? Oh well perhaps not. I see what you mean. Times change. I would show you some other pictures but there are none that were taken at that time. There's not much of the young man left on the outside but in here… and here I'm much the same. Your advert has reminded me of the fact.
But look at the two men on the street corner. Skin as hard as pizza crust and noses like avocados. I used to chat to them when I saw them on the street. I used to ask them for bits of advice. Well, on this occasion they were wrong. They didn't give me the truth, not the real truth. You see, there were two women. I didn't know if either or both could make me happy. It was a tough choice and was never, never planned to be that way. Events opened my eyes. Events change things.
You see, this picture was taken, it must have been '46 or '47. Years I'm not sure about but I can remember days. I was on my way to get a permit from the government to work in England. You see me looking a little rushed in this picture no? I was running late when a family friend Marco called me.
"Eh? You Antonio Benedetti. Where are you going dressed like that?" I took the cigarette out of my mouth to say something and 'boom'. He took a picture.
"What you do that for?" I said. He was laughing at me.
"I take pictures for the newspapers now," he said, "My sister sends her regards. Why don't you come over and have dinner with us?"
Marco's sister, Angelica was a few years older than me and had the eyes of a temptress but the temper of an angel. We had fallen head over heels in love. I used to go dancing with her and Marco almost every night, that is, until I was enlisted and sent to North Africa. Eventually I was captured in Libya and taken prisoner by the British. We spent years apart. Now she was looking for me again but I was unsettled. I was remembering Rita waiting for me back in Wigan.
"Come on," said Marco, "She's asking about you. You never come over like you used to. Where you going anyway?" So I told him. He said, "What you want to leave Napoli for? All your family's here."
I didn't want to fight my old friend. I just shrugged my shoulders and put my arm around Marco. "I want to see the world," I said.
"The world is here," said Marco, "Come home with me and I'll get mama to cook us something eh?" I nearly went with him. I stepped away from the government building to go to his apartment. Then I remembered the letter that I carried with me in the jacket pocket close to my heart. Rita. I wanted to know how she was and what she was doing.
At the prison camp I got recruited for farm work. It was mainly doing repairs, fixing walls, this and that. In the daytime I could see Rita digging and foraging in the potato fields. She was a tall, slender girl with a red hair and blue eyes. One day she drove her tractor over to where I was working. She started talking and pointing and all I could do was shrug and smile. The next day she brought me a book on how to learn English and some cigarettes. She seemed so confident and direct. She looked at me as if I were already a friend.
I started to dream about her at night and before long I was looking forward to seeing her every day. So I started to learn English. I wrote my first message to her this way. When she could she would get a message back to me and I knew there was something there. And then I would receive a letter from home, from Angelica and my heart was back there, back home in Napoli.
On the day this picture was taken I turned back. I told Marco that I needed to post a letter and we parted. There on that street was my dilemma. Should I go for Angelica or Rita? I told the old men about it. The one on the left said, "It doesn't really matter. They're all the same." The other old man said, "Yes, don't worry. You can always change your mind later." My heart was split and I no longer knew which of these girls was the true one for me.
Every day that goes by I wonder. I wonder about my poor wife Rita and the Angelica I left behind. I wonder why this advert was sent to me. You never know who will fall in love with you do you? They catch you like a photograph and when they do, when you're in, it's not so easy to change your mind.
© C. J. Hall (2012)
LATE
Paolo sat and waited. He shifted on the box, his bones aching. His rheumatism had settled in. It was cold for this time of year. Unusual for Naples he thought. He hunched over, pulled his cap down and coat closer making sure the blue numbered tattoo wasn’t visible. Where was Levi? Didn’t he realise he was taking a risk meeting him here by the Birra Peroni sign in this piazza? It was so public! And to top it all Levi was late. Paolo now had the hump so he pulled out his newspaper to pass the time, however he still kept an eye on things, always vigilant. That was the only way to survive; he knew that from long ago. Mussoli
ni was gone but they were still about and he didn’t want to go back to that place and if they found him again they’d send him back. The people now thought they were all gone, Paolo sussed, but “Bah!” What did they know? They were all fools. That was Paolo’s opinion and he knew that they were still in power hiding behind the bureaucracy and the corruption. They were the real rodents not his kind, although they had the nerve to call his kind rats. Where oh where was Levi? He didn’t notice the little, fair haired boy with his British parents on the other side of the road with his brownie camera. If Paolo had, he’d been off and not waited for Levi.
***
Alfredo walked briskly. His suit was smart, the best he could afford from Milan with wages from his new job in imports. His Carmela deserved it. His hair was combed back with Brylcreem just as she liked and the aroma of the woody, mossy fragrance of Proraso clung to him liberally. He pulled down his jacket nervously as he strode. His thoughts were purely on Carmela and today. He was late and the one thing he didn’t want to be today of all days was late. He bit his nails anxiously, stepped up his pace thinking only of his Carmela as he stepped off the curb on his way to the church and his bride to be. He certainly didn’t notice the British couple with the little boy with fair hair and the brownie camera on the other side of the road.
***
Johnny pulled at his mum’s hand. “Look mum look!” Johnny raised his brownie camera and quickly took a picture not believing his luck. Then he took another just in case the first didn’t come out. The kids will never believe me in school he thought.
“What is love? Oh you and your bloody camera. Bill can you tell him to get a move on, we’ll be late for the restaurant. Bill…”
“Come on son. No more pictures now you heard your mother”
“But dad, look! D’you see who it is?”
Bill came over to his son and looked to where his son was pointing. Then did a double take.
“Son put your camera away now!”
“Yes sir”
***
Alfredo had walked on and was now out of sight. He was very near the church and was smiling happily in anticipation, unknowing of what had passed on the other side of the road behind him.
***
“Dad what was Reggie Kray doing in Naples? None of the kids at school would ever have believed me if I didn’t have my camera.”
“You sure it was Reggie Kray, Johnny?” asked Doreen.
“Mum I’ve seen his picture loads of times plus him and his brother come down the boxing club in Seven Kings. I’m certain it was him. What do you think dad?”
“Well if it weren’t him then Reggie and Ronnie have got another twin in this world. I’d say it was him alright. Strange him being in this part of the world! Just shows you maybe what the papers say ‘bout them are true. Anyway if we don’t get a move on we’re gonna be late for this restaurant.”
***
Just then Levi arrived with his dog Max. “Paolo I’m sorry, so sorry. I had me some trouble with Max. You know how it is? Let us get some coffee yes? Out of this cold. I have news my friend.”
“Levi all the years I have known you never have I known you to be on time. Late you will be for your own burial.”
“Ah but the good Lord waits for no man. He will not mind Paolo. Come my friend”
“Are you sure Levi? What if we are seen by them? I cannot go back to that place. I should have died with them Levi.” Unknowingly the silent tears slithered treacherously slowly down the wrinkled cheek and settled into each crevice before falling.
Levi came over to Paolo and tried to comfort him. Stubbornly Paolo remained seated, staring straight ahead, grimacing. The years of pain merging and contorting his face as scenes and emotions displayed vividly one after another. Paolo was entrenched and gripped in another time, another world at that moment and Levi could not reach him. It happened often and all he could do was wait for it to pass and then be there for his friend. He glanced down at his own blue numbered tattoo. Six hundred and forty had got onto the cattle wagons on one transport to Auschwitz. Four had survived including Paolo and himself, Primo Levi. He had already starting writing a book about his experiences titled “If I were a Man.” Now he wanted to help his friend more.
Paolo returned back to his own time and to his friend Levi. He smiled grimly.
“Ah you are back my friend. That is good. Come now let us get some coffee. And I want to tell you of a place that you will be safe for ever. A place where they will never find you. A place for our kind”
“Levi where is this place?”
“Israel, my friend. The chosen land. Would you want to go? It could be a great adventure for two old men such as us. Are you up to a great adventure Paolo, as my friend?”
“Levi let us have some coffee now and talk some more. I want to feel warm, my friend.”
Then arm in arm they left the piazza in search of a good coffee bar to talk some more about an adventure.
© Angela Allen (2012)
SYMPATICO
Paolo is walking on air. He has a new suit, new shoes, and a new haircut, and he feels at this moment like the most handsome man in all of Italy. Paolo is in love. The pavements are grey, but the sky is blue. It is early autumn; still warm, but the breeze, when it hits, hints of a harsh winter to come. Paolo doesn’t feel the cold or see the grey pavement; he only sees the blue sky. Paolo is in love.
He turns the corner on Consalvo and Mario, passing two old men who are arguing. One has a newspaper which he is hurriedly closing, a look of disgust on his face. Paolo nods to them but they ignore him, too lost in their dispute even to notice the most handsome man in Italy walking by.
He sees Gabriella, a sister of one of his friends, and impulsively blows her a kiss. She tuts and frowns, but as she turns her face away Paolo can see the frown turning to a smile. She is arranging flowers outside the florists where she works, threading strands of gypsophila between the dark green leaves and deep red heads of a display of roses. The roses are in a plain galvanised bucket, but Gabriella dresses them as though the bucket were a fine crystal vase. Her long fingernails are painted red, two shades lighter than the roses, matching the cupid’s bow of her lipstick and the ribbon in her hair.
Paolo is about to compliment her, but is stopped by an explosion of noise from behind: a barking dog and angry raised voices. He turns and is shocked to see the two old men fighting. They look ludicrous, like boxing March hares, leaning back to avoid blows rather than forward to land them. One is waving a cane, the other trying to shield himself with the raincoat he carries over his arm. Both have lost their hats which have fluttered to the pavement. Most of their punches hit nothing but air, but when they do connect the results are dramatic, bringing forth exaggerated howls that sound more indignant than pained together with volleys of ripe curses. As Paolo moves forward to separate them the shorter man – who is still smoking his pipe, Paolo now notices – grabs the other by the lapels of his greatcoat and spins him around. He looks jubilant as the other stumbles and falls into the gutter, his walking cane skittering into the middle of the road. As the man tries to get up the dog, a small brown and white spaniel, stops barking and leaps in, grabbing the man on the ground by his ankle and worrying the hem of his trousers. The man cries out, shaking and kicking his leg while the other man, now looking worried, grabs the dog’s leash and tries to pull it away.
Paolo is about to kick the dog but is halted by a sudden rush of water and roses as Gabriella upends the bucket she has been working on over the dog’s head. It lets go of the man immediately, and runs to hide, whimpering, behind the legs of the shorter man.
Paolo helps the fallen man up while Gabriella leads the other man and the dog back to the bench. Her voice is strident, her words angry: the men should be ashamed of themselves; who’s going to pay for her ruined flowers? The man looks cowed and embarrassed, the dog more so. The man Paolo is helping up is still angry, but now at the dog rather than the other man.
“I’ll have the bastard thing shot,” he declares, “that stronzo is a damn menace!”
Paolo tries to placate the man. “It’s only doing its job,” he offers “trying to protect its master.”
“But it’s my poxy dog!” the man cries, kicking out at the animal, which whines and hides underneath the bench.
At this Paolo starts laughing. He looks at Gabriella who starts laughing too. It is the perfect punch-line to a ridiculous joke, but neither of the older men seem to get it.
Eventually the men are placated. The shorter man moves to leave, telling his friend he will meet him later in the caffé. The other man says he will leave the bastard dog at home, but without even seeming to realise it he has already started stroking the animal’s head, the action calming both of them. Both men offer Gabriella money for the flowers, and after looking around she takes just enough to cover the broken stems. Paolo helps her collect the undamaged stems, then curses as he realises the time.
“I’m supposed to be meeting Maria” he explains. “She’ll kill me if I’m late again.”
“Not when you tell her what happened,” Gabriella offers, “She will think you are very gallant, stopping to help two old men. Here...” – she gives him a single rose stem – “... this will make up for the ten minutes she’s had to wait, and if she does give you a hard time tell her she will have me to reckon with.”
Paolo is grateful for the rose, but knowing Maria’s temper decides to keep Gabriella’s last suggestion to himself. He thanks Gabriella for the flower and her help, then hurries away.
Arriving at Maria’s home he is let in by her mother, who gives him a warning look. She jerks a thumb in the direction of the living room, where he finds Maria sitting stiffly on the family’s old settee. She looks less than happy to see him. He holds out the flower, then rushes forward, apologising and explaining what happened at the same time.