Persons Unknown
CHAPTER XII
THE COMIC OPERA CHORUS: "AND SAID, 'WHAT A GOOD BOY AM I!'"
"The eighth district, members of the Honorable Society," said Mr.Gumama, bowing to the assembly as if he were ascending a throne, "it ismy duty to inform you that, for reasons which you shall presently know,Nicola Pascoe is no longer our capo d'intini. Unworthy that I am," hecontinued with pomp, "be pleased to signify by the vote whether it isyour pleasure that I assume this post of glory."
It was their pleasure and the vote acclaimed it. Instantly Beppo, themerchant's brother-in-law and three or four other lads ranged chairs andbarrels in a circle nearly as might be round the kitchen-table and allof the assembly that could find seats sat quietly down. Mr. Gumamafilled the earthen jugs with wine and they were passed from hand tohand, each man taking a ceremonial draught; then the man at Mr. Gumama'sright rose and, with dramatic gesture and winy mouth, kissed him on theforehead. So, in turn, did each of those to whom, by some mysticprecedence, the seats at the table had been spontaneously allotted. Allwas accomplished with due ceremony, but rapidly and with an undertone ofnervous expectation, the weight of some unusual circumstance. It wasanother and less flowery version of the festivity which had so amusedHerrick that evening, a month ago, when it had frothed round NicolaPascoe under the sail-cloth of the table d'hote. Almost immediately themeeting proceeded to business.
The man with the carnation and the resplendent shoes rose ponderouslyand began to hurry through a fortnightly financial report. This reportwas starred with titles--capos of various departments, first voters,senior members, cashiers, secretaries--and with references to localdistricts, twelve or fourteen of them, into which that blunderingmammoth baby, New York City, would have been surprised to find itselfdivided. The administrative looting of these departments was againcrossed off into eight sub-divisions--paranze, the treasurer calledthem, each of which had, apparently, its own committee and procedure;for each paranza had turned over its earnings to its capo d'intini,these capos in turn had passed them to the capo in testa who had turnedthem into the treasurer in exchange for a receipt. One of these receiptsMr. Gumama now produced. The fortnightly gains were deposited upon thetable in two cigar-boxes; in one the baratolo, won at games andswindling; the other held the sbruffo, more heroically acquired fromextortion or theft. Every one began to praise what he had himselfcontributed, and it became evident that the apprentices, like Beppo,were expected to do most of this light work. However, save for a glassof wine to each, which they were told to drink thankfully, they did notshare in the spoils they had so largely produced. These were apportionedby Mr. Gumama without the protestation of a single voice. Percentagesfor three funds were set aside; one for what was politely called "socialexpenses," which, to a gross mind, might have suggested corruption; onefor legal defense; the other for pensioners--retired members, familiesof those unfortunately detained in jail, and widows of members deceasedwhile in good standing. Not till then was the remainder paid equallyinto each individual hand, in a model of just and scrupulousdealing.--As, in various dialects, a foam of pent-up exclamations nowrose, Mr. Gumama again looked at his watch and, with an awe-inspiringcontraction of his beautiful brows, once more betook himself to thewindow.
A slick, sleek oily youth in a gray derby began to deliver some mailwhich he had just collected from the branch post-office in MarcoMorello's drug-store down the street; among the innocent pleasantries ofindecent post cards there seemed to be at least two enigmatic warningsin dirty envelopes and a happy suggestion of workable scandal about arich jeweler; one postal, demanding in scarcely legible and veryilliterate Neapolitan slang the "suppression" of a woman who had turnedthe writer out of his job in her fake employment agency, was frownedupon by Mr. Gumama as unnecessarily careless. Directly the meeting hadformed itself into a rough semblance of a court, the writer of thecareless postal was condemned to be suspended for six months, so thathis earnings were cut off from both sources.
One of the laborers rose to complain that the capo of his paranza hadsentenced him to a week's suspension for quarreling with a companion;the evidence showed injustice and the complaint was sustained. Asaloon-keeper broke into passionate appeal against another sentence ofsuspension, this time for a year, because he had shed a tear of pity forthe child of a wine-merchant which had died while held for ransom. Buthis capo d'intini, the head of a whole district, had seen the tear andthe punishment was confirmed. A picciotto di sgarro, a novice, who hadpassed two duels with credit, was found to have hesitated in obedienceand was expelled from possible membership for all time. Now popped up ared, bushy stub of a man, with a full tuck under his chin and a certainunshaven dinginess, to declare that something outrageous was going on inhis neighborhood: there were rowdies who hung about the street cornersand offended the female foundlings of the good sisters, making remarkswhen these took exercise! The gentle ladies had appealed to the policein vain, but to the Honorable Society they could now in tranquillitytrust. The Honorable Society, shocked and indignant, assumed the futureimmunity of the female foundlings for a slight consideration. Finallyamidst an ominous silence Balbo the Wolf, a chauffeur, a full member,was convicted of having practised extortion without orders and on hisown account.
"Lupo Balbo," said Mr. Gumama, in the profound chest notes of anoutraged parent, "you deserve to sleep forever. You have broken youroath of humility, you have rebelled against your father and scandalizedyour mother, you have taken food from the mouth of your family, for theSociety is your family and your father and your mother.--TommasoAntonelli--" He spoke low and quick to a man near him, who sprangforward, there was an instant's sharp, half-voluntary struggle and thenAntonelli drew back with a dripping razor in his hand. Lupo, thechauffeur, covered a face marked forever with a double slash. And Mr.Gumama somewhat unnecessarily added, "The spreggio is for you thepunishment, you wolf Balbo. Bathe your face, there in the pitcher by theinnocent vine, and leave the council." Lupo Balbo, no more than hispredecessors, winced, argued, nor rebelled. Against the decree of thecapo no appeal was possible.
All this time--so much shorter a time than any agreeable social clubwould have taken to despatch a single item of business--the humanbundles had remained propped against the wall; silent perforce andwrapped in the indifference of their own doom. Mr. Gumama now turned anattentive eye upon these lumps of misery, and a kind of brighteningglimmered through the assemblage; the duller preliminaries were disposedof at last.
The poor souls being brought forward the capo pronounced their nameswith scorn. "Luigi Pachotto and Carlo Firenzi, you deserve no trial.But the Society honors its strict laws and does not condemn withoutjustice. Beppo, Chigi, remove those gags." The eyes of the human bundlesgoggled avidly forward; their mouths puffed moistly in physical relief.Still, they made no complaint.
"Full members of the Society, alas!" Mr. Gumama tragically continued,"members, also, of our Arm of Justice, ere the Society accepted that Armas part of its own body, we have received demands for your suppressionand, from our camorrista scelto, proof of your guilt. Luigi Pachotto, ofthe eight crimes against the Society which incur the penalty of deathyou are charged with the first--Number one, to reveal the secrets of theSociety. And you, Carlo Firenzi, with the second,--spying on behalf ofthe police. It is true that Lupo Balbo was guilty of the sixth, and Imade his penalty little. But of such crimes, like disobedience, thepunishment at its worst is death. Yours are the crimes of treachery, forwhich the death is slow. Most for you, Carlo Firenzi, there can be noexcuse. When you began to suspect the news which I am about to break tothe paranza you turned police operative and betrayed the system by whichour unfortunate friends communicate in horrible prisons and becomeproperly organized. And when, last night, you were set by the paranza todo a service this morning to your basista you gave notice to the police.So that they came and took back the friend of our basista and now guardthe nest of our social gatherings. Did you think the Arm of Justice hadgrown too weak to punish? Carlo Firenzi, what have you to say?"
He h
ad nothing to say; only, hanging his head, he ground his teeth. Yetthe form--the form? the very core and gist--of a trial was put through;the evidence heard and questioned, the witnesses confronted with themute despair of a guilt taken red handed and making no denial; fifteenminutes of the truth passionately sought and no law-game played.
The conclusion, however, was foregone and Firenzi was soon stood backout of the way. "Luigi Pachotto, you have, I believe, affirmed goodintention. You knew that the old-days' Arm of Justice, now the fifthparanza of this eighth district of the Honorable Society, had longsheltered in its midst, all unknowing, a traitor to the HonorableSociety." He had touched a spring that vibrated through the whole room.Unable to proceed he waited till the murmur of incredulous horror thathad risen to a growl should die away. "You betook yourself to the capoin testa of the Honorable Society rather than to your old friends of theArm or even to this district, and to him pointed out the whereabouts ofthe traitor. Did you dare to insinuate that the Arm itself would nothave punished had it known? What good to it or to the Society did youexpect of this?"
It was more a slur than a question and he answered it in a hopelessmumble. "I did it for the good of the Arm and to make our peace with theHonorable Society. I say it, who am about to die--I thought to resignthe traitor, to give him into its hand who sullies ours, to be done withhim and at peace."
"Luigi Pachotto, you took too much upon yourself! It is for the Arm tomake its own terms. I think it was your private peace you wished tomake, thus to save your own throat. But you have cut it." Mr. Gumamapaused and sententiously expanded his beautiful brows. "Nevertheless, itmay be that you are to be shown strange mercy!"
The murmur rose again, humming with amazement.
"The Society can be merciful for its own just ends. There is a serviceto be rendered, a deed to be done, beyond the skill of any garzione dimala vita, its apprentice, or yet of its novice, the picciotto disgarro, the young one. It should be done by one who is past life.Therefore, the Society, yet a little while, suspends your execution."Pachotto was thrust into the background and Mr. Gumama, who all thistime had been seated at the table, rose and leaned forward, indicatingthat the meeting had reached its climax.
"Dear friends, you observed well what Pachotto said? For this have wecome together. We of the Fifth paranza, Hands of the Arm, we, inparticular, must take heed to ourselves." He paused, collectingattention. But it was already in his pocket. "He who used the Arm ofJustice to shelter a traitor, is its long-time chief, NicolaPascoe--called in the country from which he carried his bowed head,Nicola Ansello! Ah, you know the name! Then you know well that theserpent whom he nourished in our bosom is the traitor at whose word, tenyears ago in Italy, four members perished!"
A shudder shook the assembly. Many crossed themselves. Mr. Gumama, inthe relish of his own rhetoric, grew increasingly impressive. He was,moreover, extremely pale. "The Society passes sentence--that Arm stillenfolds the traitor!"
The assembly cried out as against a sacrilege and its cry was menacing.The Hands of the Arm were now easily distinguishable by their very longfaces.
"Ah, my friends," wailed Mr. Gumama with a sudden shrillness, "theSociety falters not, but strikes--Fifth paranza, Hands of the Arm, itcondemns us, every one!"
A horrible yelling broke loose like a storm. Sobs and hysterical cursesstrangled together amidst the revilements of the now inimical district.One man was seized with convulsions and had to have wine and waterdashed over him, another fainted and got stepped on. Mr. Gumama remainedsuperior and at last made himself heard. "But was it not from theSociety I learned lenience to Pachotto? Does it not, in wisdom, leave mein place to address you? On one condition the Society withdraws itscondemnation."
The very melody of howling rose. "The condition! Tell! Tell!"
"First, lest too great the shock, listen a moment. You know well how inthis America where, since Italy drove her forth, she grows so great, theconditions of the Mother Society are greatly relaxed; so that, in a newcountry, she may strengthen herself with all her children. When heads ofsmall societies, existing ere here she had waxed great, came to beabsorbed in her she accepted the members for whom they vouched withoutrequiring the apprenticeship nor the novitiate. So it was with the Armof Justice. Of all the small societies we were the most distinguished.It was not seemly so superior a collection should exist outside theHonorable Society. So much truth do I speak that in accepting us it madeour chief, Nicola Pascoe, chief of this district, made ourselves intoone paranza where we are yet a unit with our own rules, fifth paranza ofthe eighth district. The Society decrees that after to-day this paranzashall be broken up and scattered among the others and that name, the Armof Justice, be spoken no more. So shall the true forget the traitor!"
His breath failed him. But fortunately his audience came to his rescuewith a hissing snarl--"Traditore! Traditore!"
"Fellow members, it is nothing. We who are innocent expect to suffer forthe guilt of friends. What I entreat, it is that you examine what kindof a friend Nicola Pascoe has been to us. It is true he found us littleand made us great. It is true he taught us, formed us and was ourleader. But knew we who he was? Did he tell us he had fled from Naplesto this place carrying in his arms a traitor? Now that we know, to uswhat is he?--Ah, we, guileless, true shoot of the parent vine, branch ofher root, of the Honorable Society the pious children!" Mr. Gumama,sincerely overcome by this pastoral vision, rolled up his eyes for along pause. But as he had to sneeze he continued, "Hands of the Arm,for to-day we are still ourselves. For to-day I might have called onelast meeting of the fifth paranza and we, all alone, have discussed ourown affairs. But that there may be no stain on us of secret counsel weshow our hand to the whole district.--How may we again be dear childrenof the Mother from Naples, held safe in her embrace? Hands of the Arm,to save the Arm cut off always the Hand, one, three, how many, it is nomatter! Hear the one condition of the Honorable Society: We divulge thewhereabouts this night of Nicola Pascoe, the basista and all theirhouse; we offer them neither warning, shelter nor defense; we lead,ourselves, this district in their suppression!" And he leaned towardsthem, glaring and sweating, his voice still cautiously lowered andwaited their answer with open mouth.
They who never yet had disobeyed Nicola Pascoe stared at him a triflewanly, huddling one on the other. Astonished gutturals mingled hoarselywith shrill peeps; "Body of Bacchus!" "Woe, woe! Beware!" "Presence ofthe devil!" clashed with gobs of thieves' slang and the less amiableexpressions that were overwhelmed by the general assurances of thedistrict that the paranza had no choice.
Then a well-to-do little soul with a black beard rose to speak. "Listento the voice of reason. If we condemn ourselves, can we save NicolaPascoe? But if we condemn Nicola Pascoe, we still do save ourselves! Allmust not die--a few it is better to die! It is well I should say this,for I am a man of gentle speech. I do not wish to be thought like a badmurderer nor the companion of murderers. I am a business-man--a dealerin tortoise-shells which I send mostly to Chicago, and I am unique forthe perfection of my wares. I have now the one hope for the support ofmy family and small children--that the Society if it suppresses us allwill leave upon each of us its mark. That would cause a sensation andperhaps advertise my unique tortoise-shells to improve the business formy wife. But this hope is not enough. Nicola Pascoe, the basista, all,all, suppress them! Me, I wish to live!" He sat down.
But then, from Nicola's closer brethren immediate and violent oppositionarose, with arguments that Nicola himself had done no wrong and pleadingfor a lighter sentence. The meeting was in scarcely less than anapoplectic fit when, from its outskirts, a young farmhand shrieked outthat they must take the counsel of the good priest, the Angel of theSociety.
A tall man at once began to weep and to utter horrible invectivesagainst the last speaker, while Mr. Gumama exhorted him to be more calm.It turned out that the Angel of the Society was in jail for perjury andthat the tall man was his brother. "I must leave the room! I must haveair! How could he, the bad of heart, t
he pig, mention my brother beforeme--"
"Angelo, you are a man and must show more strength! Antonio was notaware of the trouble of your brother--"
"Not aware of--He who celebrated masses for the soul of King Humbert, hewho remained tender to us though all other fathers refused us absolutionwhile we practised our profession, he who among us was best forplausible defenses, that holy man!"
"We revere him. But it is impossible to allow you to leave the roomevery time he is mentioned! You have disordered in that way the lastfour meetings!"
Angelo threw himself on the ground with cries of injustice, and anequally angry person started up from his corner. "What is he screamingabout? Has he the only feelings to be considered? Do I thus weep like awoman? I, too, have a brother in a dark prison--and if I were with him Iwould be more safe! While that one there slobbers do I wish to die? Andto thus make a martyr not only of me, but of that holy soul, my mother!Who, at eighty-four would weep for me and tear her sacred hair, allgray!" A chorus of sympathetic wails responded to this touchingreference. "Me, I see in this room one who once took my lock of thathair for another woman's!" Hisses arose. "Yet do I ask to leave theroom? Let it be the house of Pascoe which forever leaves this room.Rather than meet in the dark with the agent of the Honorable Society Iwill surrender me to the police!"
This, indeed, achieved tumult, breaking into personal rancors in whichthe issue of Nicola seemed to vanish.
"You are a liar! He did not--"
"I will swear on the ashes of my father and of my dead son!"
"You would swear on anything!"
"Beware! Beware the anathema!"
"I am sorry for you--I take you to my bosom!"
"I curse you down to the seventh generation!"
"Once you dug, quiet, in my sewer! But now you are proud and agentleman--"
"I was always more of a gentleman than you are!"
"I remind you that you must die!"
At last the voice of Mr. Gumama was able to make itself heard."Beautiful friends, the vote, the vote!--Ah! Now, attention! This iswhat you do not know. Who thinks to be faithful to Nicola Pascoe, isNicola Pascoe faithful to him? Nicola Pascoe flees away! A-a-ah! Doubtyou that the Society will have _some_ atonement? He flees to Brazil,this coming sunrise, he and his, and leaves us to bear his blame!"
It was enough. The meeting could not speak; it could only shake andfroth in one united epilepsy. As the fifth paranza found voice itgroaned, "We have been betrayed! We are innocent! We have been cast likelambs to the slaughter! He has trampled not only on the human but thedivine law! He leaves us to perish in this infamous market--" And avery old man, as he called down upon the Pascoes all the curses ofheaven mixed with descriptions of his sufferings from nightmare as achild, put up insane appeals for their punishment. He rose from hysteriato hysteria; sobbing with exhaustion he buried his face in his handsafter summoning God, personally, to convince Nicola's friends; suddenlyhe raised his head and, plucking at one of his wild eyes, with asweeping movement he cast a small object apparently at Jehovah's feet.His magnificent gesture defying their mercies, he lifted to their gaspof amazement the seared, empty, gaping socket in his ancient, beardedface, and, uttering a choking shriek, he fell to the ground. A stampedeof horror was averted by Mr. Gumama, who picked up the eye-ball, cast itdown again and ground it under foot. It was glass.
There being no hope of capping this climax they got down to business andsurrendered Nicola in a wink. There remained to be dealt with a flourishof Mr. Gumama's. "This is all demanded by our kind Mother. But shall wenot give a little more? Shall she herself be obliged to slay the serpentthat we have fed and made strong? Will she not be pleased by a littlemore zeal on our part, while still we are ourselves? My friends, I havemade a little arrangement." Fortunately for Mr. Gumama's climax as henow sent another of his impatient glances out of the window he gave anuncontrollable cry of relief. "Here they come!"
Strolling along the sidewalk appeared three men, all evidently Italians;but two, in their rough clothes, lumpish sailors. The slenderer andfiner-made came sauntering between them; he had a charming smile withwhich he listened attentively to some oath embroidered anecdote. As theyentered the garage one of the sailors, looking up, caught the eye of Mr.Gumama and made a quick signal. "Bene! They have not been followed!" Mr.Gumama exclaimed. "By the grace of heaven they have not been followed!And he has no suspicion!" The confidential aides purred aloud, the wholemeeting slightly relaxed and the man with the knife decided to sit down.But he kept his knife in his hand.
Mr. Gumama stationed two men at the window to watch the sidewalk andthen motioned half a dozen distinguished members to the stairs.Crouching forward they could see the slight man leaning in the doorway,whistling, and glancing up and down the swarming street with quick, darkeyes. Mr. Gumama squatted until he was in danger of falling through theopening and pointing a long, soiled finger at the slight man, "Iltraditore," hissed Mr. Gumama. "He whom Nicola and the basista shelterin our midst! Alieni, o' n'infama! Traditore! He, Filippi Alieni!"