Page 12 of The Girl from Sicily
12
DINU, JULY 1943
A week after Gero had disappeared with don Nofriu in the back of an American Jeep, Dinu was outside on the front step, smoking. He was still annoyed that he’d missed the boss’s dramatic unfurling of the yellow kerchief with a big black ‘L’ on it. Plainly, it stood for ‘Lucky Luciano’, and it must have been with the message Gero had taken to don Nofriu soon after he’d parachuted down.
Dinu set his jaw; the time had come to lay his cards on the table with Gero. Dinu had done him a lot of favours and, as soon as the American came back to the village, Dinu would ask for the favours to be returned.
He spotted Francu coming down the street, swinging his arms by his sides.
‘I found out that don Nofriu and Gero have arrived back in Villaurora.’ Francu sat down and took the cigarette Dinu offered him. ‘Gero drove him in a Fiat car.’
‘Remember Rinelli told us that, as soon as the Allies had broken through, a plan would be put into action?’ Dinu exhaled smoke. ‘My guess is they’ve been networking in the Onorata Società. ’
‘I believe you could be right.’ Francu took a deep draw of his cigarette.
‘Gero should stop by, now he’s back in the village,’ Dinu said. ‘He still might need to use his radio.’
Francu smirked, then said, ‘Speak of the devil?—’
Gero looked different in his khaki uniform. Older, somehow. He wore the golden oak leaf major’s insignia on his shoulder loops and there was an air of authority about him.
‘ Ciao , paisani , comu state ?’ He asked how they were, lighting himself a Camel.
Dinu and Francu replied they were well.
‘Where have you been?’ Francu asked.
‘Here and there. Mostly in Palermo.’
Dinu fixed Gero with a firm gaze, eager to get the truth out of him.
‘What was don Nofriu up to?’
Gero tapped the ash from his cigarette, then shrugged.
‘He met with his friends in Cosa Nostra and they’ve been sending emissaries to encourage Sicilian troops to lay down their arms to the Americans.’
‘ Mizzica! ’ Dinu could hear the surprise in his voice. ‘Did they succeed?’
‘Two divisions of Americans closed in on Palermo the other day. Both were massed on the hills overlooking the capital, ready for a fight. The opposition was minimal – only occasional pot-shots, sabotaged bridges and mines. The Sicilian coastal divisions put down their arms and either surrendered in droves or disappeared.’
‘So Palermo is now in American hands?’ Francu whistled.
‘Not sure how big a part don Nofriu’s machinations with his fellow godfathers played in that.’ Gero shook his head. ‘But the battle for Sicily isn’t over yet. German and Italian forces are fiercely defending the area around Mount Etna.’
‘Where the Onorata Società has a much smaller presence,’ Francu said with another smirk.
‘Yep.’ Gero got to his feet. ‘I’ll pay my respects to your parents, Dinu. Then I’ll head back to don Nofriu.’
‘I was gonna ask you if you’d introduce us to him.’ Dinu lowered his voice. ‘To return the favours you owe us for helping you out.’
Gero stared at Dinu long and hard. He appeared thoughtful, then he barked out a sardonic laugh.
‘Be careful what you ask for, paisano. Don Nofriu plays the role of the kindly village godfather but, in reality, he’s an extremely dangerous man.’
‘I can handle him,’ Dinu said with confidence. ‘Remember, I grew up in New York.’
* * *
The next day, Dinu and his father were working in the campagna . After spending the morning harvesting figs, they took a break from the scorching July sun to eat the packed lunch of cheese and bread that Ma had wrapped for them in waxed cloth parcels. The two-hectare smallholding, on a terraced slope leading up from the village, boasted a hut made of bamboo. A bamboo plantation was part of almost every campagna , and theirs was no exception.
Sitting on the beaten earth floor of the shack, Pa muttered about Gero’s revelation to the family last night that he’d been appointed the civil affairs officer for Villaurora.
‘He’s not much older than you, son. What’s the world coming to?’
‘At least that fat fascist mayor has been sent packing.’
‘To be replaced by don Nofriu.’
‘Better a man of honour than a socialist, I say.’ Dinu grinned.
Pa grimaced and took a bite of bread and cheese. He heaved a sigh.
‘Or a communist like the schoolteacher, Alberto Spina.’
‘I thought he was simply anti-fascist,’ Dinu said.
‘They’re all as bad as each other.’ Pa passed him the water bottle and shot him a glance.
‘What are we gonna do about our rifles?’ Dinu asked.
Gero had also announced last night that he’d instructed the marshal of the carabinieri to collect all weapons in possession of the villagers.
‘Giulianu Cardona will give them back to us.’ Pa frowned, creasing his forehead. ‘Gero promised.’
The American had justified the employment of Cardona, saying the carabinieri had sworn an oath of allegiance to the king, not to Mussolini. The marshal had also kept his job because the Allies needed to employ the carabinieri to enforce the laws they would enact.
‘I’ll make sure Cardona obeys Gero’s orders,’ Dinu said, growling deep in his throat.
* * *
That evening, Gero was conspicuous by his absence at the dinner table.
‘I hope now everyone knows who he really is, he won’t forget us,’ Ma lamented, clearly missing the parcel of meat he always brought her.
‘Wouldn’t surprise me if he has,’ Lucia said, twirling pasta around her fork. ‘I heard there was a ceremony in the carabinieri barracks and that he officially made don Nofriu our mayor. Francu’s ma was there. She came by this afternoon and said there was a vast crowd outside the building, clapping and cheering as the boss appeared. Gero must be a very good friend of his?—’
‘I don’t think he’s joined don Nofriu’s clan.’ Dinu met his sister’s eye. ‘Gero’s just using him.’
‘More like don Nofriu is using Gero,’ Pa said, picking up a piece of bread and scooping tomato sugo from his plate.
‘Shush.’ Ma shook her head. ‘We mustn’t talk about don Nofriu.’
Dinu sat back and contemplated his family. He would get rich one day and, when that day came, he’d look after them. Even if the village capo didn’t offer him a job, Dinu would find a way to make money on his own.
His sisters cleared the table before going to do the washing up and getting ready for bed. The fact that the entire family slept together in the only room of the house had been riling Dinu more and more of late. The first thing he’d do, when he had the funds, would be to buy a bigger place for them all.
He pushed his shoulders back; he’d have a family of his own in the future. Attractive village girls with good dowries would catch his eye at Sunday mass, and he’d be tempted and feel a stirring in his loins. But now was not the time to think of such things. He always distracted himself by thinking of something else. Francu was the same; they’d discussed the matter. Dinu’s cousin was as hungry for wealth as he was. Women could wait for now – they’d only be a distraction.
Later, in his bunk bed, Dinu woke with a start. Outside, the silence of the summer night had been broken by someone shouting, ‘Citizens, wake up, they’ve arrested Mussolini. I heard it on the radio.’
Dinu rushed into the street, swiftly followed by Pa. Lights shone from windows. Front doors burst open. Men were out on the sidewalks, embracing each other, telling each other the news.
Their neighbour informed everyone that the king had nominated the marshal of Italy, Sir Pietro Badoglio, as Head of Government, Prime Minister and Secretary of State. He’d also said that the war would go on and Italians would be true to their word.
Whatever that meant.
When Dinu and his father went back indoors to tell Ma, Lucia and Annita what had happened, the girls cheered, but Ma was more concerned about the army of ants she’d discovered marching across the floor. She grabbed a broom and began sweeping frantically.
‘Come to bed, Paola,’ Pa said, taking the broom off her. ‘You can deal with them in the morning.’
Dinu lay back in his bunk, his mind buzzing with thoughts of the future. Change was coming fast and he wouldn’t fall victim to it. He would be a catalyst of that change.
By fair means or foul.