Page 23 of The Girl from Sicily

23

DINU, MARCH 1944

A feeling of being able to conquer the world spread through Dinu as he perched on a boulder, cleaning his pistol outside the largest of the caves where he was living with his band of men. He smiled with satisfaction – he’d recruited several new members and also increased the group’s stash of weapons by stealing them from people who were hoarding them for sale.

His satisfaction quickly turned to dissatisfaction, though, when he remembered there was still the thorn in his side of the lack of a pardon. Don Nofriu had yet to deliver on his promise and Dinu had decided the time had come to talk to him.

He, Dinu Pavano, was a force to be reckoned with nowadays. No one dared mess with him, of that he was sure. He pulled in a deep breath, remembering how last month he’d gone down to Villaurora after dark to visit his family – even though he’d discovered that Cardona, realising the need for a better information service, had employed several petty spies in the village.

As Dinu approached his family home, he’d seen a gangly young man who was hanging around in the street outside. When he’d slammed the door open to leave, he’d found the fellow lurking behind it. The youth said he’d seen him come down from the mountains and had stood guard for him. The young man’s story didn’t ring true, but Dinu gave him the benefit of the doubt, cuffed him savagely and told him not to do it again. A few days later, though, Dinu caught him at it for the second time. He grabbed the youth by the scruff of the neck and marched him to a dark alleyway, where he told him to say his prayers before shooting him.

Did he feel any remorse for his actions? Sicily was a land where men killed each other for lesser crimes. The young man was a spy, a godforsaken traitor who’d broken the code, and Dinu had made him pay for it. The sharp heat of anger had inflamed his gut, and his pulse had pounded in his ears. He’d planted his legs wide, every muscle in his body tensing as the youth had bled out on the cobblestones. Coldness seeping through him, he’d then turned on his heel and had left the corpse to be finished off by the rats.

Movement caught his eye now, and he spotted Francu approaching up the stony path.

‘I’m setting off to see the boss,’ Dinu said, getting down from his boulder.

‘I’ll take care of things while you’re gone.’ Francu grinned, his pencil-thin moustache curling above his lips.

‘Of that I have no doubt, kuxinu .’

As he sauntered down the stony track, Dinu thought about Francu. They were equals as far as both of them were concerned. Dinu had been made a colonel in the Separatists’ army and Francu a major, but it didn’t matter to either that one outranked the other – they shared decision making like they’d always done.

Once he’d arrived in the village, Dinu paid a quick visit to Ma, Pa and Annita, then headed for the godfather’s house. He paused at the iron gate and rang the bell. One of don Nofriu’s picciotti opened the door to him and took him through to the capo’s living room.

The boss was sitting in an armchair, listening to the radio, his habitual cigar in his mouth. Dinu advanced across the marble floor and bowed before him. He kissed his hand, the traditional Sicilian greeting to a man of higher rank. Don Nofriu indicated towards the seat opposite and told Dinu to sit. He did as requested, eyeing the godfather cautiously.

‘I expect you’ve come to ask about your pardon.’ Don Nofriu leant forwards to tap ash into an ashtray before fixing Dinu with a calculating look. ‘It will take time, but don’t worry. As soon as the war is over and we have a Separatist government in Palermo, I’m sure I can come to an understanding with whoever will be the Minister of Justice.’

‘I was hoping that it could be achieved sooner,’ Dinu said, narrowing his eyes.

‘Be patient, young man.’ Don Nofriu paused for a long moment, as if considering what to say next. ‘In the meantime, I’d like you to join my family officially under my protection. You can’t live in the mountains forever?—’

‘You do me a great honour,’ Dinu said, jerking his head back in surprise.

‘I only have female children. No son to inherit the business side of things. You’ve impressed me with your resilience. If you prove yourself while working for me, you could reach the summit of my organisation in due course. One day, you might even become my right-hand man.’

‘Thank you, but what about my cousin, Francu Bagghieri?’

‘The youth with the slicked-back hair? What of him?’

‘We’re partners,’ Dinu said. ‘We do everything together.’

‘He’ll need to show he’s worthy.’ Don Nofriu tapped his chin.

‘Francu will do that, I’m sure.’

‘Which brings me to a matter of great importance.’ Don Nofriu sucked on his cigar and puffed out smoke. ‘Communist agitators have invited the regional secretary of their party, Girolamo Li Causi, to hold a rally in the village next Saturday. The authorities recently released him from prison where he was serving a twenty-one-year sentence for being anti-fascist. The communists sent emissaries to ask my permission, “ Ccù trasi addimanna permessu. ”’

‘What did you say?’ Dinu glanced at the godfather.

‘I accepted their request, but only on the condition they keep silent about the topic of agrarian reform, the division of the big estates.’

‘Why are you telling me all this?’

Don Nofriu owned twelve thousand acres of land around Villaurora that he’d want to protect at any cost, Dinu knew, but he had no clue what the boss wanted of him.

‘If we let the communists control Italy after the war, what will happen to the Church? What will happen to our strong family foundations?’

‘I’m hoping we’ll be independent of Rome by then,’ Dinu said.

‘There’s still the danger of a left-wing government. If the leftist parties win the elections, the day might come when there are Russians in the villages of Sicily.’

‘Russians? Why Russians?’

‘If the communists run this country, we’ll become an ally of Russia. They’d make children go to schools that would teach them that the state comes before God and their own mothers and fathers.’

‘I don’t understand what you want of me, don Nofriu.’ Dinu scratched his head.

‘I don’t trust those bastards.’ The godfather shifted his bulky body in his armchair. ‘I agreed they could organise their damned rally on one condition. That they don’t mention land reform. I intend to hold them to that promise. If they so much as say one word against me, I’ll need you and your men to teach them a lesson.’

‘What kind of lesson?’ Dinu cocked his head to one side.

‘Something to scare them. Remind them who’s in charge. I’m sure you can think of an appropriate action.’

Dinu hated the communists’ preaching against the Church and their scoffing at the Sicilian institution of the family. But he also guessed don Nofriu cared not a fig for such things. He was more concerned about keeping his land and remaining in control. A left-wing government would be serious about reforms, and would almost certainly try to get rid of the Friends of the Friends.

Smirking to himself, Dinu nodded. He, too, wanted power. Hadn’t the boss promised he could eventually work his way up in the organisation and become his right-hand man? To Dinu’s way of thinking, a job with don Nofriu would be far more profitable than his position in the Separatist army.

‘Leave it with me, capo,’ he said.

* * *

The following Saturday evening, their faces hidden by balaclavas, Dinu waited with Francu and four of their men in a lorry parked in the middle of the village square, keeping guard as arranged.

Alberto Spina, the schoolteacher, had organised a podium for the speakers in front of the local branch of the Banco di Sicilia. Don Nofriu sat some twenty metres to the right of it with his picciotti .

A truck pulling an enormous wagon rumbled into the piazza. It came to a halt and about forty communists and socialists from Caltanissetta got out.

Dinu touched the pistol at his waist, relieved that the villagers themselves were hanging back. Strangely, not one carabiniere was present.

The crowd burst into applause as Alberto Spina mounted the stage and welcomed Li Causi to Villaurora. The communist spoke on abstract topics concerning work in the fields and being taken advantage of by large landowners. Then he hurled a bolt of lightning into the proceedings, and said, ‘…like, for example, the exploitation carried out by don Nofriu Vaccaru’s fiefdom.’

Dinu gasped. Li Causi had hit the boss’s nerve point.

‘ Non e’ vero! ’ The capo yelled it wasn’t true. ‘ E’ falso! ’

Dinu jumped out of the lorry and fired his pistol into the air. Francu and the others followed and began shooting, raining down bullets on all and sundry.

Pandemonium ensued. People were screaming, and a small stampede started among the villagers, who’d been hanging around at the edge of the scene.

Dinu took a grenade from his pocket, pulled the pin, and hurled it into the crowd of communists.

Li Causi crumpled to the floor of the podium, clutching his leg. Others fell to the ground, soaked in blood, writhing in pain.

‘Let’s go,’ Dinu commanded. Within minutes, he and his cohort were on the outskirts of Villaurora, then heading back up to the caves.

Once again, Dinu felt no remorse for his actions. He’d steeled himself, carried out what was necessary. He’d done the godfather’s bidding and Francu had also proved himself up to the task. From now onwards, they would be don Nofriu’s men, and, in time, they too would have positions of power as great, if not greater, than their capo.