Page 9 of The Girl from Sicily
9
DINU, JULY 1943
Early the next day, after Pa had given him a day off work, Dinu set off with Francu and Gero for the Sacca de Melita estate. It wasn’t somewhere he’d ever imagined himself going. Since arriving in Sicily eight years ago, he’d kept well away from the 1,200 hectares of the latifondo .
Having spent more than half of his life in ‘the land of the free’, he hated the fact that four-fifths of Sicily was divided into noble fiefs. The immense fortunes of a small, privileged group of aristocrats contrasted horribly with the extreme poverty of the rest of the people.
But, when Gero had told him last night that his commander, Colonel Charles Rinelli, had been staying with Baron Aurelio Sacca di Melita, posing as his butler, and that he’d ordered Gero to report to him, Dinu hadn’t hesitated in offering to help.
‘I’ll be too conspicuous walking there on my own,’ Gero had said.
So Dinu and Francu had proposed going with him and, if they were stopped, the three of them would pretend to be agricultural labourers in search of work. Dinu was curious about the American colonel and mindful that he might be able to take advantage, somehow, of the situation. Don Nofriu’s men protected the estate, and Dinu had yet to secure an introduction to the boss. Maybe, if he made himself useful to the colonel, the American would recommend him?
It was a vain hope, but he kept it alive in his heart as he made his way down the long winding road to the valley.
‘Tell me about Rinelli, Gero,’ he said.
‘He’s the son of Italian immigrants from Varese, near Milan. Born in Vermont. He went to Harvard Law School and became an attorney about twenty years ago.’
‘He sure did well,’ Dinu said.
‘Yep. He became active in politics and served as lieutenant governor of New York from ’39 to ’42.’
‘What’s he doing here in Sicily?’ Francu chipped in.
‘He’s a Civil Affairs Officer with the US army.’ Gero brushed a lock of hair back from his forehead. ‘That means he’ll be responsible for rebuilding and restoring democracy in Italy after the Allies defeat Hitler and Mussolini.’
‘And you work for him?’ Dinu asked.
‘You won’t breathe a word?’ Gero turned his gaze from Dinu to Francu and back to Dinu again.
Both Dinu and Francu nodded.
‘Don Nofriu considers Rinelli “one of his good friends”, if you know what I mean. That’s why I was sent to Villaurora.’
‘Thanks for sharing that with us, Gero,’ Dinu said. ‘Can’t wait to meet him.’
They carried on walking, and Dinu’s step lightened at the thought of the possibilities ahead. An intro to the ‘man of honour’ would surely happen soon, wouldn’t it?
A couple of hours later, he and his companions entered the Sacca estate. The undulating land was covered with yellow wheat stalks and bales of straw that would be used for cattle winter bedding. The morning had turned hot and sweat ran down Dinu’s face. Flies swarmed, and he waved them away with the back of his hand. Eventually, the gated part of the property, guarded by armed men, came into view.
‘Let me do the talking,’ Gero said. ‘I have a password to give them.’ He stepped forward and spoke to a burly man with a handlebar moustache.
The man nodded, and Gero signalled that Dinu and Francu should follow him.
They walked up the drive to the front of the baron’s baglio padronale , or bagghiu in Sicilian. Dinu eyed the outside walls of the nobleman’s residence, which were much bigger than the more humble bagli occupied by peasant farmers near Villaurora.
Gero pressed the bell and, before too long, a heavy-set man, with dark wavy hair receding from his broad forehead, swung open the hefty wooden door. Dressed in a black suit, which must have been stifling in the summer heat, it could only be the colonel who was pretending to be the baron’s butler. Gero saluted the man, confirming Dinu’s impression.
‘Let me introduce my compatriots,’ Gero said as they went into a large square courtyard. ‘They helped me find don Nofriu. And they escorted me here, providing me with the cover story that I’m an agricultural labourer looking for work.’
‘Good call.’ The colonel swept his gaze over Dinu and Francu. ‘Come into the kitchen and I’ll rustle up some refreshments.’
Dinu noticed Francu eyeing the upper storey of the edifice, where presumably the master and his family lived. The ground floor accommodated itinerant farm workers like him, and was used for storing supplies and fodder. There were also the stables and other areas for keeping the farm tools and for garaging the baron’s vehicles.
Dinu and the others crossed the courtyard, passing under a shady Judas tree, and went through the central door opposite. The kitchen had an enormous iron cooking range, where a middle-aged woman was stirring a pot.
She turned to greet the colonel deferentially. Clearly, he was only the ‘butler’ to the outside world.
‘Brigida, fetch the young men a glass of water,’ he said before pulling out a chair at the rectangular wooden table.
Rinelli stared thoughtfully at Dinu and Francu, then said to Gero, ‘I need to talk to you in private.’
‘These guys are on our side, sir.’ Gero glanced at the colonel. ‘Whatever you wanna tell me, you can say it in front of them.’
‘You sure we can trust them?’
‘We are like family.’ Dinu squared his shoulders. ‘I swear on my ma’s life we’re trustworthy.’ When a Sicilian man invokes his mother, you know he’s telling the truth.
‘Okay.’ Rinelli gave a curt nod. He waited as Brigida served glasses of fresh water and they had all taken a drink. ‘The Allies have planned to start their assault in the early hours of tomorrow.’
‘Where?’ Francu leant forwards.
‘I know Gero said I can trust you, but that’s info I can’t give. Sorry.’
‘I hope they defeat the Germans and Italian fascists quickly,’ Dinu said.
‘That’s partly why Gero and I are here.’ A smile curled the colonel’s lips. ‘As soon as our boys break through from the coast, there’s a plan we need to put into action.’
‘What plan?’ Francu asked.
‘Have you heard of Lucky Luciano?’ Rinelli cocked his head.
‘I remember hearing the name when I was a kid.’ Dinu grinned at his own ability to recall. ‘Ain’t he the boss of the Genovese crime family in New York?’
‘Yep. He’s been imprisoned in upstate New York since ’36, but he still has his hand firmly on the controls of his business empire. He’s notorious, and carries on wielding a lot of influence.’
‘The Office of Naval Intelligence contacted him in ’42 to ask for his help in protecting New York harbour from enemy sabotage,’ Gero added, taking up the tale.
‘It was helpful that Luciano was both able and willing to provide assistance through his contacts,’ the colonel said.
‘So what’s he got to do with you and Gero being here?’ Francu asked.
‘Luciano is Sicilian by birth. He still has plenty of links with the Old Country, and, more to the point, with members of the Onorata Società .’ The colonel lowered his voice. ‘Don Nofriu is the most esteemed of the men of honour. Getting him on our side is a big part of our strategy. The message Gero took to him was vital. Thanks for your help with that, by the way.’
‘So, what happens next?’ Gero asked.
‘I want you to go back to the village and wait. As soon as our guys have broken through, you’ll be contacted. All you’ll need to do then is to follow the plan.’
‘What plan?’ Dinu risked the question.
‘That remains confidential, young man. But you’ll find out soon enough, I hope.’ The colonel snorted out a laugh. ‘In the meantime, Brigida will give us all some lunch. It will be too hot for you to walk back to the village this afternoon, so you should rest here and wait for the cool of the evening.’
And that was what they did. They filled their bellies with pasta alla norma , washed down with good-quality red wine, took a nap on hay bales in one of the storage areas, saluted the colonel, and then made their way through the heavy wooden doors.
Sparrows had roosted in the tall bamboo thickets beside the road and were bickering noisily over the best places to perch as Dinu and his friends walked past them. Dinu remembered the saying that sparrows never die of hunger, because they’re cheeky and fearless.
He smirked to himself – he could be cheeky and fearless, too. One day he would die – everyone died in the end – but it wouldn’t be of hunger, for sure.