Capello Brothers 3 Train My Heart (7 page)

Stepping off
the train in Sondrio had offered a harsh reality; easily forty
degrees Celsius, no breeze and a breathtaking dry heat that
instantly transported Luca to his childhood. He was home; the
brutal heat reiterated that without compromise.

From here, Luca
needed to travel to Arquino, the closest village to his father's
home; a twenty five minute drive from central Sondrio and a
relatively isolated location. Imogen had been particularly
concerned about this leg of the trip and had suggested Luca hire a
car to give him more flexibility whilst visiting his father. Luca
had dismissed her research of the local car hire company and
assured her he'd be fine catching a taxi to his father's home.

However
standing in the vaguely familiar surrounds of Sondrio, memories
that Luca had long buried began to surface. Like a show-reel
playing through his mind, Luca began to see and hear the shouts and
screams of his mother telling them to hide, the dull thump of his
father's fist as he forced his way from room to room, person to
person annihilating the house and everyone in it. Memories Luca had
so carefully locked away unraveling before him, sucking the air
from his lungs as certainly as the heat did.

"Signore,
volete un taxi?"
Sir, do you want a taxi?
came the shout
from across the road.

"Si" Luca
called in reply, loading his backpack into the vehicle before
passing the driver Imogen's handwritten note detailing the address
of the car hire business.

Driving in
silence, Luca worked to steady his breathing and clear his mind.
For this visit to be useful, he'd need to go in with an open mind
and make judgment as a grown man not as the petrified and naïve
little boy he was when he last saw his father.

Having stopped
at a small greengrocer on his way north to Arquino, Luca had done a
small shop and stocked up on essentials for his stay. As the road
wound its way through the hillside, the houses became scarce and
the roads narrower. He was almost there.

Surely
not,
Luca thought as he pulled into the overgrown driveway.
"This cannot be the place"
he spoke aloud as stepped out of
the car and looked back in the direction he'd just come. Looking
over his mother's directions, he mentally checked off the landmarks
she'd written: go past the last house on the right, drive across
the bridge overlooking the creek, it's the first house on your
left.

Luca
side-stepped through the overgrown weeds and trees that were
strangling the path to the house, the old place looked unlivable.
Though his mother had assured him otherwise, it dawned on Luca that
it was possible his father had moved on. He still wasn't convinced
that this was even the right place—it was nothing like he
remembered.

Walking to the
back of the property, Luca could see into the house and recognized
the old kitchen; this is the place he smiled to himself. The old
stove stood in the corner as it always had, and a small wooden
bench that he recalled watching his father build sat just to the
left.

On closer
inspection, he realized that what was once a place of comfort and
togetherness now housed just a single wooden chair being held
together with bounds of twine. Other than clutter and mess, the
kitchen was completely bare. Plates of half-eaten meals stacked on
the bench provided the only clue that the house was still lived in;
there were no photos, no personal belongings, nothing.
So, he's
still here.

A sheet of tin
stood precariously as Luca rounded the perimeter of the house.
Feeling instantly guilty that no one was around to help keep the
place tidy, Luca pushed and pulled to jimmy the tin out of its
place and set aside somewhere safer. As it came away, Luca stilled;
the world around him slowed and he could hear each beat of his
racing heart. This was where Roman and Dominic used to hide him,
where he used to listen for the screaming and shouting to subside;
the crying he learned took longer to stop.

The first night
that Roman had hidden him and Dominic here he had made them promise
to stay put until he came for them. He and Dom had sat there for
what seemed like hours, Luca crying uncontrollably at first, scared
and confused until Dominic had warned him to be quiet or their
hiding spot would be discovered. Later that night, they'd heard
heavy footsteps circling the house; afraid they'd been found out
Dom had pushed Luca further under the house resolute to take the
punishment himself, when the weary and concerned face of their
neighbor, Joseph Giavinni, came into focus. Having heard the
prolonged shouts and screaming, Giavinni had come to help. After a
brief tussle that rendered their father incapacitated, he then
helped bandage Ma and Roman before heading out to find Dominic and
Luca. From that night on, their father's temper worsened, and
Dominic would hide Luca first then head back into the affray to
help Roman.

"CHI SEI?"
boomed the familiar voice behind him.
Who are you?

Steadying
himself, Luca turned to face his father, "Papà, sono io Luca".
Dad, it's me Luca.

"I know no
Luca" his father replied resolutely in broken English.

"Tuo figlio,
Luca".
Your son, Luca.

"Vada via!"
Go away!
came the mumbled replied, before he turned
unsteadily and walked away from Luca and into the house.

Go away?
He'd just flown from the other side of the world to see him and
this was the greeting he received? Storming after him, Luca caught
his father's arm as he walked through the front door.

"Vada via?
Really? That's what you say to a son you've not seen in decades?"
Luca retorted.

"Vada via" his
father smiled back, the stench of whisky on his breath stinging
Luca as hard as his words, "how you say it… Get lost!"

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

Luca woke from
an uneasy sleep; the temperature already stifling and the surrounds
of his old bedroom offering no respite from the onslaught of bad
memories that had been hitting him since arriving. Reaching into
his backpack, Luca pulled out his phone and switched it on hoping
to find a text from Imogen. Nothing, no signal, no reception, no
message and his heart sunk a little further.

After their
shaky start, his father had invited him to stay albeit ensuring
that Luca was aware that he wasn't to get "too comfortable". Though
he'd been uncertain about staying given his father's abrasive
attitude and obvious drunkenness, Luca had reasoned that at almost
a foot taller and easily 50 kilograms heavier, he was more than
capable of holding his own if his father did lose his temper.

He'd asked
after their mother and though Luca had glossed over the details,
his father still seemed annoyed at her ability to move on and
create a new and better life. Conversation had turned to Roman,
Dominic and himself and rather than his father being proud of what
they'd achieved, the positive news served only to infuriate him
further. His drunkenness hadn't helped and as his composure had
begun to slip and his abrasiveness became less tolerable, Luca had
feigned tiredness and hit the sack. His father turned in not long
afterward and Luca had listened as his cried himself to sleep.

His fathers'
shout, "MI STAI OFFENDENDO!" broke Luca's train of thought
abruptly.
You are offending me!

The groceries
Luca thought to himself. He'd brought them inside yesterday but
given his father's inebriated state it was hardly a surprise that
he'd only now discovered them.

"It's just
food" Luca called back, rising from his bed and reaching for a
t-shirt.

"You think I
can't provide? Proprio come tua madre!"
just like your
mother!
came the bellowing response as his father barged
through the door and came face to chest with Luca. Taking a step
back, his father sized him up, his eyes taking inventory of Luca's
rippled torso and well defined shoulders and biceps before stepping
backwards from the room. "Non ho bisogno del tuo aiuto"
I do not
need your help
he hissed before turning his back to Luca and
disappearing into his bedroom.

"Benvenuto"
came the warm welcome from the visitor standing on the front
landing juggling dishes and bowls of delicious smelling food.
"Italiano o Inglese?"

"Entrambi"
both
Luca replied.

"Aah, Inglese
is easier, yes?"

"Yes. Are you
here to see my father?"

"Your… father?"
she replied questioningly.

Luca felt the
sting of disappointment; his father had never mentioned them to his
friends.

"Margherita,
this is Luca" his father announced from behind.

Stepping aside,
Luca welcomed the woman into the house unarming her of the dishes
that were now threatening to fall from her shaking arms.

"Your son?" she
whispered again to his father.

"Si, si" his
father replied, dismissively with a sweeping motion of his
hand.

"You… you never
mentioned a son"

"Three
actually, and an ex-wife that he probably hasn't mentioned either"
Luca chimed in, his temper suddenly taking over. "Why would you get
messed up with him anyway?"

"Messed up…?"
she asked quietly, though as her eyes dropped to the floor Luca
realized she understood what he’d implied.

"LUCA! Go!" his
father boomed, as he opened a cheap bottle of whisky and poured
himself a glass.

Leaving the
house, Luca slammed the door closed as forcefully as he could
before hearing his father and Margherita begin arguing in such
heated, fast-paced Italian he didn't dare try to follow the
discussion.

An hour later,
Luca heard Margherita's car leave the driveway and his father
calling his name. Let him wait Luca thought to himself and carried
on basking in the sun on an old deck chair he'd fixed up with some
twine and spare materials.

"You offended
her" his father accused, as Luca squinted up into the direction of
the voice.

"You offend me
by pretending we don't exist. We are your family. Famiglia!" Luca
shouted.

"You don't
exist, not to me. No more"

"Good to know”
Luca retorted sarcastically, “yet you open your home and your life
to a stranger?"

"Margherita is
no stranger; she gives me more than you boys and your mother ever
did. She’s a whole lot less trouble too" he sneered.

"So you beat
her too?" Luca countered, standing before his father and sizing him
up.

"Ridicolo!"
ridiculous

"Really? Are
you such a drunk you can't remember what you used to do to Ma, to
us boys?"

“You are soft
Luca, your brothers too. Ho finito”
I’m done.

“I don’t care
if you’re done—you owe me, all of us, an explanation. Have you
always been a sadistic old bastard or do you just prefer to pick on
people smaller and defenseless against you?”

“Colpa tua
madre. Colpa tua nonni”
Blame your mother. Blame your
grandparents.

“This isn’t
anyone else’s fault Papa—this is about you and your temper”

“Your mama and
nonni; they didn’t believe I was good enough. Never enough money,
not the right house, not the right vehicle… uffa… then you boys
came along, one then another then another and they were right. Not
enough money for clothes and shoes and school and food… The
pressure it was… too much…” he trailed off.

“And lashing
out at as all fixed that?”

“No… no…” he
sighed, “I’m not good with pressure, I cannot make good things from
pressure, I just… react badly. It is really not my fault”.

“So, all the
nights of hiding from you, listening to you beating Ma and Roman
and Dominic, that’s not your fault?” Luca asked incredulously.

“You all made
life hard. It was not the life I wanted. Like I said, do not make
yourself too comfortable, I am about done with this too” he stabbed
at Luca before turning his back once again and walking inside and
no doubt to his whisky bottle.

As the sun
settled, Luca helped himself to a plate of Margherita’s pasta
before heading out for a walk. The landscape was lush, the grass a
green hue unlike any Luca had seen before, the alpine waters of the
creek below shone with pale blue glory and the imposing Alps stood
firmly in the background offering subconscious reminders to Luca
that in order to remain strong he’d have to stand firm and
consistent against his father’s hostility. One thing that Luca was
beginning to understand was that it wasn’t so much his father’s
temper that was the problem; sure it was the finger that pulled the
trigger, but it was his father’s own insecurities and inability to
handle change that was the most significant catalyst for his
hostility.

Luca knew he
could compromise, he mightn’t like it but he could do it. He knew
he could provide a stable and solid life for himself and Imogen
moving forward. He knew that he was secure enough in his abilities
to behave and interact like a gentleman. Maybe Imogen and Roman had
been right; maybe he’d just snapped at the McNaught situation
because Imogen meant so much to him. Maybe he wasn’t like his
father at all. He and his mother and brothers had created a
positive and rewarding life for themselves against all the
adversity that had been thrown their way. I’m not like him at all
Luca realized before setting back to the house, feeling the most
confident in himself than he had in months.

Lying in bed
later that night, Luca listened again as his father ranted and
mumbled aimlessly before falling into bed drunk and crying. As he
listened to his father’s heaving sobs, Luca couldn’t help but feel
pity. Not sympathy, but pity. His father had made his bed, if it
was uncomfortable and lonely now it was too bad—he’d have to sleep
in it, alone.