The Coming of Fabrizze: A Novel (Black Squirrel Books) (10 page)

“She says nothing,” said Mancini, helplessly. “She blushes if I go near. She's disappointed in me. I feel it.”

“What more can she say?” said Fabrizze. “She came thousands of miles for you. Wait then. Rumbone is asking her to dance. Look out for him. A dangerous one.”

Mancini went after more wine.

Adelina swept Fabrizze into the dance.

“Talk to me a little,” said the old lady. “They say your husband was a fine dancer,” said Fabrizze.

“It was all dancing and talking,” said Adelina. “Sweet words, Fabrizze, and not a bone in him. Not a bone. I knew it before I married him. I foresaw it!”

“And you took him in spite of it,” said Fabrizze, proud of her.

“What is it?”

“I say you took him in spite of it!” said Fabrizze, immensely proud of her.

“That was the reason!” said Adelina, bursting into laughter.

Mancini was pulling Fabrizze by the arm.

“Come aside,” said Mancini. “The dance is over. Rumbone is gone. There she is again. All by herself.”

“It's a good chance for you,” said Fabrizze. “Are you ready? But she knows we're talking about her. How alert! How she blushes! She's turning away. Look at her ear!”

“Her ear? Which one?”

“Control yourself,” said Fabrizze. “Look, look. Her ear is like a pearl. Are you ready? Wait, wait. Poggio is asking her to dance. A dangerous one.”

“A curse on him,” said Mancini, softly.

Josephine was celebrating at the table. She closed her eyes and popped a cherry pepper into her mouth. She sat there in horror as it blazed through her.

“These hot peppers will finish me,” she said.

She speared a link of sausage.

“Too much pork is bad,” she said.

She loaded her dish with endive. She flirted with codfish in a salad of garlic and parsley and olive oil.

“Why so much garlic?” she said.

She tasted the fish and found it good. She drained her wine and filled the glass. She closed her eyes and popped a pepper into her mouth. A sudden bewildered look was on her face.

“It's time for the sausage again,” said Mendone.

“You mock an old lady,” said Josephine. “Remember, Mendone, I have only two teeth left.”

“One for meat and one for bread,” said Mendone. “Let's see if there's a dance left inside you.”

Mancini drew Fabrizze behind the barrels.

“Where were you?” said Mancini. “Where did you go?”

“But why are you following me?” said Fabrizze.

“She's alone.”

“Ask her to dance.”

“Help me, Fabrizze, help me.”

“Get hold of yourself.”

“I don't know what's happening,” said Mancini. “I was going over to her. I forgot her name! I couldn't think of it. I was looking around for you. My knees were all water. She was watching me. She was waiting. What's happening to me? Tell me what to do! I'm depending on you!”

“Come with me,” said Fabrizze. “Put the glass down. Put the picture away. Tony will play a tarantella. We'll get you together in the dance. Squeeze her hand and say nothing.”

The dance lasted half an hour. Tony played the same stirring melody over and over. The dancers closed into a circle. They followed the music. They followed so close that it turned into a chase. There were two and three and four steps to the beat. Tony lost control of it. Suddenly he threw the guitar aside and jumped in with the dancers. They formed a circle round Lucia and Mancini. They whirled and clapped and stamped the floor. Wild cries went up. It seemed they would bring down the house.

“Faster, faster!”

“Round and round!”

“Wake up there!”

“Back in line!”

“Show me something!”

“Once more!”

“And again!”

“Out with it!”

“Faster, faster!”

“I'm dizzy!”

“Let me out!”

It was a cry for mercy that ended it.

They sat round four tables to eat and drink. Fabrizze went upstairs. He returned with an old blackened bulb of provolone cheese. He set it before Rumbone who got up and moved away.

“Look here,” said Fabrizze. “Look at this.”

“It reminds me of Gritti before he shaves,” said Rumbone.

“Everything reminds you of Gritti,” said Gritti.

“I bought this cheese the other day,” said Fabrizze. “I went to an import house on the East Side.”

“And they told you it was a cheese,” said Rumbone.

“It came from Italy,” said Fabrizze.

“Try to understand,” said Rumbone. “They got rid of it. And now you have it. Get rid of it.”

“The black look means nothing,” said Fabrizze. “Do you see the red seal? A man called Amaro says he'll stand or fall by this bulb of cheese. He left his name and address.”

“It's like a slap in the face,” said Rumbone.

“I'll cut it,” said Fabrizze. “Where is Cardino? Come closer, Cardino, come closer. Bend down. I go in with the knife. How rich and creamy! Look at Cardino! He felt something when it opened!”

“But I did,” said Cardino, startled.

“I choose you to taste and judge it,” said Fabrizze. “First a glass of wine to rinse your mouth. You were puffing on that cigar. Wait, wait. You must forget everything but this cheese. Cheese, Cardino, cheese. Study it there.”

“It's like butter,” said Cardino.

“Are you ready?” said Fabrizze. “Don't bite it. Let a piece of it rest on your tongue. Here is a kiss from Amaro!”

Cardino was upset even before he put the cheese on his tongue. He sat there leaning forward in the chair. His eyes held Fabrizze. Suddenly his mouth fell open. It seemed he would fall on his face.

“The cheese is gone!” he said.

“It's like a smoke!” said Fabrizze.

“I feel it everywhere!”

“It's going through you!” said Fabrizze.

“Needles of it!”

“It's like music!” said Fabrizze. “There's no end to it!”

“This cursed cheese is alive!” cried Cardino.

“Everyone taste it,” said Fabrizze. “Let it melt. Wine for everyone. Back to the cheese. To the wine. To the cheese. A bit of music with it!”

“Sharp and strong!”

“It seizes me!”

“Put it away then!”

They finished it on the spot.

“I know the surprise,” said Rumbone. “You sent for Amaro.”

“Listen then,” said Fabrizze. “I went to this import house to buy cheese and ham for the people who drink wine here. And for the party tonight. I passed the market on the way home. There was an empty store across the street. I've been thinking of a store. Why not an Italian store right there?”

“Why not?” said Penza. “How easy it is. Did you hear him? He had an idea. Benedico! I haven't had an idea in ten years. Do it, Fabrizze, do it. It's a good idea.”

“It's done,” said Grace.

“Let me go over this,” said Penza. “First he had an idea and then he went ahead with it. This is very good.”

“Rossi and I leased the store,” said Fabrizze. “He'll stay on the railroad and I'll manage it. Mancini will fix the inside. It should be ready toward the end of summer. And I wrote a letter to Amaro. I told him I want the best of everything.”

“A toast to the store,” said Bassetti.

“Wait, wait,” said Fabrizze. “Another surprise.”

Poggio was digging in the corner of the basement.

“It was Cardino who taught me this,” said Fabrizze. “Deeper, Poggio, deeper. What a worker! Find a treasure there and you go back on the railroad! Gently now.”

Poggio unearthed four gleaming black bottles of wine.

“Here is wine for the toast,” said Fabrizze. “Wait till you taste it. Glasses for everyone!”

“Never mind,” said Cardino. “Pass the bottles!”

“Many lovely things to you!” said Fabrizze.

“My blood is boiling with this wine!”

“It's in my bones!”

“I'm done for!”

“I have to rest a little,” said Poggio.

There was a dance to end the party.

Grace and Fabrizze walked the old people home.

“Take my arm,” said Josephine, to her sister.

“I'm holding Bassetti,” said Adelina.

“Take hold of someone sure to stand,” said Bassetti. “I'll hold Grace.”

They strolled down the warm fragrant night. One by one they slipped away. Igino was playing the harmonica in some high hidden corner. Tony challenged him on the guitar. They came together in a song. Laughter filled the street and soared in the night to set the stars dancing.

Fabrizze was helping Bassetti up the stairs.

“Be careful,” said Fabrizze.

“I have no choice,” said Bassetti. “A fine party. We'll see what tomorrow brings.”

“Let it bring you to the house for supper,” said Fabrizze.

He and Grace were hand in hand following Mendone home. They could still hear Tony playing and singing to himself in the night. A soft loving wind left the leaves all sighing with its presence and its loss. Mendone puffed his pipe. He was thinking of his career in the store.

“From this moment I'm a man of business,” he said, over his shoulder. “I smile only on the holidays…. Now who is this?”

A man was rapping their door.

He wore a derby and his feet were tapping to the distant music of the guitar.

“Good evening,” said Mendone. “You've come for a room?”

The stranger turned his dark merry eyes on Mendone.

“Who are you?” said Mendone.

“I heard the music,” said the stranger, in Italian.

His voice had a rich lilting quality.

Seeing Grace he bowed and swept off his derby as though he had caught a fallen star just for her. His feet were tapping and yet suddenly there was no music anywhere.

“I am Vivolo,” he said.

T
HE store was an immediate success. It was located within a block of the teeming outdoor central market. Shoppers for fruit and vegetables would pass by and then come back to see what Fabrizze had to offer. They were held by the fragrance of cheese and salami and olives. Lingering, they peered into the cool dark interior of the store. Cheese was hanging from the rafters in bulbs of soft gold light. Among them were hard rods of salami and great bulging hams. The hams had been rolled in red or black pepper and packed as though for all time. There were red rings of devil pepper and slabs of cured lard. Suddenly there was the strange mingled sweetness of basil and thyme and origan. It seemed that the door had swung open here to reveal the chamber where spicy food was stored.

“You arrive just in time,” said Mendone.

“Then you speak Italian?”

“Speak it?” said Mendone. “I sing it and write it, too. Come in, my friend, come in.”

“Whose picture is in the window?”

“The greatest singer in the world,” said Mendone. “A voice so strong it blows your hat off.”

“Such a little smile he has.”

“Do you see a smile?” said Mendone.

“Isn't he smiling?”

“Some say yes and some say no,” said Mendone.

“Now he isn't smiling. But who is he?”

The fact is, Fabrizze had set in the window an oval picture of Augustine taken in youth. Augustine sat there holding his knees as though the chair was getting hot. He had a flag of black hair and a rampant moustache. His head was cocked in the way of one listening for the fatal footfall.

“I have a feeling I know this face,” said Rossi, on his first visit before the opening. “What a strange look. He's leaning and listening. Something worries him.”

“You may be right,” said Fabrizze. “His wife just gave birth to a second son.”

“Who is he?” said Rossi. “Why is his picture here?”

“For inspiration,” said Fabrizze. “He's the famous mountain climber of the north. A man with fire at his heels. They say he outruns most things. And the rest he out-climbs.”

“They'll say it as long as he does it,” said Rossi. “And then they won't say it.”

“Come and see the store.”

“It's that smile I remember from somewhere,” said Rossi. “Now you see it and now you don't. The man is tricky, eh? But I know this face! Tell me, tell me!”

“After you see the store,” said Fabrizze. “Come this way. I want you to study the arrangement. Here are open barrels of olives. Green and black and brown. The customer steals an olive and we take him prisoner. Help yourself. Look up. Ham and cheese and salami swing from the ceiling. Come along. Pick your way past the crates and sacks. Everything is torn open. Dried codfish and horse beans. Mushrooms and chestnuts. Wild onions and sleeping snails.”

“Sleeping snails?”

“They wake up in the water,” said Fabrizze. “We used to wait for them near the stone walls. They come out when it rains. Look there. Lentils and coffee. Nuts and figs and Saint John's bread.”

“Saint John's bread? It's like old sticks.”

“The saint was lost in the forest,” said Fabrizze. “He lived for weeks on these alone.”

“Why should a saint be lost in the forest?”

“It's what they say,” said Fabrizze. “Perhaps they mean the forest as the world. Look here then. Open these jars. Basil and thyme and fennel. Origan and hot pepper.”

“Why is your hand in my pocket?” said Rossi.

“No customer escapes.”

“Stop, stop,” said Rossi. “You go too far.”

“I'm sprinkling origan in your coat,” said Fabrizze. “Nancy will fall into your arms when you go home. Look here. All kinds of spaghetti. Shells and pipes. Elbows and butterflies. Here is pastine like stars. Let me put stars in your soup. And now the tour is over. On the floor to your left is an empty crate. Pick it up. Fill it before you leave. Buy, Rossi, buy. The profit is half yours.”

“Profit?” said Rossi. “I'll be satisfied to break even with the men you picked to work here. Mancini is all right. At least he's a married man. He'll think twice.”

“What's wrong with Rumbone?”

“I'll tell you about Rumbone,” said Rossi. “He quit the railroad last week. Only three men remember him doing any work there. Would you believe it? Three men. And one of them isn't too sure. This Rumbone is like a ghost.”

“And Poggio?”

“He refuses to work. Ask him. He'll tell you in your face. I found him in the tool shed the other morning. He was fanning himself. He was fanning himself at eight o'clock in the morning.”

“And Bassetti?”

“Too old to work. And who's this behind the counter?”

“A special assistant. His name is Mendone.”

“He watches me like a hawk,” said Rossi.

“It's because you buy nothing. Come closer. It took seventy years to bring us this face. How the eyes are quick and alert!”

“Fear,” said Mendone.

“How fresh his color,” said Fabrizze. “He's aglow.”

“Wine,” said Mendone.

“Here is peace,” said Fabrizze.

“I'm tired,” said Mendone.

“Where are the white gloves?” said Rossi. “Put them on and cut me half a Genoa salami. I want a fresh one cut.”

“And you want the better half,” said Mendone. Rossi took Fabrizze aside.

“McGuire sent word,” said Rossi. “There'll be a place for you as long as he's with the railroad. Do you know what happened the other day? I went with him on an inspection. We were riding the track smoothly. ‘A bed put in by Fabrizze,' I told him. And then the engine was pounding and shaking. “A stretch by Gallagher,' I said. ‘At least it keeps the engineer awake,' he said. We were going smooth again. ‘This is Fabrizze?' he said. ‘So it is,' I said. ‘Fabrizze had a way of tamping ties,' I said, ‘and no one seems to know the secret.' And then the train was jumping. ‘I'll tell you the secret,' he said. ‘The secret is intelligence.' ”

“Bring him to the grand opening,” said Fabrizze. “We'll fill a basket for him. Saturday is the day. Our location is perfect. Hundreds of shoppers come to the market. Trolley cars stop across the street. It's even within walking distance of the main square. There'll be music here. This table will be spread with food. I want people to taste before buying. They'll strip us from floor to ceiling. We'll make a fortune.”

“And then?”

“We'll spend it,” said Fabrizze.

He guessed right about the opening.

All day the store was packed. Igino stayed outside and played the harmonica under a rainbow of balloons tied to his shoulder. It seemed he had dropped in from a land of song and play. Inside Tony strummed the guitar to set a furious pace. Bassetti and Mancini were trapped behind the counter. Rumbone carried olives and candy to people waiting at the trolley stop. Poggio kept soaring up the ladder out of the crowd to pluck down cheese and ham from the ceiling. Once he was sent up for provolone.

“How's this one?” he said.

“No, no, no,” said the customer. “I don't want it!”

“They're all the same,” said Poggio.

“Don't tell me about it!” shouted the customer.

“A little louder,” said Poggio. “I can't hear you.”

“I want the one in the corner! The one out of the light! That one or nothing!”

For a moment the crowd was breathless as Poggio held a salami and reached far into the corner. Gasping, he called for a knife.

“Why doesn't he come down and move the ladder?” said a voice.

“Be quiet,” said another.

“Where are you?” said Poggio, straining. “Let me hear your voice again. Is this the cheese you want?”

“That's the one!”

“Come over here,” said Poggio. “One more step. One more step. Stand still. Hold your hands out.”

Poggio slashed the string and the provolone fell on the man's head. He buckled there.

“Is that the one?” said Poggio.

“I'm not so sure,” said the customer, rubbing his head.

“How about a ham?” said Poggio.

“You'll finish me on the spot, eh?”

A man called Ravello was charmed off the trolley by the song of the harmonica. He came over to investigate. He peered through the door. People swept him in from behind. He was trapped there in the crowd. Fabrizze appeared six inches away with a smile so engaging and eyes so clear that Ravello smiled back with all his heart. He felt like a child. Fabrizze put cheese and bread in his left hand while pinching his arm in sudden affection. Fabrizze was swallowed by the crowd. Ravello went after him. An elbow was driven into his neck. His hat was knocked off. He retrieved it and here was Fabrizze with flaming hair and deep soft eyes and that nose like a command. Ravello was longing to be pinched. Fabrizze put salami on his bread and vanished. Someone filled his right hand with wet olives. He wound up in the corner with Tony Cucuzza who whispered and smiled in a way that sent him back into the crowd.

“You there,” he said. “Are you Rumbone? The man with the guitar says you'll take care of me. I want a quarter of a pound of Romano cheese. And that's all.”

“A quarter of a pound?” said Rumbone. “You have mice?”

“Where are you going?” said Ravello.

“Come with me,” said Rumbone.

Rumbone led him back to the storeroom and gave him a glass of wine. They drank several toasts and then came out. Rumbone caught sight of a girl filling the doorway with light and beauty.

“Mendone,” he said. “Take care of Ravello here. He's waiting an hour for a quarter pound of Romano.”

“Not a quarter of a pound,” said Mendone.

“Are you a clerk?” said Ravello, following him.

Mendone poured wine in the storeroom. He was wearing a white apron. A yellow pencil was behind his ear.

“It's a good thing I came into your hands,” said Ravello.

“Have another glass then,” said Mendone.

“I saw this face in the crowd,” said Ravello. “I was feeling reckless out there.”

Fabrizze slipped in for a glass of wine.

“Look who's here,” he said.

“I saw you out there,” said Ravello.

“I remember you,” said Fabrizze, pinching him. “Did you taste the figs from Sicily?”

“Where are the figs?” said Ravello, helplessly.

“Look for me before you leave,” said Fabrizze. “Let me thank you for stopping in. I'll have something for you.”

“What is it?” said Ravello.

“A surprise,” said Fabrizze.

“Really? Will you show me the figs?”

Rumbone had pounced on the girl.

“I want some olives,” she said.

“How easy to please,” said Rumbone, bowing and smiling. “This way, my dear. Make room there. Now which do you prefer? Black or brown or green. Let's taste them.”

Rumbone plunged into a barrel and came up with a shining black olive. He held it like a pearl and then insisted on popping it into her mouth.

“A pound of the black?” he said. “You make up your mind in a flash! And what else? Say the word. Come closer.”

The girl blushed and turned away.

“But I think I know,” said Rumbone. “You'd like to taste the other olives, eh? You're ashamed to say it. How sweet.”

Twice more he popped olives into her mouth.

“And what else?” he said. “Come closer. I can't hear a thing with this crowd. Such beautiful eyes. What an idea I have! It's for a summer afternoon, my dear. A barrel of olives and a bit of wine. And you. And nothing more.”

“I want bay leaf, if you please.”

“So polite,” said Rumbone. “And she wants bay leaf. But what will you do with bay leaf?”

“We put it in spaghetti sauce,” said the girl, softly.

“It sweetens the sauce, eh? How she takes hold of things. And what else? Come closer, my dear. This crowd, this crowd.”

“Fennel?” said the girl, afraid to risk it.

“Fennel, fennel,” said Rumbone, delighted. “But what are your plans with this fennel?”

“My father makes sausage.”

“He makes sausage!” cried Rumbone. “Benedico! As though he hadn't done enough!”

Ravello was being served. His voice boomed through the store.

“Cheese, cheese,” he said, pounding the counter. “Give me a pound of Romano then! How much is that piece?”

“Over a pound,” said Mendone.

“Over a pound?”

“Almost two pounds,” said Mendone.

“Almost two.”

“Exactly two and one quarter,” said Mendone. “It's just right for you. The other piece is too much. It's almost three pounds.”

“But it may be five after all,” said Ravello. “Make an end of this. Give me the small one.”

Carrying two great bags Ravello struggled out to the sidewalk. Rumbone was telling the girl about Augustine.

“A famous watchman,” said Rumbone. “We must watch for love, he says, and take it where we find it. How he watches us!”

Ravello set his bags down and mopped his brow.

“Here is Ravello,” said Rumbone. “Did you get the balloons for your children?”

“Balloons?” said Ravello.

“Let me light your cigar,” said Rumbone.

“It never ends,” said Ravello, half to himself. “I had music. I had wine. I was leaving when the man with the golden hair gave me a box of torrone candy. We went back and took a few glasses to my health. He put a cigar in my mouth. He invited me to his house for supper. Now it's balloons. Give me the red and the blue then. And put me back on the trolley. I started out to buy a hat.”

Late in the afternoon Vivolo came tapping with his cane. He wore a black suit and his black derby. The derby was like a cork forcing power down through his dark brilliant eyes. There was a dash of gray at his temples. He glanced at Fabrizze and smiled, as if to say, “Come, come, Fabrizze: what tricks are you playing on these people here?”