A Bell for Adano (28 page)

Saitta tugged on his suit and said grudgingly: “No-o-o .” Lojacono said again: “Well then,” and turned to his painting.

And then the old man said, as if to the face in the photograph: “This is a portrait I wish to make as nearly good as my talents will allow. There are many things I hope this painting will have - when it is finished.” He said this last grimly, for the benefit of his critics.

He went on to tell what he was trying to achieve in this painting, and in so doing he fulfilled the purpose of the criticism: he told the critics what was in his mind, so that when the picture was finished they could point out what vas there to be seen you looked for it.

“The main thing I hope this painting will have,” the old man said, “is the life and breath of the Mister Major. In the eyes I hope there will be a slight look of mischief which I have seen there, something which I think shows that he is rather fond of young ladies.” He turned on Gargano severely: “But that is not all that I intend to have in the eyes.”

He went on: “In the way the mustache is trimmed, there will be a little vanity, not much, just enough to make a man dress neatly and look once, not twice, in every mirror he passes.”

D’Arpa said in a high voice: “These are ridiculous little things, what about the big things?”

Lojacono said: “Sometimes I think you are a ridiculous little man. The big things come from the little things. I am not finished. There is something about officials that makes them poke their noses, which are usually asleep on their faces, into unfinished matters.”

D’Arpa said: “Go on, old man.”

“In the chin, there will be strength, in the ears, alertness, in the fix of the hair, neatness, in the cheeks, a sympathetic warmth. You will like it,” the old man said. “So will he.”

D’Arpa said again: “But the big things, what about the big things?”

The painter said: “You will not see the big things until you have seen the portrait for some time, just as you did not recognize them in the man until you got to know him. Why list them? You know what they are as well as I do.”

But D’Arpa said: “What do you think they are, Lojacono?” The critics did not really come to criticize. They came to find out what to look for.

The old man said: “There is only one big thing, really. All the others are tied up in it. It is the wish, which is visible in this man’s face, that each person in this town should be happy. That is a very big thing. If that were visible in every official’s face, well, painters would not be criticized before they were finished.”

Gargano squinted at the portrait and said: “I think the eyes will be all right.”

D’Arpa said: “There is obviously something unfinished about that sleeping nose. It will be all right when it is finished.”

Saitta said: “I am glad you explained to me about the background, painter. Have you any suggestions about the manure?”

Lojacono said: “I only suggest that you leave me alone until I have finished. When is it that you want the painting?”

D’Arpa said: “We thought we would give it to him next Friday, on the afternoon before the party which is in his honor. We thought we would make it entirely his day.”

The white-haired painter said: “It will be finished, and you will like the face, I promise you.”

Chapter
33

GENERAL MARVIN believed in what he called “keeping in touch.” He liked to know what was going on, both in the world and in the Army.

Accordingly he had his aide Lieutenant Byrd read to him for about an hour each morning. On Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, when the courier pouches arrived from Algiers, he had the Lieutenant read him Various things from the pouch.

That Monday morning, the Lieutenant read him Ernie Pyle’s colon. and Pup Tent Poets from he Stars & Stripes, an article on Teller mines and S-mines in the Infantry Journal, a condensation of birth control in the Reader’s Digest, three situation reports from A.F.H.Q., a handful of fan letters arising from an article about the General in some magazine, and a letter of commendation of the General from Secretary Stimson, referring to a battle in Tunisia. This last had arrived several days before, and without being told, Lieutenant Byrd had had the sense to read it to the General every morning.

By the time these things were finished, the General was in an excellent mood. But as always seemed to be the case, when Lieutenant Byrd started in on the memoranda from Various officers, the old man gradually got angry.

Memoranda always seemed to be written about things that had gone wrong. This morning there was one about how some signal corps telephone wire had been lost on an LST, so that one unit was Very badly off for communications; there was another about the need for gasoline dumps to be established closer behind a certain division so that trucks would not have to run so far for fuel; a third about the way close air support was occasionally attacking friendly troops... and so they went.

After some of the memoranda, the General would bellow directions to Colonel Middleton, sitting in the next room. After others he would roar: “The hell with ‘em. They’re no worse off than all the others. The answer is no.

Lieutenant Byrd picked up one of the memoranda and read: “To General Marvin for information etcetera etcetera, routing address, and so forth. Subject: mule carts, town of Adana.”

The General rumbled: “Goddam mule carts.” Lieutenant Byrd read: “On July 19, orders were received from General Marvin, 49th Division, to keep all -mule carts out of the town of Adana. Guards were posted at the bridge over Rosso River and at Cacopardo Sulphur Refinery. Order carried out...”

The General said: “Goddam right, stop the goddam carts. Lousy Italians trying to hold up the whole goddam invasion. They better carry out the goddam order.”

Lieutenant Byrd droned on, hardly noticing what he read: “On July 20, guards were removed on order of Major -’

Lieutenant Byrd suddenly realized what he was reading. He put the memorandum down and picked up the next.

But the General roared: “Finish it, goddamit, finish it.”

The Lieutenant read: “-were removed on order of Major Victor Joppolo, Civil Affairs Officer, town of Adano, because carts were essential to town and town was =‘

Now the General had forgotten about finishing the memorandum. “Joppolo,” he shouted, and his face was the color of distant mountains. “Joppolo.”

General Marvin’s memory worked in a peculiar fashion. “Middleton!” he shouted. “Come in here, Middleton.”

The Colonel came in.

“Middleton, remember the name of Joppolo, a lousy sonofabitching little wop named Joppolo?”

Colonel Middleton said, with a tired face: “Yes, sir. The carts.”

General Marvin bellowed: “I just remembered something. That goddam wop was out of uniform that day. You remember? He had on pinks and a goddam khaki shirt. You remember that, Middleton?”

Colonel Middleton said: “No sir, I had forgotten that.”

The General shouted: “Well, I remember it. I’ve had enough of that goddam little upstart. You know what_ he’s done now, Middleton?”

Colonel Middleton said with a tired voice: “No sir.” “Goddam him, he had the nerve to let the carts back in that town, what the hell was the name of that -” Lieutenant Byrd said: “Adano, sir.”

“Adano. Goddam upstart.”

Colonel Middleton said: “Perhaps there was some reason why he had to -”

“Goddam you, Middleton, you’re getting too goddam independent minded. “

Colonel Middleton said: “Yes sir.”

Lieutenant Byrd said: “It goes on to say here, sir: `carts were essential to town and town was in bad shape without same.”‘

The General stood up: “Goddamit,” he said. “I’ve had enough of that little wop. Middleton.”

“Yes sir,” the tired voice said.

“Make out an order recalling that Italian wop from that town, goddamit, what’s the name -”

Lieutenant Byrd said: “Adano, sir.”

“Order him to report back to Algiers for reassignment. Make out a separate report to Algiers explaining why. I’ll fix that little bastard. Get it off today, too, goddamit, none of your goddam delays, Middleton.”

“Yes sir,” the tired voice said.

Chapter
34

THE DAY before the party, the fisherman named Agnello and his men talked about it as they fished.

“Are you going, Merendino?” Agnello asked. Merendino, who was not one to commit himself too far, said: “I have been invited.”

Sconzo, the youngest of Adano’s fishermen, said: “I am going. You’d better go, Merendino. I hear that we fishermen are lucky. Mostly the guests will be officials and big people, but because of Tomasino -”

Agnello said: “And perhaps because the daughters of Tomasino are not pock-faced.”

Sconzo said: “Perhaps,” and laughed.

The men hauled in their net. They spilled the shining, flopping fish into the bins. They were good fish, mostly of the four- and five-lira grades.

Sconzo said: “It is a rare chance for us fishermen, Merendino. You’d better go.”

Merendino said: “I will think about it.”

They let the net over the side again, and Merendino took the wheel as the boat moved away from the net. As they slowly pulled away, Sconzo lay down at the very bow, with his cheek on the hawser eye, and he watched the forefoot cutting the water and the reflection of the upper parts of the bow moving across the glassy water. It was one of those rare Mediterranean days with not a breath of air on the deep blue water.

Sconzo watched the image of old Lojacono’s painting of the Mister Major riding a porpoise. It skimmed along on the water and sometimes actually seemed to be a man riding a fish along the surface.

Sconzo said: “Do you think the Mister Major is in love with the blonde one? I heard he had his arm around her when the prisoners came back without her Giorgio the other day.”

Merendino said: “It is none of my business.” Agnello said: “I think he is.”

Sconzo said: “We will see tomorrow night at the p Agnello said: “Merendino, don’t you think perhaps we are getting too far inshore?”

Merendino said.          I will look al the chart.”

Sconzo said: “He’s just trying to get away from Tomasino’s boat. Old Tomasino splashes his net so much that he scares the fish away. Tomasino has such a bad temper, he’s probably angry with the fish and that’s why he splashes the net. Merendino’s just trying to work the boat away from Tomasino’s, aren’t you, Merendino?”

Merendino said: “I do not think Tomasino is angry at the fish.”

Agnello said: “We’d better not get in too far. We were warned about what would happen if we went out of the zone which they marked for us on the chart. “

Merendino looked at the chart and then at the headlands up and down the coast and he said: “Perhaps we are a little far inshore.” And he put the wheel over and headed out, but diagonally away from Tomasino’s boat.

Sconzo said: “Personally I like the younger daughter of Tomasino better than the blonde. I like honesty in the color of hair.”

Agnello said: “Not that either of Tomasino’s daughters would pay any attention to you, Sconzo.”

Sconzo said: “Oh, I think I could make an impression if I wanted to.”

Agnello mimicked Sconzo: “‘If I wanted to.”‘ And then he said: “What makes you think you could? Your nose is too big.”

Sconzo said: “What makes you think the daughters of Tomasino are so hard to impress? What do you think, Merendino?”

Merendino said: “I think that people with big noses who are fishermen are apt to retain a smell of fish in their nostrils after working hours, and sometimes they attribute the smell of fish to the young ladies they are with. I think it is time to pull the net in.”

The three men stood and began to tug at the net. “We have a good catch this time,” Sconzo said. “Feel that load.”

They pulled some more, then Agnello said: “It feels sluggish. It does not have the lively feeling of a good haul of small fish. Don’t you agree, Merendino?”

Merendino said: “I never divide the fishes into grades until they are in the bins.”

But as the net came in it became more and more obvious that the net had something besides little fish in it. Sconzo said: “Maybe Lojacono’s painting has attracted a porpoise. Maybe Lojacono painted a she-porpoise and maybe it is the mating season among porpoises.

Agnello said: “It doesn’t feel right. It feels like the time we pulled in the hogshead of nafta.”

Merendino made a positive statement: “It feels like something we do not usually catch.”

The boat had come around as the men hauled at the net. They were pulling the dripping net in over the starboard bow by this time.

When the net was almost in, Sconzo said: “Wait a second, let me look and perhaps I can see what we have before we haul it aboard.”

He lay down at the bow again, and put his cheek on the hawser eye again, and looked. What he saw was the last he ever saw.

He saw the smooth blue water. He saw the reflection of the Mister Major riding the porpoise. He saw the little ripples at the forefoot. He saw the net, dripping above the water and bent by refraction under it. He saw a large number of fish, bewildered that their school had become so tangled and confined, trying to twist away. And then, cradled at the extremity of the net, he saw a round metal thing with spikes on it.

“Stop!” he shouted. “Stop hauling!”

But it was too late. The slow forward motion of the boat and the slow reactions of the heaving fishermen drove the bow onto the mine.

The explosion could be heard easily in the town. The wives of farmers and land laborers thought it was just some blasting by engineers. But the wives of fishermen ran down to the harbor and looked out over the water.

There they saw unusual activity among the fishing boats. They were all clustered together, and there were one, two - only five!