The Coming of Fabrizze: A Novel (Black Squirrel Books) (8 page)

“Bravo, bravo,” said Mendone.

“She's waiting,” said Fabrizze. “She's waiting for love!”

“You're sure she's waiting,” said Mancini.

“Passion, passion,” said Mendone. “I empty my glass to it.”

“Passion, eh?” said Mancini. “I know all about it. Passion and nothing more. It's always the same story with these women. Tell me what her father offers.”

“I'm struck dumb,” said Fabrizze. “My eyes play tricks on me. Isn't her cheek like the rose? What about this brown hair? Look into these eyes. How deep and blue! Follow the curve of her mouth. Ripe and sweet as a plum. This girl belongs in a vault. Wait, Mancini, wait. She speaks for herself. Listen, listen. I remember her voice. I tell you I heard it again! Just now!”

“I believe it,” said Mancini. “You see things and you hear things. What did she say?”

“She said yes to you,” said Fabrizze. “Yes and yes and yes!”

“The picture makes me warm inside,” said Mendone. “The girl is like a furnace.”

“Let me see her again,” said Mancini. “Before you start on the birthmarks. One more look.”

“One last look,” said Fabrizze. “Really, you take more than a fair share. Let me tell you another secret.”

“I rub my hands by the warmth of her,” said Mendone.

“A surprise,” said Fabrizze.

“Out with it,” said Grace, laughing.

“Are you listening?” said Fabrizze. “Augustine put a star on the back of the picture. Look here. This girl is someone special. You'll treat her well, eh? Rain on the roof.”

“Give me the picture,” said Mancini. “Who can think straight in this kitchen? I'll study it in my room a little. I'll see how she looks at different times of day.”

“Never, never,” said Fabrizze. “It isn't right for her picture to be in your room. Say the word and she's yours. I'll tell her to come at once. I'll even send the fare. If you're not satisfied, I'll be responsible for her.”

“Or I,” said Mendone.

“My next stop is Rumbone,” said Fabrizze. “He can't put a nail in the wall, but one look will be enough for him. And then there's Penza. Make up your mind. Rain on the roof.”

“What rain?” said Mancini. “What's happening?”

“Think a moment,” said Fabrizze. “Remember last night when it rained? You were up at three with it. You were sawing boards and singing to keep up your courage. The rain was everywhere. Where were you? Alone in your room. Get married, my friend. You'll wait for the rain on the roof. You'll be alone. You'll be alone with love and beauty.”

“My head is spinning!” said Mancini. “Write the girl, write the girl! You made it up in your head! Write then! It's you sending the fare!”

“A furnace,” said Mendone. “Open the windows.”

“I'll write tonight,” said Fabrizze. “I'll send your love!”

“Send it then!” cried Mancini. “And see that her father sends something! And never mind with the sheets and pillow cases!”

It was easier to arrange tentative matches for the men coming from Italy. Grace and Fabrizze would go over the list and make sure that boy and girl suited each other with respect to age and temperament. They would settle on a likely pair. Fabrizze sent Mendone to alert the prospect.

“I spoke with Fabrizze,” Mendone would say. “He's excited.”

“He's always excited,” said Cardino.

“He has just the right husband for Teresa.”

“Don't say it!” said Cardino, in delight. “But I saw him on the job and he said nothing.”

“I spoke too soon,” said Mendone. “Perhaps he changed his mind about it. Such care he takes.”

Several days later Fabrizze turned up at the house. He sat across from Cardino at the kitchen table. Cardino put his glass down and leaned forward. He had the curious look of one not so much hearing as overhearing.

“Is it what I think, Supervisor?” he said.

Fabrizze was absorbed in a series of pictures. He studied each one of them. Now and then there was a flash of interest in his face. Once he gave a little chuckle. A moment later he was grave and troubled. Cardino was beginning to think Fabrizze should have his picture taken.

“Don't say it!” said Cardino, seeing him smile.

Fabrizze put aside all but one of the pictures.

“Teresa,” he said. “Look here a moment. Do you find such a man attractive? He's called Lorenzo.”

“I knew it would be someone nice,” said Teresa.

“Into the other room with you,” said Cardino.

“Let me see the picture,” said his wife Adriana.

“Into the other room with you,” said Cardino.

The women disappeared.

“I see you're in control here,” said Fabrizze.

“It means nothing,” said Cardino. “They show a little respect because they like you. I'll have to pay for it. They'll cut me to pieces after you go.”

“Will you look at the picture?” said Fabrizze.

“Let me have it,” said Cardino. “Lorenzo, Lorenzo. Benedico! He sits on the chair like it's a horse on parade. But why isn't he smiling a little? How he stares. He looks right through me. He's found me out, the scoundrel!”

“Bright eyes, bright eyes,” said Fabrizze.

“A wild look,” said Cardino. “His cork is too tight.”

“The man is determined,” said Fabrizze.

“But he's a bit small,” said Cardino. “Speak the truth, my boy. His shoes don't reach the floor. He's undersize.”

“I admit Lorenzo is no giant,” said Fabrizze. “But he's sweet of nature. And resolute.”

“Resolute?”

“They tell a story about him,” said Fabrizze. “At the crack of dawn he throws off the bedcovers. He stands to the day like a cannon.”

“A small cannon,” said Cardino.

“You mix it up,” said Fabrizze. “Size has nothing to do with it. Look how much juice is in the grape.”

“I'm to send the fare, is that it?” said Cardino.

“I'll send the money,” said Fabrizze. “Let me show my faith in this man. I'll put him to work, too. If Teresa has no feeling for him, she needn't marry him. She'll find another and so will he. But I remind you Lorenzo is a demon with shovel or axe. He'll chop down a tree before you're out from under it. Like a cannon.”

“Who can keep up with this?” said Cardino. “You get me climbing and leave me on the ledge. Let it rest then. We'll talk on Sunday. Do you know I start for church in the morning and never get past your house? … Take another glass before you leave me.”

“Is it true you're selling the wine?”

“I'm beginning again,” said Cardino. “Last night I decided to sell three glasses to Rumbone. It was after he drank them. We had an argument. ‘Who told you I was a customer?' he said. In the end I went to the rooming house and bought the three glasses back.”

“Give me another glass,” said Fabrizze. “Let me spend.”

“Spend your time and it's enough.”

“Mendone talks of selling wine.”

“Sell coffee,” said Cardino. “Your kitchen is always full.”

So it was.

All week people were coming in and out of the house on Jackson Street. Recent arrivals in the country would be seeking advice and work from the supervisor with the golden hair. Some asked for temporary lodging. Neighbors fell into a round of regular visits. The widowed sisters Adelina and Josephine came twice a week. Their faces were like old brown shoes. Adelina told fortunes. How dark and dangerous was the future! Josephine sipped coffee from a saucer and yearned for the past.

“Listen, listen,” said Mancini. “I'm bringing the news. Today is Friday. The sun is shining on all your trouble.”

“It's the clever carpenter, eh?” said Adelina.

“Get married, you fool,” said Josephine.

Friends came to have their letters written and read. Every month without fail Gritti brought a long letter of appeal from his mother in Sicily. They set his head aching.

“Your brother had the dizzy spell,” his mother would say. “All was going black. He failed to work again. Little enough there is. You were always the stronger of the two. His son Carlo never seems to grow. He is no higher than the table, poor child. Some say he will shoot up all at once. Others say it is lack of meat. He has a dimple in his chin. Such sad eyes! The picture of you. But with none of your strength. Truly, the crop will be ruined with all this sun. The cow is sinking fast.”

It would have come as no surprise to hear that the island was sinking into the sea.

“Write, Fabrizze, write,” said Gritti. “My mother has these ideas about America. You must tell her how things are.”

“And how are they?” said Fabrizze.

“You see how they are,” said Gritti, in a sullen way.

“Good.”

“Look again.”

“Your family is well,” said Fabrizze. “You seem to be happy on the job. You're getting the feel of this country. You even learn the language a little.”

“All from my daughter,” said Gritti. “Is it good to have your children tell you things?”

“But you are taking hold here,” said Fabrizze. “They'll never shake you loose.”

“Am I any younger?” said Gritti.

“Is this news to your mother?” said Grace.

“Enough, enough,” said Gritti. “Send five dollars. We'll make the letter next week. The truth is, nothing happened.”

“It's for you to look again,” said Fabrizze.

Saturday was the most pleasant time of all.

Bassetti came in the evening with a basket of dandelions or mushrooms. On occasion the old man would simply gather wildflowers for Grace. He called out when he reached the house and then he climbed one step at a time. A sprig of mint was behind his ear and in the pocket of his shirt. Grace would set his chair beside the window. He nibbled grapes and ate the ripest banana. He dipped hard little crusts of bread in red wine.

“Here is a man older than prayer,” said Mendone.

Fabrizze had once complained of a stiff neck and so Bassetti came every week to massage him. Fabrizze removed his shirt and sat in the kitchen. Bassetti lit his pipe. Presently he was working his warm fingers into the neck and shoulders of the supervisor.

“My muscles begin to tighten on Thursday,” said Fabrizze. “I look forward to your visit.”

“I'm sure it helps you,” said Bassetti. “If nothing else, my boy, it opens the passages. It frees the passages between the heart and the brain.”

“If nothing else?” said Fabrizze. “Did you hear him? The heart will tell the brain, and the brain will tell the heart.”

“Benedico,” said Mendone. “A new man is here.”

Bassetti puffed his pipe and worked his fingers. Fabrizze made soft sounds of pleasure.

“Ah,” he said.

“Ah,” said Bassetti, knowingly. “Hold still then, my boy. I'm loosening my fingers for Mendone. There's work with him.”

“You'll be here all night,” said Mendone.

“I had this feeling when I came in,” said Bassetti. “I may be wrong. Is it true that Grace will have a child?”

“How did you know?” said Grace. “We just found out.”

“I see something in your eyes,” said Bassetti.

“And in mine?” said Mendone. “What do you see in mine?”

“A craving,” said Bassetti.

“A craving?” said Mendone. “A craving for what?”

“Everything beyond your need,” said Bassetti.

A late soft breeze lifted the curtain. Grace sat there sewing in the corner. She was thinking of her child. Mendone sipped wine and filled the glasses again. Bassetti reached for his and kept massaging with the other hand. Secretly, Fabrizze slipped a dollar into his pocket.

“I'll tell you what happened to me,” said Bassetti.

“Nothing happened to you,” said Mendone. “You're too old.”

“Listen then,” said Bassetti. “It was a few weeks ago. I was getting ready for bed when I had this pain in the heart. It pinched me and then it went away. The skin of my face was tight and cold. I began to sweat. It was a warning. It would be finished for me in the night. I drank a glass of wine and straightened the room. I went to bed. I lay there thinking of my wife and my mother. And then I was thinking of everyone. And then I fell asleep.”

“Wine and sleep,” said Mendone. “Just what you needed.”

“Never will I forget the next morning,” said Bassetti. “I saw everything for the first time. How can I say it? It was like a welcome for a guest. It was perfect. There was the sun with its light and warmth. I got up. I went to the window for a breath of air. I tell you I drank it in.”

“The morning air is sweet,” said Fabrizze.

“Have a care,” said Mendone. “There's a chill in it.”

“I was thirsty,” said Bassetti. “I took a glass of water.”

“Clear and cold,” said Fabrizze.

“Almost as good as wine,” said Mendone.

“I had an orange,” said Bassetti. “And bread and coffee.”

“The food was delicious,” said Fabrizze.

“I went out for a walk,” said Bassetti. “The trees were fresh in the wind. Birds were singing. The warmth of the sun reached into my bones. I saw a smile here and there among the neighbors. Children were playing. And then I heard music. It was Igino playing the harmonica. They say it's a song of love.”

“Beauty on every side,” said Fabrizze.

“And trouble enough into the bargain,” said Mendone.

“I came here,” said Bassetti. “It was enough to make an old man suspicious. And so I came looking for Mendone.”

“I was sleeping,” said Mendone. “I was trying to recover from the day before.”

“I used to ask for things,” said Bassetti. “I asked for this and that and the other. And now? Now I ask for life.”

The kitchen was fragrant with pipe smoke. His rich soothing voice filled the house.