'Come?'
'Hackney/ 'What means 'acne'?'
'Commonplace. Trite. Done to death/ 'Cosa dice?'
'No, he died in his bed, although I have to admit as how the Krays had put the word about. Only as luck would have it, they got nicked before anything came of it, know what I mean?'
It was clear from the expressions of the other three people at the table that the answer to this question was 'no'.
'His 'art did for 'im!' exclaimed Immacolata Higgins impatiently, clasping the imposing sculptural massif of her left breast.
'Like Rimbaud/ John Viviani murmured, drunkenly moved. 'When I was young, I wanted to die for my art too. Only it turned out I didn't have any/ 'Rambo?' queried Aurelio Zen in a tone of desperation. 'doe ifilm di quell'italo- americano, come si chiama…?'
'Stallone, Silvestro/ replied Pasquale complacently. 'O cunuscevo 'a guaglione. 'Afamiglia soja steve 'e casa propio 'e rimpetto a nuje.'
''I knew him when he was knee-high to a grasshopper','
Immacolata translated for the benefit of the American.
''His mob lived just down the terrace, number twenty-four. Vesty — that's what we used to call him — was a skinny little runt. I remember I used to sneak him out some of my bangers with bubble and squeak, try and feed the blighter up a bit. That's how he came to have those big muscles, but needless to say I never got so much as a simple 'Thank you' when he became a big noise up there at your actual Cinecitta…''
' Perl'amor didiol'
Silence fell. Zen looked around the gathering.
'Well, this meeting has certainly been a huge success so far/ he began.
'Absolutely!'
'No kidding!'
'Your glass is empty, duttb. Waiter!'
Zen glowered at them.
'Signora Higgins has been kind enough to regale us with the complete story of her interesting life, from those difficult early days in the village near Aversa to her memorable and fateful encounter with a young British soldier in 1944, leading us with tireless energy through every detail of the years of exile in London, where she acquired her excellent command of the native dialect, to her eventual return home following her husband's untimely death/ 'I just love listening to Italian/ John Viviani enthused.
'It's kind of like going to the opera. You don't understand what the hell's going on, but it all sounds really cool/ 'Great coat!' commented Pasquale.
La Igginz translated.
'Guy I met this evening in a wine shop sold it to me/ Viviani replied. 'It's a genuine Versace, and guess how much it cost me? Only thr… two hundred thousand!'
'You were robbed! I could have got you two like that for.. / 'Basta, altrimenti impazzisco!'
They all stared at Zen, who had risen to his feet.
'Who is this guy, anyway?' demanded John Viviani.
'Filth/ Immacolata Higgins replied with a dismissive gesture.
'Say what?'
'Arozzer! Old Bill/ She looked at him with irritation. Didn't this Yank understand his own language? Pasquale stepped into the breach with a vivid mime showing someone being arrested, handcuffed and led away, protesting vigorously but in vain.
'He's a cop?' asked Viviani incredulously.
'Too right/ Aurelio Zen replied, speaking through the medium of the British Tommy's widow. 'And you, my son, are in dead lumber.'
Viviani shook his head.
'This is like just too weird.'
'According to the official record, you are listed as a disgrace to the regiment and rotten to the core, a deserter to be shot on sight, no questions asked/ 'I don't believe this!' Viviani exclaimed. 'The guy's an imposter! Tell him to show me some ID. Unfortunately Immacolata had just swallowed some pizza the wrong way and was temporarily indisposed, although she recovered in time to deliver Aurelio Zen's concluding remarks.
'However, seeing as how your granddad was from Naples and therefore you're one of the family, so to speak, I'm prepared to bend the rules, turn a blind eye and look the other way as long as you keep your end up and do your part. In short, you scratch mine and I'll scratch yours.'
'Is this guy some kind of pervert?' whispered Viviani.
Zen produced the mug-shot of the escaped prisoner and handed it to the American with a sense of growing futility.
It was by no means clear what, if anything, John Viviani had made of the proceedings so far. His grasp of Italian appeared to consist of a few words such as vino and grazie, and Immacolata Higgins' English was apparently not much less foreign to him. On the other hand, after an initial moment of panic when he seemed to think he was about to be robbed, he had not made any objection to being brought to this suburban pizzeria and subjected to an informal interrogation across the red-and-white checked tablecloth.
'I get it!' he said at one point. 'Living here is kind of a West Coast thing, like surfing. You either ride the waves or you get crushed by them.'
But now, suddenly, that fluid ease had gone. As Viviani gazed at the photograph of Giosue Marotta, he seemed to awaken from a long and restless sleep, the dream fled and his worst fears were confirmed. He began babbling in English, ragged, incomplete phrases that seemed to make no sense even to himself. His translator, however, had no difficulty in identifying and articulating the gist of Viviani's incoherent diatribe.
'It weren't 'im!' shouted Immacolata Higgins, clasping the American to her formidable bosom. 'He didn't do it!
He's got friends who saw 'im not do it! For Gawd's sake, sir, don't break the 'art of 'is poor old white-'aired mum by sending my only boy to the Scrubs! He'll go straight in future, as San Gennaro's my witness. And if there's anything you need in a dry goods or bespoke line, yer 'onour, a nod's as good as a wink, know what I mean?'
When she finally fell silent, Viviani wrestled free of her surrogate maternal grip and turned to confront Aurelio Zen.
'OK, what's the deal?' he asked stonily.
'The deal,' Zen replied, 'is that you tell me everything you know about this affair — what, when, how, why and with whom — unabridged and unedited, from start to finish.
In return, I shall contact the US Navy with the news that you have been safely recovered following a tip-off, although the kidnappers who had been holding you unfortunately escaped.'
This was filtered through la Igginz a few times before comprehension, followed by incredulity and then immense relief, finally dawned on the American's face.
'Sounds good to me/ he said.
XXX
The last lingering trace of light, a greenish glimmer above the bank of thick haze out to the west, had faded from the sky. Night settled on the town, muffled and dense, smothering sounds, it seemed, as much as sight. Certainly the three figures descending the steps of the Salita del Petraio made so little noise that they startled Don Castrese's cat which was out on the prowl, having detected the faint but unmistakable odour of fellow creatures in heat. It was only at the last moment that some sixth sense alerted the beast to the presence of the advancing trio, masked by silence and cloaked in darkness. It leapt nimbly on to a window ledge and immersed itself in an exacting
