‘So you never asked Tony?’
‘You are still asking too directly. I have never even spoken of the story to anyone until this moment. In Germany, u Vecchiu treated me well, but I soon saw it would be necessary for me to pursue a different path from Tony, and that is what I have done. Our paths often cross, but I thought we had succeeded in dividing our responsibilities with respect and without rancour. I may have been wrong.’
‘Have you and Enrico’s dad fallen out?’
‘Too many direct questions. If you ask direct questions, you’ll be disappointed by the evasive and uncertain answers. Sometimes there are no answers, and in the meantime, people will stop talking to you. Learn to infer.’
‘ Megale u Vecchiu is now truly old,’ said Ruggiero.
‘That’s more like it. Now that he is a free but ailing man, Tony’s time may have come. At the Polsi summit, Tony may announce his intention to take over the German colony from his father. Pietro will never raise any objection, because he fears Tony. Tony seems to think this is a good thing, but having members of your own family fear you is an evil.’
‘If Tony Megale really is part of the family.’
‘I am letting that pass once more, but never say it again. Many people think they know the truth about who Tony is, but they would be advised to keep their counsel. I think Enrico has also heard the story. But if he has not confided in you, then you must not know. Consider the story, weigh it in your mind, draw your own conclusions, and keep them in your heart — and speak to no one, not even me, about it ever again. Carrying secret knowledge in your heart, and never speaking, is a heavy burden, and it is time you started to feel the weight and learn how to deal with it.’
‘But…’
‘Shh.’ His father put a finger to his lip. ‘Imagine Old Megale fearing all of a sudden that Tony is not the right person. Maybe he thinks he should have tried harder with Pietro.’
‘That might be good for Enrico,’ said Ruggiero.
‘Enrico is young, and is reputed to be weak.’
Ruggiero instinctively began to defend his friend, then fell silent. His father was right: Enrico was weak.
‘If Megale, who is expected to retire, chooses to stay in charge until his death, or just stay on until he reaches a final decision, Tony might object. There may be a period of instability, a search for successors. That is precisely what the Society does not want. Anyone who is the source of instability or who attracts the attention of the authorities or acts unpredictably is a threat.’
‘But Enrico?’
‘Enrico is your friend, but he is also Tony’s son. You are Enrico’s friend, but you are also the son of a man whom Tony might feel has risen too high and moved beyond his control.’
‘Zia Rosa would not let anyone do anything to harm me.’
‘She is a good woman. Her husband is a decent and simple man whom I trust. Tony is my honoured companion abroad. Individually, every Megale is a close friend. Collectively… I want you to be prepared when the time comes. Promise me that?’
‘I promise,’ said Ruggiero.
35
Tuesday, September 1
Locri
Enrico Megale, in the guise of a fat infant, was standing in a garden of roses, slicing at the branches of a short tree, which bled as it was cut. Thirteen men lay at its feet, thirteen was the number of branches… Someone was shaking him, and his dream slipped under his pillow. He tried to grab it with his hands, but the person shook him harder, and then unexpectedly kissed him.
‘Ruggiero?’ said his mother’s voice.
He knew immediately from the tremor in her voice that fear had taken hold of her.
‘We’re going to make a surprise visit to my sister in Catanzaro,’ she said. ‘And then maybe we’ll travel up north to do some shopping. Rome. We could go to Florence.’
The clock beside his bed told him it was 3:30. Wearily, knowing that whatever his mother had planned was not going to work, he climbed out of bed and sat staring at his feet.
‘Get dressed as quick as you can, and come downstairs, quietly,’ said his mother.
She was his mother, so he did as he was told. Reaching around in the dark, he grabbed the same clothes he had been wearing the day before. They felt a bit sticky and cold going on. He had changed his underpants and socks, which were the important things. He turned on the light and blinked at the brightness. His father might have called and told them to flee. His father was courageous but also practical and despised acts of bravado. ‘You are worth more than the fool brandishing a knife in public, showing off on his motorbike. Let him end up with his own knife in his throat, his skull fractured by a car. You have a duty to preserve yourself.’
The upshot of that reasoning was that, like Enrico, he was not allowed a scooter. His father’s philosophy and Zia Rosa’s womanish fears had the same result. But Ruggiero had a knife, which he did not brandish in public. It lay snug beneath his mattress at night.
Sitting on shelves were books and some soft toys that he thought he was saving for Robertino, but, he now saw, were already too old and faded for a new child. On his wall was the amaranth-coloured flag of Reggio Calabria, the only Calabrian football team ever to reach Serie A. In an approximation of the same red colour on a piece of paper he had written ‘Amaranto si nasce’. But in these parts, people were not really ‘born amaranth’. The team belonged to the other side of Aspromonte, where other families and other interests held sway.
A click and the light went off. He had not heard her come in.
‘Keep the lights off, love,’ said his mother who stood there with an empty suitcase in hand. ‘Are you ready?’
Ruggiero pulled on his shoes and watched as his mother, moving swiftly and quietly, added some of his clothes and a pile of battered storybooks that she used to read to him until Robertino was born.
He carried it downstairs for her, and was surprised to find Robertino sitting there in his baby bouncer, in gurgling serenity.
‘Robertino’s always awake and quiet at this time,’ said his mother, picking up on his surprise. She went over to the high chest of drawers in the corner of the room, and ran her hand over it like she did when looking for dust, only this time she did not examine her hand.
‘Did I ever tell you my parents gave me this? My father got it from his grandfather who got it from his father. It was made in the 1500s for the monks of the Abbey of San Giovanni in Fiore. It must be worth thousands. Go upstairs to your room, check to see if your bed is made.’
‘It is made.’
‘Well, go up again. Straighten the cover. Just make sure it’s perfect.’
‘Should I close the shutters on my bedroom window?’
‘No, keep your shutters open. Don’t close any shutters. I am going to put Robertino in the back of the car. You check your room, then come down. Pull the front door closed behind you.’
Ruggiero did as he was told. When he came down, the other two were already in the car. He shut the front door softly behind him. He climbed into the Fiat Panda next to his mother. The car was filled to brimming with jumper suits, little white T-shirts, baby bottles, toys, suitcases, plastic bags and bottles of water.
Behind him, the baby was asleep in a stroller bed that his mother had secured with a crisscrossing of all three seatbelts in the back. She turned around, gave him a smile of reassurance, then slid the key into the ignition and turned the key.
Nothing happened.
It was as if there had never been a connection between the ignition and the engine. She turned it again, but the only sound was the soft breaths of Robertino in the back, the squeak of the suspension as she leaned forward
