The Sicilian

They all laughed. Guiliano's father went on: 'When the farmer heard that a policeman was killed he was too afraid to make his claim, that he might be bastinado ed.'

Turi said, 'He will be repaid.'

Finally Hector Adonis outlined his plans to save Turi. The family of the dead man would be paid an indemnity. Guiliano's parents would have to mortgage their little piece of land to raise the money. Adonis himself would contribute a sum. But this tactic would have to wait until feelings of anger had died down. The influence of the great Don Croce would be brought to bear on government officials and the family of the slain man. After all it had been more or less an accident. There had been no real ill will on either side. A farce could be played out as long as the victim's family and key government officials cooperated. The only drawback was the identity card at the scene of the killing. But in a year's time Don Croce could cause that to vanish from the prosecutor's files. Most important, Turi Guiliano must remain out of trouble for that year. He must disappear into the mountains.

Turi Guiliano listened to them all patiently, smiling, nodding his head, not showing his irritation. They still thought of him as he had been at Festa time over two months ago. He had taken off his sheepskin jacket and stripped himself of arms; his guns lay at his feet beneath the table. But that had not impressed them, nor the ugly huge scar. They could not imagine how his mind had been torn apart by that great blow to his body, or that he would never again be the young man they had known.

In this house, he was for this moment safe. Trusted people patrolled the streets and watched the carabinieri barracks to give him warning of any attack. The house itself, built many hundreds of years ago, was made of stone; its windows had heavy wooden shutters locked and a foot thick. The wooden door was strong and iron barred. Not a chink of light could escape this house, no enemy could force his way in quickly in a surprise attack. And yet Turi Guiliano felt himself in danger.

These loved ones would trap him into his former life, persuade him to become a peasant farmer, to lay down his arms against his fellow men and leave him helpless to their laws. At that moment he knew that he would have to be cruel to those he loved most. It had always been the young man's dream to acquire love rather than power. But that was all changed. He now saw clearly that power came first.

He spoke gently to Hector Adonis and to the others. 'Dear godfather, I know you speak out of affection and concern. But I can't let my mother and father lose their little bit of land to help me out of my trouble. And all of you here, don't worry so much about me. I'm a grown man who must pay for his carelessness. And I won't have anyone paying an indemnity for that carabinier e I shot. Remember, he tried to kill me just because I was smuggling a bit of cheese. I would never have fired at him except that I thought I was dying and wanted to even the score. But all that's past. I won't be so easy to shoot the next time.' Pisciotta said with a grin, 'It's more fun in the mountains anyway.'

But Guiliano's mother was not to be distracted. They could all see her panic, the fear in her burning eyes. She said desperately, 'Don't become a bandit, don't rob poor people who have enough misery in their lives. Don't become an outlaw. Let La Venera tell you what kind of life her husband lived.'

La Venera raised her head and looked directly at Guiliano. He was struck by the sensuality in her face, as if she were trying to attract his passion toward her. Her eyes were bold and stared at him almost in invitation. Before he had thought of her only as an older woman; now he felt her sexually.

When she spoke her voice was husky with emotion. She said, 'In those same mountains you wish to go to my husband had to live like an animal. Always in fear. Always. He could not eat. He could not sleep. When we were in bed together every little noise would make him jump. We slept with guns on the floor beside the bed. But that didn't help him. When our daughter was ill, he tried to visit her, and they were waiting for him. They knew he was softhearted. He was shot down like a dog in the streets. They stood over him and laughed in my face.'

Guiliano could see the grin on Pisciotta's face. The great bandit, Candeleria, softhearted? He had massacred six men as suspected informers, preyed on wealthy farmers, extorted money from poor peasants, struck terror into a whole countryside. But his wife saw him differently.

La Venera did not notice Pisciotta's smile. She went on: 'I buried him and then buried my child a week later. They said it was pneumonia. But I know her heart was broken. What I remember most was when I visited him in the mountains. He was always cold and hungry, and sometimes ill. He would have given anything to return to the life of an honest peasant. But worst of all, his heart became as hard as an olive pit. He was no longer human, may he rest in peace. So, dear Turi, don't be so proud. We will help you in your misfortune, don't become what my husband was before he died.'

Everyone was silent. Pisciotta was no longer smiling. Guiliano's father murmured that he would be glad to be rid of the farm; he could sleep late mornings. Hector Adonis was staring down at the tablecloth, frowning. None of them spoke.

The silence was broken by a quick tapping on the door, a signal from one of the watchers. Pisciotta went to speak to the man. When he came back he made a signal for Guiliano to arm himself. 'The carabinieri barracks are blazing with light,' he said. 'And there is a police van blocking the end of the Via Bella where it enters the town square. They are getting ready to raid this house.' He paused for a moment. 'We must be quick with our goodbyes.'

What struck everyone was the calmness with which Turi Guiliano prepared his escape. His mother rushed into his arms and as he embraced her he already had his sheepskin jacket in his hands. He said his goodbyes to the others and in the next instant seemed to be fully armed, his jacket on, his rifle slung. And yet he had not moved quickly or hurriedly. He stood there for a moment smiling at them and then said to Pisciotta, 'You can stay and meet me in the mountains later, or you can come with me now.' Wordlessly Pisciotta moved to the back door and opened it.

Guiliano gave his mother a final embrace, and she kissed him fiercely and said, 'Hide, don't do anything rash. Let us help you.' But he was already out of her arms.

Pisciotta was leading the way, across the fields to the beginning slopes of the mountains. Guiliano whistled sharply and Pisciotta stopped and let Turi catch up to him. The way was clear to the mountains, and his watchers had told him there were no police patrols in that direction. They would be safe in the Grotta Bianca after a four-hour climb. If the carabinieri chased them through the darkness, it would be an extraordinary act of bravery and foolishness.

Guiliano said, 'Aspanu, how many men do the carabinieri have in their garrison?'

'Twelve,' Pisciotta said. 'And the Maresciallo.'

Guiliano laughed. 'Thirteen is an unlucky number. And why are we running away from so few?' He paused for a moment and then said, 'Follow me.'

He led the way back through the fields so that they entered the town of Montelepre further down the street. Then across the Via Bella so that they could watch the Guiliano house from the safety of a dark narrow alley. They crouched in the shadows waiting.

Five minutes later they could hear a jeep rattling down the Via Bella. Six carabinieri were crammed into it including the Maresciallo himself. Two of the men immediately went through the side street to block the back entrance. The Maresciallo and three of his men went up to the door and hammered on it. At the same time a small covered truck pulled up behind the jeep and two more carabinieri, rifles ready, jumped out to command the street.

Turi Guiliano watched all this with interest. The police raid was based on the assumption that the targets would never be in a position to launch a counterattack; that their only alternative would be to run from a superior force. Turi Guiliano at that moment made it a basic principle always to be in a position to counterattack when he was being hunted, no matter how great the odds, or perhaps the greater the odds the better.

This was Guiliano's first tactical operation and he was astonished at how easily he could command the situation if he chose to shed blood. True, he could not shoot at the Maresciallo and the three men at the door since the bullets might go into the house and hit his family. But he could easily slaughter the two men commanding the street and the two drivers in their vehicles. If he wished, he could do this as soon as the Maresciallo and his men were in the Guiliano house. They would not dare come out, and he and Pisciotta could make their way through the fields at their leisure. As for the police blocking the end of the street with their van, they would be too far out of the way to be a factor. They would not have the initiative to come up the street without receiving orders.

But at this point he had no desire to shed blood. It was still an intellectual maneuver. And he particularly wanted to see the Maresciallo in action, since this was the man who would be his principal opponent in the