“But that was in 1950,” Alfonso says. “The law has changed since then.”
“The world has changed since then, except, of course, for Pasquale,” Pietro says.
Filomena heard this news through a telephone call from Alfredo’s wife, who told her to inform Alfonso of Pasquale’s whereabouts and doings.
“The woman is furious,” Filomena shrieks. “Especially when she heard Pasquale suggest that they draw an account of what they owed in back rent and what they had spent on the house in taxes so they could settle the difference. They kicked him out, and that’s when he went crazy and made the news.”
Under house arrest, Pasquale then appeared in Mulirena with a lawyer to check on his wife’s family property there. He had also contributed a large sum of money for that property when they first married, so that Alfonso could convert the old farmhouse into a processing plant for his oil exporting business. The farmer, Micu, who used to work for Don Cesare, lives alone in the farmhouse. It seems the old farmer took Pasquale in.
“Pasquale is hard-headed,” Filomena concludes, talking directly to me. “He doesn’t understand Italian law. It’s a crazy law … not like here. You lose the rights to a house if you don’t live in it.”
“He’s lucky Micu let him in the house. Imagine those two old men living together. One is drunk from morning to night; the other is crazy,” Pietro says.
“He told them he wants to settle back in his own town. They named him Il brigante Canadese, and everyone is making fun of him there now,” Filomena adds.
Driving home, I ask Angie, who has been quiet all along, how she feels about these new developments.
“I don’t know. I feel sorry for him … now that everyone is making fun of him. Why would he go to the village, of all places? He knew he’d be found. Maybe he didn’t go there to hide after all.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He talked about that house all the time, I figured it was his. He always said: ‘My house in the paese.’ Sometimes I even told him: ‘Why don’t you go get lost there, so I won’t have to see you?’ I don’t know. Something tells me that things are going to get bad for him there.”
“You really feel sorry for your father, don’t you?” I ask.
Angie stares ahead, her expression blank, as if she hasn’t heard the question, but then she replies, “I’ve felt sorry for him since the night they argued.”
“What night was that?” I ask.
“The night my mother was beaten up,” Angie says absentmindedly.
“What?” I exclaim. I brake and pull the car over on the curb. “You never said you heard them argue. What happened?”
“My uncle, my father, and my mother argued all evening … about land, houses, farms…. Those three always argued. I didn’t pay any attention to it.”
“Your uncle argued about land? Why didn’t you say anything to the police?”
“Because it’s none of their business,” Angie says angrily. “Anyway, I went out and don’t know what happened next. Really, I don’t.”
“Why do you say you feel sorry for your father then?”
“I don’t know, but he seemed so alone. My mother left him, and everyone seemed to gang up on him … like now. What a family!”
I have nothing to offer her as a response, and I remain quiet for the rest of the drive. At the apartment, Angie shuts herself in the den, and I leave her alone, hoping the girl will have a good cry. I want to do the same, but I don’t even have a spot to do it in private. I won’t lie on the new mattress in my bedroom. The love and trust I had searched for so long, and thought I had found, feels violated. The new bed will never be the love nest for Sean and me that the old one had been for my parents.
Pasquale’s image—unshaven bony face, protruding teeth, and dark, wiry hair—appears in this month’s Arte&Cultura, the local Italian community paper edited by the journalist, Antoine.
“It’s not a nice story. I don’t know how you’re going to tell her daughter,” Mother says when she calls me to tell me about the article. I decide not to say anything to Angie until I have a chance to read it myself.
That morning, on my way to school, I stop at the Italian bar next to the travel agency to pick up a copy of the thin paper. The photo gives him the look of a caged monkey.
The article is a full reprint of the one that appeared in La Gazzetta Del Sud.
CALABRIAN BRIGAND RETURNS HOME FROM CANADA
CLAIMS PATRIARCHAL HOME AND HONOUR
October 19, 1980
A Canadian man, Pasquale Tonnelli, 55, wanted for questioning for his wife’s near-death beating in Canada, was arrested in Serra San Pietro, in the province of Catanzaro, for disturbing the peace. Mr. Tonnelli is trying to set back the clock on Italian civil law, by proclaiming his right to his ancestral home and his right to plead to a crime of honour committed in Montreal, Canada, on October 1 of this year.
Pasquale Tonnelli returned to Serra San Pietro after a 37-year absence, to settle his ownership rights to the Tonnelli family home. A family argument ensued when his 30-year-old nephew, Alfredo Tonnelli, who has lived in the home since 1965, locked him out of the house. The older Tonnelli tried to obtain the assistance of the local authorities who refused to get involved in the family squabble.
A distraught Tonnelli arrived at City Hall accusing civil servants of corruption and inefficiency, and threatened arson. He was quickly arrested for disturbing the peace, released after one day, but then detained again for questioning with regards to the attempted murder charges laid against him by his wife’s family in Canada. Pasquale Tonnelli is the main suspect in the coma-inducing beating of his wife, Lucia Abiusi.
Tonnelli has secured the services of lawyer Filippo Rizzi. Mr. Rizzi states that his client, who has retained his Italian citizenship, has the right to be tried in the Italian courts.
In an interview with La Gazetta del Sud reporter, Gianni Macri, Mr. Rizzi read the following statement on behalf of his client:
“Mr. Pasquale Tonnelli claims that both his wife and her family have betrayed him for years, in business as well as in personal matters. The alleged crime against his wife was a momentary act of passion to defend his honour, provoked by the revelation that my client may not be the biological father of his daughter. As we know, in our country, legislative provisions that allow for partial or complete defense for honour killings are still part of the penal code. Mr. Tonnelli confesses to striking his wife and leaving the premises, but he was too distraught by the shock of what he had heard, and the scuffle that ensued, to remember if his wife had fallen on the floor in a coma as it was reported. He now wants to set the record straight on all the dealings that his own brother and brother-in-law, Alfonso Abiusi, manipulated over a span of 20 years for their own gain, both in Italy and in Canada. He claims he also has incriminating information about some prominent members of the Italian community in Montreal, the details of which he says he’ll provide in an affidavit at the opportune time.”
To the same reporter, Pasquale Tonnelli stated: “My wife and her family have cuckolded me for years. I couldn’t take it anymore. I lost my head when I heard that my daughter is not biologically my daughter.”
When asked why he locked his uncle out of the house, Alfredo Tonnelli said: “He can’t buy back the years of work we have put into the land and the house while he has been absent in Canada. He can come back as a visitor for a week or two, but the house now belongs to us.”
Pasquale Tonnelli is being detained under house arrest, awaiting procedural coordination between Canadian and Italian law-enforcement agents.
“What’s with the Italian paper?” Angie asks, as I return to the car.
“Your father’s picture is in the story that appeared in Italy.”
“You’re not serious. What the hell?” Angie exclaims when I hand her the folded newspaper. I had thought of not telling Angi
e, but she would have heard it from others at school.
“Your father is desperate to say anything to excuse what he did. Don’t believe what’s written.”
“Look at him. He looks like a chimpanzee,” Angie shrieks.
“Obviously, he’s very troubled, and said some crazy things.”
“You know I can’t read the frigging Italian. What does it say?” Angie asks after scanning the article.
I can’t bring myself to mention the last part of the interview.
“Angie, your father is very angry at your mother, so he said some nasty things about her … that he hit her … slapped her because he thought … she had been unfaithful to him.”
“With whom?” Angie says.
“I’m sorry to be telling you this while driving to school. Maybe you want to take the day off, and we’ll talk about all this tonight?”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m fucked.”
“Look, I can drive you back home. I’ll explain your absence to Mr. Champagne.”
“I’ll walk home, but I’ll go see my mother first, since I’m right here … not that she’ll tell me anything.”
Angie takes her knapsack from the back of the car. “I don’t understand what ticked my father off now. They lived like strangers for years. They even slept in separate bedrooms.”
“Don’t think about it, Angie. Go and see your mother and then try to catch up on your English assignments.”
“Yeah, I’m really worried about my English assignments.” Angie walks off with the newspaper in her hands. I meant to add that her homework might take her mind off what was happening, like writing does for me. I notice a pained look on her face I have never seen before.
44. SUPERVISION DUTY
I JOIN BRUCE FOR OUR SUPERVISION duty, and I quickly tell him the latest developments, and how surprised I am at Angie’s reaction. Up to now, she has taken her family’s problems in stride.
“People have different strategies for coping, but she should be in school and talking things over, rather than alone at home,” Bruce says. “But don’t worry, I’ll arrange for some counselling in the next couple of days.”
“I don’t know how receptive Angie will be to counselling. The girl distrusts everyone. She even refuses my help with her homework.”
“Don’t push her on her work,” Bruce says, and tells me that Angie has until the end of the week to hand in her composition assignment.
Bruce has been doing some investigating of his own. Through his contacts with youth counsellors, he found out that Angie’s friend Eddie is suspected of being a drug pusher for a gang of young punks, who might even be associated with a larger biker gang.
I raise my hands in exasperation. “He’s been calling quite often lately.”
“I’d keep my guard up about Eddie if I were you. I don’t trust the little snake,” Bruce says.
“I didn’t need this latest news,” I say sounding discouraged. “There are too many complications piling up.”
“Complications are good for writing,” he says.
“I haven’t done much of that lately. I have too many other things on my mind.”
“I hear you’re also planning a wedding,” he says.
So Angie had mentioned Sean to Bruce. “My personal life is pretty mixed up too,” I say.
“If you want to talk to someone about it, I’m here for you.”
“I’ll take you up on it one of these days,” I say, smiling.
I haven’t yet spoken to anyone about my breakup with Sean. My emotions are becoming more and more conflicted the longer I keep everything all bottled up inside. I cannot accept that Sean proposed to me out of political expediency, yet I’m beginning to rationalize the pros and cons of a break-up. Sean and I were together even before he became interested in politics. Don’t we all have some sort of self-interest in any relationship? This dithering has only made me feel powerless, with a wearisome inertia settling inside my head. I’d love to talk to someone about it, but I don’t know how to approach the subject with Bruce during supervision in a school corridor. I resume talking about Angie until the end of the period bell.
I walk to the office to check my mail. I’m worried about Angie being at home alone. Then I wonder if Angie knows more than she cares to reveal. “With whom?” Angie asked of Pasquale’s insinuation of his wife’s infidelities, and she looked puzzled. I shouldn’t be too surprised by Pasquale’s revelation, though Angie’s abrupt mannerisms, and her unruly hair, had me convinced that she belonged to his kin. I can’t, though, help but do some calculating of my own, which involves recalling Angie’s birth date, April 1965, and backtracking nine months. It brought me back to the summer of 1964 and the deceptions I had witnessed on my first trip back to Italy. But then in my mail slot I found a note from Mr. Champagne asking me to see him at the office, and I put those thoughts aside.
45. RÈGLEMENT DE COMPTES
WLHS HAS MADE THE NEWS on the Journal de Montreal. Mr. Champagne hands me a copy with Pasquale’s picture, and the headline, Crime d’honneur et règlement de comptes.
The article runs an interview with Antoine who has first-hand startling evidence of a possible link between Alfonso Abiusi and corruption in the construction industry. Antoine paraphrases, in French, the content of an Italian letter he has received personally from Pasquale Tonnelli:
“Alfonso Abiusi and Jack Vaccaro’s construction company got its first big money in the 1950s in a fraudulent scheme to sell plots of land in Laval for a residential development that never materialized. Vaccaro planned that swindle from the very beginning with the help of mobster Jack Russo and Alex Di Principe—none other than the Liberal Party Member of Parliament, recently appointed Senator. That deal was only the start of a partnership that has continued undetected over the years. Russo has total control of a ring of construction companies who together colluded to bid for major infrastructure projects related to the Montreal Olympics. He received a cut from every project and his personal bodyguard, wrestler Nick Demon, was the in-between man that collected money from the contractors and brought it to Russo.
All this has been carried out with the involvement of corrupt city officials who received a cut for their complicity. The names of the officials will be handed to the authorities if and when they request it.
On the evening of October 1st, Alfonso Abiusi called Pasquale Tonnelli and his wife, Lucia, to a meeting. Abiusi had demanded that Pasquale and his wife sign some papers to protect his home and company in Laval in case of an investigation. They both refused and an argument ensued between Alfonso and his sister. She threatened to give away information to Abiusi’s wife about his past in the village and information to the authorities about his business dealings with Russo. Alfonso then turned on both his sister and Tonnelli, accused his sister of infidelity with various men, and then threw the bombshell about their daughter that made Tonnelli slap his wife and flee. Tonnelli reiterates what he had first claimed: the slap could not have put his wife into a coma.”
Antoine goes on to claim that the infidelity is just a smokescreen. At the end, the article also mentions that the daughter in question, a troubled youth, has been admitted to Wilfrid Laurier High School despite the fact that she doesn’t qualify for English schooling according to the Quebec language laws since neither of her parents attended school in Quebec. The article asks: “Has the Mafia also infiltrated the English school system to interfere with its language laws?”
“Frank brought me this,” Mr. Champagne says tersely. “It implies our school is connected to the Mafia.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I mumble and can’t resist a laugh.
“This is no laughing matter,” the principal says.
“I’m sorry. This is beyond reason. I don’t understand what made the journalist do this.”
“You know the reporter?”
“I know the man
who was interviewed. This guy always looks to stir up trouble, and papers always look for the sensational. I think it’s all blown out of proportion, Mr. Champagne.”
“It’s not important what you think, Cathy. But since the mother’s beating, Jack Russo’s nephew has been killed. How do we know it’s not all related? And now these revelations! It’s scary! What if Angie is a target?”
“Angie, a target? Can’t be!”
“And what about our image? True or not, what comes out of the story is that we’ve eased on the rules set by the government for a Mafia-connected student, as if we’re in cahoots with this family. Frank was right all along. We should never have taken Angie back.”
I don’t respond. Mr. Champagne continues. “We’re in a fine mess! I’d suggest that Angie stay home, until all this dies down.”
“She stayed home today, but she needs counselling. I’ll have to call Social Services and see what we should do to help her,” I say.
“No need to do that just yet, Cathy.” Mr. Champagne sounds irritated by my suggestion. “You’ve caused enough harm already. Let her stay home for another day, and then we’ll speak again. Just make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble. I hear some of your students—Angie’s friends—have been seen at a strip club, owned by this wrestler mentioned here. You should have monitored the situation.”
“How could I?” I try to hold back my anger but my voice is shaky and I’m close to tears. “I have no control over what my students do after school hours.”
“Angie is under your care. You should control who she hangs around with. How are you two related again?”
“We’re not related. Her mother is a friend.” I try not to raise my voice, but I remember having explained my relationship with Angie to Mr. Champagne before.
“I see,” the principal says, shuffling some papers on his desk. “By the way, the department head votes are in.” Mr. Champagne tells me, informally, before distributing the notice, that Mike will be appointed department head of Tech. Voc.
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