by Peter Watson
“Sometimes.”
“I’ll bet you’ve never smoked American cigarettes.”
Silvio shook his head.
“What else have you never done? Are you a virgin in other ways, too?”
Silvio blushed and stumbled all at the same time. He thought of that sbirro the day he had taken the package to Palermo. People always seemed to be asking if he was a virgin. Did it show in some way?
Anna-Maria laughed. “Look, the party’s breaking up. I’ve got to go back. Why don’t you come to my cabin around … around midnight. We can have a smoke and talk some more. I daren’t smoke in public. If my father got to hear of it he’d kill me. He hates it in women. Don’t forget now—midnight. I’m in room 715.” And she led him back to the table.
Silvio was of two minds about whether to tell Nino about his invitation. And he was of two minds about whether he should accept the offer. Wasn’t he supposed to be on duty? And what about Annunziata? Anna-Maria had only asked him in for a smoke, but even so, he felt as though he would be betraying the girl he loved.
It was already past ten. After dinner the pianist had been replaced by a small band of four. The music had grown less sedate and the dancing more animated. Silvio had never seen anything like it. The captain, he noticed, had his pick of the women; they doted on his every word. He even played the piano at one point in the evening, to polite applause. At each end of the room there were coal-burning fireplaces, with marble mantels. Here and there geraniums grew in pots. Silvio was enjoying every moment, and was therefore dismayed when, just before eleven o’clock, Nino dragged him away. They had to wait at the foot of the steps to the bridge, where the two officers concluding the previous watch met them and gave them a report of their time on deck, before Nino and Silvio relieved them.
“All’s well, except for cabin 717,” said the senior officer. “One hell of a fight between husband and wife. So far it’s only been words, but it could lead to more. Tread carefully.”
They set off. This was much better than being assistant medical officer. During the day the sea had grown calm, but now clouds were beginning to obscure the full moon. The breeze, though warm, was freshening. The Syracusa began to rock gently. A few passengers were taking the evening air, strolling the deck. As Nino and Silvio passed the saloon the sounds of music showed no signs of slackening. Nightlife at sea, Silvio was learning, often went on until dawn.
Cabin 717, when they came to it, was as silent as a confessional. Either the husband and wife had settled their differences or they had killed each other. The adjacent cabin was 715.
“That’s Anna-Maria’s cabin,” whispered Silvio. “She told me while we were dancing.”
“Oh, she did, did she? What else went on between you two?”
It was dark, so Nino could surely not see that Silvio was blushing. But he seemed to guess. They had both come to a halt.
Nino drummed his fingers on his lips. Then he lit a cigarette. “Silvio,” he said after a long pause. “The Priolas in New Orleans could be very important to us. How you behave with Anna-Maria is vital. What did she say?”
Silvio relayed what had been said on the dance floor—except for the part about his being a virgin.
Nino whistled. “She wants you. What a break! If we arrive in New Orleans with Anna-Maria sweet on you, we’ve got a real friend at court.”
“You don’t think I should go, do you? What about the patrol?”
“Silvio!” Then, more gently: “Silvio. Listen. This patrol means nothing to us. But Anna-Maria is a very rich woman. Her father’s un pezzo grosso. This chance may not come again. I can do the patrol. You’ve seen for yourself, this is the easiest job in the world. Of course you must keep your rendezvous. Listen to an older man. Learn from his mistakes. I’ll give you one tip.”
“What’s that?”
“Be about ten minutes late. That will show you’re not too keen and she’ll be growing nervous by then, thinking you’re not coming.”
In fact it was nearer half-past twelve before Silvio knocked on the door of cabin 715. At midnight the band in the saloon had taken a break and several passengers came out for a breath of fresh air. For a brief while the deck was as busy as the Via Scina in Palermo. Silvio didn’t want to be seen entering the cabin.
Eventually the deck was cleared and he quickly took advantage of the fact. The sea was now quite rough and the deck moved beneath his feet.
The door was opened immediately. Silvio stepped inside. It was the first time he had been in a first-class cabin and he was astonished. It was about ten times the size of the metal box he shared with Nino; and where their box had flaky white paint on the walls, this one had mahogany paneling and mirrors. Where their quarters were lit by a naked electric light, this cabin had pretty pink shades in the shape of shells. Besides the sofa, in velvet, there were cupboards, a dressing table, a low table for periodicals, and a bar with bottles. There were even two other doors, which led to … what? There was carpet on the floor, and the window—a window, not a porthole—had lush red curtains.
Silvio was also struck by the way Anna-Maria had imposed herself on this room. She traveled with objects he would never have dreamed of carrying—since he did not possess most of them: framed photographs, a doll with a lace dress propped up against the cushions on the sofa, silk flowers, what must have been her own piece of red material that she had draped around one of the lamps to make the light softer and more interesting. A stack of books. He was out of his depth.
Anna-Maria had shut the door behind him. She crossed the room to the bar. “Tell me, Silvio, we know you’ve never smoked American cigarettes. Have you ever drunk champagne?”
“Yes.” He was pleased he was able to show he had done something. “Nino bought some once. I was given a glass.”
“One whole glass! My.” She faced the bar and poured two glasses from an already opened bottle. She turned back and handed one to Silvio. “Now, for your second glass,” she said, smiling, “but your first real drink, we link arms.” She held her arm out and made him curve his around hers. “There, you see. And we both drink—to each other.”
They drank. When they linked arms, their eyes were very close. Her eyes were brown but speckled, like lichen growing on a rock. “Don’t sip it,” Anna-Maria said. “Take a good swallow, or you don’t get the full effect.”
They drank a second time, and a third, then disengaged their arms. Silvio had enjoyed being close to Anna-Maria. She smelled so fragrant and her skin was so soft and milky that he wanted to touch her. He thought of Annunziata with a pang of remorse.
Anna-Maria refilled Silvio’s glass, then arranged herself on the sofa. “Sit in that chair,” she commanded. Silvio slumped down. As he took another gulp of champagne and set his glass on the low table between them, she took a silver cigarette case from out of her bag. The ship suddenly shuddered as it slid off a huge wave. Anna-Maria opened the cigarette case and held it out for Silvio. He took a cigarette. Then she said, “Why don’t you unbutton your tunic? It’s stuffy in here.”
He held his cigarette with one hand and unfastened the top two buttons of his jacket. Again the ship gave a lurch.
She lit her own cigarette, then passed the matches to Silvio. Holding the cigarette gingerly, as though it might explode, he lit it. He set the spent match on the low table.
“Now,” breathed Anna-Maria, leaning back on the sofa and crossing her legs, “this is what I call civilized.” She smiled at Silvio. “Tell me, what are you going to do when you arrive in America?”
He shrugged, trying to hold down the awful feeling that had suddenly come over him. “That’s for Nino to decide.”
“Are you tied to Nino forever? Aren’t you your own man?”
He looked at her sharply. He had a temper of his own, but it rarely showed when Nino was around: the older man was too unpredictable. “Yes, I’m my own man. But for the moment, our ties suit us both.”
“My father is wealthy, and has position in New Orleans. He ow
ns passenger ships and fruit ships. He controls the docks where the passenger ships land and where the fruit arrives. I am his only child. If I asked him to help you, he would.” She looked at him, blowing cigarette smoke in his direction.
Silvio didn’t know how to reply. Of course he wanted her help. So did Nino. In fact, Nino would kill him if he bungled this opportunity. At the same time he sensed that Anna-Maria had more to say but that a lot depended on his answer.
“I … I’d love to work for your father … but where would that leave us? Would I see more of you?”
Anna-Maria smiled. “A little too oily, Silvio, but flattering. And clever. I’ll tell my father you’re clever—and quick. I saw that tonight, at dinner.”
Quick? He hadn’t been so quick when his parents were ambushed.
She stubbed out her cigarette. “Come and sit over here.” She moved along the sofa to make room for him.
He got up, not feeling at his best. He edged around the low table and sat down next to Anna-Maria.
“Good,” she said. “Now, your next lesson is to light a cigarette for me. Women like that—at least I do.”
Silvio picked up the silver box and held it open for her. She took a cigarette, leaning forward so that he could see the top half of her breasts. He lit a match and stretched out toward her. She put the end of her cigarette in the flame, leaning forward still more.
“Now the champagne,” she said, drawing on her cigarette. “Finish your glass and pour us some more.”
Silvio drained his glass. He got up and crossed the room. As he reached the bar he was gently thrown against it by the unsteadiness of the deck. That second glass hadn’t helped. He definitely did not feel well.
Sono contadino? he asked himself. Am I a peasant?
He poured the champagne and took the glass back to the sofa. Again the ship heaved beneath him.
When he sat down, Anna-Maria leaned back, kicked off her slippers, swung her long legs around, and stretched them across Silvio’s lap, lowering them onto his thighs. Greedily, she emptied her glass of champagne and set it on the table. Holding her cigarette near her mouth, ready to draw on it at any moment, she said, “How are you planning to enter the United States?”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“Of course you do. Or how innocent can you be? You and Nino are not exactly princes of the realm, are you? I didn’t see you coming aboard at Palermo up the first-class gangway. You very nearly lost the top of your head before we were out of sight of Gibraltar. So you can’t just walk ashore at New Orleans. You and Nino are going to have to work something out before we get to America. Illegal immigrants are put back on the boats they arrived on.”
Silvio heard Anna-Maria, but he was no longer listening. The Syracusa was beginning to roll, pitch, and yaw all at the same time as the wind outside rose and the seas were whipped into a frenzy. His stomach appeared to be doing a dance inside him and he suddenly felt too ill to speak. He looked at Anna-Maria in horror. She was very feminine—fragile, soft, clean. He couldn’t throw up in her presence, still less all over her.
Suddenly the ship lurched, the built-in furniture creaked and groaned, and the champagne bottle slid alarmingly along the bar. Silvio could wait no longer. He threw Anna-Maria’s legs off his lap, put his glass down on the table, and ran for the door.
“Silvio!” his hostess called out. “Use the bathroom!”
But he hadn’t realized that one of the other doors led to a bathroom, and in any case he wanted fresh air as well as the opportunity to vomit somewhere on his own. He reached the door, pulled it open, and jumped outside. Closing the door behind him, he ran toward the stern of the ship. Suddenly the deck wasn’t there as the Syracusa lurched again. Silvio was thrown against the wall of a ventilator shaft and fell to the deck. He crawled to the edge of the ship, grabbed hold of the railing for support and, opening his mouth involuntarily but with relief, threw up into the void.
Annunziata was upset, screaming with rage. No, wait, she wasn’t. She was smiling. Or was she? It was so difficult to tell. She was drunk—yes, that was it, uproariously drunk. She was on a dance floor, a bottle of champagne in one hand, a cigarette in a holder in the other. She was swirling around, but each time she revolved, there was a different man in her arms. Dark, fair, tall, taller, each one more handsome than the last. Wait! One of them looked like the Orestano man who’d sat astride him. They all looked like Orestano. Some of them kissed her neck—she liked that. She looked stunning and she looked happy. Silvio felt himself begin to sweat and tremble. It was time he put a stop to this nonsense. But he knew, somewhere inside, that he couldn’t move, that he was condemned to watch. He tried to shout, but the moment he opened his mouth, the nauseous feeling returned. Annunziata vanished along with the men she was dancing too close to. This was no better. The boat was rocking—but in an odd kind of way, back and forth, back and forth, in quick jerky movements.
“Silvio! It’s five o’clock. I’m bored. How long can you sleep, for Christ’s sake?” Someone was shaking him.
He woke up. Thank God. All those men had been a dream.
“Here, drink this. It’s coffee.”
Nino had found Silvio slumped across the deck, totally spent after bolting from Anna-Maria’s cabin. He had carried the young man to the other side of the ship; the bar in the casino had a door for the crew that opened outward onto the deck.
The barman had opened the door. “We’re on deck duty,” whispered Nino. “Have you got something for seasickness?”
“Hold on,” the barman said. In a minute he was back.
“What is it?” asked Nino, staring at what the barman had in his hand. It wasn’t bismuth or camphor.
“A key. To the shower room, a few doors along from here. It’s for senior crew, but I’ve been on this ship so long I’ve got a key as well. Have him take a shower for as long as he can bear it. Don’t worry, there’ll be no one else there at this time of night. Bring back the key when you’re finished.”
Nino had helped Silvio to the shower, then resumed his patrol alone.
Silvio had stayed in the shower for half an hour before he began to feel better, as he sweated out the champagne and shook off the stale odor of tobacco and vomit that hung about him. He remembered little of the rest of the night. He had dropped into bed shortly after six and had stayed there ever since.
“Drink the coffee. We need to talk.” Nino’s voice was harsh.
Silvio drank from the mug. The coffee was good. He couldn’t remember feeling this well in days. The sea seemed fairly calm, too.
“You said last night Anna-Maria offered to help us,” Nino said.
Silvio nodded. He didn’t like Nino’s brusque manner, but he had seen enough in the bivio to know that the Don could be rough where women were concerned.
“You left in such a hurry. Was she mad at you?”
“For leaving like I did?”
“No, mulehead. For not screwing her.”
“What?”
“Why do you think she asked you to her cabin? God! Your naïveté is getting on my nerves, Silvio. Listen to an older man. Learn from his mistakes. This is important. She’s a woman of twenty-three, a nice woman in some ways, a puttana in others, but the important thing is that she is her father’s daughter and we—you—have got to please her. You’re eighteen, that’s old enough.”
Silvio buried his face in the coffee mug. How much of what Nino was saying was designed to push Silvio into Anna-Maria’s bed and away from Annunziata?
“Here.”
“What’s that?”
“What does it look like, idiota. Money. To buy Anna-Maria a gift—”
“What—?”
“Don’t interrupt! Remember what I told you? An olive is hard on the inside but soft on the outside. You saw the shops. Buy her some chocolate, some silk flowers, fancy soap—anything. But buy her something that gets you back into her bedroom tonight and every night until we get to New Orleans. I want you to sc
rew that woman and keep her happy all the way across the Atlantic Ocean so that she talks to her father as if we were the Pope and St. Peter themselves. Don’t cross me on this one, Silvio. I know what I’m doing. And don’t fail me. Do you hear?”
He heard all right. He had heard that phrase “Don’t fail me” before.
“Two questions.”
Nino glared at Silvio. “Well?”
“How are we going to get ashore? Anna-Maria asked me.”
At the mention of Anna-Maria, Nino relaxed. “Don’t worry about that. You’ll see when the time comes. What was the other question?”
“The Orestanos. Anna-Maria says they’ll come looking for us. Or, if they don’t, they’ll tell the authorities about us.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too. I don’t know how many they are, whether all the people who surrounded you were Orestanos or hangers-on, keen to be associated with an attempt to get at me. But I do have a plan, which also depends on you getting back inside cabin 715 tonight. I’ll tell you the details once you’ve succeeded.”
Nino stood up. “Now, get dressed. It’s time you went shopping.”
Silvio knocked gently on the cabin door. Down the deck Nino watched, half-hidden behind a ventilator shaft.
“Come in.”
Silvio closed the door behind him.
“Look.” Anna-Maria had poured two glasses of champagne in wide-brimmed goblets. “They’re not moving. The sea is as flat as a virgin’s belly. I hope you’re feeling well.”
“I’m fine.” Silvio smiled.
Nino had been right about one thing. The chocolates had done the trick. When Silvio had arrived at Anna-Maria’s table in the saloon that evening, the moment could have been awkward. In fact, for a short while, things were awkward. She had been deep in conversation with the man on her left, some sort of businessman who knew her father, and neither looked as though they relished the interruption.
But Silvio had worked on his speech. “I’m sorry I was such a contadino, such a peasant, last night,” he said. “I’m not used to champagne. I hope you can forgive me. I’m told these chocolates are the best on board. Perhaps they will sweeten the memory of what happened.”