by Felice Arena
Mamma Nina is tossing whitebait fish in a bowl of flour in her tiny kitchen. More are frying on the stove. Antonio kisses her on the cheek, noticing her breathing is shallow.
‘Dinner smells good,’ he says.
‘Signor Piccolo is a good fisherman. And a good man, thank God. He’s given us some of his catch again,’ she says. ‘Where have you been? And why are you soaking wet? Get yourself out of those clothes or you’ll catch a cold.’
Antonio moves to the corner of the living room where his bed stands. There’s only one bedroom in this tiny house – and that’s where Mamma Nina sleeps. Beside his bed is a set of drawers made from an old olive crate. He takes a white singlet and a pair of shorts out of one of the rickety drawers. He quickly changes into them and hangs his damp clothes on the bedhead to dry.
‘Signor Piccolo said he’s going to Siracusa tomorrow to visit his sick sister,’ says Mamma Nina.
‘Aha,’ mumbles Antonio, pulling out a notebook and some charcoal sticks from the bottom drawer.
‘So we won’t have fish until he gets back.’
Antonio sighs, but he’s not really paying attention. He opens his notebook to a blank page
‘Maybe I’ll make some caponata instead,’ Mamma Nina continues.
Antonio doesn’t respond. He’s concentrating on what he loves to do more than anything else – drawing. He sketches his day – the Saint Christopher pendant, a silhouetted figure jumping off il Diavolo, and a rough but true portrait of the American spy.
‘Allora, Antonio, mangiamo! We eat!’ says Mamma Nina, placing the fish and a loaf of bread on the table in the middle of the living room. Antonio puts his notebook back in the drawer and joins her.
He stabs hungrily at the whitebait with his fork.
‘Ah! Ah!’ snaps Mamma Nina, slapping his hand. ‘Aspetta! Wait! Let’s pray. Dear God, we thank you for this meal, for Signor Piccolo, and for the good people in this world. We thank you for your protection and pray that this war will end soon. Bless us, and my amore, my love, Enzo, with you in heaven above. Amen.’
Antonio looks up to the portrait of Enzo hanging on the wall by the front door. Mamma Nina prays before every meal. And in every prayer she mentions her late husband.
Too bad I didn’t know you, thinks Antonio. It would’ve been nice to have a father. I’m sorry you died before Mamma Nina took me in. She loves and misses you very much.
The portrait of Enzo hangs next to the only other two paintings in the house. One is of Jesus. The other is of a farmhouse and a flock of sheep grazing in nearby fields – with a hillside town visible on the horizon. This was where Mamma Nina spent her childhood before she married Enzo and moved to the coastal town where she and Antonio live.
‘Eat!’ Mamma Nina says, opening her eyes.
Antonio digs in. He’s famished.
‘Slow down! You’re going to choke.’
Antonio stops for just a second and then continues to eat rapidly.
‘Signora Lari told me that Signora Rocca’s son, Filippo, has returned from living in Milano . . .’ Mamma Nina always relates what she’s overheard in town to Antonio.
He nods and continues to stuff his face. He rips into some hard crusty bread and, while Mamma Nina launches into her story, stealthily shoves a piece of it into the pocket of his shorts – food for the American.
‘Filippo has a wife, and a daughter about your age. The wife, I think, is from Switzerland – she has some kind of an accent. Or that’s what Signora Lari told me anyway. I remember Filippo from when he was a boy. Enzo hired him to be his assistant one summer at the post office. He was very intelligent. They live in the top apartment in the building right next to the Santa Maria. You know the one? But you would hardly remember since you never go to church any more . . .’
Antonio rolls his eyes.
‘Anyway . . .’ Mamma Nina continues. ‘Filippo is now a doctor. His mother must be so happy . . .’
‘Wait! A doctor?’ Antonio says. ‘As in a doctor with medicine and bandages doctor?’
‘Of course,’ says Mamma Nina. ‘Are you sick?’
‘Um, no, um – it’s just good that we have someone like him around here. You know, for you,’ says Antonio.
‘Now don’t you worry about me,’ says Mamma Nina, standing up and taking Antonio’s plate. ‘I’m feeling better today. Stronger than I’ve ever been.’
But Antonio knows Mamma Nina is lying. She has been ill for a long time now. Every night he hears her coughing and wheezing in her room. And some days she has been too weak to get out of bed.
‘Look what I have, a little treat tonight,’ she says, returning to the table with a small bowl of ripe figs. ‘From Signora Lari’s cousin’s farm. It’s a little early in the season for them, but I’m not complaining.’ Mamma Nina smiles warmly. Antonio reaches for one of the figs, lost in thought.
He can’t believe his luck. Food is rationed – they only get a little – but he knows he can save a piece of fruit or bread for the spy from his own share. Medical supplies, though, are much harder to find.
This is a godsend, he thinks. And if it’s sent by God, then God won’t mind me stealing it in this case, will he?
la chiesa
THE CHURCH
Antonio is lying in his bed, drawing in his notebook by the light of a lantern.
He is waiting for the right time to leave, when the town is dead quiet and everyone is fast asleep.
‘Okay, this is it,’ he whispers, hopping out of bed. Antonio sneaks towards the front door but stops when he hears Mamma Nina coughing. It’s a deep raspy barking cough. It doesn’t sound good. He grabs a cup of water and takes it to her bedroom.
‘Here, Mamma, have this,’ he whispers in the dark, lifting her head from the pillow. She sips at the water.
‘Grazie, figlio mio.’ She gasps and gulps for air then lays her head back on the pillow. The coughing has stopped for now.
Antonio leans over and gently kisses her on the forehead. ‘You’re okay, now. Sleep well, Mamma,’ he whispers.
He closes Mamma Nina’s bedroom door behind him and leaves the house. Antonio darts through the cobblestone streets, edging along the walls like a cat. He is nimble and quiet. When two German soldiers suddenly emerge from around a corner, he disappears into the shadows of an archway, waiting for them to pass.
Phew! That was close, he thinks, as their laughter fades in the distance.
Soon Antonio is standing in front of Dr Filippo Rocca’s home, next to the church, Santa Maria.
Antonio looks up to the top floor. One of the doors to the balcony is open.
Perfect, he thinks. Now all I have to do is get up on the roof and drop down onto the balcony. But how?
Antonio looks at the belltower of the church.
‘That’s it,’ he says under his breath as he runs over to the heavy wooden doors of the Santa Maria.
He steps inside and is hit with the smell of centuries of dankness and incense. It’s dark. It’s cold. It’s unnerving. Antonio looks up at the giant woodcarving of Jesus on a crucifix – it’s as if he’s looking disapprovingly at him.
The moonlight streams through the arched stained-glass windows. Shadows flicker across large ornately framed paintings hanging on the stone walls. Antonio shivers.
There’s no denying it’s spooky.
He sees a candlelight glow coming from the vestry at the side of the church. Could Father Dominic be in there now? Antonio inches towards the doorway and peeps in. There’s no sign of the priest.
I suppose he would’ve heard me come in if he were here, Antonio tells himself. He turns back into the church and makes his way towards the belltower.
The door to the tower is locked. As Antonio turns back towards the vestry to look for keys, he hears the creak of the front door opening – someone’s coming into the church!
Antonio drops to the floor, crawls under the first two rows of the pews – and freezes.
He hears Father Dominic talking with another
man, their voices getting louder as they walk up the centre aisle, closer to where Antonio is hiding.
‘I was just about to leave,’ Antonio hears Father Dominic say. ‘I didn’t think you were coming, and a couple of soldiers came in earlier, wondering why I was here so late.’
‘This is where you’re supposed to be, at any time of the day,’ says the other voice. ‘That is why this arrangement works so beautifully.’ To Antonio the voice sounds gruff and menacing.
As they move past him, Antonio catches a glimpse of the man with Father Dominic. Even in the shadows, he recognises him – it’s La Vipera, the Viper. Everyone in town knows him . . . or knows of him. He’s a cold-blooded gangster – Antonio has seen his men in the piazza threatening business owners for money. No one messes with the Viper – not if they value their lives.
Antonio freezes, pressing himself down onto the church’s tiled-floor.
What’s he doing here? What arrangement are they talking about? And why is he meeting with Father Dominic?
Father Dominic unlocks the door to the belltower and enters. A few minutes later he returns with a cloth sack.
‘Trust me. It’s all there,’ he says, pulling out a fist-ful of money. ‘May the Lord forgive me for what I do and guide you back to redemption.’
The Viper snatches the sack out of the priest’s hands and grabs the front of Father Dominic’s cassock. ‘I don’t need God’s forgiveness, cousin,’ he snarls.
Antonio flinches. Did the Viper say cousin? He didn’t know that the two men were related. He wonders if others in town know. Of course they do! he concludes. This is Sicily – everyone knows everyone’s business, but everyone pretends to know nothing.
‘All I need is for you to do what you’re told . . . or people will get hurt,’ adds the Viper. ‘Capisci? Stick to what we’ve agreed.’
The Viper releases his grip on the priest and leaves. Antonio notes Father Dominic’s expression. He looks guilty. He looks distressed. He looks trapped. As the priest slowly makes his way towards the front doors, Antonio makes his move.
He dashes through the open door of the belltower and runs up to the very top. He climbs onto the ledge where the bell hangs and without stopping to think, he fearlessly leaps out towards the roof of the building next door.
At first it feels just like it did when he jumped off il Diavolo, but below there is no water, no chance of survival, just the hard cobblestones of the street.
Thankfully, within seconds, Antonio feels the thud of his feet landing on the tiles of the gently sloped roof. He crouches down, his legs tensing and jarring at the impact – but overall it’s a perfect jump.
He lies down on his stomach, crawls over to the edge, and hangs his head over the gutters. He can see the Viper walking away into the darkness.
‘Okay, here goes,’ Antonio whispers. He hangs his legs over the ledge and gently drops a metre down onto the iron balcony.
Antonio takes in a deep breath and steps through the open doorway. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. When they do, he realises he’s in a bedroom – someone is asleep in the bed on the other side.
Antonio sneaks towards the door. I’ll check the bathroom and living room for the doctor’s medicine bag, he thinks, and then I’ll just leave through the front door and make a run for it . . .
But suddenly the room lights up. Antonio whirls around.
‘Who are you?’ A young girl is sitting up in bed, with her hand on the bedside light. ‘And what are you doing in my house?’
la ragazza
THE GIRL
Antonio edges towards the balcony.
The girl is oddly calm for someone who has been woken by an intruder. ‘Stay where you are,’ she says, ‘or I’ll scream and wake my parents.’
She steps out of bed – her voice is confident and strong and Antonio finds himself standing still even though every instinct in him is telling him to run.
‘I mean it!’ says the girl. ‘Who are you and what are you doing in my room? Are you here to rob us?’
Her face is porcelain smooth and her green eyes are almond-shaped. Even in his panic, Antonio knows she’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. And even though she’s caught him breaking into her house she doesn’t have the judgemental expression he’s used to seeing from other kids in his town.
‘No,’ Antonio says. ‘I mean, not really.’
He thinks about spinning some epic lie to explain why he’s there, but this girl might still call the polizia or, even worse, her parents might drag him home and tell Mamma Nina.
And what would lying achieve? he thinks. The spy is counting on me – I need those supplies and there’s no other way to get them.
Besides there’s something about this girl, something real, something true. She really seems to want to know the answers to her questions and Antonio’s instincts are telling him to be honest.
‘Well, yes,’ he says finally. ‘But it’s not what you think. I don’t want money or anything to sell. Your father’s a doctor and I need some first-aid supplies . . . but I can’t say why.’
The girl suddenly turns her head towards the closed bedroom door. Antonio can hear footsteps approaching.
‘Hide!’ she whispers. She gestures for Antonio to crawl under her bed.
He does, just before the bedroom door swings open. He can see a woman’s feet walking towards the bed.
‘What are you doing up? I thought I heard you talking.’
Antonio holds his breath.
‘I can’t sleep, Mamma,’ says the girl. ‘And I’m hungry.’
Her mother sighs. ‘I told you you didn’t eat enough tonight. I’ll go get some pecorino and bread.’
Then the girl says something Antonio can’t understand. For the second time in a day, he hears the short clipped words of another language. But this time he recognises it.
‘No! No! What have I told you? No!’ the mother snaps in Italian. ‘You can’t speak English. Not even at home. Do you know what they would do to us if they discovered we speak the language of the enemy?’
‘Sorry, Ma. I know,’ the girl replies. ‘It just slipped out.’
Her mother leaves and she bends down to face Antonio under the bed, her hair hanging over her upside-down face.
‘Just stay there for moment,’ she says. ‘My name’s Simonetta. My mother will be right back. Tell me why you need first aid and maybe I can help. Are you sick? Hurt?’
‘No,’ Antonio whispers. ‘But can you get me some supplies? If you do I promise not to tell the Germans you speak English.’ He grins. ‘I’m sure they’d be interested . . .’
The girl screws up her face, as if she’s just been beaten in a game. Antonio snorts. Now they are even.
Simonetta’s mother returns with a plate of cheese and bread and a few almonds.
When she says goodnight and leaves the room again, Antonio crawls out from under the bed. ‘So are you going to help me?’ he says. ‘I need bandages and anything else you have that will help heal a wound.’
‘You can at least say please,’ says Simonetta.
‘Pleeeease,’ says Antonio begrudgingly.
Simonetta straightens her nightdress and quietly sneaks out of the bedroom. A few minutes later she comes back in with a cloth sack, handing it to Antonio.
‘There are bandages, iodine, mercurochrome and aspirin in there. Hopefully they won’t check for a while, because my parents don’t miss a thing. But, by then . . . well, I’ll think of something to say. What’s your name?’
‘It’s not important,’ Antonio says, pointing at the plate of food. ‘Can I have the cheese and bread too?’
He scoops up the food and drops it all into the sack.
Simonetta looks worried. ‘If someone is in trouble – and it sounds as if someone is – then let me help,’ she says. ‘I know a lot about first aid. I’ve watched my parents for long enough. When your father’s a doctor and your mother’s a nurse, you pick up a few things.’
Antonio sighs. As well as being confident, she’s headstrong and persistent. ‘I don’t want your help,’ he says, but seeing a disappointed look on her face he adds, ‘Sorry, but it’s complicated. Now, how do I get out of here?’
Simonetta grins. ‘Didn’t you just say you don’t need my help? What was your plan? Break in here, grab what you wanted and walk out the front door?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Antonio. ‘Can’t I just do that?’
‘My nonno and nonna sleep in the room next to the front door and unlocking it would wake them up,’ says Simonetta. ‘You really didn’t think this through, did you?’
Antonio clenches his teeth. He hates to admit it, but she’s right. He’s always gone with impulse and instinct – but ever since he stuck that drawing on the German jeep, things haven’t quite been working out.
‘No, I didn’t, Miss Know-it-all,’ he says.
‘Relax. Don’t lose your cool,’ she says. She starts pulling the sheets off her bed and grabs a couple more from a cupboard in the corner of the room – then ties them in knots to make a makeshift rope.
Simonetta waits for a German jeep to roll by and then throws one end off the balcony and hands Antonio the sack. ‘Don’t slip,’ she says. ‘Whoever you are.’
Antonio nods and climbs over the balcony. He slides down the bedsheet rope and as soon as he hits the ground, he can hear the sheets being pulled up over the balcony rail.
As he dashes off towards a side street, he looks back. He can’t help hoping that Simonetta is still standing there waving . . . but the balcony is empty and the room is dark.
il complimento
THE COMPLIMENT
It’s dawn and Antonio is up and moving again.
He squints into the morning sunlight as he makes his way out of town towards il Diavolo. In one hand he is carrying the sack filled with medical supplies, food, candles, and some water in a canvas bag – and in the other hand a fishing pole. He has no intention of fishing but the Germans don’t know that. As a couple of soldiers in a jeep drive past, they glare for a second, make an obvious assumption, and drive on.