Behind the boxes I go cold all over. Our football-friendship is over. Adriano will pay me back for the beans. And he’s much bigger than me!
I need to get out of the room, into the passageway before Adriano comes back. I stumble out from behind the boxes.
There’s only one lift and two other doors out on the corridor. One door says “Cold Room”; the other one must lead to the kitchen! Adriano is probably going to come out that door any second now. And it’s too late for the lift. I press myself behind the open door. Then I hear Adriano coming out of the kitchen and into the storeroom. I hear a cloth squelching on the floor.
“Come on out!” he hisses, but I’m already as far as the kitchen door and sneak into the kitchen, through hot noodle steam, past pots and flames. There’s food frying in pans everywhere and cooks shouting at each other. No one looks at me. But where should I go?!
I run to the end of the passageway; there are waiters rushing over and back loading up trays of desserts. I tag onto a waiter and just follow him. I’m almost out of the kitchen with him when I see Adriano!!! He’s coming through the door at the other end and he’s after me!!! I run past the waiters. “Who on earth are you?” shouts one of them. But I don’t turn around and run even faster, out of the kitchen and into the restaurant. The diners stare as I duck between the tables, out into the stairway and up one level, and then another, up and up and up and then out through a door. Suddenly I’m on the top deck!
The sky is dark already. I see people standing at the railings at the back. I run in the opposite direction, along the side of the ship. But where can I go? There are lifeboats hanging above me. There’s ladders leading up to them, with chains in front of them. You’re not allowed to go up there. But a lifeboat is the only hiding place. I climb over the chain and up the ladder. There’s a cover over the boat; I squeeze myself in under it and then slide myself to the bottom of the boat. I stretch out; I won’t move another inch. I can only hear the waves and my loud breathing. And then I hear Adriano’s voice.
“Where are you!” He walks past, directly under the boat. “I’m going to get you, for sure!” he shouts.
I hold my breath. Then Adriano’s voice fades away as he moves further along the deck.
“Come on out!” he shouts, over and over, going on until the waves are louder than him and I can’t hear him any more…
I stay in my hiding place for another half hour, not moving an inch. I hurt all over from the hard ground. I push myself up and squint out through the boat cover. There’s no sign of Adriano.
I slide back down and turn onto my side. I can’t lie on my side much longer. There’s not enough space to sit up under the cover. When will we ever get to Palermo?
My tummy still feels funny. I try to get Papa’s laugh back into my ear and imagine him as he opens the door. Then suddenly, I wonder if Papa will even be at home when I get there, or missing, gone somewhere or other on business. And what if he is at home but he won’t come back to Bochum?! I pull the balcony photo out of my jacket and light up Biro-Papa with my phone. He’s laughing. Maybe Papa is better without us? He’s got sun, sand and the casino and no more Mama-rules. But I can’t bear to think that. I put the photo away quickly.
The waves are still whooshing. It is still the middle of the night I haven’t heard another sound from Adriano. I don’t really think that he has given me away. Otherwise he would get the sack from the ship. He did hide me, after all.
My legs have gone to sleep. Otherwise I’m wide-awake. I keep looking at the clock on my phone. Half-past-twelve, quarter-to-one, almost half-past-two… at six-o-clock Mama gets back from the night shift and she always wakes me up at seven. She’ll go into my room and find my empty bed. And she’ll see my empty money-box with the map of Italy beside it. And then she’ll go straight to the telephone.
I’ve got to get to Papa before seven, before Mama comes into my room!
When five-o-clock comes I’ve had enough. It’s bright already. I stick my head out again. I’ve been doing that all night. And now I can see land. There’s a dark stripe, far away, at the end of the sea. Is that Sicily???!! It’s got to be Sicily!! There are mountains!! I lean so far over that I almost fall out of the lifeboat. The waves swish by below me. The wind is blowing drops of water up at me. We’re booming our way to Sicily, with thundering engines and black clouds rising from the chimney.
I squint at a white speck at the back of the thin stripe; I keep staring at it. The salty air is making my eyes burn. There’s houses, there’s a town! Is that Palermo??!!
And suddenly the sun is up and I can hear Papa laughing again.
The city is getting nearer all the time, until I can see apartment blocks and cranes. The houses are brighter than ours in Bochum. Palermo is the most beautiful city in the world. I can see that, even from here. It’s right on the sea with mountains behind it. And the sun shines down on it every day. Bochum just can’t compare!
At ten past six we boom our way into the port. The ferry hoots so loud that I’m sure it can be heard in the city. Don Carlo has arrived!! I can see people on the balconies. There are balconies everywhere! Which of them is Papa’s?!
Mooring takes forever. I don’t dare to move out until the ferry’s snout opens and the ramps crash down onto the ground. Then I crawl out of the lifeboat, climb down the ladder onto the deck and run down the outside stairs. Even if Adriano gets in my way, he won’t stop me. I’ll just run past him.
When I get down to the car-deck I run past the cars and past the man in white, right out of the ferry. I jump with my two feet off the ramp and onto Sicily, the biggest football in the world! I could push everyone out of my way, even the man in white. I’ve done it!! Almost.
I keep going, heading towards the city, over the square in front of the ferry as far as a gate and under the barrier.
“This isn’t an exit!” shouts the gatemen from his hut by the gate behind me. But I’ve already got as far as the car park and run between the parked cars and out onto the street.
There’s a taxi just going by. I pull out my envelope with Papa’s address and wave it down. He even stops because everything in Palermo is easy! Then I steam into the city in a taxi.
The balconies and street signs whizz by. I look left and right, forwards and backwards. In eight minutes time Mama will go into my room to wake me up! I’ve twisted my envelope to a pulp.
Via Sant’Agostino! I swing my head around. It’s written on the street sign!!
“STOP!!” I shout.
Then we stop in front of number 9. I shove all the brezel-change into the taxi driver’s hand and jump out.
The house has only one balcony that looks like Papa’s. There’s a chunk broken off a corner and a crack running along it, just like in my photo. The only thing missing is Papa on the balcony.
I find his name right away among all the bells; it’s scribbled in biro on a little sign. Then I press his bell. Once, twice! Nothing happens.
At the fifth ring the door opens, and my arms fly out. But it’s only an old woman coming out. There’s nobody else. I push past her into the house and run up the stairs.
I find Papa’s flat on the third floor. I can’t hear any sound from inside. I’m certain Papa’s asleep. You can never get him out of bed. I put my finger on the bell and keep pressing. It’s three minutes to seven already. And what if Papa really isn’t there?
“OPEN UP, PAPA!” I nearly hammer the door down. “OPEN UP!”
Suddenly I fall into space. The door is ripped open. I need to look a second time. Papa’s standing in front of me!!! In his vest, just like me!
“CARLO?”
Papa looks the same as ever! As if he had only gone away yesterday. He’s just as fat with a beard all over his face and a hairy chest. The dark rings are still there under his eyes from the night. He looks just the way he did in Bochum, when he got out of bed.
“CARLO!!” he roars now and the whole stairwell echoes.
Then I jump on him and push myself
into him. It’s for five months, all at once, for all the waiting at school, at meals, in bed, every day. I press my nose to Papa’s chest and sniff in his cologne. I’ve no idea why I’m crying, I’m so happy!
Papa gives a deep laugh that shakes through me like an earthquake. And he hugs me so hard, he knocks my breath away. You couldn’t pull us apart again.
I don’t even hear my phone at first. The ringing doesn’t get between Papa and me. I only feel the phone vibrating in my suit jacket. And suddenly I think of Mama again. She’s there, worried sick, looking at my empty bed! I don’t want to tear myself away. But I must, before Mama thinks that I’ve just vanished completely.
I pull out my phone and wipe my nose on my sleeve. Then I press the green button and hear Mama talking before I even have the phone at my ear properly.
“Carlo! Is that you?”
“Hallo Mama…”
“Where are you?! You’ve given me the fright of my life! I couldn’t find you anywhere!”
“I’m… I’m with Papa. Everything’s okay!”
“You’re where? Where are you??! With Papa??!!”
“In Palermo.”
“With Papa in Palermo??!!”
“I’ve just got here and…”
“CARLO!! That’s not funny!! Where are you really? You get home here at once!! Your breakfast is on the table!”
I go hot all over. “I’m coming back! This evening, maybe. You’ll have to sort it out with Papa…”
“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, CARLO?!” Mama’s shouting now. I knew she would. “WHAT SORT OF A CRAZY IDEA IS THAT!”
“Nothing! I’m with Papa. He’s just beside me. We haven’t had a chance to talk about anything yet and…”
“He’s beside you?! PUT HIM ON TO ME! IMMEDIATELY!!!”
I don’t get any chance to explain to her that I’m only here to sort something out for us all.
Papa takes the phone. “Gabriele, why are you shouting so loud?! I can hear you all the way to Palermo” he shouts through the whole stairwell. “I’m so glad! I just fell out of the bed, straight into Carlo’s arms!! Why didn’t you tell me he was coming! He was just standing outside my door! You could have told me, I have a phone, after all. Or even a text?” Papa goes back inside his flat with Mama, with me behind him.
“…what scheme am I supposed to have put into his head? I had no idea! I’m telling you; he just arrived at my door!”
And then it all starts again. In German-Italian and Italian-German. I don’t listen any more and I have a look around me. The flat is really just one room, with a bathroom, and there’s a cooker in one corner. There’s a table at one end, and a chair. The bed is a mattress. Then there’s a couple of boxes. We’d get all those into the cellar in no time. Papa won’t need any of that stuff in Bochum.
“Wait, I’ll ask him myself!” says Papa, turning around to me. “Did you run away without a word to Mama?”
I nod.
“Yes” says Papa into the mobile. “He says: yes!” And then he starts to laugh. “Isn’t he unbelievable! Just pretends he’s playing football and travels all the way to Palermo!” Papa laughs louder and louder. “…I have to laugh, Gabriele! He just says… yes… of course, it’s serious! But I just have to laugh…”
I spot the photo of the white-water-train hanging above the table. That used to hang over the fridge in Bochum. We’re sitting in the boat, all three of us, getting soaked to the skin. I remember just how much we laughed at the photo because we all look so funny. Our eyes are as big as saucers and our mouths wide open with shouting.
“You’re shouting again, Gabriele… tutto a posto, Carlo’s fine! I sort it out with him and phone you back later… no, I ring you later, basta!” Papa hangs up. “We’d better turn it off,” he says giving me back the phone. He just pulls the cord of his landline out of the wall. Then he stands in front of me, with his two hands on my shoulders. “You’re driving your Mama completely crazy! Why?!”
“I really miss you so much, honestly,” I say.
“I miss you too! If you had said so, I would have jumped on a plane right away!”
“But something always gets in the way, with you…”
“What gets in the way? Nothing gets in the way! I would have got out of it, made myself free! For as long as you like!!!” Papa gives me a big kiss on the top of my head. “You’re my son, Carlo! I’m so glad! You just came to Palermo! I can’t believe it! You’ve got to tell me the whole story!! But we’ll talk later. First, we need some breakfast. Otherwise I’ll keel over, after all that shouting!” He goes to the fridge and opens it wide. There’s only butter and two eggs inside. “I’m going to throw away that fridge tomorrow, don’t need it here. You can get everything fresh, just outside the door. Let’s go!”
Papa pulls on his trousers and storms out of the flat and down the stairs with his arm around my shoulder. I go with him, like in a dream. I’m walking arm-in-arm with Papa through Palermo. We go up and down steps, through tiny lanes, left and right. Papa knows his way around. He’ll sort everything out with Mama. He used to just avoid any row with Mama. “You just have to stay quiet around Mama,” he used to say. “She’s a bit of a pressure cooker.”
As we go Papa introduces me to everyone he knows. And he knows nearly everyone. “Just look at him! This is my son! Isn’t he the image of me! He’s got my head, the same mouth, same eyes, hasn’t he?” he keeps saying.
Then we turn around a corner and we’re into the market. The market goes the whole length of the street; there’s no end to it!”
“Have you ever seen such a market?” asks Papa.
I haven’t. There’s fruit stalls, vegetable stalls, mountains of beans. There’s half a cow hanging from a hook and a real pig’s head beside it! And the stall holders are roaring at the tops of their voices. It’s louder than in the stadium because there’s nothing better or fresher than here.
Papa stops by the fish man. Everything is so fresh here that the crabs are still crawling around on the ice.
“Buon giorno, Marcello! What do you want for a kilo of these little fellows?” Papa’s pointing at the octopus.
“Nine euros,” says Marcello.
“Nine euros?! I could buy myself a boat and go catch them myself for that. Nine euros! Marcello! They’re only little ones. And Carlo has a belly like me, hasn’t he? There’s plenty of space in there to fill. Eight euros for two kilo and basta!”
In the end Papa gets two kilos for seven euros because he says that today is a feast day, the biggest feast ever, because I’m visiting him.
We go back home with a bag of octopus and a mountain of vegetables.
Papa chops the octopus into little pieces and throws it into the pan straightaway. I stand beside him, watching every move. I see how he fries the fish, squeezing lemon into the pan with his fist, tosses in herbs or throws a piece of octopus in the air and catches it in his open mouth.
“Hot but buono!” he says through the haze of oil, smacking his lips.
We eat on the balcony! It’s just what I had imagined! We eat straight out of the pan in the sunshine. And the octopus smells like a hundred years of Italy because my Italian Grandma was such a good cook and her grandma too, says Papa.
At last we start on the story. Papa wants to hear everything, right from the beginning. I tuck into the food and talk at the same time. I tell him about the woman at the ticket desk and Rudi with the rags of a ticket in his mouth, about Munich and the toilet in the night train. Papa’s eyes open wider and wider. Usually listening isn’t really his thing but now he’s listening so hard that he forgets to eat. By the time I get to the bit about the lifeboat he can’t even close his mouth. At first, he doesn’t believe me. I can hardly believe myself any more. But that’s the way it was.
At the end Papa bangs on the table. “CARLO!! YOU ARE A RASCAL!” he roars and shoots out of his chair to reach forward and catch my face between his two hands. “YOU ARE A PROPER RASCAL!!”
I can see Papa’s huge gr
in through his beard and I’m so overjoyed that I want to leap up and do everything that was in the postcard, all at once. I want to go into the casino, race around on the moped, roast in the sun, jump in the sea…
And that’s exactly what we do.
I hold on tight to Papa from behind. The moped rattles under us and the wind is warm on our faces. We could head back to Bochum like this! But first we head for the sea.
The beach is almost empty. We plonk ourselves down on the best bit, down near the waves. We’ve just pulled off our trousers when, suddenly, Papa’s phone rings.
“Mama??!!” I ask.
But Papa shakes his head and answers it.
“Ciao!… I’m on the beach, what’s up?… what are you doing… at my door?”
Papa has forgotten something, I gather, a meeting or something. Suddenly, he’s under pressure, I notice. He looks at the time and can’t talk himself out of whatever it is.
“Tutto a posto… okay, okay… I’m on my way” he says at last and hangs up. “I got to go home for a few minutes, Carlo, got something to sort out, a little business, you know,” he tells me, handing me some money. “Get yourself an ice cream, okay? I’ll be right back, in half an hour at the latest!”
I nod, even though I’m cross. Papa rumples my hair, then he heads back up onto the street and roars away on his moped.
I’ve eaten the ice cream in no time. I’m roasting in the sun, in Papa’s swimming trunks. They’re far too big for me but they won’t fall off because I’m lying down.
Out on the sea a ferry steams away. I don’t need a ferry any more.
There’s a plastic bottle in front of me in the sand. I take it down to the water and fill it to the brim for Pietro. The water in the bottle doesn’t look blue any more, just dirty. But I’m sure Pietro will be glad all the same.
Then I sunbathe for another while, on my tummy, on my back and then on my tummy again. I make a sand-timer with my fist and let sand trickle out. I do this, ten times, fifteen times. The half an hour is long past. I look up at the street, again and again. But I can’t see Papa’s moped.
Nobody Can Stop Don Carlo Page 5