The Coming of Fabrizze: A Novel (Black Squirrel Books) (5 page)

“And we're together here,” said Gritti. “Can you tell me what the Abruzzi is famous for?”

“Men like me,” said Augustine.

“But why did you leave such a place?”

There was a strange moment of silence. Augustine scooped up a handful of earth and let it run through his fingers. He waited for the talk to begin again. He looked at Gritti.

“Why did you leave then?” said Gritti.

“But I'm going back,” said Augustine, softly.

Fabrizze started to smile. Suddenly he turned pale.

“Really, Augustine?” said Gritti. “Do you mean it?”

“I want you to stay,” said Fabrizze.

“I'll be leaving soon,” said Augustine. He kept his glance fixed on Gritti. “I stayed so long only to see him settled.”

“What can I tell you?” said Fabrizze. “I want you to stay with all my heart. I thought you changed your mind.”

The men were fidgeting.

“There's nothing to say,” said Cardino. “But let me say that my wife prepares a sweet thing for the holidays. I'm bringing it to bait a trap.”

“You must persuade him to stay,” said Fabrizze. “I'm saving to send for my grandmother. We'll be together again.”

Helplessly, Fabrizze looked to his men.

“But what is happening?” said Gritti. “First you were there, Augustine, and then you were here. And then you went back. And now you come and go again. Where is the end of it, Augustine?”

Augustine was gazing at his great brown work shoes. He could feel the weight of them pulling him down.

“The end of it?” he said. “In the end I'll have no home at all.”

S
OON after the departure of Augustine it was clear to everyone that Fabrizze needed a wife. He was pouring himself, and his men, into the maintenance work on the railroad. He would sweep into the yard and gather the men and march them here and there like a little army. They put in new ties and repaired the switches. They cleaned out the old ballast on their ten miles of roadbed. They were still marching in the winter and yet it was only to tighten bolts and work up an appetite for lunch. Fabrizze remarked that he was emptying a barrel to fill a glass. There were mornings he went looking for Rossi just to challenge orders. Once he found the supervisor hiding in the tool shed.

“Please come out,” said Fabrizze. “What kind of orders did you leave for me? Am I to take fifteen men three miles because someone thinks a rail is running? Who thinks so? Let me look into the eyes of such a man.”

“What do you see?” said Rossi, giggling in a foolish way.

“Shame on you,” said Fabrizze. “Shame, Rossi, shame.”

“Stop it, my boy, stop it,” said Rossi. “I tell you that they are slowing down a little. Do you want me to lay the men off? Stay out of sight with them. Things will be better in the spring. The men are right. You're too nervous. How do you pass the evenings?”

“I study the language,” said Fabrizze. “I bought a dictionary. Every night I take a page and study it.”

“You have too much energy,” said Rossi. “There's nothing here for it. A dictionary, eh? I'll give you a bit of advice. Watch for a certain word. The word is girls. Stop and think.”

Rossi was giggling again.

“Girls, girls,” he said, pinching his foreman.

“And I came looking for you,” said Fabrizze.

“But I'm serious,” said Rossi. “I know the signs. Why should you bring everything to the job? Get married. Leave something home. It's time you were thinking of it.”

The men were thinking of it. The fact is, they were busy making matches for Fabrizze. Before it was over he had been introduced to every daughter and niece and cousin in the area.

Gritti was one of the first with an invitation to supper. He lived on the third floor of the red rooming house and he called out when the spaghetti was on the table. The news was picked up in the hallway and passed on to the seventh floor.

“Tell Fabrizze!”

“It's on the table, Fabrizze!”

“Way, Fabrizze!”

He went downstairs.

“Sit down and eat,” said Gritti. “This is my wife Nellie. I was telling you about her. I sent across the sea for her.”

“Who would blame you?” said Fabrizze.

“Her father promised me everything,” said Gritti. “You should see the letters he wrote. I was going to send for him. And then she came. I was looking for her baggage. Two things she brought. A Saint Christopher's medal and this crafty streak of hers. Don't be fooled, my boy. I make all the noise and she has all the power. She's taking revenge for the first years of the marriage.”

“Pay no attention to him,” said Nellie.

“There it is in a nutshell,” said Gritti. “And now here's my daughter Mary. A worker, Fabrizze. A demon. What is it we look for in these women? I say strength and silence.”

Mary was helping herself to spaghetti. She plunged her fork into the bowl. She tried to balance a meatball on the load. The meatball rolled off and she caught it in midair and popped it into her mouth. Her dark eyes were startling.

“A young man called Igino is after her,” said Gritti.

“She is quick,” said Fabrizze.

“He lives below us,” said Gritti. “Do you hear him playing the harmonica? He plays at night under the window.” Gritti would slip from the house and catch Igino by the back of the neck. He would squeeze and squeeze. Igino played on as the iron fingers closed tighter. Finally, he would be brought gasping to his knees.

Gritti gave a sudden demonstration of strength by squeezing Fabrizze at the calf.

“I use one hand,” said Gritti. “Left or right.”

“A terrible grip,” said Fabrizze.

“Isn't it?” said Gritti, applying more pressure. He began to hum as though putting a song to the violence inside him.

“You stop my blood,” said Fabrizze. “Igino is surely in love to keep playing under such conditions.”

“It may be love,” said Gritti, releasing him. “It may be that he's a musician. Who can say?”

“I'm eating more than anyone,” said Mary.

“But it evens out, my darling,” said Gritti. “You work harder and so you eat more. Stand up a moment for Fabrizze. Turn around. Put the fork down. All right, that's enough. It isn't right, it isn't right. Well, Fabrizze, you see how stout and solid she is? She's made for a grand effort, as they say. The girl is ambitious, I tell you. She'll drag you higher and higher. Think about her.”

Later that week Cardino took Fabrizze home to have a look at Teresa. Teresa had silver bells on a bracelet and when attention drifted away she would touch her black hair and the little bells would ring. Cardino kept turning to look at her. She would be watching Fabrizze.

“Have a care,” said Cardino. He was shaped like a cask for wine and it was very nearly the truth of the matter. “Have a care with my niece,” he was saying. “The girl is dangerous.”

“Who can doubt it?” said Fabrizze.

Teresa rang her little bells.

“Come into the cellar,” she said. “Such golden hair you have! Your skin is like milk. And those eyes! Come along and we'll draw a bit of wine. I'm frightened of the mice down there.”

“A curse on those mice,” said Cardino.

Teresa took the hand of Fabrizze as though to hide him for later delight. She led him down the steep ladder stairway into the cellar. Suddenly the cellar door closed and they were alone in the winy darkness. Little bells were tinkling.

“Where is the light?” said Fabrizze.

“In those eyes,” said Teresa.

“A bit of light,” said Fabrizze.

Soft hands were fumbling at his throat. An arm circled his neck. Teresa whispered in a way that seemed to singe his ear.

“Light, light!” he said.

He was plucked off the ladder and given a strong sweet kiss. He struggled free. A moment later Teresa captured him and kissed even harder to make sure. He pulled away. He blundered against the barrels. Somehow he made it to the ladder. He crawled up and started to lift the door. It closed down on him. Again there was darkness and the fragrance of the girl and the little bells.

“Stay, Fabrizze, stay!” cried Cardino. “She'll show you the black bottles I buried! Wine five years old! Drink up! Hold your own with her! The house is yours! My wife went to a funeral!”

“Please open up!” said Fabrizze.

“Drink, my boy, drink!” cried Cardino. “A night to remember! A night like this and the world owes you nothing! Stay then!”

Fabrizze heard the bells. The ladder was shaking. An urgent hand closed round his left ankle. He put his back to the cellar door and lifted. He lifted Cardino who was standing on top of it. Cardino fell back against the wall. He was trying to control a glass of wine.

“Not a drop,” he was saying. “I didn't lose a drop.”

“Bravo,” said Fabrizze.

“Tell me the truth now,” said Cardino. “What do you make of the child? Speak the truth.”

“She's fully grown, be sure of it,” said Fabrizze.

“I admit she's a bit forward,” said Cardino. “But it's only when someone strikes her fancy. It's the passion of youth, my boy. A husband will do it.”

“Or two,” said Fabrizze.

“Go back down a little,” said Cardino. “Listen then. Do you hear the bells? I hear them all the time, I swear it!”

“I don't hear anything,” said Fabrizze. “She stopped ringing.”

“How innocent you are,” said Cardino. “Those little bells are everywhere, my boy, and they trouble us till we die. Why is it so hard to make plans? A curse on the bells!”

The bells rang louder on the night that Bassetti took Fabrizze to visit a widow called Lena. Lena sat there in the kitchen beside a blazing coal stove. Her plump hands were on her knees. She kept her piercing black eyes on Fabrizze. He broke into a sweat. He looked from Lena to the stove. He turned to Bassetti for help.

Bassetti spoke at length of his wit and power and prospects. He went on to tell a story about a railroad foreman who returned to Italy. Suddenly Lena left the kitchen. Returning, she made a sign for Bassetti to continue. Water was running somewhere in the house.

“He lived alone,” said Bassetti. “It's a bad thing.”

“A terrible thing,” said Lena.

“I know what it is to be alone,” said Bassetti. “I've been alone for thirty years.”

“Poor soul,” said Lena.

“This foreman would forget things,” said Bassetti. “One day he wanted to fix some ties on the main line. He had a special way of doing it. His men lifted the track and held it there. Out came the old ties and in went the new. The other men were tamping.”

“Good, good,” said Lena. “Isn't it?”

“It was bad,” said Bassetti. “The rail kicked out in the heat. Like an elbow. And here the train was coming. He forgot it.”

“Isn't it exciting?” said Lena, to Fabrizze.

“He went to flag the train,” said Bassetti.

“He forgot the flag,” said Fabrizze.

“He remembered the flag,” said Bassetti. “But it was too late. The train was wrecked. And no one could find him. And the next thing we heard he was back in Italy.”

“What more can you say?” said Lena.

“But I hear water running,” said Bassetti.

“This Fabrizze will bring lovely children, eh?” said Lena.

One of her hands was now resting on his knee.

“I'm filling the tub for you,” she said. “A hot bath.” Bassetti rescued him.

After two months of this Fabrizze felt sure that Grace Mendone was the only girl he had missed on his round of the neighborhood. He was wrong. Rossi extended an invitation.

“A double surprise,” said Rossi. “First a fine supper for you. I prepared it myself before coming to work. A real delicacy. You must eat nothing all day. And then after supper there'll be dessert, eh? Your heart will flutter.”

“My heart will flutter?” said Fabrizze, going numb.

“My godchild is coming for you,” said Rossi. “But why do you look the other way? You've heard of her! What a shy one you are! She's called Carrie. I'm told she can take fifty-pound sacks of flour under each arm.”

“Take them where?” said Fabrizze, glumly.

“Where they do the most good!” said Rossi. “She's a girl of excellent judgment!”

“She's coming for me,” said Fabrizze.

He went to the house of his supervisor. He sat in the chair opposite the big black stove.

“I sent my Nancy away,” said Rossi. “It's a supper just for the two of us. Guess what we have. Take a little guess. What do you smell?”

“Vinegar,” said Fabrizze.

“Forget that,” said Rossi. “She roasted vinegar peppers with rice and honey. There's something else. Guess, guess.”

“Veal breast?”

“Never mind,” said Rossi. “Wait, wait.”

The kitchen was hot. They drank glass after glass of wine. Fabrizze watched the stove. It began to fascinate him. The wine went straight to his head. He was watching the stove as though something would spring forth into his lap.

“I have plans for you,” said Rossi. “I'm going to make you my assistant and break you in on my job. You'll be the supervisor when I move into the office. Nothing will stop you, my boy. You have imagination. The fools have been showing you their daughters. You know what's happened? All their wives are crazy for you. They come down with colds and coughs and fevers. It's an epidemic! One of them was hearing your name in her sleep. She was saying it!”

“Please, Rossi, please.”

“I hear that one of them wanted to give you a bath! Admit it! What a triumph! I'm glad I sent my Nancy away! Why should I make her nervous with you?”

The time had come.

“Are you ready to eat?” said Rossi.

“But I'm starved,” said Fabrizze.

“Are you really hungry? Speak, speak!”

“Put it on the table!” said Fabrizze.

Rossi jumped up and whipped open the stove. Inside was a pan dark and long—with eels! Great black eels were watching each other! They were watching Rossi! They turned on Fabrizze!

He dropped his glass. A cry escaped him as he made for the door. He fell down the stairs.

So ended his round of visits.

A
ND yet the bells went on ringing. The search for love filled him with longing for it. He thought of Grace Mendone. How eager he was to meet her. Her presence in the neighborhood was like an invitation coaxing him clear of the other girls. He questioned his men. They had started a fire in him and so they kept it burning.

“Grace came across the street,” said Rumbone. “All the way across just to say good morning.”

“It's like a dance when she moves,” said Penza.

Rumbone held up his hands to frame a picture of the girl dancing down on him in the sunlight. Fabrizze was in the picture, too. He was there listening to every word.

“Those eyes were on me,” said Rumbone. “I saw lights of gold. I couldn't think of anything to say. Not one word. I cleared my throat. She smiled to encourage me. I was wringing my hands.”

“It happened to me,” said Penza.

“I was getting sick inside,” said Rumbone. “And then the words came. I spoke right out. I asked her to marry me.”

“Good for you,” said Penza. “And then?”

“She leaned over,” said Rumbone. “She came closer and closer. Her hair brushed my cheek. Like a kiss. She whispered in my ear. So soft it was. Like a kiss. Like this.”

Rumbone leaned over to whisper to Penza.