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There Is A Little Boy Inside the Man Who Is My Brother
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Sorrento Italy – 1977
THE GUN IN HIS JACKET pocket couldn’t be brought upstairs. Out of respect for his mother he tucked the weapon into the soil of a potted plant situated at the foot of the stairs. Sealed by chrome the shooter’s handle was all that could be seen beneath the long slender fern leaves. This was Giovanni’s preferred hiding spot when in a hurry. And today he was in a big hurry. Running up the stairs two steps at a time he rushed into the hall and found his cugino had already arrived.
“Did Flavio send for you too?” Giovanni huffed between deep breaths. He removed the cap from his head and approached with the calm swagger that the sons of la Camorristi practiced. Though he was in a hurry, it was expected of the Don’s son to always appear unfazed even in front of family.
“Che cazzo?” Lorenzo, his cugino, chuckled. “You sprung a leak or something?”
Giovanni looked down at the puddles he tracked into the hall. Thunderstorms were rare in their region of the world but when a rainstorm came the torrents got the best of the villagers who preferred to travel by Vespas and motorbikes. It made navigation of the winding cobblestone roads in the hamlets much easier. The downpour had soaked through his black and red ‘Members Only’ racer jacket so thoroughly it clung to his arms and chest like latex. He found Lorenzo seated outside of Patri’s office dry as a bone in his sanitation workman’s gear. His cousin must have been there for a while. He and a few of the boys were forced to work the sanitation yards to cover the Battaglia interests on certain days of the week. The questions he had for the summons were many, but one persisted over the others: Why wasn’t Lorenzo at work today?
“What the hell happened to you?” Lorenzo asked. He shook his head in disgust and turned his gaze away.
“It’s rainwater not piss. Give me a fucking break,” Giovanni replied.
Giovanni stepped forward. His withdrawal would provoke Lorenzo to stand. But he remained seated with his head now bowed between his shoulders. There was something wrong. Not just with the weather or the early summons he received to return home. There was something wrong with Lo, and that always meant trouble for him as well.
“Che? Tell me. Why are we—?”
“Zitto! Let me think! Shut your mouth.” Lorenzo tossed up his hands in frustration.
“Vaffanculo! Don’t tell me to shut up.” Giovanni snapped back.
Lorenzo groaned. He slumped forward again. “Keep your voice down. They can still hear behind that door.”
Giovanni gaze cut again to the closed door.
Lorenzo continued, “I got in late and woke later than expected. I was rushing, hurrying to work before I could leave Flavio sent for me. I’ve been waiting over an hour,” Lorenzo mumbled with a dismissive hand toss. His knee shook, and his foot did a rapid tapping at the heel. When Lorenzo looked up through the jungle foliage of hair that covered his brow Giovanni understood a plausible reason for his cousins’ distress. Lorenzo had a split lip with garish black and red bruises under his right eye that stretched to his cheek.
“Let me guess? You and Santo went down into the peninsula. Visited one of Patri’s Italo-disco clubs again?” Giovanni asked.
“You’re always too busy to join us,” Lorenzo remarked.
“I heard three tourists were taken to the hospital last night after a big fight destroyed the front of Luce Rossa. I know Patri will be pissed. Luce Rossa is a honey pot for him. One of the better ones. Was it you two? Did Nico join in the fun?” Giovanni sat back and rested against the wall.
“Fucking foreigners.”
“Eh?”
“It’s the fucking foreigners!”
“Aaah... I get it now; you always have someone to blame.” Giovanni shook his head.
“Che cosa? Blame me? Really? You don’t know what happened. I say it’s not our fault, because it’s not.” Lorenzo answered.
“Patri will disagree.”
“They come here and try to take our women, flash their cash and shit. Santo and I had to send a message to a maiale who had no manners. Not to just him, but to everyone—even the workers. Are we the fucking Camorra or not? I’m the nephew of the greatest man... Don Tomosino and—”
“Save the speech for Patri,” Giovanni yawned.
Lorenzo grimaced.
“It sounds rehearsed? Eh?” Lorenzo asked.
“A little.”
“Then I’m fucked.”
Giovanni nodded in agreement. The Italian disco scene brought in more foreigners than any of the men were used to. Whereas Lorenzo preferred everything from food to his women to be Sicilian and Italian in that order, Giovanni did not. He thirsted for travel outside of Italy. To mix it up with other foreigners. He’d like to see the Great Wall of China, surf the shark infested waters of Australia or South Africa, visit the Statue of Liberty in America, stand in front of the Taj Mahal. He had no desire to assimilate into the blood legacy of their fathers—though it was expected. If he had gone to the club with Santo and Lorenzo instead of spending the night taking Catalina and Dominic to the street festival in Naples, he would have knuckled up with any foreigner in the very same way. Maybe even drawn ‘Danny Boy’ (his beloved pistola) to even the score.
“I miss Carlo,” Lorenzo mumbled. “Questa vita is never fun or easy with him gone.”
“This life isn’t supposed to be fun or easy.”
“What are you saying? Rocco and Patri have had it fun and easy for years!” Lorenzo spat.
“Have they? Do you think Rocco is having fun now in Chianti bottling wine that no one drinks?”
Lorenzo chuckled.
Giovanni smiled. “Aye! Is there any news? Will Carlo be approved for an early release?”
“Flavio says no. Carlo has more time on the books because he keeps getting into fights with the other inmates. Carlo says he’s defending himself, but I know it must be hard to not to want to crack skulls every day in that cage. Each time I visit him he has bruises and cuts. And Patri won’t do shit about it. È una merda, Gio. Carlo deserves better.”
Giovanni glanced to the closed door. He shook his head. It was better not to go down that road. There lingered a festering bitterness over Patri’s refusal to help Carlo and it grew deeper with each year that passed.
“You think Patri is angry at you? About the discotheque? Does Patri think I was with you?” Giovanni asked.
“Why would he care?”
“You moron. The rules! That’s why,” Giovanni said with a snort.
“Eh? One set of rules for you little cousin and then another for me. I have to go off and work the sanitation pits and wallow in shit all day while you get to fuck girls down in Positano.”
“Aww, don’t start your complaining,” Giovanni grumbled.
“I’m not complaining. Just stating the truth. What if I were Patri’s son? His first born. Would this be my life?” Lorenzo plucked the collar of his sanitation uniform.
“Maybe,” Lorenzo shrugged.
“Bullshit! I'm the stooge. Patri only makes the money in the clubs because Santo and I hustle in the drunk tourists to be robbed by the Roma whores. We keep the cash flow going and everyone knows it. Even with the leashes on our necks.”
“You should never fuck with business Lo, It's Patri’s number one rule. You’ve done it more than once. You shit where we all eat.”
Lorenzo shrugged.
“I break rules because I have no choice. Every rule out there is to keep me in line not to advance me. And that’s the difference between you and I,” said Lorenzo.
“What can I do to change it? Nothing! Niente di niente!” Giovanni tossed back.
“Eh, fuck it. I miss Carlo. That’s my real problem. He’s the only brother I have that understands me.”
The dig hurt. Giovanni covered his feelings. He knew Lorenzo suffered after the imprisonment of his best friend. He knew Lorenzo constantly went to Sicily to visit the jails and pay the guards to make life easier for Carlo. He grabbed his cousin’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“I will cover the damages for you,” Giovanni offered. “We aren’t just cousins. We’re brothers—not you and Carlo. Your problems are my problems. Plus, I’ll tell Patri that the scuffle only gives us a tougher reputation and that always benefits the clan.”
“Your funeral,” Lorenzo mumbled.
Giovanni laughed. “Bury me with a Roma whore so at least I can get some good pussy out of it.”
They both laughed. Sex was something they could always agree on and lately their experimental moods pushed them both toward whores instead of the prissy Catholic girls who wanted to be married before they could ease their hands under their skirts.
Giovanni slouched back against the wall. Lorenzo glared at the door with flared nostrils and a dented brow. They waited together in silence. Giovanni glanced over to his cousin. Lorenzo was his own worst enemy. But he wasn’t to blame. Patri ignored his accomplishments and his mother hammered on his failures. Maybe if Lorenzo’s father had lived he’d have more balance. It often felt like his cousin was as much of an outcast as Carlo. Maybe that is why they were so close.
“Forza, ti copro le spalle—Have some strength, I’m covering your shoulders,” Giovanni said.
Lorenzo nodded and rolled his neck like a prize fighter about to enter the ring. “This meeting is strange.”
“Strange how?” Giovanni asked.
“Your mother is inside. And so is mine.”
“Inside? With Patri and Flavio?” Giovanni asked.
“I’m telling you. Since Rocco is banished Flavio and Patri are acting weird. Now they have my mom in there? It’s going to be a bunch of yammering bullshit and the only bloodshed will be mine.”
“Well my mom is in there, so whatever it is she’ll make sure Patri deals with you fairly.”
“Deal with me? As if I’m guilty!” he scoffed.
“You said—” Giovanni stammered.
“Eh? Don’t justify it. Besides let’s not argue. It could be something else.”
“Like what?”
“Mancini?” Lorenzo proposed. “I heard that there’s a truce now between the families. Patri and Don Marsuvio are doing business again. Guess you didn’t stick Armando hard enough in the gut. It could be you that is in trouble. You might have to suck Armando’s dick one last time for an apology.”
Giovanni felt his temper rise. He hated to think of the time after he stabbed Armando, and Lorenzo knew this. Not because he regretted what he’d done. He’d wished he killed the bastard. The angst he felt was much deeper. It was the beginning of the divide between him and his father. All his life he had tried to prove himself strong. From jumping off cliffs when he was six into the sea, to standing by and watching his father murder his enemies. He even learned how to be a marksman with an axe. But when he stabbed Armando over a girl he proved his true weakness. Lorenzo had been crowned Patri’s favorite. And it hurt until the reversal came. Maybe the rivalry between him and Lorenzo wasn’t their faults. Both boomeranged between acceptance and ridicule with the Don.
“I also heard Patri has promised Catalina to Armando Mancini. For marriage.”
“È una stronzata!” Giovanni leapt to his feet. “That’s bullshit.”
Lorenzo’s left brow arched. He paused for dramatic effect. “Is it really? Do you think those fucking Sicilians would forgive you for attacking their golden boy if it didn’t come at a price? I heard Madre telling Zia about the plan. Catalina’s part of the deal for the truce between our families. Even trade. You stab Mancini’s little prince, Patri gives Mancini our princess in return.”
Giovanni’s nostrils flared, and his chest constricted. He clenched his hands into tight fists. “Over my fucking dead body will that bastardo ever marry piccoletta. It will never happen.”
“Whoa, there big man, hold your nuts!” Lorenzo laughed. “Stop swinging them in my face. We both know you can’t stop Patri from doing shit. And trust me it’s not because of you and the knife. It’s because Patri would sell any of us off to have control in la Camorra and the Mafiosi.”
“This is no laughing matter!”
“I agree. But you’re acting like you the boss is always funny to me,” said Lorenzo.
Giovanni grimaced.
“There’s no way we can stop it if Patri wants it. Maybe Armando won’t want to wait until Catalina’s old enough and he’ll marry someone else?”
“It shouldn’t happen. But if it does, then we need to protect her,” Giovanni said.
If a great white shark could smile when it smelled blood in the water it would look the way Lorenzo did at the thought of violence. Giovanni was no pussy, but he didn’t enjoy maiming, killing and torturing the way Lorenzo, Santo, and Carlo did.
“I’ll fucking cut him myself. On my life Gio. When the time comes, whenever it comes, I will gut him.”
Giovanni smiled and agreed.
“Giuro che rispetterò e onorerò la vita!” The boys both chanted their motto and did the hand slaps of their gang. It was an old saying by elders who sat in front of cafes along the Amalfi sipping cappuccino and wearing caps. Giovanni smiled, and Lorenzo laughed but touched his jaw and winced.
“Hurts? Huh?” Giovanni asked.
“I’ll live,” Lorenzo said.
The door opened. Flavio walked out. He glanced to Giovanni and then to Lorenzo. “Vieni con me—come with me.”
The boys did what the consigliere requested. Giovanni entered the room first. He saw his mother seated in a chair with her hands in her lap. Zia Isabella stood by the window looking out of it instead of facing the room. Patri Tomosino sat at his desk. He stared directly at Giovanni. And Giovanni knew better than to break the connection. Whatever it was that had displeased Giovanni’s father would be painfully hammered down upon them soon. Flavio spoke first. And if Flavio led a conversation between the children and their parents it never ended well.
“Mi ascolti bene, it’s been decided. Giovanni will be leaving for America at the end of the month. We have gotten you an acceptance into university.”
“University?” Lorenzo blurted the word as if choking.
Lorenzo always spoke out of turn. Giovanni did not. He stared at his father. The news drove a spike of conflict into Giovanni’s heart and he could see clearly his father suffered the same pain. His gaze shifted to his mother. Her eyes glistened with repressed tears. She had made one promise to him. It was on the first night they returned from Ireland. The night she came to his room after spending the evening making peace with his father. She stroked his hair while he slept. She hummed a song to him. She told him she wasn’t mad he called his father to come collect them, that she understood. And then she told him her vow as a mother. To never let harm come to him. She’d give her life and soul over to Tomosino to make sure of it. He’d go to America and have a better existence. It was the first time he even dreamed of being different or living somewhere different. The first taste he had for what was foreign.
“Did I do something wrong Patri?” Giovanni asked.
“No, sweetheart,” Eve answered for his father. “This isn’t a punishment. It’s a reward. You’ll go to school. Study law. Isn’t that exciting?”
Lorenzo looked at him as if he had snakes crawling over his body and Flavio seem to beam with the pride he wished his father showed. It was only Tomosino and Zia Isabella who had somber moods.
“Lorenzo, you will apprentice with me. Work in the business,” Flavio said. “No more sanitation work or street hustles.”
“You’re awful at it anyway,” Zia Isabella mumbled. “Maybe this will be something to give you purpose. You could lead this family. You’re from Battaglia blood and that makes it your right. It wasn’t true for Rocco, but it can be true for you. Isn’t that right big brother?”
Tomosino glanced to Eve. His face now flushed with simmering rage. His mother smiled at Tomosino and nodded that he should approve of the plan between the women. His father did not verbally consent, but his silence spoke volumes.
“Giovanni will do great things in America, Tomosino. He’ll be a scholar. In the future who knows how the boys will lead this family. What men they will become as your sons,” Eve said. “Because you are their father, the only father that counts to either of them.”
“Rocco wouldn’t agree.” Isabella snickered.
After a long silent pause Tomosino leaned forward with a burdened sigh. His gaze switched to Lorenzo and then to Giovanni and then back to Lorenzo. “They are right. You both are the future. This is our family. We’ll take care of the family together.”
“I won’t disappoint you Patri!” Lorenzo said with a wide grin. Being called Tomosino’s son was not shocking to the boys. Tomosino was the force in all their lives. Lorenzo’s father had died when he was still a very young boy. Tomosino was the only father he’d ever known. “I won’t fail, Madre. I swear it. I can do this. I will,” announced Lorenzo.
Zia Isabella shrugged. “Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. You deserve this more than anyone else. The sins of my brothers shouldn’t be the curse of my only son.”
Giovanni and Lorenzo exchanged a look of confusion but neither dared to challenge or question the statement. Isabella had a way with words that often didn’t make sense to them.
“Uh, what she is saying is you boys are the best of us, and we’ll make sure we do the best for Tomosino. Agreed?” Eve added.
The boys nodded.
Eve got up from her seat. She went to the boys. She took their hands into hers. “You’re not teenagers any more. This is not a competition. It’s not about who is stronger or who is smarter. It’s about growing up and having choices. Some choices your mothers want, some choices your fathers want, and some just for you. Let’s see how it goes. Okay? Promise me you both will try.”
“I promise Madre,” Giovanni said and kissed her cheek.
Lorenzo nodded. He kissed Eve’s cheek. “Ti prometto.”
“Okay. Go now. Go.”
Giovanni turned to leave. He glanced back and saw something he’d never seen from his father. Not once, in all the years he’d known him to be cruel he had never seen regret. Patri shook his head and looked away as Isabella hovered like a vulture behind him, smiling at the discomfort of its prey. Eve was the one who closed the door on them both.
“Can you believe this shit? I’m going to be next. I’m going to be next. Me?” Lorenzo pounded his chest like a gorilla.
“And I’m going to America to be a lawyer.”
“This is great news. Right?” Lorenzo asked. “I can get Carlo out. I’ll be capu.”
Giovanni kind of liked the idea of freedom but Lorenzo’s fate didn’t sound as promising to him as his own.
“Let’s go tell the boys.” Lorenzo dropped his arm around Giovanni’s shoulder and the two of them walked away. Before he knew it Giovanni, too, was excited. He had a future, a different choice. It was the first time in his life he’d been given so much liberty. They went to the game room in Melanzana. While Lorenzo dialed up Nico on the phone and bragged about his prospects Giovanni walked over to the window and stared outside of it. He saw Dominic again teaching Catalina how to ride her bike. He smiled to see his baby sister feet still couldn’t reach the pedal. His gaze then lifted to the horizon. He couldn’t see past the mountains and trees. But when he looked hard enough he saw into his future. A different world waited for him. A fresh start.
Omertá was never to be his destiny.