“I don’t presume to teach you, Dottor Leoncello, that una mano lava l’altra—one hand washes the other.”
The two men, one in his early twenties, the other in his late thirties, talk sotto voce for fear of alerting their prey. They walk together in an old forest, the dampness of the early autumn morning settling heavily on Napoleone’s bones. It’s the curse of having had two arthritic parents, and the reason he carries a walking stick that he carved himself to look like the top of a violin. They have their rifles and their dogs beside them, talking, but on alert, prepared to aim at whatever their luck sends them: turkeys, rabbits, wild boars.
Above them are chestnut trees hundreds of years old, their branches so heavy with fruit, they break and fall to the ground. No matter. The chestnuts are so abundant here that the farmers gather them to fatten their pigs. At the base of the trees are wild mushrooms, little velvet-brown parasols, fleshy and edible. Under the men’s feet and around them everywhere, a sea of blue violets stare up like children in a trance.
Neither man is used to hunting with the other, one preferring the company of his brothers, the other, preferring to be alone. But Napoleone insists on meeting Leoncello alone, stating at the onset that what he has to say is between them and God. Leoncello is wary of all the brothers, particularly this one. He is not fooled by the man’s obsequious voice or by his feeble gait. This brother, more than the others, has built his reputation on ruthlessness, a reputation that would make weaker men piss themselves. But he has already made the mistake of doing business with him once, and he can’t go back now.
“Cosa significa, Giganteschi?” asks Leoncello, licking his lips that he suddenly notices are as dry as paper.
“I will soon arrive at the point. My brother’s daughter, Natalia, who is a pearl of a girl, is in danger…” responds Napoleone, each of his words measured.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Allow me to continue. She is in danger of losing herself to an undesirable, someone who does not have the same sensibilities or interests as you or I…”
“Again, what does that have to do with me?” presses Leoncello, suddenly aware of the dampness in his armpits, on his forehead, above his upper lip.
“With all due respect, it has everything to do with you, Dottore. Family is everything. Loyalty to family is everything. If you should honour us by entering into our family, you would benefit greatly from the association.”
“I see. Are you threatening me, Giganteschi?”
“You offend me, Dottore. I am proposing an arrangement that would be mutually satisfying,” Napoleone turns toward him, his smile broad.
“I hear the girl is beautiful, but as you are aware, there have been rumours about her.”
“I am not aware. What kind of rumours?” barks Napoleone.
“That she is … well … more knowledgeable than her sixteen years would imply.”
“Rantings of lunatics and malicious tongues, that’s all,” Napoleone responds, his voice calm, reassuring.
“Those ranting lunatics claim that you, her uncle, are responsible for her ruin.”
“I would like nothing better than to hear them say it to my face. I have not laid a finger on that girl. My conscience is clear.”
“You can guarantee her purity, then?”
“On my mother’s soul,” Napoleone replies, his eyes fixed on Leoncello.
“And if I propose marriage, you’ll guarantee silence about the other affair?”
“No one can make you turn against your family. True, Dottore?” Napoleone knows he has won.
Leoncello thinks for a moment. He won’t be able to back out of this one but, at least, he wants the satisfaction of knowing that he is agreeing to this arrangement in exchange for something important.
“Listen, Giganteschi…”
“Anything, but call me zio, since we will soon be related.” Napoleone smiles, confident that the mouse is in the trap.
“What do you know, exactly?”
“How sad that you are not yet convinced,” Napoleone shakes his head as if he is disappointed.
“Make me happy. Tell me.”
“I was first taken by surprise when you wanted to unload Levi’s land in La Sila at such a reasonable price. Then, I concluded that you were selling it because you might not have a use for it. After all, il Padre Eterno has already seen fit to bless your family with more land than even He owns. I counted myself lucky.”
Giganteschi lights his pipe, and then continues. “But then you paid me to take Levi’s daughter to Naples, and put her on a ship for America. You must have known she would be sent back on the same ship, since there was no one waiting for her on the other side. And a girl with a mind like that – she never had a chance to pass the test they give people at the port of entry.”
“What if I deny knowledge?”
Napoleone ignores him. “I saw the name and the address she left with. They were fictitious. I checked with an American relative. I was angry, at first, that you wasted my time and had me take her down there for nothing. But then, I reasoned that it wasn’t for nothing. It was to make her disappear, like the rest of her family.”
Leoncello pretends outrage. “She is a Jew! I placed myself at risk saving her from the Nazis!”
“No. Everyone knows your aunt saved her when she adopted her as her own,” Giganteschi replies with no emotion. His eyes are blank, betraying nothing.
“My zia Lidia was a good soul, but she was hardly capable of saving anybody.”
“There was never a husband in America, and you knew it. You invented him. But lucky for you, your aunt died before she knew the tricks you were up to with the Levi girl. And then, all your problems were solved.”
“Presuming all of this is true, and I am not admitting to anything, your involvement, Giganteschi, makes you an accomplice.”
“True. We come from the same sheaf of wheat. That is why we are here talking alone, Dottore.”
“Is that all? Are we finished here?” Leoncello is impatient, anxious to leave this Giganteschi to his own devices.
“Just that if you should have a change of heart, remember this: I have documents and witnesses confirming that you stole Levi’s land, sent his daughter toward certain disaster, and had his family arrested by the Nazis.”
“How do you have all this proof?”
“I know a person or two,” says Napoleone, his eyes not for a moment leaving Leoncello’s face. “It has been useful that one of my brothers was a Blackshirt, and that the other two were in the Resistance.”
“You are a poisonous snake … never speak to me about this again.”
“Certainly. But, I am not the one you should fear.”
“You speak in riddles.”
“That undesirable I described to you?”
“Si?”
“Levi’s son, Federico. It turns out he managed to jump from the same moving train that took his parents to their death. Hurt his legs, but pulled through. All this time, he was hiding among the pigs of a drunken farmer and his miserable brood.”
“Federico is alive?”
“Yes, and he has returned looking for his sister, and I suspect, his father’s land and house. It is only a matter of time before the whole thing unravels. I am sure you will think of a plan before that happens. Men of resolve, like us, always do.”