Chapter 23 Fon
Fon
‘What are we doing out here?’ Fon asked as they sat in the car, watching from a safe distance as the wedding procession meandered its way down the hill.
Silvana had made for a striking bride, the sharp silhouette of her dress making an impact even from afar.
But he had only had eyes for Rafaella, transfixed as she walked arm in arm with Romola, looking unlike he had ever seen her before.
Gone was the local girl covered in sand and red dust, with salty hair and bare legs.
In her place was a stunning fashion model, her lissom limbs somehow elongated by the dress’s narrow design.
Her hair shone as she walked through the sunspots on the tree-lined road, laughing as she and Romola talked, looking as close as sisters.
It felt impossible to believe he had come between them even for a moment.
He felt the itch to jump from his seat and join them, to shadow her all the day long; for he knew exactly whose eyes would be following her too.
He still hadn’t been able to shake the humiliation of his cowardice on the cliffs at El Ciolo, made all the more galling by Cosimo’s good grace in victory.
Dante had smarted from the defeat too, as if the shame had been his, and he’d barely spoken to Fon in the days since.
The message was clear: Fon had dishonoured the Giannelli name and undone some of the progress made to their reputation in recent weeks.
He wondered if that was why they were here now, leaving the port just as everyone else clamoured into it.
Weddings here were always a community affair.
Nonna Masina steamed Father Tommaso’s matrimonial robes; the grocery ordered extra deliveries of Primitivo wine; the men strung fishing nets across the narrow streets along the route from the bride’s house to the church; the village women always made the lace, embroidered the veil, decorated the cake …
They waited for the procession to disappear from sight before Dante switched on the ignition and drove through the tall stone gateposts of the Parisi agricola. All the labourers had been given a day off for the wedding, but Fon strongly suspected Pablo and Francesco would be here somewhere.
He said nothing as Dante drove along the narrow estate roads but he noted that they were heading in the opposite direction to the water tower.
He felt as he had that night on the boat, heading out into international waters – oblivious to what was coming.
But he had told his brother he wanted in and he had to go through with this, even if he didn’t understand how it circled back here, to the Parisis.
Presently they ran out of road.
‘We have to walk the rest of the way,’ Dante said, cutting the engine and jumping out. He reached down for something beside his seat, slipping it into his back pocket; Fon caught the flash of a blade.
Dante began to lead the way through the grove, moving with utmost assurance over land that was not theirs.
They had not gone far when, as Fon had expected, they saw the two men waiting by a wall, smoking cigarettes as they talked, their backs to the Giannellis’ approach.
Francesco said something that made Pablo whoop with sudden laughter.
‘Hey!’ Dante barked, making them jump and whirl around. They quickly ground out their cigarettes. ‘Are you trying to broadcast that you’re here?’
‘Sorry,’ Pablo apologized as Dante fixed them with a questioning look. ‘… Francesco was just telling me how that Antonia gave it to him against Greco’s wall last night.’ His toothless grin grew again. ‘Greco thought it was foxes in the bins and threw a bucket of water on them!’
Both men slid back into laughter again as Dante gave a slow, cold smile. ‘Well, you’ve only got a week left with her, so make the most of it.’
Francesco stopped laughing. ‘What?’ he asked, confused. ‘But—’
‘She’s needed in town. It’s time she started earning. Training period’s over.’
Fon looked at his brother in alarm. What?
‘In fact, you can take her out there for me,’ Dante said to Francesco.
‘You want her to …?’
‘Yes.’
‘But … what do I say?’
‘You don’t say. You tell.’
‘But what if she won’t?’
‘Then you threaten to break her legs.’
‘And if she still won’t? … I don’t think she’s frightened of me.’
Dante shot him a hard look. ‘Then you break them, and she will be. It’s simple enough … Unless that’s going to be a problem for you?’
Fon could hardly believe what he was hearing – his brother casually talking about breaking a girl’s legs, a girl they had had ice cream with just the other night. Pimping her out …!
Francesco shook his head quickly, looking ashen. He liked the girl, Fon could tell, but not enough to defy Dante’s orders.
‘Don’t look so troubled, Francesco. I’ve got another one lined up for you. It’s not like you’re going to go without.’ Dante checked his wristwatch. ‘… Come. We don’t have all day. This needs to be done quickly, before we’re missed.’
‘OK, this way,’ Pablo said, leading them into the trees. ‘We had to go deeper after the Parisi girl found us.’
Fon stiffened – the Parisi girl? Did he mean Rafa or Silvana? And what had she found?
‘You’re sure she didn’t suspect?’ Dante asked.
‘Not at all.’ Pablo shook his head firmly. ‘And it’s been quiet since then.’
Fon saw that some of the tree trunks had been marked with red clay dots – enough to catch the eye, but presumably soluble in the rain or easily washed off, leaving no permanent mark. He followed the others in silence, the only sound the sharp crack of twigs snapping beneath their feet.
They had been walking for several minutes when they heard soft lowing ahead, distinctive because it was incongruous here. Pablo stopped as a herd of cattle came into view, tethered among the oaks.
‘Twenty-two,’ he said.
Dante seemed pleased. ‘Good.’
There were a few of the estate’s deep-sided carts, used for transporting the olive harvest, lying around the trees – and a carpenter’s bag. Fon saw the handles of several saws protruding, and his stomach pitched.
He looked at his brother. ‘You’re going to slaughter them?’
‘You make it sound like that wasn’t always their fate,’ Dante said, bemused. ‘We’re just doing it sooner rather than later and taking the profits ourselves.’
Fon looked across at Pablo and Francesco, aghast. How many times had they done this? It didn’t look like a first event for the men gathered here.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ Dante said. ‘They’ve got the hard part – butchering and carrying it all back. They have to carry it a lot further now, thanks to your little girlfriend getting in the way.’
So it had been Rafaella? Fon felt sick – sick to his stomach – at the thought of her getting caught up in something like this … A massacre in the woods. Blood in the dirt.
Some of the cattle had looked up and were watching them with huge, dull brown eyes.
Did they feel any fear? Did they sense danger from this paltry gaggle of still, quiet men?
Fon himself could feel the energy radiating from his own brother, a powerful force field that could either sweep him along or crush him.
It had always been this way, since boyhood; he didn’t know what it was like not to feel it.
Pablo pulled a knife from the bag and slowly walked around the trees towards the back of the herd. He moved casually, without haste, his free hand trailing over the rippled tree trunks, humming lightly.
He approached a beast standing right at the back, patting its flank reassuringly as he walked alongside – and in one fluid movement, so fast it made Fon freeze, he slit its throat.
A scarlet arterial plume sprayed upwards.
The animal made no sound as its eyes rolled back and it buckled immediately at the knees. It was dead within seconds.
Dante and Francesco were watching him as Pablo repeated the exercise again, the other animals seemingly oblivious to the silent assault, their attention on the men in front of them. Down they went, one after another, Pablo knowing exactly where to stand to avoid the spraying blood.
Fon knew he couldn’t panic. He couldn’t show alarm or disgust, even though his stomach was threatening to turn. Dante was right – these animals had been bred for slaughter. This was an issue of timing and ownership, that was all, he told himself.
‘Whose are they?’ he asked in a quiet voice.
‘Lobascio’s.’
Fon hesitated. ‘… Renato Lobascio?’
‘Is there any other?’
Fon swallowed. ‘But his house burned down the other week. He’s –’
He’d been about to say the poor man had been through enough; but as he caught the look in his brother’s eye, he suddenly understood.
‘He’s been holding out,’ Dante said, watching him. ‘He wants to do this the hard way.’
‘Do what?’ Fon’s brain was working fast as the animals fell, adrenaline pumping as he tried to make sense of connections that had been hidden from him. But they were being revealed now; it was why his brother had brought him here.
‘Resist. We represent the common man, Fon. The politicians are all in it for themselves, making the rich richer. They don’t care about us.
Look at all the industrialization in the north – they don’t care about what happens down here.
Papa has worked his whole life, and for what?
No money, no respect. He and Mamma grow thinner and poorer year by year.
The only way things are going to change is if we take control, and that means working together, as one.
Us against the system. Uncle Teo showed me how it’s done, and slowly I am getting everyone here to see the sense in it.
They work with us, and in return we protect them and their interests. ’
Fon was confused. ‘Like who?’
‘Well, look at Pablo and Francesco here, protecting this place.’
‘But the agricola’s not under threat?’ Fon frowned, looking at the two rough labourers.
‘… Not yet, but soon, perhaps.’ Dante shrugged. ‘Things might start going wrong –’
Might?