Last Voyage of the Valentina(34)
“You are a generous woman,” said Thomas.
“I am just a humble hostess and you are in my town.” Thomas didn’t think she looked at all humble; her face was etched with arrogance. “Besides, your presence here will help the community. Your spending will add much needed fuel to the economy. What little economy we have. These are hard times, signore. If you are as rich as you are handsome we will all rejoice.”
“Do you have daughters?” Jack asked cheekily. She narrowed her eyes and looked at him down her imperious nose, although she was at least three feet shorter than him.
“And if I do, I would be unwise to introduce her to you and your squirrel.”
“Why Brendan?” he asked, putting his hand in his pocket to stroke the animal’s fur. “Brendan has an eye for the ladies.”
“Because my daughter has an eye for squirrels,” she laughed, but her laughter was heavy and doleful like the melancholy sound of bells. Ah, thought Lattarullo, squirrel prosciutto, and he licked his lips and salivated like a dog.
It wasn’t long before the restaurant was full of pretty girls, their faces painted like dolls with the little makeup they could scrounge, wearing their best dresses and hairdos. Their breasts swelled over the low décolletages of their dresses like creamy cappuccinos. They did nothing to hide their flagrant desire to hook an Englishman. These sailors were their tickets out of the poor, claustrophobic town. They eyed them flirtatiously, giggling and whispering behind brown hands, shamelessly displaying their calves and ankles by crossing their legs and raising their skirts immodestly.
Jack’s eyes bulged and Brendan hurried up onto his shoulder for a better look. The pretty squirrel was irresistible to them and soon Jack was surrounded by perfume and brown limbs as they reached out to stroke the animal. “Ah, Brendan, my lucky charm,” he chuckled, endeavoring to chat them up in broken Italian. Not to be outdone, Rigs climbed onto a chair and opened his tremendous lungs to everyone’s delight. He gesticulated dramatically as though on the stage in Covent Garden.
Slowly the townspeople emerged from behind their shutters, drawn to Trattoria Fiorelli by the heartrending music of Rigoletto that resounded through the still afternoon air. The girls quieted down, returning to their chairs, their heads now resting on their hands, their eyes full of melancholy. Thomas lit a cigarette and watched the scene through a veil of smoke. He thought once more of the beautiful girl he had seen on the quay and wondered why she had not come. The others were nice enough to look at—Jack was barely able to keep himself contained within his trousers—but they weren’t for him. As the crowd grew thicker his eyes searched their faces, ever hopeful that she might appear. But he was disappointed.
An old man with no teeth began to play the concertina. Rigs sang with ever more drama, his eyes filling with tears as he lost himself within the words and the music, for they gave him the means to vent his desolation without shame. The war now seemed very far away although its imprint burned upon all their souls. They would never be free from the horrors they had witnessed. Branded for life, they would carry the scars until their spirits outgrew their bodies and they joined those, like Freddie Arbuckle, who had gone before.
When Rigs finished, Thomas demanded a happy song, one with which they could all sing along. Rigs dabbed his damp face with a napkin, took a large gulp of water, and with great gusto launched into La donna é mobile…and soon the trattoria was vibrating with voices, clapping hands and stamping feet.
8
T homas and Jack didn’t want to dine with Immacolata Fiorelli, and Brendan was more nervous than either of them. They would have preferred to have eaten again at the trattoria, where there was a dance floor. With Rigs and the toothless concertina player, there would surely be dancing. There would be women too, eager for love and excitement. Jack was furious that Thomas had accepted her invitation. “Why couldn’t you have just said ‘no’?”
“It would have been rude,” Thomas explained weakly. “After all, she apparently runs the town while the mayor is at the beautician’s.”
“She doesn’t even have daughters!”
“The one she has eats squirrels.” Thomas snapped his teeth at Brendan, who stared back at him in a superior fashion.
Rigs and the boys waved them off with glee, amused by their reluctance. Lattarullo had slept all afternoon in his office with the door locked, his hat pulled over his eyes and his feet up on the desk, and was now perkier than ever.
They drove up the winding lanes in silence. Lattarullo tried to ignite a conversation but both men were alone with their thoughts: Jack of the women he would fuck when he got back to the trattoria, and Thomas of the lovely stranger who had taken off with his heart. Lattarullo persevered, not minding whether or not they were listening.