Hunting Season: A Novel (17 page)

In the week that followed, Petru proved his worth.

On his boss’s behalf, he bought the columned house that the “Anglo Sulphur Company” had put up for sale, then brought in a caravan of craftsmen to set it completely right, paying what he had to pay.

“Why, is there not enough room in the marchesa’s palazzo?” people asked about town.

“Don Totò doesn’t want to put them out.”

Then Petru went off to Palermo to load onto the
Franceschiello
some more trunks that had arrived from America. In Vigàta Sasà Mangione and three cronies were hired to unload them and arrange their contents in the proper places inside the house, and they worked for four days. When it was all over, Sasà pocketed a silver snuffbox. In twenty days’ time, the house was ready to be inhabited, and Don Totò and his wife, secretary, and black housekeeper moved into their new home.

Don Totò then went and spoke with the president of the Sicilian Credit and Discount Bank.

“What’s wrong? You look pale,” the postmaster said to the bank president when he appeared at the Circolo that evening.

“Never mind,” said the banker.

“Come on, what happened? What is it?”

“What happened is that this morning Don Totò requested that a portion—a very small part—of the money he deposited in Palermo should be transferred to me.”

“So?”

“So, there are so many zeroes in that account, they stretch from here to the jetty. Which gave me a terrible headache.”

After taking care of what needed to be done, Petru went back to Palermo to see to a delicate matter that Don Totò had told him about.

Meanwhile, the daily morning farce began for the people of Vigàta. This consisted of Nettie the maid going out shopping while not understanding a word of Sicilian, which always resulted in total confusion. The entertainment didn’t last long, however, because that friend to foreigners, Fede the surveyor, soon came to her aid. There was one thing Nettie was insistent about, however, and that was going to the pharmacy and asking for the strangest things. One day, for example, she wanted a pair of socks.

“She says you can do that in her country,” explained Fede the surveyor, who spoke a smattering of English. “She says you can buy everything at the pharmacy, which she calls a
store
.”

Thus, every so often, Fofò La Matina, just to make her happy, would sell her something.

Don Totò had got in the habit of frequenting the Circolo, and whenever he entered, he was immediately surrounded. Fede the surveyor was particularly good at egging him on, getting him to tell stories about America compared to which the puppet theatre and the tales of the paladins of France seemed like small potatoes. There wasn’t a day, however, when the marchese—since the title now fell to him—failed to pay a call upon his niece.

To Nenè Impiduglia he was aloof; just “Good morning” and “Good evening.” ’Ntontò had noticed her uncle’s behavior towards her fiancé, but didn’t have the courage to ask him about it.

Some ten days before the banns were published, as ’Ntontò was getting ready to change into clothes of half mourning, Petru came in from Palermo on the mail boat.

“It’s all here,” he said, setting a large envelope down on his boss’s desk. “Looks like some stormy weather’s on the way.”

The marchese opened the envelope and started reading some documents.

“So, what have you decided?” Barone Uccello later asked him at the Circolo. “Will you stay in Vigàta or go back to America?”

“I’m going to stay a few more days, settle some business, and then go back to America. I don’t want to die here.”

“Aren’t you going to wait until your niece’s wedding?”

The marchese looked at him and said nothing. As for the place of his death, however, he turned out to be a bad prophet.

Entering Don Totò’s office-chamber, Father Macaluso noticed that Barone Uccello was already there, and he was none too pleased about this. Whatever the reason for Petru summoning him there, he knew that the baron would not be neutral. Uccello could never stand priests.

The marchese rose, came up to greet him, held out his hand, and invited him to sit down.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No thank you, Marchese, at this hour it would ruin my appetite.”

“Then I’ll get straight to the point. I took the liberty of disturbing you, dear Father, because I know it was you who persuaded my niece to become engaged to Impiduglia.”

“Good God, it wasn’t only me. There were also Signora—”

“I don’t care about the ladies involved.”

“Well, even the pharmacist—”

“Never mind the pharmacist. And don’t keep backpedaling, or you’re likely to fall and hurt yourself. You know what I mean?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Since ’Ntontò has already suffered a great deal, I, as her uncle, must make certain she doesn’t suffer more and worse.”

“What could be worse than losing her parents and brother?”

“There are worse things, I assure you, Father. At any rate, I sent Petru to Palermo to find out about this Impiduglia. Let us begin by saying that he has had four mistresses.”

Father Macaluso smiled.

“Do you find that amusing?”

“No, these are things young people do. But since Impiduglia has been living in Vigàta, he has definitely put himself back on the right path.”

“What path? The path into Clelia Tumminello’s bed?”

Father Macaluso stopped smiling.

“Let us now turn to more serious matters. Impiduglia is a hardened gambler. It’s a disease for him. He has lost his entire inheritance playing cards and roulette.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. And you want to know something else? He had Papìa advance him part of ’Ntontò’s dowry, then immediately gambled half of it away. But that’s not all. He has already been twice convicted for fraud. Have a look at these documents.”

Father Macaluso approached the small stack of papers that was on the desk. These weren’t rumors: they were extracts of verdicts and sworn declarations.

“What should I do?” he asked, resigned.

“You must talk to Impiduglia. I will give him three days to think things over, because I am offering three options. The first is that he leaves and goes wherever the hell he pleases, and sends ’Ntontò a nice letter saying that he no longer feels like being tied down, that he’s not the marrying kind. The second is that he doesn’t leave, and the war begins. In this case I will become my niece’s guardian, forbid him to see her, and the only way Barone Impiduglia will ever see any of ’Ntontò’s money is through a telescope. I won’t have any problem obtaining such authorization from the courts. The law always follows the path that money tells it to follow. The third is that he comes here, to my house, asks me to forgive him for wishing to harm ’Ntontò, I give him a little money as a parting gift, and we all go our merry ways with God’s blessing. But he must not make any mistakes, such as trying to see ’Ntontò during these three days. Send him word that she doesn’t feel well.”

“I’ll tell him,” said the priest, standing up. Before leaving, however, he had a question:

“Could you tell me what right Barone Uccello had to be present at this meeting?”

“He’s a witness. I wouldn’t want the things I have said to be distorted after we leave this room. And, while we’re on the subject of rights, if you want to say a comforting word to your protégé, tell him that the only right entitling him to marry ’Ntontò was the fact that he’s a noble.”

It took less than four hours for all of Vigàta—except for ’Ntontò—to learn what sort of person Nenè Impiduglia was and to hear about the scene that had taken place between Don Totò and Father Macaluso. The only person to benefit from Nenè’s staying at home was Signora Clelia.

“But is it true you were convicted?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s do it again. Ahh, God, that’s good! Again! No, wait, Nenè, now let’s do it this way.”

When the three days were up, a hundred eyes followed Impiduglia’s every step as he walked from his flat to the house with the columns. Night was falling.

Looking into the eyes of the marchese, who was sitting behind his desk, Nenè got scared. Those were the eyes—he was sure of it—of a man who had killed, perhaps even in cold blood. He opened his mouth to speak but it felt walled up.