In the Wolf's Mouth (25 page)

‘Even here too in some ways.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘We work very closely with our allies and with our allies’ allies.’

The Prince led Will into a large room where the light from the windows was doubled in an ornate, gold-framed mirror and a table and chairs were set on a rug in the middle of the tiled floor as though floating on a raft.

A servant bustled in with a tray. ‘In your honour,’ the Prince announced, ‘I thought we’d have tea. Thank you, Graziana.’

The servant, a typical peasant woman, short with thick, strong arms, seemed alarmed at hearing her name among the English words. She set down the tray and hurried out.

‘I shall be mother,’ the Prince said, quietly smiling. He poured two cups of what turned out to be flavoured yellow water and dropped half-moons of lemon into them with silver tongs. Will thought he would have preferred Italian coffee.

The Prince sat back, nursing his cup and saucer at his chest. ‘Well, let me tell you a little bit about this place,’ he began. ‘It has been in my family for a long time, since the Normans, although the building is newer than that, as you can tell. Mostly the princes have not been very interested in the estate, finding life to be more gay in Palermo or various other watering holes on the Continent. But I have always been interested in the land, the farming, and I’ve lived here for a long time. That is why I think the British will be far more sympathetic for us here. You
understand the land very well, I think. Your relation with it is as long as ours. In America it all belonged to Red Indians until the day before yesterday and all they do is farm beef on those monstrous ranches or tend their crops, I am told, by aeroplane.’

Will obligingly smiled.

‘Are you from the country?’ the Prince asked. ‘Or are you more of a man about town, Piccadilly and so forth?’

‘No, I’m from the countryside. Very green and pleasant land where I’m from. I’m from the Midlands, Shakespeare’s country.’

‘Oh, wonderful. And do you farm?’

‘Not really. My father was a schoolmaster.’

‘I see. Very good.’

Will saw the wave of the Prince’s interest break. The older man relaxed back in his chair. Will felt rejected. He pursued. ‘We used to hunt.’

‘Oh, very good. I’ve never been much of a huntsman myself. This isn’t really the country for it.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Possibly. Now then, what is it I can do for you?’

Will sipped his sour tea. ‘I wanted to introduce myself and to meet you. You are plainly a significant personage in this area. And as you’ve been here, as you’ve said, for so long, you must be well acquainted with pretty much everyone. The process of identifying Fascists is rather tricky for us, trickier for us than it might be for you.’

‘Yes. Well. That’s a very complicated matter in some ways. Everyone had to deal with them. Sicily was Fascist.’

‘But not everybody had to become one.’

The Prince gazed past Will’s head, considering that formulation. ‘Yes and no,’ he said eventually. ‘They were dangerous people, also they did bring some good changes.’ He laughed. ‘One of them wanted to marry my daughter. Can you imagine? That would have been going a bit far.’

‘So, your daughter remains unmarried?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘And you were never a Fascist?’

‘Certainly not. None of the old Sicilian families were. A little enthusiasm here and there but no more than that. The Fascists came from the north. They were invaders, “polenta eaters” as we Sicilians call them. Some Sicilians joined them for advantage.’

‘Not out of conviction, because they believed in it?’

‘Oh, that. My dear fellow, you never know what a Sicilian believes other than that nothing can be done.’ Will disliked this glib, unhelpful remark delivered in such a relaxed tone. The urge came to him, the old mental tic, to hurl his tea into the Prince’s face. Will cleared his throat.

‘This makes it rather difficult for us. We’re trying to establish leaders here, to create a new political class. It’s our job, now the war is over, to make the peace. And it would be nice to know that the people getting involved were not … tainted. We have Cirò Albanese working with us and we know he was not.’

‘Yes, I’d heard he was back.’

‘And Alvaro Zuffo. Heard of him?’

‘Just out of prison, I believe.’

‘That’s correct. What about you? Do you have any interest in politics?’

‘Me? No. The less politics the better. It’s when the peasants get hold of useless political ideas that I have problems. You should be on guard for Communism in this area.’

‘Oh, we are. And would you have any idea who would be sending us denunciations of Cirò Albanese?’

The Prince shifted in his chair. ‘Perhaps you’d like to stay for supper. My daughter will join us. She’s forever disappearing these days. She loves to ride, that one. Do you ride?’

41

Luisa had become stealthy in her own house, a thief in the kitchen at night, returning to her room with food in her pockets and sleeves. She flitted between the movements of the servants. She breathed quietly, full of secrets. The American lived inside her just as he lived, unguessed at, unimagined, in the attic of the house.

She opened the door and saw him again on his hands and knees, peering into the cracks between the floorboards. Lost to her, he was barely a man at all in these moments. His mind was gone and his body had taken over. It was his body, overruling his thoughts, that was determined to survive. It used him indifferently so as to stay alive. He wouldn’t even remember now that he had once kissed her. Perhaps that was better. A different madness of the night. Luisa couldn’t imagine where that might have led, what the future with this man might be.

‘Ray,’ she said.

Ray’s thin head swung around. A face patched with shadows, his beard darkening his cheeks.

‘You look like Saint Onofrio.’

‘What’s that? Who?’

‘Saint Onofrio.’

‘No, you?’

‘Ray, it’s me.’

Ray reached one hand up and swiped across his forehead and eyes. ‘Yes, it’s you. I remember. I do.’ He shivered. ‘I’m gonna sit down,’ he said.

‘Yes. Sit.’

‘Yes, I haven’t finished but …’

‘There’s nothing here.’

‘Yes.’ Ray detached his hands from the floorboards and sat back. ‘There’s nothing here.’

‘You have to remember that. There’s nothing here.’

‘I do. I will. I’ll remember.’

42

A young woman entered and Will rose to his feet.

‘Ah,’ the Prince said. ‘Here she is. This is my daughter, the Princess Luisa.’

Will bowed. The young woman seemed startled, breathless even.

‘Excuse me. I did not know we had a guest.’

She touched her hair, pulled at her sleeves. She was fine-looking with a dignified strictness about the nose and mouth, but she wasn’t lovely. Not like the girl in the dark in Palermo. The thought made Will twitch with shame. It was wrong to think of that in this place, wrong but exciting in its way. It made Will think of the warm blood in the Princess’s body also. The Princess had dark, oriental eyes. Perhaps this was her, the Sicilian woman promised by the
Invasion Handbook
, complaisant and yielding.

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.

‘Yes, yes. Everything is quite all right. I’m just here to talk with the Prince. To make your acquaintance.’

‘I see.’ The Princess waited.

‘Excuse me. I should introduce myself. My name is William Walker. I’m …’

‘Walker. Please sit. And has father told you what things are like round here?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Why I am never allowed to ride my horse on my own?’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because of bandits, kidnaps.’

‘Luisa, please. Do not exaggerate.’

‘I’m not exaggerating at all.’ She turned to Will. ‘Do not talk is what he means.’

‘I’m not sure I understand.’

The Prince attempted to explain. ‘The war has been very difficult for us. It was very frightening. So the Princess has become agitated.’

‘Ask Angilù,’ Luisa said. ‘Ask anyone. If they will tell you.’

‘There was a problem here with criminals,’ the Prince said. ‘Very Sicilian. And now people are worried they will come back.’

Will looked at them both. ‘I’ve met Angilù, I think. His name, it’s like “casino”.’

‘Cassini, yes.’

‘He came to me a little while ago. About his house, about owning his house, or rather that you owned it. And about how one of the returnees, Albanese, would claim it as his own.’

‘He is very frightened,’ the Princess said.

‘He works for me for many years. A very good man, very decent. He was a simple shepherd boy when I met him.’

‘Sounds like something out of a poem.’

‘Yes, perhaps. In a way it is.’ The Prince knitted his eyebrows. ‘But it is also normal here. Where there are sheep, someone must be a shepherd.’

‘Of course.’

‘For twenty years we have run the estate together. In a way, he is like a son. He is a peasant, of course, but …’

‘Earlier, you didn’t answer me about Albanese. Angilù isn’t the only one, I don’t think, to have things to say about him.’

The Prince frowned, looking down into his lap. He fiddled with his cigarette lighter. He looked up again. ‘Perhaps you would like to listen to the gramophone?’

‘Possibly. But to stick to the subject.’

‘You like opera? I can find out what we have.’

‘You see, Mr Walker,’ the Princess said. ‘You see what I am saying.’

Prince Adriano twisted around in his chair to look at a clock. He said, ‘Look, Angilù will be here in a little while. Perhaps it would be better to talk to him yourself.’

‘That seems like a good idea.’

‘Perhaps you would like to stay for dinner?’ the Princess asked.

‘That’s very kind. I accept.’

‘I’ll let the cook know,’ the Princess said. And then, compounding this peculiar atmosphere of languor and fear, of ease and morbidity, she said, ‘An American was killed on the Montebianco road. By a mine or an unexploded shell. It happened some time ago but his body is still out there in pieces. It is disgusting. I found it when I was out riding.’

Beginning to describe his evening to Samuels, Will said, ‘It was all rather strange.’

Samuels, in his pyjamas, joining Will for a nightcap, said, ‘Go on.’

‘It was difficult to make them talk. They didn’t want to. Or they did and didn’t. Other than the Princess, fiery little thing. She wanted to talk.’

‘The Princess,’ Samuels laughed. ‘It’s absurd.’ He put on his thickest Cockney accent. ‘Wait till I tells ’em back ‘ome. What was she like?’

‘Quite a pet. Very Mediterranean. Slender. Dark-eyed.’ Will immediately felt that he was misdescribing Princess Luisa. There was a pang of shame at reducing her to this type. He could not find the words to convey her dry, dignified anger, so self-possessed and righteous that at times when she spoke she seemed to rise a few inches off the ground. And there was the quality of her silences too. When she wasn’t speaking, the silence around her was very composed, full of what she was thinking and not saying. Will thought she had recognised his intelligence, saw him as an equal, and that a wordless acknowledgement had passed between them. Perhaps it was she, at last, the one he’d been imagining. ‘Highly intelligent, though, I think.’

‘And what about Cassini? Did he seem plausible?’

‘He too was … circumspect at first. He’s quite a big man, around the shoulders, but he looked small. He looked like he’s not used to speaking to strangers. And his dialect is so thick I had to have bits translated. What he did say was pretty extraordinary. He said that Albanese had threatened his daughter, that he tried to burn down his olive trees and had killed his dog. Cut its throat and left it on his doorstep. Grotesque, isn’t
it? Can you imagine the savagery, to slit the throat of an innocent dog like that?’

‘I’m sure the dog’s the least of it.’

Will looked up. ‘Not for the dog. And it’s indicative. The things Cassini was saying. I think the man’s paranoid. He was talking about a big conspiracy of criminals growing now in Sicily. And all this while we were eating this delicious dessert with flowers in it, actual fragrant flowers. I was eating flowers that had been collected from this enormous garden with paths and statuary.’

‘Can we confront Albanese at this point?’

‘I’m not sure what to do. I mean, if it’s true, then this is very big news. The whole reconstruction effort, all of AMGOT, if it’s being used … I mean the implication was very much that he’s not the only one.’

‘Hang on. If it was Albanese’s property before the Fascists – which it was, wasn’t it? – then hasn’t he got a point? A valid claim?’

‘I suppose it depends how he came by it but it is ambiguous.’

‘Didn’t he lease it from the Prince if it belongs to him? How do you get a lease against the owner’s will?’

‘How do you? Threats? Vandalism? We need to corroborate this stuff. I think I need to take action of some kind. Perhaps pre-emptively arrest Albanese and get some answers out of him.’

‘Really? You should contact Messina, no?’

‘That’s a very feeble attitude.’

‘No it isn’t. That would be procedure, wouldn’t it?’

‘It might be but …’

‘So you should. You don’t want them coming back at you, or the Americans.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake.’

Samuels was so infuriating. Compact and logical, in his pragmatism (a man who liked electrical machines), he presented hard impervious surfaces. Will wanted to kick him and break him open. And just as Will was starting to think he wasn’t so bad.

‘You don’t know the first of it, Samuels. You don’t know how volatile and just barmy this place is. The weirdest thing Cassini said this evening was that there was a witch Albanese and his associates consulted and that she’d know everything.’

‘A witch?’

‘Precisely. Mad, isn’t it? Should I try interrogating a witch?’

‘If you’re happy to take the risk of being turned into a frog.’

‘I know. A witch! Where are we? They go to her for cures as well, apparently. I mean, everybody does. Perhaps I will try and track her down. Bound to be a diverting afternoon.’