The Incident at Montebello (7 page)

Isolina struggled to keep up with her father, whose thin arms and legs scissored through the air, propelling him down the street. Lelo scattered chickens, children, and even a stray pig, and he was frowning, which sent a tremor of apprehension through her. Usually he turned even the darkest situation into a joke, but the police chief's letter had soured his mood. This morning at breakfast he had told her, “You're coming with me. He wants to speak to both of us.”

All at once, her throat tightened and she had trouble swallowing. How could she face Prefetto Balbi without her father's help? She was more afraid of the police chief than anyone else in town. Perhaps she should brush aside Tiberio's warning and confess everything to Lelo who could fix anything, she was sure of it. Hadn't he always pulled her into his lap, dried her tears and promised her that everything would be all right, and it always was?

When they reached the piazza, he slowed down and she caught her breath. “I need to tell you something, papà,” she started to say, but he was looking over her shoulder. She turned. A new squad of Blackshirts was patrolling the streets, scaring the pigeons and the women who had come to shop. They were swinging wooden bats and randomly striking walls and fences as if they couldn't contain their fury.

She stared at them in shocked silence. Rodi was right. The higher-ups in Roma had sent in the OVRA. But why? She seized Lelo's sleeve. “Why are they here?”

“Let them do their work.”

“What work?”

He didn't answer. Instead, he tugged her towards the town hall. Her heart pounding, she followed him upstairs to Prefetto Balbi's office, his waiting room thronged with people. Apparently, no one was exempt from his interrogation.

The mood in the room was somber as if everyone were at a funeral. A few men murmured to each other, their voices rippling across the room, but most hid behind newspapers, unsure of what to say or how to act. Aside from Isolina, the only women in the room were Rosa, Prefetto Balbi's secretary, and Petronella, the butcher's wife, who liked to talk as much as she liked to eat. Petronella had squeezed herself into a chair, her heavy thighs splayed apart. Lelo murmured hello, but sat as far away from her as possible.

Isolina cast furtive glances at Rosa, who treated nearly everyone in Montebello with cool distain even though she had been trying for almost a decade to get Prefetto Balbi to marry her. As the minutes crept by, Isolina studied Rosa's frilly blouse and pleated skirt as she typed letters and filed them in bulging folders leaning haphazardly against each other on a bookshelf. She was the highest paid woman in town, except for Filippina the prostitute, and could afford to buy her clothes in Napoli. One day, Isolina vowed, she'd dress like Rosa and own her own shop in Boston with her Zia Lucia. One day. She sighed.

Her father kept glancing at his watch. “Well, they'll just have to wait for their morning soak and scrub,” he said to her and everyone within earshot. “Once I fire the boilers, there's another wait for the water to heat. You can't rush it. But what am I supposed to do? I'm on official business.” He got no response from Rosa, who kept typing. So, he leaned towards Isolina and whispered, “Let me do the talking.”

“Yes, papà.”

“If we stick to the truth, we've got nothing to worry about.”

“I know, papà,” she said, but this didn't calm her.

The butcher's wife, unable to resist an opportunity to gossip, tramped across the room and pinned down Lelo with the sheer volume of her talk. She chatted about the weather, rising prices, and the new blade on the meat grinder. Isolina nodded politely, but she didn't trust Petronella who hoarded information as if it were choice bits of meat. Still, Isolina leaned closer when the conversation turned to Lucia.

“Did Lucia hear any news from Boston?” Petronella asked. “Is Donato coming home?”

“You know Donato. Always working,” Lelo said with a shrug. “Two jobs, the last I heard.”

“He can't take off even now? What a tragedy. How often does a child die?”

“His boss is a stickler,” Lelo said, shrugging again.

“You know the Americans. Crazy for money,” Petronella said, twirling her finger next to her head for emphasis.

Just then, a roar from the piazza seized everyone's attention. The tinsmith was the first person to his feet. “The Blackshirts are after Manfredo,” he shouted. In a surge, people rushed towards the window.

“Sit down,” Lelo said, reaching for her arm, but she dodged him and jostled her way through the crowd until she had a clear view of the Blackshirts circling Manfredo, their clubs raised. One of them knocked the cap off his head and another grabbed a handful of his thick, wavy hair—Manfredo's pride. With a vicious yank, Manfredo's chin jerked upwards, his neck exposed while another Blackshirt delivered punches to his stomach and ribs until Manfredo staggered, doubled over and collapsed in a heap. Rodi rushed towards him, but another Blackshirt grabbed him and pinned his arms behind his back. While he struggled to free himself, the remaining Blackshirts tore into Manfredo, kicking him in the groin and ribs until he curled up in the dust. After one last blow, they moved on and Rodi dashed towards his friend. With the help of a few men, he seized Manfredo's arms and legs and lifted him onto a donkey, which carried him off.

Isolina was trembling. All around her, men watched in silence; some were nodding with satisfaction, others were frowning. Lelo grabbed her arm, muttering, “Now have you seen enough? A father tries to protect his children, but they think they know best.”

“Yes, papà.” She dropped into her chair with a thud. Around her, the conversation swelled. A few people, like the butcher's wife, were eager to declare—to anyone who would listen—that Manfredo deserved it.

“Why? What did he do?” one man cried.

“Where do you live? Siberia? He's been running around with the goddamn anti-Fascists,” Petronella replied.

Her father had an opinion too. “It's a good thing they called in the OVRA. They'll do the job right.”

She stared at her father, astonished at his heartlessness. Words came to her lips, but she had no chance to utter them for the door to Prefetto Balbi's office swung open and Rosa motioned to them. When they crossed the threshold, Balbi's men seized her and her father and pulled them towards the police chief's desk. She recognized one of them from school, a farmer's son who had spent more time out of class than in it. She'd know his ugly face anywhere. His thick fingers on her wrist made her cringe. She jerked her arm, struggling to free herself.

“Is this really necessary?” Lelo demanded. “I'm a loyal Fascist just like you.”

Prefetto Balbi didn't answer, but simply signaled for the farm boys to let go. They stood behind her and her father like shadows. Her neck tingled. She knew they were scrutinizing her and she twitched with indignation.

Lelo cleared his throat and began again, “Let me reassure you, Prefetto Balbi, my daughter and I are completely innocent in this matter.”

With a dismissive sweep of his hand, Prefetto Balbi told them, “That's for me to decide.” He extracted two papers from the pile on his desk and held them up for her and Lelo to read. She recognized her sworn statement written a few days after the accident. “Do you wish to revise them?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Lelo insisted. “It happened just as I wrote it. I came home for lunch that afternoon and afterwards I fell asleep. Ask my wife. I was snoring next to her. It was as hot as Hades that day.”

The police chief turned to her. “And you,
signorina
, took the children to the stream by the soap factory and you fell asleep?”

“Yes, Prefetto Balbi.”

“You're certain of that?”

Her palms were sweating, but she stood her ground. “Yes, Prefetto Balbi.”

“You're a busy man,” Lelo said. “We don't want to waste your time. And I'm already late for work.”

Prefetto Balbi told him, “You're not going anywhere.” He pulled a strip of cloth from his desk drawer. As he walked towards her, he held it in the air. “I believe this is yours,
signorina.
”

Isolina studied the pink ribbon and shrugged. “I have so many I can't honestly say.”

“An eyewitness found it in the grass near the soap factory on the afternoon of the accident. He saw you there with Rodi Butasi.”

The police chief's words made her stagger. Who could have been watching them in the field? She barely managed the reply, “I told you, Prefetto Balbi. I took the children to the stream and I fell asleep. Your witness must be mistaken.”

“No. He was quite clear about it. He said you and Rodi were lying in the grass together. Isn't that right,
signorina
?”

A shiver rattled through her. Still, she fixed her eyes on Prefetto Balbi's face. “Your witness is lying,” she insisted, but out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed her father, his face mottled with anger. It startled her. She could remember only a few times when her mild-mannered father had worked himself into such a state.

“Let me ask you again,
signorina.
Were you with Rodi Butasi that afternoon?”

She was shaking her head, but her father had drawn his own conclusions. His hand shot out, stinging her cheek. “So this is how it is? Eh, Isolina? I have to hear from Prefetto Balbi that my daughter is no better than a slut. Lying in the grass with Rodi like a whore.”

Blinking back tears, she stared at him, one hand pressing against her cheek. She was so startled, she could think of nothing to say. Over the years, the softhearted Lelo had threatened punishment, but never once had the courage to deliver it.

“Leave her to me,” Lelo told Prefetto Balbi. “This is a family matter and I'll deal with it.”

“You're in no position to be making demands,” Prefetto Balbi told him. “I'm not finished with her. I need to know what she saw. Tell me the truth,
signorina
or you and your boyfriend will pay the price.”

Her thoughts were in a jumble. She had to think clearly or she'd put Rodi in danger. “I'm telling you the truth,” she insisted. “I didn't see anything. Neither did Rodi. We just heard the car horn and the tires squealing, and by the time we looked down the hill, the car was gone.”

“What type of car was it?”

“It was too far away to tell.”

“Who was driving?”

“I have no idea. It could have been anyone.”

“Was there a passenger?”

“I don't know.”

“Did you see anyone else in the street?”

“Just the children.”

“And when you came down the hill, what did you see?”

“A lot of blood on the street. Someone had already carried the children away.”

“Did you see who was carrying them?”

“No, but later I heard it was the policemen.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

She had to protect Tiberio, so she just shook her head. She breathed a little sigh of relief when he nodded, accepting her answer, but he wasn't finished with his questions.

“And where was Rodi? Was he with you?”

“No,
signore,
we went in opposite directions. He went across the field and I came through the woods.”

“The woods?” the police chief repeated, looking surprised. “Why would you go that way? It's longer.”

When she hesitated, her father stepped in. “She's young,” he insisted. “And foolish. I'll handle her. Surely a busy man such as yourself has more important business to attend to.”

Prefetto Balbi ignored him. “Answer my question,
signorina
. Why did you take the longer way if you knew the child was hurt?”

Isolina's mind was whirling as she scrambled to come up with a credible reply. Finally, she said, “I went that way because I was afraid people would see me and Rodi together.”

The police chief thought this over, his fingertips pressed together as he paced in front of her. She waited, scarcely breathing, until he finally nodded and told Lelo, “All right. That's enough for now. But I'm warning you. I'm keeping my eye on you and your family. My men will escort you downstairs.”

When one of the brutes seized her arm, Isolina broke free with a fierce jerk. With some dignity, she lifted her chin and kept it high until she passed Rosa.

Back home, her mother was at the sink peeling potatoes, her belly protruding like the prow of a ship. Her youngest, Peppino, was sitting on the floor crying. Amelia pushed her curls off her face with the back of her hand and told Isolina, “Pick him up, will you? He needs his diaper changed. What took you so long? I've been waiting for hours.”

Isolina, who was dizzy with fear, didn't have a chance to answer. Lelo slammed the door and grabbed her arm, pulling her into the room off the kitchen amidst Peppino's wails and her mother's startled cries.

“What happened, Lelo? Santa Maria, what happened now? I'm coming in there,” Amelia insisted, getting one foot across the threshold just as Lelo was pushing the door shut. Amelia forced her way into the room, her hands grasping her pregnant belly, her eyes darting from Isolina to Lelo. “Tell me. You're going to kill me and put me in the ground if you don't tell me.”