The Prince Read Online Free PDF Page B

shoot!!”
    Saro immediately sprang to the spot where Mena had fallen and, shielding her, rolled over with her on the floor to avoid the path of the crowd.
    The armed man, dragging De Simone, positioned himself in a corner of the hall. He was completely beside himself, no longer rational. He kept on shouting: “I’ll kill you all! All of you! Bastards! Goddamn bastards!”
    Mena raised her frightened gaze to the young man who was protecting her with his body. Their eyes met, their noses nearly touching. “Don’t be afraid,” Saro whispered to her. Mena closed her eyes and clung to him, terrified.
    Michele Fardella tried to draw the man’s attention: “Take it easy . . . Talk to me. Tell me who you are . . .”
    In the depths of despair, the man uttered a cry that shattered the hearts of everyone present. “God forgive me! Forgive these people!” He shoved De Simone aside as forcefully as he could. The elderly clerk, who was expecting the final blow, fell facedown on the floor. Then the poor wretch turned the barrel of the pistol up under his chin and pulled the trigger.
    The roar made those in the hall recoil. The bullet came out of the center of his head, shattering his cranium and causing the brain to explode into a thousand pieces that ended up splattered against the wall. The man slid silently to the ground and sat there like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Some people screamed, while others stood stock-still, paralyzed.
    Michele Fardella, joined by Jano and the other militiamen, went over to the gunman.
    Saro helped Mena to her feet. “These are terrible times,” he murmured to her, genuinely frightened as well.
    The girl, though still upset, was bold enough to look into his eyes. Then she lowered her gaze as soon as Nennella appeared to resume care of her charge.
    â€œMay God bless you, Saro,” said Nennella, who evidently knew him. Then she led Mena out of the building, heading for their carriage.
    Saro followed the young girl until she disappeared through the door. Next, he turned to the knot of people that had formed around the man who had taken his life.
    Prospero, one of Jano’s men, crouched beside the corpse and lifted the man’s head, or what was left of it.
    â€œDo you know him?” Jano asked.
    Saro shook his head no. “He must be someone from around here, though,” he replied.
    An elderly farmer made his way through the townspeople. “It’s Davide Zevi,” he said loudly, in a disapproving tone.
    â€œA Jew?” Jano asked him.
    The farmer’s only reply was a nod.
    â€œGood. He saved us a bullet,” Jano remarked cynically, pushing through the crowd.
    Some made the sign of the cross, others went to notify the carabinieri, while someone else went off to summon the undertaker. Saro suddenly realized that in the commotion he had stepped on a document. He picked it up and saw it was Mena’s identification card. The young woman must have come to town hall to obtain it upon turning eighteen. As he looked at the photo, seeing again those magnificent eyes framed by jet-black hair, he confirmed that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever encountered.
    He slipped the card in his pocket and looked up. At the top of the staircase stood his father. Ragusa had witnessed the suicide in silence, literally shaken. It wasn’t like him to stand back at such a scene. Any other time, he would have rushed to the man to avert a foolish act, to make the man talk, to reason with him somehow. For Ragusa was strong and confident in his skills, both dialectical and humane. But now something seemed to have broken in him. The stability and assurance that had made him one of the most influential figures among his fellow townsmen had suddenly abandoned him.
    Saro rushed up to his father and, taking him by the arm, led him slowly out of that hell.

Chapter 5
    â€“ 1938 –
    A nnachiara Ragusa lingered