The Sicilian Read Online Free PDF Page B

for by everyone at this table. I am now, and have always been, a member of Guiliano’s band.”
    Stefan Andolini said quietly, “I too am a member of the band. You know my name and that I am your cousin. But I am also called
Fra Diavalo
.”
    This too was a legendary name in Sicily that Michael had heard many times. He has earned that murderer’s face, Michael thought. And he, too, was a fugitive with a price on his head. Yet that afternoon he had sat down to lunch next to Inspector Velardi.
    They were all waiting for him to answer. Michael had no intention of telling them his final plans, but he knew he must tell them something. Guiliano’s mother was staring at him intently. He spoke directly to her. “It’s very simple,” Michael said. “First I must warn you I can wait no longer than seven days. I have been away from home too long and my father needs my help in troubles of his own. Of course you understand how anxious I am to return to my family. But it is my father’s wish that I help your son. My last instructions from the courier were that I visit Don Croce here, then proceed to Trapani. There I stay at the villa of the local Don. Waiting there will be men from America whom I can trust absolutely. Qualified men.” He paused for a moment. The word “qualified” had a special meaning in Sicily, usually applied to high-ranking Mafia executioners. He went on. “Once Turi comes to me he will be safe. The villa is a fortress. And within a few hours we will board a fast ship to a city in Africa. There a special plane waits to take us immediately to America and there he will be under my father’s protection and you need fear for him no more.”
    Hector Adonis said, “When will you be ready to accept Turi Guiliano?”
    Michael said, “I will be in Trapani by early morning. Give me twenty-four hours from then.”
    Suddenly Guiliano’s mother burst into tears. “My poor Turi trusts no one any longer. He will not go to Trapani.”
    “Then I can’t help him,” Michael said coldly.
    Guiliano’s mother seemed to fold up with despair. It was Pisciotta unexpectedly who went to comfort her. He kissed her and held her in his arms. “Maria Lombardo, don’t worry,” he said. “Turi still listens to me. I will tell him we all believe in this man from America, isn’t that true?” He looked at the other men inquiringly and they nodded. “I will bring Turi to Trapani myself.”
    Everyone seemed content. Michael realized that his cold reply was what had convinced them to trust him. Sicilians all, they were suspicious of a too warm and human generosity. On his part, he was impatient with their carefulness and the disarray of his father’s plans. Don Croce was now an enemy, Guiliano might not come to him quickly, indeed might not come at all. After all, what was Turi Guiliano to him? For that matter, he wondered again, what was Guiliano to his father?
    They were ushering him into the small living room where the mother served coffee and anisette, apologizing that there was no sweet. The anisette would warm Michael for his long night journey to Trapani, they said. Hector Adonis took a gold cigarette case out of his elegantly tailored jacket and offered it around, then put a cigarette into his own delicately cut mouth and so far forgot himself that he leaned back in his chair so that his feet no longer touched the floor. For a moment he looked like a puppet dangling from a cord.
    Maria Lombardo pointed to the huge portrait on the wall. “Isn’t he handsome?” she said. “And he is as good as he is beautiful. My heart broke when he became an outlaw. Do you remember that terrible day, Signor Adonis? And all the lies they tell about the Portella della Ginestra? My son would never have done such a thing.”
    The other men were embarrassed. Michael wondered for the second time that day what had happened at the Portella della Ginestra but did not want to ask.
    Hector Adonis said, “When I was Turi’s teacher, he was a