The Orsini Affair

By D A Nicodemo

A Ghastly Crime – Decades Later, Revenge

A nun is violated. Twelve years later, a young Roma girl is also raped.

Both violations result in pregnancies. The nun, twin boys; the young girl, a boy – Manfri. The villain in both cases is the same man – a priest, Vittorio Alonso Orsini, years later to be appointed Archbishop of Milan.

The Orsini are a powerful family with close ties to the Vatican. They are hopeful that Vittorio will one day become Pope. Already, there have been two Orsini popes. They are anxious for a third.

But Vittorio has a dark side to him. He is a rapist.

We follow both victims over the next several decades.

Ultimately, the young Roma girl takes her revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: May 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9781068846915

Book preview

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Front matter

Main characters

Supporting characters

Prologue

Montorio, February 1953

The sentinel

Six months earlier

Back to the tavern

A stranger in town

Maria’s strange news

An evening with friends

The man with the cigar

Trip to Termoli

Chatting with the corporal

Buio and Bianca

Gennaro’s army truck

Severino in Termoli

Montorio, March 1953

‘Ite, missa est.’

Giselda’s wedding celebration

Anniversary gifts

Another session with the corporal

A murder in Portocannone

Maria visits Michelina

Further speculations

Kezia in Portocannone

Rome, summer of 1928

Rome, autumn of 1928

Lieutenant Giovanni Fallaci, November 1928

A bishop’s poisoning, December 1928

Manfri’s arrest, January 1929

Kezia’s dream, Portocannone

Rape of a young Roma, April 1910, Rome

Kezia’s query, Portocannone

Procida Island, August 1938

Barsali’s account, Portocannone

Rendezvous with the archbishop, November 1952

Barsali’s account, continuation, Portocannone

Supper at Giovanna’s

Pellegrini’s update

Captain Baldini’s meeting

Rape of a nun, August 1908, Rome

The legend of Delicata Civerra

Manfri’s funeral, Naples

Pellegrini drops by

Regina’s task, Campobasso

Ironworks

Regina’s letter, Milan

Three weeks earlier, Milan

The chancy preacher

Baldini in Portocannone

Just another day

Regina’s report, Campobasso

Patricio Spavone, Rome

Pellegrini at Giuseppe’s

Archbishop’s palace, Milan

Sforza berates Baldini, Campobasso

Another Saturday evening at the tavern

The reunion, Portocannone

Montorio, April 1953

Gennaro’s story

The next day

At Giuseppe’s

Police operation in Naples

Vano’s interrogation

Back in Montorio

Kezia’s reaction, Rome

Blackshirts at Giuseppe’s

Motshan’s gripe, Naples

Monsignor Fallaci, Milan

The fall, Milan

Rico’s mishap, Naples

News of Fallaci, Campobasso

Montorio, May 1953

Pellegrini’s account

End of clan violence, Naples

Kezia’s proposal, Naples

Motshan’s plan, Milan

Montorio, June 1953

News of Orsini’s assassination

Baldini and the old nun

The End

Epilogue

Prologue to A Village Tale Series Book 3

Endnotes

Front matter

Also_by

Title_page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Author_note

Main characters

Archbishop Vittorio Alonso Orsini – Archbishop of Milan

Barsali Ventura – Rom with cigar

Captain Gian Piero Baldini – Carabiniere at the Questura in Campobasso

Captain Emilio Esposito – Baldini colleague in Naples’ Questura

Corporal Edoardo Pellegrini – Carabiniere, Larino Station

Danior – Manfri’s friend from Naples & eventual clan leader

Donanto – metalsmith, gentleman farmer

Father Giacomo Rizzo – parish priest

Father Liam Patrick Doyle – Parish Chaplin, St-Mary’s Pro-Cathedral, Dublin

Francesca – Giuseppe’s wife

Gennaro – foreman at the seasonal fieldworkers’ camp

Giovanna – local seamstress

Giuseppe – local tavern proprietor

Kezia di Rocco – Roma & Manfri’s mother

Lash – Manfri’s friend from Naples

Manfri di Rocco – Kezia’s firstborn son

Michelina – Donanto’s neighbor and eventual partner.

Motshan– Romani man, works for Vano & later for Danior.

Monsignor Giovanni Fallaci – Papal Legate

Patricio Spavone – inmate at Procida prison

Regina – Corporal Pellegrini’s fiancée

Rico Vincelli – Fallaci’s driver and minion

Severino – local cobbler

Sister Angelica – Poor Clares nun

Sister Betti – Father Giacomo’s aide

Vano Marini – Fonso’s eldest son

Supporting characters

Bosko – Romani clan chieftain

Ennio – Captain Baldini’s driver

G. I. Joe – young ragamuffin in Termoli

Guido Lufano – Lucho Lufano’s son

Lucia Di Bella – friend of Donanto’s mother

Marcella – kitchen maid at Rectory

Maresciallo Sforza – Inspector in the Carabinieri

Maria – close friend of Michelina

Pasquale – Captain Baldini’s stenographer

Sebastiano – post office civil servant

Zio Peppino – Francesca’s father

Prologue

A nun is violated. Twelve years later, a young Roma girl is also raped. Both violations result in pregnancies. The nun, twin boys; the young girl, a boy – Manfri. The villain in both cases is the same man – a priest, years later to be appointed Archbishop of Milan. We follow both victims over the next several decades. Ultimately, the young Roma girl takes her revenge.

Montorio, February 1953

The sentinel

The crow perches on the highest branch. She is the sentinel, chosen by her kin. She is vigilant, alert, keen of eye. She veers her head towards the cabin, focusing on the front door. She knows the woman will appear soon. The group is familiar with the woman’s daily routine. They have befriended her in time and have been rewarded for their generosity.

Occasionally, the sentinel will caw impatiently, summoning the woman to come into view. Her mob is getting restless, anxious for the woman’s treat. The feeders have been out for some time now, a delight to the assorted pennate congregation. But the horde awaits other delicacies, oddments from the woman’s early meal.

Suddenly an ardent caw, followed by animated squawking. The woman has come to the door. Already the guard has confirmed the identity of the morsel in her hand. It is a piece of toast, moistened with olive oil and dotted with tidbits of clinging egg.

The lookout rejoins her kin, all perched nearby. They know the spot. The woman strolls towards it. She breaks the morsel into several smaller pieces and scatters them by the dirt path. Even now, they have alighted, wings spread.

They meander here and there, the more gluttonous stuffing their beaks with more than one piece. Some drift towards the water bowl and they soak the drier pieces before swallowing. Others fly away to stash their snack, still others return to their perch to savor quietly.

Michelina returns to the cabin and observes the scene from her kitchen window, her mien imbued with good humor and a calm smile. This daily ritual has lasted several months now. She is grateful for having this group of crows. They are very intelligent birds. They voice their needs and communicate their joy. Also, as a group, they act as sentries, watchful for birds of prey.

‘You’ve been with your friends, have you?’ says Donanto.

‘Yes, I enjoy their company. They recognize me easily now, and I’m starting to know some of them quite well. They each have their own little quirks. They’re remarkably social birds and will readily help another crow in distress. It’s quite fascinating to follow their interactions as a community.’

‘Well, I’m sure they enjoy your company as well, especially if you keep treating them to toast and eggs,’ says Donanto with a wry smile.

‘You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?’

‘I’m kidding of course, my love. I also enjoy having them here. As well as all the other birds. It’s delightful to listen to their lively chatter, and their elegant songs. Since you’ve been here, their number and variety has noticeably increased. This place is much more vivacious, more animated. Contagious with life. All because of you, Michelina. You are my joy.’

‘Well, flattery will get you somewhere,’ says Michelina with a huge smile. ‘I’ll make sure to prepare a special meal for you this evening.’

‘That would make me very happy.’

Hence began this mid-February day for Donanto and Michelina at their little cabin. It was a day much like the others of late, each harmoniously morphing with the next. Life had been good these past months. The fall crops had been bountiful, and the winter so far was mild. Most people in the region had plenty of food and wine stored for the winter season. Also, the olive crop had been superior. All of this was sufficient cause for the prevailing amiability when encountering others. The greetings were warm and cordial.

Cesare, the household Murgese stallion, was in good form as well. He was out to pasture as usual, foraging for his preferred patches of greenery and some of the delicate twigs still available to him.

Florina had farrowed a litter of piglets the previous fall. Seven new lives, frolicking, prancing, and romping about in their play. Donanto had enclosed a large area for them. Michelina had expected the litter earlier, but she presumed that the disturbing episode Joko and Florina had suffered on account of Luigi’s animosity had adversely affected the normal development of such private matters.

Luigi, Florina’s previous owner, and Michelina had been childhood friends. He had always admired Michelina and was extremely fond of her. In his own way, he loved her. He had been terribly disappointed when she had married Lucio, his best friend.

The marriage had been arranged against her will. It had not been a love affair. In the end, after many disappointing years with Lucio, Michelina had left him for Donanto, whom she had always admired and respected. Luigi had been doubly hurt.

The morning had progressed normally. Michelina had gone about her regular routine, seeing to the many chores which required her attention. She had always been diligent and meticulous in her duties. She had been so before, when their relationship had been more formal, and she continues to be so now, when their relationship is one of intimacy. Her character is such that she naturally works in a well-organized and efficient manner.

Donanto had continued working on his new creation, casting the requisite metal fixtures in the forge he had erected behind the cabin. He had designed a jewelry box which he planned to give Michelina. The box had been sculpted from a piece of cypress wood. He had chosen cypress because of the natural fragrance of its resinous essential oils.

Also, the folklore associated with the Etruscan cypress is one of sanctuary and mystical powers. The ancient Etruscan tribes believed it had supernatural powers, that the strong fragrance of its essential oils would discourage demons. They would plant cypress round their burial grounds to destroy the noxious stench of death and thus revitalize the air in the hope that the passage to the afterlife would be easier and more pleasant for their loved ones.

Donanto had also prepared castings for the brass and silver adornments he had designed to embellish the box. He was pleased with its progress so far. This morning he had worked on the lock, which would be forged from a single piece of iron. He felt confident the jewelry box would be ready for their first anniversary the following month, one year on from their first intimate relation.

After a late lunch, Donanto decided he would go to town and stop by the local tavern to enjoy an espresso with his friend Giuseppe, the tavern’s owner. They were boyhood friends, and Donanto would regularly stop by for a chat.

From there he would usually drift towards the local cobbler’s shop, where Severino would likely offer him some of that delicious Kilbeggan whiskey his nephew regularly sent him from Ireland. Severino had come as a young man to Montorio from Ancona, in the Marche region of Italy, to the north. In time, the two had become close friends. The fact that both had received a superior education served to cement their relationship.

‘Michelina!’ called out Donanto.

‘What is it?’

‘I’m going to Giuseppe’s. I should be back in a few hours.’

‘Very well, I’ll expect you for supper.’

Donanto put on his winter jacket and opened the front door. He then strolled towards the large outdoor pen where Joko and Florina were lying down, both observing the uproarious activities undertaken by their litter of piglets.

‘Hey Joko, how’s the old man? Still in good humor? Or are the kids getting to you, hein?’ asks Donanto in a playful tone. In response, Joko resorts to a litany of oinks and snorts to let Donanto know that he doesn’t find his comment very funny.

‘Florina, you’re as cute as ever. How do you manage with this brood?’ Florina blinks her long eyelashes at him in reply. She too seems sensitive to flattery.

‘Ci vediamo più tardi, ragazzi,’ 1 says Donanto, as he turns to make his way towards the front gate. Once there, he picks up his walking stick and strolls towards the old country road which leads to town.

Donanto is feeling in good spirits today. The familiar shrubs and vegetation are a comfort to him. I belong here. In this place. On this ancient road. It’s where I want to be, he thinks as he breezily walks along, stick in hand, ready to shoo away any insolent snake.

Today, even the ruts and potholes make him smile as he merrily weaves his way around them, occasionally using his walking stick to clear the smaller pebbles which lie in his way. He feels grateful for his renewed passion in life, grateful to have found Michelina at such a late stage of life. He knows that she is the reason for his recent revival.

It had not always been this way. He remembers another time, not so long ago, when he had lost this enthusiasm for ordinary things, the daily routine which typically defines one’s life. It was a time when he had lost this feeling of belonging, this feeling of rootedness, of purpose. It was a time when this same oft trodden country road had seemed desolate, and somewhat oppressive.

Six months earlier

Donanto had spent the evening at Giuseppe’s with his close friend Severino. The tavern had been crowded, packed with seasonal fieldworkers and local peasants who regularly frequented the place. Francesca, Giuseppe’s wife, had prepared her special dish, Polenta e Fagioli, for the Saturday evening clientele. Everyone had been in a celebratory mood. The talk had been animated. The laughter, loud. The wine had flowed abundantly, the two friends consuming more than their fair share. Between them, they had emptied three flasks of the red liquid.

The growing season had been favorable, the crops likely to be bountiful. Harvest season was around the corner, soon to be upon them. They were all anxiously anticipating the various festivals which were normally held at that time of year.

At evening’s end, Severino had returned to the small apartment above his cobbler’s shop, not far from the tavern. Gennaro, a local man and one of the fieldworkers, had given Donanto a ride home on his horse-drawn cart.

On the way, Marinella’s horrific death had been recalled to mind. Gennaro had described the peculiar encounter with Archetti, ‘lo scemo del villaggio’ 2, who several days later had hanged himself from the belfry of the bell tower abutting the Chiesa di Santa Maria Assunta.

In his mind the encounter had been indelibly linked to the tragic death of Marinella, the sex worker from Montorio whom, despite her dubious trade, was dearly loved by most of the townsfolk. Gennaro recalled how he had stopped to pick up Archetti while on his way to Termoli. The poor fellow had apparently been walking on his own for some time. From what Gennaro could discern, Archetti was intent on reaching Termoli. At the time, Archetti had been noticeably agitated.

Once in Termoli, Gennaro had brought him to a charitable organization run by nuns, and had planned to return for him later, once he had made his purchases. He had been tasked with procuring material needed at the fieldworkers’ camp.

Gennaro had mentioned how, upon his return to the nun’s charity house, Archetti had not been there, apparently eluding the nun’s supervision to wander off on his own. When later, not long after Gennaro’s arrival, Archetti strolled in, he was in terrible condition; disheveled, dirty, jacket button torn off, and with a bizarre look about him, as though he were in shock. The nuns had speculated that Archetti might have had an unfortunate skirmish with some of the local ruffians. Ultimately, once the good nuns had cleaned him up a bit, Gennaro had taken Archetti with him back to Montorio, where he left him in the care of Sister Betti, Father Giacomo’s aide.

Donanto had been stunned by Gennaro’s account of Archetti’s movements on that fateful day. He had recounted Gennaro’s story to Michelina that same evening. Michelina had by then left her husband Lucio and was at the time comfortably settled at Donanto’s cabin. They had stayed up late into the night pondering over Gennaro’s revelations, facts which had given a new dimension to that sinister incident which had taken Marinella’s young life.

They were terribly shocked and deeply saddened by the possibility of Archetti’s decisive role in the death of Marinella. Many different scenarios had been conjured in their attempt to exculpate Archetti. Ultimately, they could not see how Archetti could be removed from the equation. It would be ludicrous to think that his presence in Termoli that Tuesday afternoon in mid-February was simply a coincidence. The realization that Marinella had died at the hands of Archetti had been a painful moment for them. They had no hard evidence, but viscerally, they knew it was so.

On that same ominous day Marinella had come to the tavern to ask for change. It was well known. Donanto and Severino were both there. They remember being surprised to see her up so early in the day, her work usually starting in the evening. At the time, she was dressed casually, but Severina had noticed that she was carrying her stiletto shoes, and likely one of her evening dresses, in the large bag hanging at her elbow. He remembers being somewhat annoyed at the thought that she might be plying her trade elsewhere. Later, they had all learned that she was to meet her lover Giorgio in Termoli.

Archetti, whom Donanto had earlier invited to the tavern after finding him standing miserably by himself at the near corner, was also there. He had joined Marinella as soon as he saw her coming out of the pensione, which was situated directly across the road from the tavern. And then later, once Giuseppe had given Marinella the change she had requested, Archetti had stayed with her, following closely behind.

Michelina had suggested that Marinella might have needed the change for the bus fare to Termoli, and that Archetti had likely wanted to go with her, but that Marinella must have refused. She obviously had not wanted him to tag along if she were planning to meet with Giorgio, the fish merchant. She might have had to be firm with him. Her refusal might have irked him, possibly even angering him. That might have been the moment he had decided to follow her, even if his only option was to walk there, all the way to Termoli.

The nun’s charitable organization was situated across the road from the Trattoria di Bella, where Lucia Di Bella, a good friend of Donanto’s mother, had by chance recognized Marinella as she was leaving the trattoria with a man whom she had noticed walking with a peculiar limp, an astute observation which would later help identify the man. Zia Lucia had related this incident to Donanto at the time of Marinella’s funeral. Donanto had then suspected the man leaving with Marinella to be Giorgio.

Likewise, while possibly meandering aimlessly about the exterior grounds of the charity house situated directly across from the trattoria, Archetti might have seen Marinella leaving the premises with Giorgio, someone whom Archetti knew well for having seen the man regularly at the fish merchant’s stall in Montorio. Chances are that Archetti, at that precise moment, had spontaneously decided to follow them, obviously eluding the nuns’ supervision.

What had happened from then on is rather speculative, but the possibility of Archetti following Marinella to Giorgio’s boarding house and later spotting her leaving the place alone is not a negligible one. He might have then followed her at a distance; obviously reluctant to approach her, knowing she had not wanted him to tag along.

Chances are he had witnessed Marinella’s encounter with D’Onofrio, the escaped convict, and had likely observed their lovemaking. Archetti might have been terribly confused and hurt by what he had seen. It was probably the first time. Marinella had always been exceptionally discreet in her work.

Obviously, when Archetti afterwards approached her, Marinella would not have been happy to see him there. She might have spoken harshly. Something in him might have snapped, his normally withdrawn nature compulsively yielding to something darker. He might have become violent, unable to control himself.

Of course, Marinella would have tried to defend herself. She might have ripped off his jacket button in her desperate attempt to stop herself from falling over the fortified seawall to the rocks below. Archetti had been too strong for her, his fury and madness readily amplifying his strength. It was a plausible scenario, surely the most likely one.

---------∞∞∞---------

The following morning Donanto had woken later than usual. It had been a short night. Michelina, however, had been up for quite some time. Already, Cesare was out to pasture. Joko, and Florina who was now pregnant, were roaming about in their outdoor enclosure.

From the kitchen window, Donanto followed Michelina’s movements as she worked the soil of her vegetable patch. At my age, I’m more than blessed to have such a good woman by my side, he thought. At the same moment, Michelina instinctively turned around, and seeing him at the window, waved. She then stopped her work and joined him inside.

‘Ah, you’re up. Shall I make some coffee?’

‘If you wish, yes. Meantime, I’m going to freshen up a bit. Have you had your breakfast?’

‘Not yet. I’ll prepare a little something for us.’

‘Good. I won’t be long.’

They finished their breakfast without mention of Archetti or Marinella. Between the two, the subject had been exhausted. There was little else to say. Donanto would pursue that conversation later with Severino and Giuseppe.

‘I’m going to town, Michelina. I want to see Severino. I may also stop at Giuseppe’s. I should be back by the end of the afternoon.’

‘Very well. I’ll be here when you get back. I still have a bit of work to do in the vegetable patch.’

Donanto then left the cabin and went over to the exterior pen to greet Joko and Florina, and then sauntered towards the front gate, where he picked up his walking stick and began his trek to town.

He had started his journey to town at a brisk pace, feeling comfortably energetic that morning. But after a little while he slowed down, rather inadvertently, as though his legs had willed it freely. It was not as if he had not traveled on this well-worn path many times before, he knew the road and its surroundings intimately. But today it felt strange to him. The familiar shrubs and vegetation did not elicit their usual comfort and reassurance. There was an element of alienation somehow. It was more like walking in a foreign place. The ruts, potholes, and littered stones, once benign and friendly, now felt menacing, treacherous. Something had been lost, something had changed.

Donanto knew of course that it was the same old path, still in need of repair, the authorities forever delaying the work. He knew they were the same shrubs, the same vegetation, and the same ruts, potholes, and stones. These were the things which normally would bring him comfort, reassurance, and a known joy; the same things which had made him feel at home, as though he belonged here, in this place, on this road. Today, however, he did not feel at one with his surroundings. His serenity had been breached.

How could it have happened? Why? Two innocent lives extinguished fortuitously. But for coincidental events, it could have been so different. It’s frightening to realize how one’s destiny can be changed so abruptly, so dramatically, in so short a time, simply by the sinister conjunction of a few normally ordinary actions or events.

Had Gennaro been tasked with the purchase of material for the fieldworkers’ camp on another day, the sequence of events on that fatal day would certainly have been different. Had the charitable organization run by nuns been located elsewhere, the sequence of events that particular day would certainly have been different. Had Giorgio properly secured his wife’s letter…

These grim, despondent thoughts had accompanied Donanto the rest of his walk to town. He entered the tavern with a forlorn look about him. It readily attracted the attention of Giuseppe.

Why the gloomy face?’

‘Well, I can’t deny I feel somewhat miserable at the moment.’

‘What’s saddened you so? You left in such great humor last night; a little drunk perhaps, but happily so. What could have happened between last night and this morning?’

‘Well, I’ll tell you…’

‘Archetti? Really? But how can that be? I’ve never seen Archetti violent. Agitated, yes! Excited, yes! But violent? Never!’ said Giuseppe, once Donanto had finished relating Gennaro’s account of Archetti’s movements on that ominous day.

‘I’ve also never known him to be aggressive in that way, but I can’t imagine a different scenario for what occurred that day,’ responds Donanto.

They had then gone on to review the numerous viable alternatives which might justify Archetti’s presence in Termoli on that fatal day, just as Michelina and Donanto had done the night before. But ultimately, Giuseppe had come to the same conclusion. The coincidences were too flagrant. Archetti could not be easily vindicated. In fact, they had both agreed that Archetti’s involvement was highly probable, singularly so.

‘I would never have thought it possible of Archetti,’ said Giuseppe, as Donanto was readying to leave.

‘I’ll go see Severino now. He must be told as well.’

---------∞∞∞---------

Donanto left the tavern and made his way towards the cobbler’s shop. As he was approaching the corner at the intersection of via Roma and via dei Mille, the image of Archetti standing on that same corner came to mind - Archetti, riveted to the spot and with a miserable look about him, wilting flower in extended hand and crumpled hat held close to chest. It had seemed so long ago, another lifetime, another epoch. The sensation had been odd, bizarre. Donanto realized that his connection to Archetti had been irreparably altered. The moment had felt strange, but mostly it had felt sad. Pondering the thought a moment longer, he then shook his head and continued his movement towards the cobbler’s shop.

The familiar jangle of the doorbell sounded above him. At the peal of the bell, Donanto instinctively scratched the fluff laden depths of his pant pocket, anxious to retrieve the buried treat he always carried for Svengallino, the cobbler’s capricious, svelte black cat.

‘Ciao Donanto! How are you feeling this morning?’ said Severino, not looking up but keeping his eyes focused on the leather piece he was in the process of shaping. But at the sound of Donanto’s first words, Severino glanced up quickly. He knew something was not quite right. Donanto’s tone had sounded funereal.

‘Donan’… What is it?’

Again, for the second time that morning, Donanto related the events which he had learned from Gennaro while riding home seated on a horse-driven cart after an evening of wine guzzling with Severino at Giuseppe’s tavern.

‘I would never have imagined it,’ said Severino. ‘What a terribly sad story.’

Indeed, the story was a sad one. Had the escaped convict, Bartolomeo D’Onofrio, who had been hiding in the vicinity of the site where the tragedy occurred, been found guilty of Marinella’s death, that eventuality would have been comprehensible, logical in a sense. But that Archetti, who had worshipped Marinella, could be the culprit, that was another matter altogether. It simply jolted one’s sense of equilibrium. The idea of such a violent action on the part of Archetti was simply cryptic, difficult to understand. In fact, no one had ever voiced the idea of such a possibility.

In time, Gennaro’s story had spread throughout the region. The prevailing sentiment was one of sadness. Archetti had been a special part of the town. Most had felt protective towards him and had seen to it that his basic needs were secured. Shelter had been provided for him in the basement of the local church. Sister Betti had always made sure he was properly fed, and that his clothing was properly mended.

But also, the townsfolk had felt somewhat disappointed, as though he had let them down. Most had not expressed this disobliging sentiment, almost ashamed to do so considering Archetti’s unfortunate mental disability. But nevertheless, it was there. Of course, there are always those few who have no qualms or aversion to expressing sentiments of the kind, garnishing their words where needed to suit their taste for pernicious talk. Luigi Lavoratore was among them.

Luigi had always been rather indifferent towards Archetti, but his resentment and bitterness towards Donanto, and his frustration and disappointment with Michelina, was more than enough motivation for him to disseminate toxic rumors about the poor fellow. He knew they would both be vexed once they were informed of the fact that he was the one responsible for the spread of such insidious chatter.

Also, Michelina’s former husband Lucio, who had renewed his old friendship with Luigi, had not said a word to refute the slanderous rumors. In Lucio’s case, the hush had more to do with a lifelong chronic apathy than with anything else. He simply couldn’t be bothered with such concerns. His chunky, slimy bit of cigar, and his daily quota of wine were obviously more worthy of his attention.

Back to the tavern

The fortuitous recollection of Archetti’s presence in Termoli on the day of Marinella’s death was the reason for the sadness which had overcome Donanto on his way to town this mid-winter’s day. It had cast a dark shadow over his previously cheerful mood. When first he had heard about it from Gennaro, he remembers walking into Giuseppe’s the following day with a sad, forlorn look on his face. But today, as he was about to enter the tavern, he made up his mind not to let the uninvited memory ruin his day. All was good of late. He would let the past lie. And so, in his eagerness to recover his prior exuberance, Donanto might have somewhat inflated his cheerful mood.

‘Well, it’s obvious that you’re in a jovial mood today. What’s the occasion? Has an estranged relative suddenly decided to leave you a fortune?’ asks Giuseppe.

‘Nothing so mundane, Giuseppe,’ responds Donanto with a chuckle. ‘Life has been good to me lately. I’ve been blessed with the company of a beautiful woman. Joko and Florina have a litter of seven spritely piglets to occupy them. Cesare is in fine form. My little cabin is surrounded with the delightful songs of birds. The harvest was abundant. I have a great friend here to pour my drink. What else could I ask for? Why not be happy and enjoy these treasured moments, Giuseppe? Who knows what tomorrow will bring?’

‘Well, my good friend, I certainly can’t argue with that. In fact, I’ll pour us both a drink of fine grappa, and we’ll have a toast to your continued good fortune,’ says Giuseppe.

‘And to your continued good fortune as well, Giuseppe. You too have much to be thankful for.’

And then, aware of Francesca’s climb-down from the second-floor apartment, Donanto carries on with his puffed accolades.

‘You are married to a lovely woman who also happens to be a great cook, and you have a choice establishment here to keep yourself busy. What else do you need? … Pour a glass for Francesca here, Giuseppe. Let’s toast together.’

‘My God! What’s come over you?’ says Francesca.

‘Come Francesca, join us in a toast. To our friendship and to our continued good fortune.’

‘To friendship!’

At that moment, Severino comes through the door of the tavern.

‘Ah! Sevi! Just in time. Giuseppe, pour us all another drink. We’ll have another toast. The four of us together,’ says Donanto.

‘Well, had I known you were celebrating, I would have come sooner. What’s the occasion?’

‘Life! Life, Sevi! Life has been good to us lately. We’re celebrating life! And in your case, you have Giovanna. And you’re both doing well with your shops. That’s something to be thankful for, no? And there’s Svengallino, of course. We cannot forget that little rascal.’ And then, having noticed Severino’s ruffled look, ‘I’m joking, Sevi. You know how fond I am of that cat. … And as for these two lovebirds here, signore Giuseppe and signora Francesca, let me assure you, Sevi, that they are still madly in love with each other,’ he says, provoking guffaws from the concerned pair.

‘And I have Michelina, Cesare, Joko, Florina, and the little ones. Life is good, Sevi! Here’s to life!’

‘To life!’

They all emptied their glass, and then laughed heartily.

‘While you three men continue with your fun, I have work to do. I’m going to Broca’s to pick up some veal cutlets, and then I’ll be in the kitchen preparing my vegetables for tonight’s soup,’ said Francesca.

‘Ah, Giuseppe, what would we do without our woman, eh? Look at Severino here, he’s put on a few extra kilos around the middle. The belly’s stretching. And lately he’s been walking around with this asinine smile on his face. … I’m kidding Sevi. Don’t get mad.

‘And me, I found myself skipping and weaving round potholes on the road earlier, and all the while twirling my walking stick as if it were a parade baton. Ah, Giuseppe. These women! They make us do some dopey stuff, eh?