The Marinella Affair

By D A Nicodemo

Marinella is liked by most of the townsfolk; notably by Archetti – “the village idiot”. She is a young woman with a kind heart – ready to help her friends and neighbors; but she is also a prostitute, even if discreet about her trade and respectful of others. One day, the carabinieri show up at the pensione (guest house) where Marinella rents a room. Severino, the local cobbler and a good friend of Marinella, learns of her death from Corporal Pellegrini. Apparently, Marinella fell to her death from the ancient, fortified walls of Borgo Vecchio in the old quarter of Termoli. The carabinieri consider it a suicide. Severino, shocked and unwilling to accept Marinella’s tragic death as a suicide, sets out with his close friend Donanto to investigate the matter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: May 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9781068846908

Book preview

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Front matter

Main characters

Supporting characters

Prologue

Montorio, February 1952

A question of dates and other dilemmas

Michelina

Luigi

Sala Consilina, August 1900

At the cobbler’s shop

Archetti

Marinella

Gennaro

Maria

Donanto’s fair offer

Corporal Pellegrini’s terrible news

Father Giacomo recalls Marinella’s past

Giorgio’s continuing absence

Severino decides to go to Termoli…

Montorio, March 1952

Termoli

Florina

The funeral

Frolicking pigs

Michelina at the market

Maresciallo Sforza

Severino and Donanto talk to Giorgio…

A new beginning

The following day

Sassano, August 1900

Baldini’s interrogation

Father Giacomo

The bishop’s dilemma

Archetti’s funeral

Spring, summer, fall 1952

Life carries on…

Harvest season

Gennaro’s story

The End

Epilogue

Prologue to A Village Tale Series Book 2

Prologue to A Village Tale Series Book 3

Endnotes

Front matter

Also_by

Title_page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Author_note

Main characters

Archetti – village ‘idiot’

Bartolomeo D’Onofrio – convict

Caporale Pellegrini – Carabiniere

Donanto – metalsmith

Father Giacomo – parish priest

Francesca – Giuseppe’s wife

Gennaro – local fieldworker

Giorgio – fish merchant

Giovanna – local seamstress

Giuseppe – local tavern owner

Luigi Lavoratore – neighbor (owner of piglet Florina)

Maresciallo Sforza – Inspector in the Carabinieri

Marinella Sansone – local prostitute

Michelina – Donanto’s neighbor

Regina – Caporale Pellegrini’s fiancée

Severino – local cobbler

Sister Betti – Father Giacomo’s aide

Tenente Gian Piero Baldini – D’Onofrio’s interrogator

Supporting characters

Broca – local butcher

Joko – Donanto’s pig

Lucia Di Bella – friend of Donanto’s mother

Maria – close friend of Michelina

Zio Peppino – Francesca’s father

Svengallino – Severino’s cat

Tonio – local baker

Prologue

Marinella is liked by most of the townsfolk; notably by Archetti – the village idiot. She is a young woman with a kind heart – ready to help her friends and neighbors; but she is also a prostitute, even if discreet about her trade and respectful of others. One day, the carabinieri show up at the pensione (guest house) where Marinella rents a room. Severino, the local cobbler and a good friend of Marinella, learns of her death from Corporal Pellegrini. Apparently, Marinella fell to her death from the ancient, fortified walls of Borgo Vecchio in the old quarter of Termoli. The carabinieri consider it a suicide. Severino, shocked and unwilling to accept Marinella’s tragic death as a suicide, sets out with his close friend Donanto to investigate the matter.

Montorio, February 1952

A question of dates and other dilemmas

The old man ambled heavily on the stone layered road, wetted from the early morning snowfall. The deep furrows above his thick eyebrows, a testament to his inner turmoil. The anxiety he felt of late had proven not to be without cause. He decided to stop by Giuseppe’s for an early restorative before returning to his cabin, where no doubt Michelina had left his meagre meal on the wooden bench beside the fire. She would come in the early morning to prepare his breakfast with whatever she could find in the sparse pantry and then go back home to continue her daily chores.

‘Donanto, why the frown?’ inquired Giuseppe. ‘Has Joko run off again?’

Joko was Donanto’s only pig and would often run off, usually to be found at a neighbor’s whose farm was twice removed from his own and who owned a sow that had given birth to nine healthy piglets the previous spring. One of the young gilts had caught Joko’s eye.

‘Well, if only he had run off again, it wouldn’t be so bad; but he’s been making trouble for some of the neighbors; actually, one in particular - and you know which one I mean. But I didn’t come here to talk about that. In fact, I came here to forget about that bit of bother. I came for some grappa.’

‘With that I can help, Donan’. Sit yourself down.’

Donanto moves towards his favorite table by the window, not far from the front door, where Giuseppe joins him with the bottle of grappa and two small glasses.

‘Ah, Giusep’, I must be getting old. I seem to have a harder time keeping track of things.’

‘What do you mean? We’re all getting older, but as far as I know, you’re still quite right - up there I mean, no?’

‘Ah my friend, you’re too kind.’

‘You’re fine, Donanto. Don’t worry. But if you wish to tell me something, anything, well, we’ve been friends for ages, you can tell me.’

‘Well, Giusep’, it’s a question of dates.’

‘Dates?’ asks Giuseppe.

‘Yes, dates. Is it this one? Or is it that one? Yes, the years pass, we all get older. But as you say, I still have my wits about me; and yet, that date. I keep forgetting that date. Which one is it? The earlier or the later?’

‘But what could be so important about a date that you should be so afflicted?’ asks Giuseppe.

‘Well,’ replies Donanto, ‘you see Giuseppe, it’s about my dear friend Derico and his date of birth. I couldn’t remember which date it was, and so I decided to send him a bit of sausage and some wine I had been keeping for some years now, and I chose to send it on the earlier date - just to be safe, you know.’

‘And well you did, Donanto. Better early than late. And did he enjoy your sausage and wine?’

‘Yes, yes he did. Derico and his wife Marissa are city folk and don’t often get to taste fine country food. They’re old as well, and wholesome food is one of the few pleasures left to them.’

‘Ah, yes. You’re right, Donanto,’ says Giuseppe. ‘The years, they do take their toll. Aah! What I would give to be nineteen again and walk with Francesca by the olive groves. But Donan’, to get back to your situation. What’s the problem exactly? Your friend savored your sausage, and he drank your wine. And who knows, maybe Derico and Marissa had a few tender moments afterwards, not only sating themselves with your wine and sausage, but otherwise indulging as well. And so, what’s the problem?’

‘Well Giuseppe, you see, Derico sent me a message which was delivered to me last night by his nephew Angelino, and in poetic, but nonetheless clear language, he informed me as to his correct date of birth and let it be known that he’s anxiously awaiting a similar offering on his factual natal day.’

‘And so?’ asks Giuseppe.

‘Well, Giusep’, possibly he’s only jesting; but still, I feel I should have done better with the date of his birthday. I should have remembered. I’d like to make it up to him. Jesting or not, I should send him something that he’ll receive on his correct day of birth.

‘But as you know, last autumn’s harvest was poor, and the winter has been harsh, and my pantry is somewhat wanting. And the only wine I have left is frankly not that good.’

‘Ah Donanto! I see your predicament, and I understand your frustration. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll provide you with a piece of my best prosciutto and a bottle of my best vintage, and you can send it so that it arrives on the precise day of Derico’s birth. How’s that?’

‘Giusep’, you’d do that for me?’

‘Donanto, after what you did with Giselda, my sister Gabriella’s daughter, how could I not? My sister tells me that Giselda is a new woman. No more pouting. She walks about with a smile on her face, hips swaying, and no longer complains when it’s time to milk the cow. Gabriella couldn’t be happier. What did you do to that girl, huh? It’s a miracle!’

‘Mm… it was nothing really, Giusep’. The girl just needed a bit of encouragement. Nothing really.’

‘Well, I’m glad to be of service to you now, Donanto. It will be my pleasure to help you with your friend.’

‘Ah Giusep’, you’re indeed a true friend. I feel ten years younger with that heaviness gone. Thank you! Now I can have peace of mind knowing that my dear friend Derico will have good nutritious food on his table for his birthday - his factual birthday.

‘Well, I best be going now, Giusep’, no doubt Michelina has left me some hot gruel by the fire. Good day to you, Giuseppe.’

‘And to you, Donanto.’

Michelina

‘Thank you, Michelina. That will be all. You can go back to your Lucio now,’ says Donanto.

‘Humph! That lazy, good-for-nothing semblance of a man! He just sits there all day; that shriveled, disgusting bit of cigar at the corner of his mouth barely hanging on. I don’t know how he does it.

‘I’ve told him a thousand times to be careful with that filthy thing. Who knows when it might fall from his tobacco-stained lips and start a fire. And then where would we be, hey! I ask him in no uncertain terms.

‘I begged my mother Ermenegilda, God bless her soul. That man is no good, I told her. But she wouldn’t listen. Father Nuncio assured her of Lucio’s promise as a dependable provider. He told her that Lucio was a good farmer and that he had many fine qualities. He will be a good match for Michelina, he told my mother Poor woman, may she rest in peace.

‘And whatever Father Nuncio said, was Gospel to my poor mom. I should have put up more of a fight. What a waste my life has been because of that man. He can go without his supper for all I care.

‘And that devil of a priest… Do you know, Donanto, that Lucio’s father, Onorato, had one of his lambs brought to that accursed, wicked priest. He even offered to pay for the butchering at Broca’s. What diabolical schemes!

‘And that villainous Father Nuncio accepted the bribe, with little regard for my own happiness and well-being. Can you imagine, Donanto?’

‘Aah Michelina, you won’t get an argument from me. I’m no friend of the Church. Or their emasculated, sycophantic representatives. They can all burn in their Hell for all I care, those pompous asses.’

Michelina, crossing herself, says:

‘Mm… yes, of course. Yes, Donanto. I agree, but it might be more prudent not to use such language.’

‘Well, you go on now, Michelina. And take care on the road, a huge branch fell across it. It was quite a storm last night. It must have been hit by lightning.’

‘Yes, Donanto. I had to take the narrow path to get here. I’ll be careful.’

Luigi

The old man had made up his mind to go into town; actually, more of a deserted village these days, what with all the young ones having left to seek employment in the larger centers, where not only did they stand a better chance of finding work, but equally, if not more importantly, get the chance to meet someone with whom to share their daily hardships and, if blessed, share what small joys might come their way.

Life has not been kind to those who have returned from the great war, especially for those who have left parts of their weary flesh on the bloodied battlefields. The early victory celebrations and short-lived infatuation with these poor souls have long-ago faded into the harsh realities of daily bread-winning toil.

All those years of horror. And for what? To what purpose? What waste! The madness of man!

As Donanto was thinking this, the familiar call of his treasured companion, earnestly grunting and snorting as he trotted restlessly about his enclosure, broke his thoughts.

‘No-no-no, Joko! You must stay here and keep watch. I’m going to town and it’s no place for you. Imagine what Giuseppe would say if I brought you into his tavern. No, you’ll stay here.’

Joko comes closer and nuzzles the old man’s thigh, oinking beseechingly.

‘I’m sorry Joko, but you must stay here. And don’t try to run off again. Leave that piglet alone!’

Joko oinks desperately, obviously eager to take to the path; not the path to town, but rather the path leading to his heartthrob, Florina - the name he chose for his sweetheart.

But the old man, blind to the perky glint in Joko’s dark little eye, is unmoved, and strolls away. At the gate, he grabs his walking stick, closes the gate behind him, and then takes the dirt road to town. The stick will steady