From My Latest Book, BEFORE PARADISE
a small sample...
BEFORE
PARADISE
Tonino’s head was in the clouds when his older brother stopped him cold with a straight arm.
“Brother, what is it?” asked Tonino.
“I don’t want to go this way.” Replied Pasquale, looking at the roads diverging ahead of them. One went left, the other right. They came to the water’s edge using the path that was now on their right; they always used that path, taking them past Saint Nicola’s Basilica, and through the old town. The other way was busier, but perhaps a little quicker.
“What about your feet?” Asked Tonino. “You always said the other way hurt your feet.”
“It’s not my feet! I’m afraid of stepping on glass.” Pasquale said defensively.
“No, it’s your feet. Mama says you have flat feet.” Tonino kidded, pushing his older brother slightly.
“Enough! We’re going this way.” Pasquale ordered.
“Fine, fine.” Tonino followed. “But if your feet hurt, you should really wear your shoes.”
“They’re old. They’re falling apart. I need to save them.” Pasquale dismissed the idea.
“Wear my shoes, then. Yours are better than mine, but mine are not falling apart.” Tonino offered.
Pasquale looked down at Tonino’s feet as they walked. “My feet are bigger than yours.”
“Not that much!” Tonino argued. “Besides, they’re big on me. And I never wear them. I prefer being barefoot. So, stuff your flat feet in my shoes and wear them, or else you’re going to hurt your feet, and then how are you going to provide for anyone?”
Pasquale grit his teeth and clenched his fists. He wasn’t quite sure why he was so mad, suddenly, at his little brother. After all, he was right.
Tonino slapped his brother in the arm. “Oh, Pasquale, look at this!” Tonino pointed up the road.
For years, an old convent sat abandoned on the main road along the Adriatic. Kids were often caught going in the building to scavenge wood or anything else they could tear away from the building for their own use. Sometimes they went in there just to pee. But now, there were tons of men in and around the building.
“Let’s go see!” Tonino shouted as he darted off to get a closer look.
Pasquale called after his brother, but it was no use. He considered going straight home. After all, he would sometimes go days without hardly seeing his little brother, he didn’t need to walk him home like a baby. He had to admit, however, that he was curious, too.
Close up, it was clear to see it was mostly Americans working diligently on repairing the convent. Old windows were being torn out, and the floor was being swept. Further inside, you could hear several men hammering. The old building had two floors, running long and narrow facing the road, and just beyond that, the sea.
Pasquale noticed there were several men that looked very old, and clearly Italian. The Americans were hiring locals to help, but all of the younger men were either dead, or fighting in the war somewhere. This gave Pasquale an exciting idea. He approached one of the Italian men and politely asked him for a moment of his time.
The old man turned as if he expected to see another man standing there, and seemed mildly surprised when he had to look down at a small child. His face was dark and heavily wrinkled, his blue shirt, faded and worn. He had his sleeves rolled up, showing forearms that were once very large, now featuring loose skin and thick hair. His hands were massive, and twisted by age.
“Oh, guaglione. What do you want?”
“Excuse me, but my brother and I would like to help. Can you hire us?”
The old man coughed out a laugh, before he recovered and realized the boy was serious. “No, young man. I’m sorry. The Americans here are in charge.”
“Then how were you hired?” Pasquale challenged.
Tonino watched with a smile. His older brother was a shrewd negotiator, and his mind was as sharp as a knife. He loved to watch his older brother engage with others. One day, he wanted to be as good as his brother, engaging with others, having adult conversations.
“My friend told me about this place; said they were paying daily for work. Go on, now. This is no place for you!” The old man waved dismissingly at Pasquale and looked around nervously.
Pasquale saw fear in the old man’s eyes. He figured that if the old man was seen wasting time with local kids, he might be fired. He could use that. “Look, sir. If you don’t tell me who to talk to about getting hired here, I’ll just run around and ask for the boss until I find him. I think it would be better if you simply pointed me in the right direction, don’t you?”
The old man’s shoulders slumped, as he sighed. Reluctantly, he pointed with a crooked finger in the direction of another Italian man, speaking to three American officers. Pasquale knew they were officers because of the hats they wore. The Fascists and the Nazis were the same. The higher the rank, the more fancy the hat.
The old worker said nothing else, turning his back on the kids and refocusing on the construction.
“Come on!” Pasquale urged his little brother.
Carefully scrambling up a path littered with broken concrete; the brothers were stopped cold by a wild-eyed stare from the man talking to the American Officers. A not-so-subtle wave of the hand told the brothers to stay away.
Pasquale and Tonino stopped immediately. Standing there for several minutes, they waited patiently, staring at the Italian until their conversation was over. Once the American Officers walked away, the boys resumed their march towards the man.
Immediately, he started chastising the boys in a low, angry voice. “What’s the matter with you two?! Don’t you see this is a construction area? Go away now! Stay clear of here!”
“We want to work!” beamed Tonino.
“We’re very good workers, sir.” Added Pasquale.
“Work? Work?! Look at you! You look like two starving birds! And no shoes?! Oh, damn the misery, you two! You should not be here!”
“We want to work, sir.” Insisted Pasquale. “We’re young, but we’re stronger and smarter than the old men you have here. We’ll work harder, for less money!”
“You kids don’t understand. These Americans, they are calling all the shots. If they see kids working on this site, they might fire everybody. They’re bringing in more Soldiers, soon. If you kids ruin this for us, we’ll kick your skinny little asses!”
Tonino and Pasquale took turns on the man, not backing down an inch. This went on for several minutes, until the man appeared to be looking increasingly over his shoulder at the Americans. Finally, the man came up with a compromise.
“Look! You see that sidewalk over there? If you come here, and you stay on that sidewalk, you can sell food and drink to whoever you want. There were Americans asking me today for food, maybe you can sell them a sandwich or something. But if you come any closer to here than the sidewalk, I’ll throw your ass in to the sea! Understand me?”
“That’s fine! That’s fine!” chimed the brothers, calling the man, ‘the boss’. It wasn’t steady work, but it was better than nothing. “We’ll be here, first thing in the morning! You’ll see. When you get to know us, you’ll want us to work for you all the time!”
“Don’t call me boss! I’m only here because I speak a little English.”
Pasquale apologized. “What is your name, sir?”
“Rocco.” The man replied, suddenly regretting it. “But, don’t ask for me! Just stay on the sidewalk!”
“I’m Pasquale, and this is my brother Tonino!”
Rocco waved dismissingly at the kids. “I don’t care. Stay on the sidewalk!”
Pasquale and Tonino smiled at each other briefly before turning and running towards home. They had much to do. They had very little to offer the workers, but the thought of making some money had them excited! They chatted as they ran, trying to come up with ideas for food and other things they might be able to sell.
When they told their mother the news, she was furious. She told her sons to stay away from Americans, and here they were talking to people at an American construction site. Her face became red with anger, and she threatened to beat them both with her shoe.
When the boys told their mother there was a chance to sell food to the men at the construction site, her mood softened considerably. Soon, all three of them were discussing ways to make money from the construction workers. The problem was, everything was scarce. Flour was hard to come by, and strict laws dictated what you could use, and how much you could sell. Black bread – which was made with less desirable ingredients – was commonplace. In order to reserve flour for the war effort, it was required of every Italian to dilute their flour with other ingredients, often flour from nuts or less desirable content.
“Mama, could we make the white bread? The good bread? Even if only a little?” Tonino asked.
“Yes, my son, but the Italians working there may not buy it. They are afraid of the law. You know we’re not supposed to make white bread, and we certainly aren’t supposed to sell it.”
“What about the Americans?” Pasquale asked. “What if we make black bread for the Italians, and white bread for the Americans?”
Their mother shook her head. “I don’t have that much flour, my son!”
“Mrs. Francese has plenty!” Pasquale knew this from his time working for the old woman. She was more well-to-do than most, and was fond of Pasquale for all the work he had done around her house. “Let’s make what we can for tomorrow. If we make a little money, perhaps we can buy what we need from Mrs. Francese to make more the next day. Mama, you’re the best baker and the best cook. When the Americans taste what you make, they’ll hand over all their money. If they don’t, they’re crazy!”
Tonino nodded excitedly, eyes wide. “You make the food, Mama, and Pasquale and I will sell it. We’ll make a fortune!”