A House in Naples

by Peter Rabe

  Charley sat back and laughed loud and long.

  “How did I pronounce it, Signor Palooka?”

  “Fine, just fine.” Charley got out a pill and put it under his tongue. “Only one thing. That’s not my name.”

  Capurello walked behind the desk, found the folder. He read, “… mostly known by the name of Charley. Two witnesses suggest the last name Palooka, though the suspect is not locally known to have used it….” Capurello put down the folder and looked up. “Tell me, Signor Palooka, do you own the osteria near the square where you live? What name are you using on the ownership papers?”

  “You know Vittore?”

  “The one who drove the truck with the contraband.”

  “He’s the owner.”

  “Ah! But he is just your front!”

  “He owns it. We run it for him. He owes us some money, other obligations, but he owns it. It says so in the files of the magistrate.”

  “Indeed. Under what name do you own your house?”

  “My buddy owns it. Joe Lenken.”

  “Ah. Well, back to Palooka. We have discovered that you are the Charley Palooka who spent one month in the jail of Torino. For possession of black-market merchandise. Date, December, Nineteen Forty-four. Am I right?”

  Charley shrugged and kept sucking on his pill. He said, “That was just a joke. You know, a funny name.”

  “I don’t know, Signor Palooka.”

  “A comic-strip name. I just picked it because it was a joke. You ever see American comics?”

  “I have heard of them, thank you.”

  “That’s why, comandante. Just a joke.”

  “It is not your own?”

  “Do I look like a palooka?”

  “I do not know what most Palookas — ”

  “Well, I don’t. Anyway, that’s all over and done with. Years ago. I took my rap and it’s over and done with.”

  “However, since you admit having used a false name, there is that charge to be added!”

  Charley smiled. “There was a different government then, comandante. I remember. They come and go.”

  Capurello got up and took a few steps back and forth. He was beginning to get the feeling that he was playing a parlor game.

  “Let us be concrete,” he said. “What is your real name, uh, Charley?”

  “Oh well — ”

  “I know. Let us say this. You drive a car, Charley?”

  “A beauty.”

  “Let me see your registration.”

  Charley pulled it out, showed it.

  “Delmonte?”

  “I told you,” said Charley. “I told you about that trouble with pronouncing it. The name’s Delmont.”

  “Very well. Delmonte, then.”

  “No. It’s Delmont.”

  “Very well!”

  Capurello drew himself up, picked at the folder on his desk.

  “I would now like to see the rest of your credentials, Signor — Signor Charley. All you have.” Charley showed him all he had, answered all the questions, until Capurello was all through. Capurello made his changes in the folder, shook Charley’s hand, and carefully closed the door after him. It was 3:15, still the inviolate hour. He went back to the corner of the room where the couch was.

  Chapter 12

  Giancarlo had shifted in the meantime and — like his comandante — had the red welt on his cheek now. Charley walked by and waved at him to go back to sleep.

  Charley Delmont. It was official now, hook, line and sinker. A tourist bus drove by when he got into the Bugatti and Charley waved at the faces behind the glass. Some of them waved back. He got his little box out, took out two pills, put the box in his pocket again. Then he started to toss the two aspirin like a juggler. He wasn’t very good at it and when one of the pills fell into the street he threw the other one after it. Then he drove home. At the top of the stairs he cut across the garden because he wanted to see Martha.

  She had fixed up the inside of the house. The place was swept; the three rooms were straightened, and she had made a fresh bed. He found her new clothes hanging in the big closet and Charley felt that she meant to stay. But the house was empty.

  Charley went to the pump in the kitchen and sloshed water over his face. Then he sat on the veranda where the big Judas tree cut off the view to the bay. She’d gone shopping, most likely. There wasn’t a scrap of food in the house. Charley took out an aspirin and sucked slowly. Perhaps he’d trim down the Judas tree so the bay would show — he got up, put his hands behind his back. His fingers made little snaps. Maybe he’d plant a vegetable garden; maybe next he’d forget who Martha was, the girl that had looked down from the top of the bridge and never gave him a straight answer when he asked her what she had seen. And she wasn’t shopping, that was a cinch. What was she going to use for money?

  Charley turned and went across the garden, and the weeds tore at his pants with little rasping thorns. He slowed down when he saw Joe’s open kitchen door. Then he heard Joe. Joe was laughing out loud, with that bouncing-stone effect, and that bastard hardly ever laughed out loud. Before Charley got to the door he heard Martha, and her voice had never sounded that harsh and that fast. It was a long sentence, a strong one, and what it boiled down to was “no.”

  Then Charley stood in the door. He leaned against the frame and rattled his box in one hand.

  Francesca stood by the stove, the other girl was combing her hair where the mirror hung on the door, Martha was at the sink holding a broom, and Joe leaned on the table. He half sat on it, arms folded.

  He turned his head to the door and looked. Then he said, “To, Chuck.”

  Then Martha moved. “Charley,” she said and came over. “You’re back. I just returned the broom and the bucket. Have you seen the house, Charley? Let’s go and — “

  “I’ve seen it, Martha. Nice.”

  Then he looked back at Joe again. He walked into the kitchen making a slow sound on the stone floor. He stopped, kept smiling.

  “You’ve got two, Joey. Why three? What can you do with three all at the same time?”

  They looked at each other, and two guys standing at a bus stop couldn’t have looked more casual. Joe held it for a while. He ran his tongue around his teeth.

  “Nothing to it,” he said.

  Charley kept smiling, the way he’d done up in Delmont’s room. He put the little box in his pocket and when next he moved there was a bony sound where his fist connected under Joe’s chin. Joe’s head snapped up and he clattered back across the table.

  The damage wasn’t much, not the way Joe figured it He shook his head and scrambled up. Charley hadn’t moved.

  “Just to make you mad, Joe, else you don’t fight good.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Joe and pushed his hand up against Charley’s chest because he stood that close.

  Charley ignored the push and stepped back. He looked at Martha and jerked his head for her to leave.

  “Send out your brood mares, Joe.”

  “No need. This won’t take long.” Then his hand swung out, held fast to Charley’s shirt front.

  When Charley had been pulled close enough he gave Joe the knee, just lightly.

  “Bastard — ” Joe said, and let go.

  “Send them out, Joe.”

  Joe wasn’t listening. His loose mouth wasn’t loose any more and he started to crouch.

  “Bastard,” he said again.

  “I know,” said Charley. “You don’t like it when I don’t call my shots. I fight to win, not to make an impression.”

  “Bastard. Yellow, no good — “

  Charley’s fist made a blur, and Joe pulled back. The fist caught air, but Joe was a stupid fighter. He thought there was nothing but fists, a fight was not a fight unless the fists did it and maybe a bear hug in the end to crack something. That’s how he caught the foot in the chest, and being on the move back already he flew hard across the table. He came up on the other side, gasping for breath, but roaring. He meant to rush, sa
w Charley waiting for him, and changed his mind. He threw a chair, but that was nothing. Tossing Francesca out of the way he made a grab across the hearth, came up with a knife.

  Charley waited for him.

  Joe handled a knife the way a boxer handles his fists, so Charley waited. He dropped his jacket off and when the roundhouse came he caught the knife in the cloth, spun hard, and Joe’s right hand was padded.

  It took another three or four minutes. Joe got in a punch once, close to the heart but not quite close enough, and once his fingers jabbed up near Charley’s eyes. But then his leg gimped out on him, his neck felt like it had been snapped, and when his stomach caved he rolled down to the floor and thought he’d choke on it.

  The water helped. Francesca poured it from a bucket and the other one kept running back and forth between Joe and the sink carrying a glass. Then they stopped, because Charley told them to. He told them to heat water and get some towels ready.

  Then Joe started to crawl.

  “The other way,” said Charley. “To the bedroom.”

  Joe turned around, crawled to the bedroom.

  “Climb in bed,” said Charley and Joe groaned hard trying to get up. Charley gave him a boost and watched Joe stretch himself as best he could. There wasn’t a mark on him. He lay still because he couldn’t move.

  “Call Fanny in here,” said Charley.

  Joe called and when the girl was there Charley told her to take off Joe’s clothes.

  She did and never blinked when Joe groaned or made a jerk.

  “Got the hot water?”

  Francesca nodded.

  “Bring it in. And the towels.”

  Martha stood in the door and watched the two girls prepare the compresses. They packed Joe where Charley told them and then they put a blanket over him.

  “I’ll call you when he’s ready to be changed,” said Charley. “And close the door, Martha.”

  He pulled up a chair and had an aspirin.

  “Joe baby. You listening?”

  Joe breathed hard but didn’t talk.

  “We don’t have to discuss Martha any more, do we, Joe?”

  Joe didn’t answer.

  “Do we, Joe?”

  “Okay, okay, now beat it.”

  Charley crossed his legs and dipped the chair back.

  “And so to business. Anything new since I crapped out on that gas deal?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Joey, I’m talking business. Who’s going to pay for the doctor bills while you lie there, and for the expense I had while I was away, not to mention the added burden of — “

  “Go to hell, Chuck. And hide someplace before I get up out of this bed. You got maybe a day, maybe half a day before — “

  “Joey, I don’t like you either.”

  “So you better — ”

  “But you and me, Joe buddy, we got to stick forever. Remember?”

  Joe lay without moving so it didn’t look as if he was thinking. For that matter it never looked as if he was thinking at any time, which was a mistake. Of late he had been thinking a lot about Charley. He was getting sick and tired thinking about it and pretty soon it would be time to move, to do something. He wanted Charley out. Next chance that came, Charley was out He thought of the knife in the kitchen, and that it had been a mistake. He was glad he’d lost the knife — better than losing his head. No, the way Charley was going might take a little time, would be more complicated, but that’s the way Joe thought of it. He was — and only he and Charley knew this — a very complicated thinker.

  “Nothing’s moved,” said Joe. “Since that gas deal nothing big’s been moving.”

  “That’s good,” said Charley. “Gives us more chance to operate when something big breaks.”

  “Ya,” said Joe. “While I lie here and you with that small-time hoor. That’s how something big’s going to break.”

  “Joe, she’s with me now, so don’t talk about her any more. Hear, Joe?”

  Joe thought he’d better answer. He nodded his head and said yes. The nodding made him wince.

  Charley got up and leaned on the end of the bed.

  “Ever hear of Bantam, Joe?”

  Joe looked down and crinked his neck again. He looked up at the ceiling and said, “Yes.”

  “You ever hear about Bantam dealing locally?”

  “Bantam is big stuff. He wouldn’t deal with us.”

  “Bantam is small, Joe. He’s on a salary from the States. The reason he wouldn’t deal with us is because that isn’t his job.”

  “That’s what I meant,” said Joe.

  “The reason he’s never dealt with anybody here is because nobody asked him.”

  “Why should he? He’s getting paid for something else.”

  “Joe,” said Charley, “you think he wouldn’t want to make an extra buck if I asked him?”

  Joe thought about it and saw what was coming. One of Charley’s deals.

  One of those simple, easy deals, except that nobody else had tried it. Bantam and his contacts could be worth a mint and Charley was going to set it up. Then Joe would do the details, because they always worked it that way.

  “He’s going to talk to you?” said Joe.

  “He will.”

  “I bet. He never even heard of us.”

  “Not you, but me. He’s heard of Delmont.”

  Joe wished he knew more about Charley’s new name. Bantam knew it? Joe lay still and let his mouth hang open.

  “Delmont must be hot stuff.”

  “Sure I am,” said Charley.

  “The other one, I mean.”

  “He wasn’t,” said Charley. “But it’s good enough for an in. Good enough to make Bantam feel a little safer. Total strangers rattle a guy like Bantam.”

  “Sure,” said Joe because he was hoping to hear more.

  “That’s it, Joe. All I got to do is find him.”

  “Ask around,” said Joe.

  “You ask around. I’m leaving for two days. You ask around and when I’m back you tell me.”

  “Sure,” said Joe and Charley left the room.

  As soon as he came out, Joe’s two women came rushing through the door. He let them pass and forgot all about telling them to change the compresses.

  Chapter 13

  Martha had changed to a blouse and skirt which looked more like the local clothes. It felt more familiar to her and she looked good. “Charley,” she said. “I almost didn’t wait any longer. What happened in the room?”

  “Just business.”

  “After you fought, in the kitchen?”

  “You got to understand Joe and me. We got our own ways.”

  “You aren’t friends.”

  “That’s all right. He’ll stay away from you.”

  Martha knew better, but she was hoping, like Charley did. He went to the bedroom and changed clothes. Martha sat on the bed to watch him.

  “You know the Judas tree by the veranda?” she said. “If you trim it a little — ”

  “I know. We can make a view.” He stuffed the shirt in his pants and picked a new seersucker jacket. The other one was torn from the knife. “When we come back,” he said. “First we’ll have a vacation.”

  “Again?” She smiled from the bed.

  “I hardly know you yet.” He had meant it just for a remark but it reminded him why she was here in the first place and that he still wasn’t sure.

  “I’m easy to know,” she said. “There’s nothing else,” but she looked down.

  He didn’t see it, and if he had, he would only have misunderstood. He might have thought she was hiding something which wasn’t true, but she felt that he didn’t know her only because he hadn’t yet tried. Perhaps he’ll make love to me now, she thought, and then when he leaves the bed he’ll not leave altogether, the way he did before. He leaves without wanting to know me, she thought. If Charley had known what she thought he would have understood, because it was true.

  He put stuff in his pockets.

/>   “Two days,” he said. “We’ll go to Castellamara di Stabia, at the other end of the bay.”

  “To take the baths?” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with my blood.” She laughed.

  “I know. We’ll just swim. And if you can’t swim we just lie in the sand. I know a cove there — ”

  “I can’t swim.”

  “Good,” he said and they packed a few things for the short drive to the other end of the Bay of Naples.

  They had a room with a small balcony whose ironwork bellied out like a bird cage, but they never sat on it or looked at it. They kept the jalousies closed so that the room was dim except for the sunlight laid out in strips on the carpet. It striped their bare legs when they got out of bed and if they stayed in the room long enough they could see it creep all over the bed and the flowered wall.

  They stayed four days instead of two, but except for the first morning they never were in the room long enough to see the light move beyond the carpet. They had sweet coffee and rolls on their way through town, stopped to watch the dowagers on their way to the baths, and went to the beach. Mostly they stayed in the cove Charley had mentioned. It turned out that Martha really couldn’t swim nor was she interested. Most of the time she lay on the sand, half asleep. There, even her love-making was lazy. It fit the heat, the slow waves, the big, dull, always blue sky. During the noon heat they walked back along the beach to the restaurant with the long terrace built into the water.

  “Do Italians go here too?” asked Martha. She sipped her aranciata and looked at the other tables without raising her head.

  “Go ahead, stare at them,” said Charley. “It makes them feel different.”

  “Are they all from America?”

  “The ones with Hawaiian skirts are.”

  “That group over there, they must be English,” she said. “The way they wear tweeds in this weather.”

  “No. The English wear ducks. As soon as they get off their island and there’s sunshine they wear ducks. The ones with the tweeds are German.”

  “I thought tweed comes from England,” she said.

  “Maybe. But the English don’t cut it that way, with a belt around the middle.”

  Martha shook her head and kept worrying about the tweed in all that heat.