The House by the River

by Lena Manta

  Franco was utterly happy but he made it clear to Magdalini that there wouldn’t be any more children. However much she complained, however she pleaded, her husband was adamant. He had nearly lost her once; he wasn’t going to risk a second time. He listened to none of his wife’s logical arguments. But he hadn’t reckoned on the determination of the Greek woman he had married, or her womanly cunning.

  Magdalini carefully calculated her fertile days with the help of her doctor. She booked herself and her husband a room at a hotel, where she welcomed him nearly naked with a glass of champagne in her hand. She explored his whole body slowly, pleasurably, almost painfully, to a point where for the first time for a long while she was overwhelmed herself by the force of his lovemaking. Franco, who was always careful after the birth of his son, forgot all precautions and tasted her body again and again as he had never done before. He stopped only when he felt his legs trembling from sated desire.

  She knew she was pregnant before the doctor confirmed it, but now that her plan had succeeded, she was afraid to tell Franco—she feared his objections and she wasn’t wrong. As soon as he heard the news, his face darkened, and Magdalini suddenly remembered how threatening clouds used to gather over Mount Olympus, when Zeus would hide in its peaks ready to hurl his thunderbolts. The room was filled with the same unearthly silence that fell before the storm broke. But just as she had learned to cope with the anger of nature, she kept calm in the face of Franco’s outburst. However much he yelled and howled that she had tricked him, however many times he kicked the furniture and threatened gods and demons, she sat calmly watching his reactions. She knew that they were provoked by his fears for her, by the absolute devotion that had always fortified her. Besides, a storm of such intensity would die down quickly.

  When Franco collapsed on the bed, sweating and out of breath, she knelt in front of him.

  “I know you love me,” she said. “I know you’re afraid for me, but the doctor assures me that I’m fine and quite capable of getting through another pregnancy without any problems. This time I won’t go through any pain. I’ll make an appointment and have another Cesarean section. And what’s more”—and this time her voice was severe—“children are a joy and a blessing. We won’t go without them because you’re a coward.”

  Her last words shot him out of his chair, almost dragging her with him. “Me, a coward? How dare you say that to me!”

  “How else can I describe you when you’ve been behaving like a badly brought-up child? The whole household heard you, as if I’d brought you some bad news! We’re having a child, Franco. I didn’t tell you some disaster had happened.”

  “But don’t you understand that I’m afraid for you! After all you went through, why should we have another child?”

  “Because our son should have a little brother. We’re young and healthy and why not? And anyway I’m pregnant already and you can’t change that. So, my dear loudmouth, you must accept it!”

  She had won and he knew it. When Franco left the room and saw his father in the hall, he met his look with a scowl. Charley must have heard everything, the way Franco had been shouting.

  With every day that passed Franco felt his soul contracting with fear. As his wife’s due date grew closer, every minor change in Magdalini made him lose his color. On the day they went to the maternity ward, he was so pale that Magdalini pitied him. Her aunt tried everything to calm him down but this time she didn’t have to try for long. By the time they’d realized that Magdalini had gone into the surgery, the nurse had come out announcing the birth of a daughter.

  A new sun was added to their galaxy. The little one was just like her mother, to the point where everyone teased Franco that Magdalini had managed it by herself without his participation. They gave her the name of her grandmother in Greece, but since Theodora was difficult for Americans to pronounce, they turned it into Doris. Magdalini, however, always called her Theodora.

  New photographs were added to the elder Theodora’s box of icons, and both she and Great-Grandmother Julia prayed for the happiness of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren they would probably never see.

  Five more years disappeared before they were really aware of it. Charles and Doris—both exact replicas of their parents—turned seven and five respectively. Charley had been transformed into a grandfather whom all the grandchildren in the world would envy. He hardly bothered with his work anymore. Anyone who saw him now would have trouble believing he was once the famous Giotto, the terror of Chicago. The sharp and wounding look in his eyes was a thing of the past, especially when they rested on his grandchildren. Both Charles and Doris adored him and he played with them for hours. Magdalini laughed till she cried when she saw him trying to drink coffee from one of his granddaughter’s microscopic porcelain cups. She still had no idea—nor could she ever have imagined—that his hands, which had trouble holding the tiny toys steady, were the same hands that handled a gun with ease and mercilessly planted bullets in his enemies’ heads. Nor did she have any idea that the dear old man who allowed his grandchildren to disturb him mercilessly had once tortured terrified women to satisfy his unhealthy desires. Two small typhoons had swept the past away; they had made one of the most dangerous criminals disappear, and left in his place a precious grandfather.

  “Where was all this tenderness hiding for so long?” his son asked his wife.

  But Magdalini just laughed.

  Bad things always happen unexpectedly. They find their victims unprepared and so unable to oppose them. Nobody expected what happened; no sign had appeared to put Franco on his guard. Everything was calm, so calm that it should have made him anxious, he thought later, but there was no way to turn back time.

  Franco’s domination and supremacy were now undisputed. Peter had stood by him, he had to respectfully admit that. Even Bowden hadn’t created any problems. The endless provocations from the west had stopped. It appeared that the new leader there, someone called Mike, had decided to look after his own territory and leave him in peace. Naturally he couldn’t know that this Mike was just like his father had once been in his glory days. He couldn’t know that Mike had made up his mind to put an end to the Giottos’ control and that the methods he would use to get rid of his enemies were like those of a madman. The competitor ignored the fact that after so many decades, every attempt to overthrow the Giottos had failed. Three attempts had been made at murdering them, and each time the culprits ended up at the bottom of the lake. Mike had seen the Giottos take over the east; he knew it was a matter of time before they would develop an appetite for his own territory. He decided that the blow must be impressive and exemplary.

  That afternoon, Magdalini took the children and went out. Her aunt and Peter were celebrating their wedding anniversary and they had invited a lot of friends to join them, among them, naturally, herself and Franco, but since he had work to do, he would join them later. However much she begged Charley to join them, he refused. He had a slight cold, so he would go to bed early.

  Sitting in his car, Franco whistled, and Jack smiled, watching him in the rearview mirror. Many things had changed since Franco had gotten married. The very fact that Charley had calmed down seemed a miracle. The big boss had pulled back, but Franco didn’t let that information travel too far. Everyone on the outside thought Charley was still in charge. Jack turned the wheel. They’d be home soon. Franco would collect some papers and then go to meet his wife at Peter’s house. Then Jack would be free for the night. That’s what his boss had told him.

  Something that felt like an earthquake made Jack lose control of the car, and it took all his strength to right it before they hit some tree. But the deafening noise that accompanied the tremor couldn’t have come from an earthquake.

  Jack turned toward Franco. “Are you OK?” he asked anxiously.

  He saw Franco sitting perfectly still, his eyes fixed straight ahead, looking at something in horror. Jack turned to see what it was and froze like a statue himself. From the direction
where the house had to be, flames were shooting up and other small explosions could be heard. Without waiting for an order, Jack drove fast toward the house.

  In the place where the beautiful house had once stood, giant tongues of flame shot up, while windows shattered noisily. The road had already filled with people who had fled the surrounding houses in fear and were staring with awe at the terrible sight. Franco jumped out of the car and began running toward the house, but Jack, who had moved more quickly, grabbed him hard and threw him on the grass.

  “Don’t, boss! There’s nothing left! You’ll be in danger if you go in.”

  “My father’s inside, idiot!” Franco yelled, and tried to free himself.

  But the faithful man squeezed him tighter. “He’s finished, boss . . . don’t you understand? If you go in you’ll risk your own life. Think of your wife, your kids!”

  At the thought of his loved ones Franco stayed still, lowering his head in defeat. Sirens could be heard coming from all directions. Police and fire engines arrived together. Jack finally let out his breath. With the police beside them, he didn’t need to worry about Franco’s life anymore. He had no doubt that the house didn’t blow itself up. Somebody had his eye on the Giottos and wanted them out of the way. It seemed as if their information was incomplete and whoever dared to mess with his boss didn’t know that Charley was the only one at home.

  Magdalini looked at her watch uneasily for the tenth time. Franco was really late and he hadn’t called, something she wasn’t used to. They had finished their dinner, the coffee and dessert had been served, and people had begun to leave. Still, they hadn’t heard a word.

  Anna’s cook came out of the kitchen, looking very pale. She looked helplessly at Magdalini and then turned to Anna. “Madam . . .” she whispered, and Magdalini felt her breath stop.

  “What’s going on?” asked Anna unsuspectingly. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Madam . . . in the kitchen . . . on the television . . .”

  Like lightning, Magdalini ran past them into the kitchen, where there was a television set up so that Juanita wouldn’t miss her beloved soap operas. Her feet fixed to the floor, she saw a reporter on the screen talking about a bomb. Without a trace of color on her face she watched her house burning and recognized among the crowd gathered nearby some of her neighbors. Anna had run in and the two women looked tensely at each other.

  “Oh, Franco!” whispered Magdalini. “He was going by the house to collect some papers for Peter.”

  Anna raised her hand to her mouth to smother the cry of fear that came from the depths of her being, but Magdalini had already left the room. She ran right into Peter, who had no idea what was happening.

  “What’s going on, Lyn?” he asked cheerfully. “Are you leaving already?”

  “They’ve bombed my house,” she answered calmly. “Franco was probably there. I’m going to see what’s happening. Keep an eye on the children!”

  “Your aunt can look after the children. I’m going with you.”

  It took Peter a few seconds to get over his shock at his niece’s decisiveness. With steady hands he drove the car while Magdalini sat quietly beside him. Her features were drawn, but she maintained her composure. Shortly before they reached the house the police stopped them. Nobody could pass, they told them. A bomb had gone off in some house.

  “I’m Lyn Giotto,” said Magdalini abruptly. “It’s my house, and my husband may be inside. The only way you can stop me getting through is if you arrest me.”

  The policeman stood aside in awe and Peter drove ahead. When they got there, the fire had gone out. The house was just a smoking ruin while the spotlights on the patrol cars spun around silently, lighting up the faces in the crowd and lending them a diabolical look that matched the hellish spectacle.

  With a steady walk, Magdalini approached a policeman. “I’m Lyn Giotto,” she said again. “Where is the officer in charge so that I can find some information?”

  The policeman led her to a very tall man in civilian clothes who turned to face her.

  “Mrs. Giotto, I’m Jim McLeod. I’m really sorry for what’s happened,” he said.

  “First, I need to know exactly what happened, officer. I was out, at my relatives’ house, and I found out from the television.”

  “It looks like a bomb was planted in your house. Based on the information I have, there were probably no survivors. I’m sorry.”

  Magdalini fixed her eyes on his face, which was full of embarrassment. Behind her, Peter had put his arms around her shoulders. He squeezed them to remind her that she was not alone.

  “Who did it?” she asked in an expressionless voice.

  “It’s too early for us to know. Mrs. Giotto, do you know who was inside? It would help us to know how many . . . we were looking for, at least.”

  “There were a total of sixteen staff . . .” Her voice broke as the faces she’d lived with for so long passed in front of her eyes. But she took a deep breath and continued. “There was also my father-in-law, Charley Giotto, and perhaps my husband.”

  “Your husband? No, he wasn’t!” the office exclaimed. “I only just spoke to him.”

  “Where is he?” Magdalini’s voice was distorted by tension.

  “They’re taking his statement. Look! There he is.”

  Slowly, like someone for whom time has stopped, Magdalini turned and saw her husband talking to a policeman who was taking notes. As if her eyes had magnets, they attracted Franco’s gaze and it met hers. For a moment she seemed not to believe what she saw and then they both started running. They clutched each other. Magdalini was crying loudly like a madwoman. She kissed her husband’s face. He pulled back and stroked her hair, then drew her close again.

  “I thought I’d lost you!” Magdalini stammered breathlessly. “I thought you were inside.”

  “I was on my way at that time. I saw the explosion, the fire . . . it was terrible, Lyn. Charley . . .”

  “Yes, I know.” Magdalini looked at her husband’s eyes. They were full of tears.

  “They’ll pay, whoever did it. Very dearly. My father’s death—like this, can’t not be avenged.”

  “That’s the police’s job, Franco.”

  Franco shook his head and turned to look again at what remained of the house where he’d spent all his life.

  “So many lives,” Magdalini said softly. “What did they do wrong? Who could have wanted to kill all of us?”

  Franco turned to look at her and his face brightened. “What did you say, Lyn?”

  “What did I say? That somebody wanted to get rid of the whole family. Whoever did it probably didn’t know that my aunt would be celebrating her anniversary today and imagined that they’d send us all to the next world. At the time it happened we’re usually all at home.”

  “You’re right!” He nodded as if he’d woken from some lethargy. “That way they’d have gotten rid of the Giotto family once and for all! Now I understand . . .”

  “What? Do you know who did this?”

  “No, but I know why they did it and it won’t take me long to find out the rest.”

  “You? You must speak to the police.”

  “I’ll do that. Don’t worry!”

  Slowly the crowd began to disperse. The first witnesses had been questioned, but they didn’t have anything important to say. Nothing suspicious had been seen in the neighborhood. Besides, everyone minded their own business. The houses were large and set well apart from each other so it would have been difficult to see anything. And if Charley had become aware of anything a second before the explosion, he had taken that information with him.

  The days that followed were full of tension, tiredness, and sadness. Franco identified all the bodies, first of all his father’s. He arranged all the funerals, and there were times when Magdalini wondered how he managed to stand up with so little sleep. For the time being they remained in the hospitable house of her aunt. She had taken over everything, including the children, who were at a
loss to understand how their lives had been turned upside down in a single day. They asked for their grandfather and both of them cried when they found out that he was now in heaven and wouldn’t be playing with them anymore.

  Charley’s funeral was like an awakening for Magdalini. Huge limousines arrived, and the guests who got out of them looked as if they had sprung from a gangster movie. In spite of her grief, Magdalini finally began to understand. Each arrival had three bodyguards, all of them armed, and yet everyone looked around them as if they were uneasy about something. Even Franco had a look about him that she didn’t like. Something had changed in him. Instead of sadness in his eyes, she saw a slow-burning flame she had never seen before.

  When they got back to Anna’s house, Franco immediately closed himself in the study with Peter, Bowden, and several other men. For the first time in her life, Magdalini wanted to know what they were talking about, but she was surrounded by people and trapped in polite conversation and condolences.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Franco turned to the others. “So,” he said ironically. “I’m listening.” At that moment he looked exactly like Charley, with his eyes flashing lightning and his expression dark and full of death.

  Peter coughed nervously and took a step forward. The man standing opposite him was no longer his nephew, but the big boss, full of rage, and he knew it. “I think we have something,” he said decisively. “No one’s slept for three days now, and we’ve found out some things. The job was set up by Mike, from the west—that much is confirmed. From what our people learned, he wanted to get rid of you all and spread out in this direction. After the way he’d taken care of the Giotto family, who would dare to challenge him?”