by G. R. Gemin
“The Italians were everywhere, Joe. All over South Wales,” said Nonno. “They came because South Wales had enough coal to supply the world – they just needed to get it out of the ground. Most of the Italians came from northern Italy, especially from the Bardi region. They came for the work, but where there’s work people need to eat. So they also came to feed people, and when they had enough money they opened cafes. That’s what Papà did before I was born.”
“What did he think of the Welsh?” Joe asked.
“Oh, he loved them – they’re people with song in their soul. That’s what makes Italians and Welsh fit together so well, I think. Papà always had music on in the cafe, a bit of Verdi or Puccini, or Neapolitan songs. He was always ready to help people too, whether they were Welsh or Italian recently arrived, or anyone for that matter. There were people from other parts of Europe back then, just like now.”
“What about the cafe?” Joe asked. “I mean, when it first opened.”
“Oh, the Italian cafes were popular – a place to gather, see, Joe. Somewhere to be. Cafe Merelli was always busy, right from the off. We sold tea, coffee, all sorts of provisions. Back then people didn’t know about Italian food – now you find it all over the world, of course. In the summertime we sold ice cream. Papà would stand in the doorway of the cafe in his white overcoat and straw hat, look up at the sky and say, ‘Beppe! Vai a vendere gelato.’ I was always a little bit nervous pushing the cart round the streets, but out I went. I was about your age, Joe. I’d ring a bell and call out ‘GELATO!’, which everyone got to know was Italian for ice cream. And it wasn’t long before I had a queue. I’d scoop out a ball and press it into a cone. Sometimes I’d give a bit more if it was a friend or a girl I’d taken a fancy to.”
“So why were you nervous?” Joe asked.
“Oh, there were a few boys who threw their weight around. I remember one day I was selling loads of ice cream as it was hot, then Johnny Corbett showed up with a couple of his mates. ‘Give us one then,’ he said. I scooped a ball of ice cream, put it in a cone and gave it to him. ‘Us too,’ the other boys said. So I made up two more. ‘Three pennies, please,’ I said, holding my hand out.
“‘Didn’t know we had to pay for them,’ says Johnny. ‘Should’ve said that before you give ’em!’”
“What an idiot,” said Joe.
“He wouldn’t have done it if people were around. He said to me, ‘I thought you Eyeties were giving ice cream free as we’ve given you work and a place to live.’ I was angry knowing how hard Papà and Mamma worked. ‘Pay me,’ I said, though I knew I was in trouble. ‘Gonna make me, are you?’ he said.”
“What happened?” asked Joe.
“They set about me. I gave as good as I got, mind, but they tipped the cart over and ran off. When I got back here I went in through the backyard, but Mamma could see something had happened, with the marks on my face and my jacket torn. They didn’t take the money though, and that’s all I really cared about.
“Mamma cleaned me up. ‘Please don’t tell Papà,’ I said. She kissed me on the forehead and held up a finger, like a warning. ‘For now I keep quiet … for now.’
“In the cafe I felt safe, see – it was my territory. My cafe.”
Nonno smiled and paused. “It’s good that you want to hear the story, Joe, but I’m tired. Little at a time, yeah?”
“OK. No problem.”
“Stay and listen to some opera with me, Joe.”
Nonno put on La Traviata by Verdi again.
“Lovely music,” said Joe, but for the first time he actually meant it.
The next day after school Nonno had a doctor’s appointment, and Joe said he’d go with him. The doctor’s waiting room was as full as a tin of tomatoes by the time they got there.
“Hello, Beppe,” said Lilly Matthews as they entered.
“Ciao, Lilly,” said Nonno. He took her hand and kissed it.
“Always the gentleman. How are you?”
“Fine. You been waiting long?” he asked her.
“Over half an hour, and there’s loads that were here before me.”
Nonno gazed around the waiting room and said, “You see the people here, Joe? This is how full the cafe used to be. Remember, Lilly?”
“I remember,” she said. “Hub of the town, Cafe Merelli was.”
Nonno smiled. “Never quiet in the cafe – there was always people. Always.”
An announcement came over the tannoy. “Lilly Matthews to Dr Dhital, room two.”
“About time,” said Lilly as she got up.
Nonno patted Joe’s hand. “It’s a pity that the cafe’s not as full as this waiting room any more.”
Joe felt sad for him, especially after the story he’d told on the tape.
Later, when they were called through, Nonno had to remove his shirt so that the doctor could listen to his chest. The sound of his long, heavy breaths filled the room. Nonno gave Joe a wink but he seemed older somehow, and more frail, and it made Joe feel uncomfortable – almost as if he was frightened of something.
Every morning Nonno opened the cafe to help cook the breakfasts. Joe helped out too, as it was the only time of day that business was brisk.
While Joe had his own breakfast in the cafe he watched Nonno serve – he was always smartly dressed in his white coat and hat. “Help yourselves to sauce, gentlemen,” he said as he put the plates down before the customers. “If you want more tea or coffee, just say. No extra.” Then he was back behind the counter watching over everyone or tidying things away. Joe had once heard someone describe Nonno as dignified, and he thought it was just the right word. The cafe doorbell rang and in walked Vaughan. “Morning, Mr Merelli – usual, please.”
Nonno gave him a nod. “Certainly. Straight away.”
Vaughan sat down opposite Joe. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.”
“What you eating?”
“Tea. Scrambled eggs on toast.”
“Lovely. Set you up good,” said Vaughan. “Funny, isn’t it? You’d never have those eggs, toast and tea all mashed together on a plate, would you? But once it’s in your stomach, where it’s all mixed up, it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Well, you don’t have taste buds in your stomach,” said Joe.
“That’s right,” said Vaughan. “Still weird though.”
“What’s on the agenda today then?” Joe asked him, thinking it was a good customer-relations question, which is something Nonno had always told him was important.
“I got an appointment at the Job Centre at eleven, but I want to get away sharp as I’ve loads to do on my allotment, and Jason and the Argonauts is on telly, half-two.”
“What’s that? Film?”
“Aye. Fantastic. Special effects by Ray Harryhausen – the statue of Talos coming to life is my favourite bit. I got the DVD but there’s something nice about watching a film when it’s on the telly – all cosy. Know what I mean?”
Combi came into the cafe, holding a half-eaten iced finger. “Joe! Coming to school?”
Joe got up reluctantly, as he wanted to stay in the cafe a little longer. Nonno brought Vaughan a cup of tea and placed a hand on Joe’s shoulder. When Joe glanced up into his eyes the uneasy feeling came to him again.
“Work hard,” Nonno said as he picked up the empty plate and mug.
Joe felt a shudder of fear as he watched Nonno walk back behind the counter.
Joe left school to have lunch at home, as usual, but today he was anxious, as if something was wrong. When he got to the cafe he saw Gwen in her usual place, and Mam was chatting to Combi’s mam, Natalie.
“Hello, love,” said Mam. “I did you egg salad.”
“I just want to see Nonno first,” said Joe. “Where is he?”
“In the back.”
Joe went through, but Nonno wasn’t in the kitchen. He went upstairs to the lounge. “Nonno!” he called out.
He made his way up to Nonno’s room at the top of the house. He knocked
on the door, but there was no answer. His heart started thumping as he entered.
Nonno was sitting in his armchair. His face was sort of twisted. He opened his mouth, but seemed to have difficulty speaking as he reached out to Joe.
“It’s OK, Nonno,” Joe said as he took his hand, even though he knew everything was far from good. He phoned for an ambulance. “It’s my Nonno, I mean my granddad… Something’s wrong. Come quickly, please!” He gave the address as he ran downstairs and into the cafe. “Mam! It’s Nonno!”
Joe told her the ambulance was on its way, and they went back upstairs. When Mam saw Nonno she started to cry.
Joe felt useless as they waited for the ambulance, and then he had an idea.
It was a strange thing to do, but he picked out La Traviata and put it in the CD player. “What are you doing, Joe?” asked Mam.
“It’s OK,” he said.
They sat with Nonno, holding his hand and listening to the beautiful music until the ambulance arrived.
The next day the cafe was closed.
Nonno had never been ill before, other than the odd cold. Fit as a fiddle, Mam used to say, but now he’d had a stroke. They all stood at the end of the hospital bed looking down at him. He was still confused. Joe held his breath in intervals to try and stop himself crying, but it didn’t help.
As soon as they got back to the cafe Joe went upstairs to write to Mimi on the laptop, as he thought she’d like to know what had happened. He explained that Nonno was unable to use one of his arms, or walk unaided. The doctor had explained that physiotherapists would help him recuperate, but that it would take many months.
After he sent the message Joe wandered up to Nonno’s bedroom and noticed the tape recorder was still where Nonno had left it. He rewound the tape and pressed play. Nonno’s voice was as clear as if he was in the room.
“The cafe was open every day including Sunday, when we opened in the morning. There was always something to do – cooking, making drinks, serving and cleaning.
Papà preserved food too. He made salami and cheese, and he pickled or dried everything under the sun – tomatoes, courgettes, green beans and even fruit, like peaches, pears, oranges. We had jars and jars of preserved food all stacked up in the attic and in the kitchen cupboards. We used to sell produce too, a bit like Mr Malewski does now.
Papà and Mamma cared about people, they really did. There were lots of customers ‘on tick’, as we used to say then, which meant that they didn’t have to pay straight away, just when they could. It was a busy time. The mines all around the area were producing tons of coal – coal that was shipped down to Cardiff and Barry docks and sent all over the world. The miners often came into the cafe before and after their shift. Papà never complained when the tables and chairs got dirty from the coal dust, because the miners were our best customers.
The thing I remember more than anything else was Papà working hard. He used to say to me that to finish the day and know that you’d filled it with hard work was the best feeling in the world.
It was around nineteen thirty-eight that Papà got a letter from Mario, his brother-in-law, back in his home town. There was trouble brewing in Italy – Benito Mussolini and his fascists were in power. Papà was worried as he was loyal to Italy but his life was here in Wales.
He telegraphed Mario and told him to come over with his sister – there was work and he’d be welcome. Mario sent a telegram back saying they had little money and Mussolini was restricting how many Italians could leave Italy. So Papà sent him another telegram with some money – ‘Come over quickly. Whatever it takes.’
It was a few months later that Mario came with Zia, my aunt. She was Mimi’s great-grandmother. By the time they arrived Papà hardly recognised them, they were so thin.
Mario told us they’d worked their way through France as they’d run out of money. I remember helping to cook the evening meal that day. Zia had tears in her eyes as Papà brought the food to the table.
Mario spoke about how worried he was. See, Mussolini was getting friendly with Hitler, and if he went further Mario worried where that would leave their friends and relatives back in Italy. Papà told him they were safe here, and that they could help in the cafe. He laughed and said, ‘Maybe one day you open your own cafe!’
Mario and Zia needed a room to themselves, so I gave them mine and moved up into the attic, ironically my room now. They all worked hard, and business was even better, but they didn’t realise then what the future held. As it turned out they should have all stayed in Italy – and I mean all of us, including Papà, Mamma and me…”
There was silence, then Joe could hear Nonno making noises. He realised it was the moment he’d had the stroke. Joe stopped the tape. He stood up, feeling edgy, and had a sudden ache of hunger. He went downstairs.
Joe took out a pan and poured in some oil. He lit the hob just as Mam came in from the cafe. “What you doing?”
“Cooking, Mam.”
“You don’t have to, Joe, I’ll knock up a—”
“I want to, Mam. I want to.”
Joe hadn’t a clue what he was doing as he’d never cooked a meal on his own. He decided to cut up some onions, but his eyes immediately began to water.
“Oh, you all right, love?”
“I’m not crying,” said Joe. “Bloody onions!”
He dropped the diced onions into the pan and they hissed loudly.
“I think the gas is too high,” said Mam.
Joe lowered the heat and added minced beef.
Dad came in. “Cooking, are you, Joe?”
“Yes.” Before Dad could say more, Joe added, “Cos I want to.”
Dad and Mam went upstairs, while Joe struggled to decide what it was that he was actually cooking. The phone rang.
Joe tensed up as he answered, worried that it was more bad news. “Hello.”
“Hello… Is that Joe?”
“Yes.”
“Gelato Joe! Is Mimi speaking.”
Joe was irritated and wished he hadn’t sent her the email. “Oh, hello.”
“I get your message,” said Mimi. “Poor Nonno. Is terrible.”
Mam appeared. “Who is it?”
“Mimi from Italy.”
Mam’s brow knotted.
“I want to come to see him,” said Mimi. “Perhaps I can ’elp. Yes?”
“Oh, right… Sure,” said Joe.
“What is your address, please?”
“It’s Cafe Merelli. Number ten, the High Street, Bryn Mawr, South Wales.”
“Again, please. Slowly.”
Joe repeated it.
“OK. I can come straight away – tomorrow.”
Joe glanced at Mam. “Right. OK.”
“Goo’bye,” said Mimi.
“Bye,” said Joe.
“What was that all about?” Mam asked.
“That was Mimi.”
“Yeah, I got that,” said Mam.
Joe turned the wooden spoon in his hand. “I thought she should know what happened to Nonno. So I got on the laptop—”
“Did you explain he wasn’t dead?”
“Mam! Course I did. What d’you think I said?”
“Well, what did she want the address for? Send flowers, is it?”
Joe stared at the table and tried to imagine a lovely meal that he’d cooked, all ready to eat. “She’s coming.”
“Coming!” Mam’s eyes opened wide. “What, here?”
Before Joe could say anything he smelled burning.
Dinner was ruined.
“Your cousin?” said Combi as they walked along the High Street.
“Yeah, from Italy,” said Joe. “She’s annoying.”
“All cousins are annoying,” said Combi. “Fact.”
“Mam says I got to give up my bedroom and go up to Nonno’s room.”
“This cousin,” said Combi. “She older or younger than you?”
“Older. Why?”
“Bad luck. See, legally she can order you around.”
“Legally! You don’t ’alf talk cack sometimes.”
Combi shrugged. “I’m off to the Chicken Box.”
“Don’t rub it in,” said Joe, just as a hand slapped on to his shoulder. He looked up to see Bonner towering over him.
“Bad about your gramps, Davis.”
Bonner was a year above Joe and built like a buffalo. He had an explosion of curly black hair and always wore a fixed grin. Joe could never tell if he was just happy or teetering on insanity. “Had a stroke, I heard,” he added.
“Yes,” said Joe.
“Funny word, that – stroke.” He gazed into the distance. “They should say something else, I reckon … like brain-melt. That would be better.”
“No,” said Joe. “It wouldn’t.”
Bonner’s fixed grin dropped. “As you have troubles, I’ll let that go.” He walked away, followed by his gang skipping to keep up.
“Neanderthal turd,” said Combi. “Joe. Come have some chicken with me.”
Joe felt saliva fill his mouth at the thought. “I can’t, Combi. I can’t.”
At the hospital Nonno listened as Mam explained about Mimi coming. Joe could see that his face was still half paralysed from the stroke. He spoke slowly and quietly. “It’s nice that she’s coming, Lucia.”
“It’s not convenient,” said Mam. “I mean, what’s she going to do here?”
“She’s a good cook, Lucia,” said Nonno. He looked at Joe. “Her great-grandmother came to the cafe a long time ago, during the war.”
“Yeah, I heard about it on the tape you did, Nonno,” said Joe. “I mean the one that was left in the tape recorder. It’s really good.”
“What tape?” asked Mam.
“The history of the cafe,” he said.
Nonno’s hand fell on to Joe’s. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you the rest … when I’m feeling better, yeah?”
