The Boy and the Spy

by Felice Arena

  ‘I’m Dino,’ says the bald man. ‘And these are my brothers, Pino and Gino. We’re puppeteers – and we run the best marionette theatre outside of Catania and Palermo. I have a cousin who lives in America, in Brooklyn. Do you know him?’

  ‘Is his name Lino?’ jokes Chris.

  Antonio grins, but the ’ino brothers don’t get the joke.

  ‘No, it’s Salvatore,’ Dino responds earnestly.

  Chris chuckles. ‘Sorry, I don’t know him.’

  The puppeteers usher them into a nearby storage room. Despite his good humour, Chris looks pale and leans heavily against the wall to keep his weight off his leg.

  The room is packed wall-to-wall with hand-carved marionettes. The puppets are all around a metre tall, mostly knights and warriors in shining armour with metallic swords and shields. Colourful plumes adorn their helmets.

  Antonio feels surrounded. Their strangely expressive glass eyes seem to stare right through him.

  ‘There must be hundreds of them!’

  ‘Wow!’ Simonetta says. ‘They’re magnificent!’

  ‘You’ll be staying here . . . for now,’ says Dino to Chris. ‘Until we work out your next move and fix up that leg of yours.’

  ‘Thank you,’ says Chris. ‘I need to make contact with headquarters as soon as possible.

  Lucia pulls out the German radio from the cloth sack she had been carrying.

  Chris smiles. ‘Although my friend Antonio obtained this German radio, I do need an Allied radio.’

  Antonio nods proudly.

  ‘We know someone who knows someone . . .’ says Dino, taking the field radio from Chris and handing it to his brother Pino. ‘But we will probably have to source one from the mainland or outside the country. And it will be expensive.’

  Chris looks at Simonetta’s parents.

  ‘We don’t have that sort of money . . . not the type of money that can get you what you want and at the same time keep mouths shut,’ says Filippo.

  ‘Even if you do make successful contact, you’ll need some extra cash to arrange a smooth getaway,’ says Lucia. ‘Especially with your injury. You’ll no longer be able to continue on to Northern Italy and carry out your original mission. So this will be a rescue operation. We’ll need all the resources we can muster to get you safely out of Sicily. At the moment, I’m not sure how we’ll get our hands on that much money.’

  ‘I know what to do!’ says Antonio.

  Everyone turns to him – he’s so excited he can barely get the words out. ‘I know where we can get our hands on some money . . . a lot of it! And the owner of the money is so rotten that we won’t even feel bad for stealing it.’

  i soldi

  THE MONEY

  At home, early the next morning, Antonio checks on Mamma Nina. She has been coughing all night. When he returned home, they didn’t speak about their argument or the unfinished letter, even though it weighed heavily on Antonio’s mind.

  ‘I’ll be back as soon as possible, Mamma,’ Antonio whispers, leaning in to her. ‘Rest as much as you can today.’ He turns to leave but then walks back and sits next to her on the bed. ‘I’m sorry about what I said to you yesterday . . . You are my mother. You will always be my mother. And I love you more than anything.’

  Mamma Nina gently touches Antonio’s cheek. She seems too weak from coughing to respond.

  He kisses her on the forehead and leaves.

  When he reaches the entrance of the Santa Maria the tolling of the church bell is echoing and fading into the wind. The streets are deserted – as they always are very early on Sunday mornings – but Antonio isn’t taking any chances. Not after allowing himself to be trailed the day before. He double-checks that no one has followed him or is peeking from around some corner. All clear.

  Antonio takes a deep breath. He feels nervous but excited about his plan. It’s straightforward but highly risky. He’s going to steal the Viper’s money. The cash that Father Dominic is holding this week. He doesn’t want to think about the consequences if he’s caught.

  Antonio takes another breath. He glances up at Simonetta’s balcony – as arranged, the bedroom doors are open. He walks into the church.

  Almost immediately Father Dominic appears from behind the door that leads up to the belltower. An elderly woman is praying the rosary in the last pew. She glances up briefly. Antonio recognises her – it’s Signora Grasso. She looks surprised to see Antonio in church, then bows her head back into her cupped hands.

  ‘Can I help you, my son?’ says Father Dominic, walking down the aisle towards him.

  ‘Actually, I wanted to know if you needed any help, Father. Maybe I could ring the church bell for you today?’

  ‘Well, I could’ve used you moments ago. Perhaps we can arrange for another hour. Do I know you? You look familiar . . .’

  Antonio shrugs.

  ‘Oh, yes, you’re the . . .’ the priest suddenly stops himself from saying what Antonio knows he is about to say. ‘Unless you’re staying for confession, go in peace, my son. Signora Grasso, I’m ready.’

  She stands up and makes her way to the confessional at the back of the church. Father Dominic looks back at Antonio before stepping into the booth.

  ‘I’m just going to pray for a bit, if that’s okay,’ says Antonio shuffling into a pew.

  Father Dominic looks at him suspiciously for a moment before saying, ‘Yes, yes, of course.’

  The priest sits down in the booth and pulls the door shut.

  This couldn’t be more perfect, thinks Antonio. He is already walking down the aisle towards the open door that leads to the belltower, hoping his shoes don’t squeak on the marble floor. Climbing up the spiral staircase he eyes off every brick in the wall, looking for secret holes.

  Where would a priest hide a sack of money? he wonders as he reaches the top.

  Perhaps it’s not in the belltower. Antonio sighs heavily. The priest might have moved it to some other place in the church.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spots one of the long poles the altar boys use for lighting and snuffing candles. It’s propped against the wall. There are no candles in the belltower. Antonio looks up towards the bell.

  Could you hide something in the bell without muffling the sound?

  ‘I wonder . . .’ He grabs the pole, shoving it inside the bell. There’s nothing there, but he does see a narrow stone shelf that runs around the opening in the ceiling above the bell.

  ‘Aha!’ he exclaims, when he feels the pole hit something. ‘I knew it!’

  Antonio jabs at the object, yanking the pole backwards, and a sack drops to his feet. Breathless, he reaches for it and takes a look inside. The sack, which is more like a pillowcase, is filled with rolls and rolls of money. Antonio has never seen so much denaro in his life.

  He can’t resist. He takes a roll of cash and shoves it in his pocket. Then he takes the drawstring from the sack, loops it through his belt buckle, and ties it tightly.

  He climbs onto the belltower ledge. ‘Okay, just a repeat of the last time I was here,’ he says under his breath. ‘Nice and steady now.’ Antonio scans the street below one more time. No one’s around. ‘Uno, due . . . tre!’

  Antonio leaps onto the roof of Simonetta’s building and drops down onto her balcony. He steps into Simonetta’s room. This time she is expecting him.

  ‘I’ve been up for hours!’ she says, running over to hug him. He’s too surprised to hug her back. ‘Isn’t it exciting! I’ll get my parents.’

  While he waits for Simonetta to come back, Antonio runs through the adventure over and over again – the moment he found the money and the leap from the belltower. He’s never felt more confident. He feels invincible.

  Simonetta returns in a few minutes with Lucia and Filippo.

  ‘Here . . .’ Antonio hands them the sack of money. ‘I think there’s more than enough to get hold of an Allied field radio and get Chris out.’

  Simonetta’s mother opens the bag, but her father looks
nervous.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure no one will know you did this?’ Filippo asks, his face strained with concern.

  ‘If you’re caught it will put us all in danger,’ adds Lucia. ‘If there’s any risk, we need to know now.’

  Antonio shakes his head confidently. Father Dominic won’t discover the money is missing immediately, and so many people come through the church on a Sunday. It could have been anyone.

  For a second Antonio thinks about what could happen if the gangster discovers that he took his stash of cash. A series of awful ideas fill his mind. He’s heard that gangsters cut off people’s fingers, bury people alive. But quickly he pushes the gruesome thoughts away.

  ‘I’m sure,’ he says. ‘Will you check on my mamma for me, Doctor? She’s not doing well today. Right now I’ve got something I need to do.’

  For the first time in his life, Antonio steps inside Pasticceria Antica. He’s almost overwhelmed by the wonderful aromas of coffee, almonds and vanilla. But best of all is the unforgettable smell of chocolate. Cioccolato!

  He remembers better times before the war. A day when he was eight or nine and Signora Lari shared with them a large shard of chocolate. It was a gift she had received from a travelling relative. It was sweet and melted in his mouth. A piece of dark velvety goodness.

  Even before the war sugar had been hard to come by unless you had money, but when the war started foods like sweets and chocolates were the first items to be rationed. Antonio could never quite understand how rationing worked, except that the government was in charge of what and how much food the people should get.

  Mamma Nina said it was like a mother bird portioning out the right amount of food for her chicks, so they’d all have a better chance of surviving. But in every nest there was always one greedy chick that took more than its fair share.

  So how does this tiny pastry shop in a small town still manage to supply delectable sweets in the middle of a war? wonders Antonio. Is the owner of the store, Signor Golosi, the greedy chick? Who does he know that he’s able to get his hands on so much sugar and butter and cocoa?

  Antonio peers into the glass cabinet at the display of dolci on show.

  There’s a small wooden radio console crackling on a shelf behind the counter. Antonio taps his foot to an upbeat song playing through the speakers. ‘And that was Alberto Rabagliati with Quando la Radio Canta, When the Radio Sings,’ says the announcer.

  ‘Hey! No beggars! Get out!’ Signor Golosi abruptly appears from out of the back room. ‘I said get out!’

  ‘I’m not a beggar,’ says Antonio defiantly. ‘I have money – plenty of it! And if you don’t want my money, I’ll go somewhere else.’

  ‘Show me!’ Signor Golosi demands. He squints his black button-like eyes at Antonio.

  They look too small for his plump flushed face, thinks Antonio. He’s looking forward to forcing Signor Golosi to be polite, to making him treat him like a customer.

  Antonio waves the cash, and the storeowner stares suspiciously but only for a moment.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asks, his eyes on the roll of money.

  Antonio grins. He feels special – he has a sense of power he’s never had before. So this is what it feels like when cold hard cash does your talking for you. He scans the cabinet slowly, making sure he chooses the most delicious of treats.

  ‘I’ll have a couple of paste di mandorla al pistacchio, almond and pistachio biscuits, four of the palline all’arancia, sweet candy-orange balls, three of the casateddi – the chocolate and hazelnut filled ones, a couple of the fig cookies and . . .’

  Antonio walks over to the most-prized pastry in the store: the cannoli. Crispy fried dough rolls filled with sweet ricotta cream dotted with scrumptious chips of candied orange peel, pistachio, chocolate and cinnamon – the ones that Mamma Nina has always talked about. Once she told him that they were said to be ten times better than the cannoli the nuns from the monastery and convent made. ‘The nuns have the angels on their side,’ she said, ‘and they still cannot make cannoli as heavenly as the ones Pasticceria Antica makes.’

  ‘I’ll have a half-dozen cannoli,’ Antonio says.

  When Antonio steps out of the pasticceria with his mouthwatering selection neatly wrapped in a flat box covered in brown paper, he feels on top of the world.

  He smiles as he swaggers across the piazza, humming the song from the radio.

  Suddenly a hand tightly grips Antonio’s shoulder and he almost drops his prize.

  ‘There you are, you rotten little sinner!’

  It’s Father Dominic.

  la diagnosi

  THE DIAGNOSIS

  ‘Where is it?’ the priest snaps. His expression is stone-faced and terrifying.

  Antonio shrugs. ‘Where’s what?’ he says.

  ‘Don’t play dumb with me,’ Father Dominic hisses. ‘You know what I’m talking about.’ The priest digs his fingers deeper into Antonio’s shoulder.

  ‘Sorry, Father, I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Antonio says. Then he winces from the pain. ‘You’re hurting me, Father!’

  The priest releases his grip as two women walk by.

  ‘I know you took the money, you dirty little rota,’ he snarls. ‘How else do you explain buying all this pastry?’

  ‘Boot-shining for the Germans,’ Antonio says, remembering that he still needs to do that for Corporal Schneider. ‘A lot of boots equals a lot of cannoli.’

  But the priest steps closer to Antonio and puts his arm around his shoulders.

  To everyone else in the square it must look as if we’re having a friendly chat, thinks Antonio.

  But the priest’s tone is far from friendly. ‘You are playing with fire, boy,’ he says. ‘If I find out for certain that you did take the money, I won’t be responsible for what happens to you.’

  Antonio takes a deep breath. The threat is clear. He knows that Father Dominic is referring to his connection to the Viper – and what he might do to the person who took his cash. But Antonio can’t in any way show him that he understands. He can’t reveal to Father Dominic, not even the slightest hint, that he was the thief – not if he values his life.

  So he tries to seem oblivious. ‘Please, Father, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I swear to the Lord!’

  Mamma Nina would be furious if she caught him in a lie like that, but Antonio can see he’s at least put some doubt into the priest’s mind.

  Antonio says a hurried goodbye. He feels the priest’s stare drilling into his back until he’s left the piazza and is completely out of sight.

  When Antonio gets home he finds Simonetta’s father looking after Mamma Nina.

  ‘Sorry I wasn’t here to meet you,’ says Antonio, ‘I was . . . held up.’

  Filippo looks grim. He closes up his medical bag.

  ‘We need to talk, Antonio,’ he says, leading him out of Mamma Nina’s room and closing the door. ‘The diagnosis is not good . . . Your mother is very, very ill. I’m afraid her lungs won’t hold out much longer.’

  Antonio’s chest tightens and he feels tears behind his eyes. But he’s determined not to show it, not to cry.

  ‘The thing is . . .’ Simonetta’s father adds, ‘I don’t know how much longer she has. At best a few weeks, a couple of months . . . it’s hard to say. But what I do know is that she cares for you very much. She asked me to help with a letter to her sister – you’ll go to her and she will take care of you. I’ve also agreed to manage the sale of this place when she passes. You will receive the money.’

  Antonio’s eyes begin to sting and he feels his cheeks flush.

  ‘No! No! No!’ he says. ‘Please don’t send that letter. I don’t want to live with my aunt. I don’t want to live on a farm in the middle of nowhere. What sort of doctor are you if you can’t make someone better?’

  Filippo just places his hand on Antonio’s shoulder. ‘I know it’s not what you want to hear. But the right thing to do now is to honour your mother’
s wishes and make her as comfortable as possible. Look after her, lay low for the next week or so,’ he says calmly. ‘By then we might get a response from your aunt and we might know our next move with our American friend. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything more for her.’

  When Filippo leaves, Antonio slumps in the chair at the kitchen table. He drops his head into his palms.

  One minute I’m invincible, he thinks, the next I feel like I have no control over anything.

  He hears Mamma Nina stir. She calls out to him. ‘Figlio, son!’

  Antonio grabs the package from the pastry shop, walks into her room and sits on the edge of her bed.

  ‘Figlio mio, my child,’ she says. ‘You didn’t have to call the doctor. I don’t know how you . . .’

  ‘Shhh, it’s okay, Mamma,’ Antonio says. ‘I’ve got a little surprise for you.’

  Antonio helps her sit up and places the box of sweets and cannoli on her lap. He can already smell the sugar and chocolate. She pulls away the paper.

  ‘What? From Pasticceria Antica?’ she gasps. ‘How could you afford this? Where did you . . .’

  ‘Let’s just say God played a part in it.’ Antonio smiles. ‘You deserve something special, Mamma.’

  Mamma Nina’s eyes light up. It’s the first time in ages that Antonio has seen her smile like this.

  ‘Let’s eat them together,’ she says, her hands trembling as she picks up two of the cannolis and passes one to Antonio. ‘After the count of three . . . uno, due, tre!’

  Crunch goes the delicate fried pastry dough.

  ‘Mmmm,’ they say together as the sweet creamy ricotta-and-chocolate-chip filling melts in their mouths.

  ‘Thank you,’ Mamma Nina whispers, a tear rolling down her cheek. She embraces Antonio, pressing her face against his. ‘I love you, my child, I love you more than any mother can love a son.’

  la trasmissione

  THE TRANSMISSION

  A stream of excited children and parents flow into the foyer of the puppet theatre. Antonio runs down the side of the building to the stage door.