A Dead Man in Naples

by Michael Pearce

  ‘Just keep your voice down ‘– are certainly special.’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘The more you think about it,’ said Seymour.

  ‘I know, but –’

  ‘You see, I reckon I’m on the right track with the rest of the number. It just needs one other thing. But that thing must be big, mustn’t it? A small number in itself but big in importance. And that would fit. If you know what I mean.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said the carpenter, ‘and I think it’s best to drop it.’

  ‘But is it?’ said Seymour. ‘Is it? Not from the point of view of winning, I mean, but from the point of view of politeness.’

  ‘What?’ said the acquaiolo.

  ‘Politeness?’ said the carpenter.

  ‘Well yes. To Our Friends, I mean. I wouldn’t want to insult them. And wouldn’t it be insulting them to leave them out? If they, by any chance, were a factor, I mean.’

  ‘The number would be incomplete,’ said the acquaiolo thoughtfully.

  ‘That’s it. It would be an insult to Our Friends and to the number!’

  ‘That certainly is a consideration!’

  ‘But how,’ said the carpenter, beginning to be convinced, ‘how could you fit them in? I mean, what number could you give them?’

  ‘Look it up in the book,’ said the acquaiolo.

  ‘But it won’t be in the book, will it? You don’t put that sort of number in a book, not in Naples.’

  ‘Number one?’ suggested the acquaiolo.

  ‘That would be a good number for them,’ acknowledged the carpenter. ‘But it’s been used already. Everyone in Naples puts that number down.’

  ‘The way I see it,’ said Seymour, ‘is that it’s no good thinking of a number that anyone would know refers to Our Friends. That would take care of the politeness, all right. But it wouldn’t help us with the number. It’s got to be more specific. What we want is something we can give a number to which links them to what happened by the Porta del Carmine.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ confessed Seymour. ‘But I feel that if I cast around, the number will leap up and hit me.’

  ‘This is getting a bit deep for me,’ said the acquaiolo.

  ‘Me, too,’ said the carpenter. ‘My head is beginning to reel.’

  ‘So is mine,’ said Seymour. ‘Let’s give it a rest. But, you know, I think we’re on the right lines. It’s just a case of hitting on the right number.’

  ‘It always is,’ sighed the acquaiolo.

  Chapter Nine

  Chantale had returned to the pensione and was sitting outside on the patio reading a book. She heard a door inside the house open and close and then the young man, Bruno, came out on to the patio.

  ‘Your pardon, Signora!’ he said, jumping back with a start when he saw Chantale.

  ‘It is nothing,’ said Chantale, smiling. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I was looking for Jalila,’ said the young man hesitantly.

  ‘Ah! She has just gone out for the moment with Maria to get the bread. She will be back – oh, at any moment now.’

  ‘Thank you. I will wait, then.’

  He was about to go back into the house, then wavered.

  ‘Do you mind, Signora . . .?’

  He indicated a spare chair on the patio.

  ‘Not at all.’

  He sat down.

  ‘I do not like to wait in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘Not when Maria is not there. And Francesca doesn’t seem to be there, either.’

  ‘She is not yet back from school.’

  He looked at his watch, a large, rather good one.

  ‘No, of course not!’ he said. ‘She wouldn’t be. School goes on longer than in my day. And Francesca, I know, does extra.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Although I don’t see the point of that,’ he said. ‘What can it lead to? Especially in the case of a girl. What work can she do? Oh, work in the home. Yes, helping Maria, or perhaps Julia. Or even in a shop, although, personally, I think that with so many men out of work, girls ought not to take the jobs that are going. But the teachers say she is very clever and Giuseppi says she must have her chance. But chance to do what, I ask myself? It is, perhaps, different in your country,’ he said hastily.

  Perhaps. But which was her country? England, or Morocco? In England, certainly, there were jobs for women. Seymour’s own sister, whom she had met and whom she liked, was a teacher. But in Tangier . . .!

  She laughed to herself, and then saw Bruno looking at her.

  ‘In Tangier, no,’ she said. ‘In London, yes.’

  ‘You come from Tangier?’

  ‘In the first place, yes.’

  ‘But now you live in London. With Signor Seymour.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That is how I would wish it to be for Jalila.’

  ‘You think it better for her to be here than with her family in Libya?’

  ‘Oh, yes! Here,’ he said, waving a hand largely. ‘Here are jobs, opportunities.’

  Despite what he had just said.

  ‘Perhaps for the children,’ said Chantale, ‘when they grow up. But it is not so easy for her.’

  ‘No, no, indeed. It is very difficult.’ He hesitated. ‘It is not just that she is a woman, Signora. It is that she is an Arab. It is wrong, I know, but people are prejudiced about Arabs. It is the war partly, but not just that. People say, what is she doing here? And why does she bring extra mouths to feed when there is barely enough in Naples? I do not say that. For me, it is enough that she was married to Tonio.’

  ‘You and he were very close, I gather?’

  ‘Very close.’

  He held out his hand with his first two fingers close together.

  ‘Like that,’ he said. ‘You do not, perhaps, understand how it is for Italians, Signora. At least, how it is for Neapolitans. We were like blood brothers. We would always do things together. We played together, worked together. Until he went into the army. Even then I would have gone with him, but my mother was old and sick and alone, and Tonio said, you cannot. It would not be right. So I stayed and he went.’

  He looked at Chantale.

  ‘But do you know what?’ he said. ‘He sent his first pay packet home to me. For her. He knew how poor we were.’

  He was silent for a moment.

  ‘People ask,’ he went on, ‘why do you do so much for an Arab woman? I say, because he would have done the same for me. How can I not do this? It is not for her I do it but for him.’

  ‘It is praiseworthy,’ said Chantale, ‘whoever it be for.’

  She hesitated, wondering whether she should say more, and then decided, since he seemed to have confidence in her, that she would risk it.

  ‘But, Bruno,’ she said, ‘are there not limits to what you should do for her? They tell me you wish to marry her.’

  ‘Tonio would have done the same for me,’ Bruno said seriously.

  ‘No doubt. But – but, Bruno, marriage is a complex business, and many things come into it. You have to be sure that it is wanted on her side.’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘And she may wish to choose for herself.’

  Bruno laughed. ‘That is what women always say, Signora. But women are realists, too. They are realistic as well as romantic. Otherwise it is like an opera. And life in Naples, Signora, is not like an opera. There is not much choosing to be done. For men, it is either the army or poverty. For women, it is poverty or marriage. And if you are a widow with children, well . . .!’

  He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

  Chantale wondered whether she would persist. She felt that she was coming up against bedrock Neapolitan, or perhaps even Italian, attitudes. Or – possibly Bruno was right – bedrock Neapolitan realities. To her they seemed not just rock, they seemed terribly tangled and confused. She had often thought that men’s attitudes in Tangier were tangled and confused, but that seemed as nothing compared with how
things were in Naples.

  Or maybe that was how it always seemed when you were looking at a society from outside?

  ‘I know what you are thinking, Signora,’ Bruno said seriously. ‘You are thinking that perhaps it will be different because she is an Arab. You will know about this, Signora, because you yourself are an Arab. I realize it will be hard for her – it is hard for her. But that, you see, is why it is best if I marry her. Then she will not be alone. She will have a place in society and a man to stand by her. A woman needs that in Naples, Signora, and she needs it all the more if she comes from outside. And even more if she is black. And I will do that, Signora. Other men blow hot and cold. But not me, Signora. What I say I will do, I do.’

  ‘I am sure of that, Bruno,’ said Chantale. ‘I know that you will stand by her and cherish her. But – I think that may not be all that she wants.’

  Bruno looked puzzled.

  ‘It will be difficult, I know, he said. ‘That is what Alessandro said when we put it to him.’

  ‘Alessandro?’

  ‘He is a big cheese in Rome. He helped us to bring her back. “You daft bastards,” he said. “Do you know what you are doing? She’ll stand out like a sore thumb. She’ll never feel right and never be right. She’d be better off in her own country. How will she manage in Naples? Tell me that! No man, no money. What do you think she is going to live on?”

  ‘“Marcello says there will be a pension,” I said. “Pension, pooh!” he said. “It won’t be enough for her to buy a plate of spaghetti.” “Our people will look after her,” said Marcello. “Your people cannot even look after themselves,” said Alessandro. “With two children? Two extra mouths? That’s a lot in a family. Just ask me! I know. Listen, I know about this. I was poor in Naples myself once!”

  ‘“Tonio would have wished it,” I said.

  ‘In the end he agreed. “All right, all right!” he said. “I’ll do it. Since he was from Naples, and you’re from Naples, and I’m from Naples. Okay! I’ll do it. But it’s madness, I tell you, madness! You boys are never going to get anywhere in life. You’ve got to be tougher, harder. Learn to put things behind you. You can’t afford to take on things. Things you can’t pay for. Like my wife, for example. Jesus! Have I learnt it the hard way! It’s like running the National Debt. She is the National Debt! Get out while you still can. That’s my advice to you. Don’t take on things you cannot finish.”

  ‘“Tonio would have wished it.”

  ‘“All right, all right. I’ll pay for her to come to Naples. And the kids. Christ, we can’t leave them behind, can we? Although, come to think of it, maybe we should. No? All right, then, kids as well. But, mind you, once she’s in Naples, I wash my hands of them. From then on she’s your lookout. I want nothing more to do with it. Do you hear?”

  ‘Well, we heard, all right. That’s the way these big cheeses talk. It doesn’t mean anything. But he did bring her back. His bank paid for it. He’s got a bank, you see, the Bank of Rome. And he was setting up this branch in Libya. And Marcello got to hear of it and heard that he came from Naples. So he wrote to me and said, this is the answer. You see, we couldn’t do it ourselves. Not even between us. We hadn’t the money and he told me to go to Alessandro.

  ‘So I went to Alessandro and said: “I want some help, and I think you’re a cousin of mine.” “I don’t have any cousins in Naples,” said Alessandro. “That’s one thing I’ve learnt. And that’s one thing you’d better learn if you want to get on. Cousins are like locusts. They eat everything you’ve got. Anyway, you’re not a cousin.”

  ‘Well, it was true. He wasn’t a cousin of mine. But, Christ, everyone in Naples is pretty well related, and he might have been. And I reckoned Alessandro wouldn’t know. Well, of course, he didn’t. Who the hell knows what his father has been up to, let alone his uncles? But he knew he came from Naples and thought it might be true. And, apparently, or so Marcello said, he had a soft spot for Naples. So he listened.

  ‘And I told him the whole story, about Tonio. “This is one hell of a daft bastard,” said Alessandro. “First, he volunteers for the army. Then he goes to Libya. And then marries an Arab woman. You can’t do anything for a man like that.”

  ‘“I’m not asking you to do anything for him,” I say. “He’s dead. What I am asking you to do is something for his widow. And it’s not much money to someone like you. And it’s important to me. And to Tonio. And to Tonio’s mate in Libya.” “Christ, another one!” says Alessandro. “I told you they were like locusts.” “This isn’t just another one,” I say. “He was like a brother to him.” “Oh, yes?” says Alessandro. “Yes,” I say, “a blood brother. Sworn. And I’m like that, too. So you’ve got to do something.” “Because I come from Naples?” says Alessandro. “Yes. And because you’ve got on and we haven’t.”

  ‘“Naples,” says Alessandro, “is like a bloody great weight you’ve got around your neck. You never get rid of it.”

  ‘All the same, he agreed to pay for Jalila.’

  ‘I have got a job!’ protested Giorgio indignantly. ‘In fact, I’ve got three.’

  ‘Three?’

  ‘One at the baker’s. I help Luigi with the morning round.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Giuseppi.

  ‘Three days a week. It’s regular. And I get paid for it.’

  ‘Next to nothing,’ said Giuseppi.

  ‘It’s better than nothing,’ said Giorgio hurt.

  ‘It is better than nothing, Giorgio,’ said Maria. ‘And it helps your mother. You’re a good boy, Giorgio. But it won’t go far if you’re thinking of marriage.’

  ‘Who’s thinking of marriage?’

  ‘You are,’ said Francesca. ‘Or you ought to be.’

  ‘When you leave school, Francesca,’ said Maria firmly, ‘then will be the time to think of marriage.’

  ‘I’m planning ahead,’ said Francesca sulkily.

  ‘Yes, well, you can plan without me,’ said Giorgio. ‘I’m not thinking of marriage.’

  ‘Yet,’ said Francesca.

  ‘Yet,’ Giorgio agreed. ‘Nor for a long time,’ he added hastily.

  ‘It will be a long time if all you’ve got to marry on is three mornings at the baker’s,’ said Giuseppi.

  ‘What’s the other job, Giorgio?’ asked Maria.

  ‘I help Gianni with the barrels,’ said Giorgio.

  ‘Twice a week,’ said Giuseppi.

  ‘It’s something,’ said Giorgio.

  ‘It certainly is,’ agreed Maria. ‘But, Giorgio, it doesn’t go far.’

  ‘I don’t throw my money around,’ said Giorgio.

  ‘He certainly doesn’t,’ said Francesca. ‘Look how he’s saved up for that bicycle.’

  ‘I’ve seen that bicycle before,’ said Giuseppi, ‘several times. In other people’s hands.’

  ‘Not everyone around here has got a bicycle,’ said Giorgio. ‘In fact, I’m the only one. And the point is that now I can ride to work. That brings other jobs within reach.’

  ‘There!’ said Francesca. ‘Doesn’t that show how ambitious he is?’

  ‘What other jobs!’ asked Giuseppi. ‘There aren’t any out there, either.’

  ‘Oh, yes, there are,’ said Giorgio smugly. ‘And I’ve got one.’

  ‘You’ve got one?’ said Maria.

  ‘Oh, Giorgio, you didn’t tell me!’ said Francesca, delighted. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Over at the base. The army base.’

  ‘You’ve not done anything daft, have you?’ said Giuseppi. ‘Like enlisted?’

  ‘I’m too young,’ said Giorgio. ‘Still. Although when I am old enough, I certainly will,’ he said defiantly. ‘I know you don’t like it, Giuseppi, but for me it’s the way out. It will only be for a short time and then I’ll have enough money to start a bicycle shop.’

  ‘There!’ said Francesca. ‘You see?’

  ‘I can see him getting a hole in his head,’ said Giuseppi.

  ‘Giuseppi! Do not say such things!’ said
Maria. ‘It’s bad luck.’

  ‘And at least he’s doing something,’ said Francesca. ‘That’s what you always say, Grandfather. That’s what you say people should do. Get off their asses and do something.’

  ‘Francesca, I will not have you using such language!’

  ‘It’s not my language, it’s Grandfather’s.’

  ‘I won’t have him using it, either,’ said Maria.

  ‘What is this job, then, Giorgio?’ asked Francesca. ‘The one you’ve got at the base.’

  ‘It’s a temporary one only,’ Giorgio confessed. ‘But they say it could lead to something. And, anyway, they say it will help when I put my name down for the army. It’s cleaning the bicycles and getting them ready for the big race on Saturday.’

  ‘They pay you for that?’ said Giuseppi.

  ‘They certainly do. And will. Better than I get at the baker’s or with the barrels. More than Luigi makes during the whole week! He told me so himself.’

  ‘These rich men can afford it,’ said Giuseppi.

  ‘It’s a kindness to take their money from them. You say that, too, Giuseppi.’

  ‘It depends on the circumstances,’ muttered Giuseppi.

  ‘There you are! You see!’ said Francesca. ‘The money is rolling in. Soon he will be able to think of marriage.’

  ‘Now, hold it, Francesca!’ said Giuseppi, Maria and Giorgio.

  ‘So you’re working at the army base, now, Giorgio?’ said Seymour, after Giuseppi and Maria had left.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You’re pretty busy, I expect, with the big race about to come off?’

  ‘I am. I shall be busy on the day, too. They’re paying me extra for that. They want me to wash their bicycles down afterwards. But I’ve got a problem.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ asked Francesca.

  ‘Water. Where am I going to get all that water from? It’ll have to come from the pump, I suppose, but that’s a long way away. And I’ll be getting through the water at a fantastic rate.’

  ‘Get someone to bring it.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Giorgio. ‘And by the time I’ve paid them to do that, there’ll be no money left for me!’