by Dick Rosano
“Who knows about your program?” Francesco asked.
“No one, nessuno!”
“What can be done?”
“Nothing, nulla,” Alfonso replied with fateful finality. “Wait for it to pass, for everything to blow over. Maybe next year will be better.”
With that dispiriting conclusion, the two sat in silence and drank their wine. But neither could dispel the thought that someone might have gotten hold of Alfonso's program and been the cause of all this trouble for Alba. And Alfonso had his own, very personal, suspicions.
Chapter 34
Quiet Dinner in Sinalunga
At home on the farm in Sinalunga, the dinners were a bit quieter than in the past. Despite Dito's famous silence at the dinner table, Catrina noticed an even greater withdrawal with the absence of Paolo. Dito would occasionally glance at the chair left empty by Paolo, puff out a little grunt, then resume his meal.
Catrina kept up a mostly one-sided conversation, asking her husband about the vineyard and the prospects for next year. They both knew there would be little to say about the vines during winter, but Catrina didn't know what to talk about. During these lonely dinners, it occurred to her that for the better part of the preceding twenty years, most of her mealtime conversation was with her son, and now she had to acknowledge that her husband was too quiet for her satisfaction.
Dito was a man who provided for his family. He loved her and their son, and his behavior made it clear that nothing mattered more to him than their welfare. He just wasn't much of a conversationalist. Catrina pondered her new reality during dinner one night, and resolved to change their schedule to add some fun to their day.
“After we finish,” she began, “let's go to Piazza Cavour for gelato.”
“Perche?” was all Dito could think to say. “Why”
“Because I want to,” Catrina said lightly, laying her hand on her husband's arm. And playing the part of a young coquette, she added, “Wouldn't you like to buy your wife some gelato?”
Dito grinned, and as he cocked his head to one side, it was obvious how much he loved this woman. He was a quiet, introverted man, and this woman who deserved so much had given her life to him. He didn't often show his affection, but he inwardly thanked the gods for bringing Catrina into his life. Fortunately, she knew this, and could see it at that moment in his eyes. A quiet man can't suddenly become an evocative one, so his reply was terse, but just what she wanted.
“Certo,” was all, “certainly.”
Later that evening, while they walked the evening's passeggiata and enjoyed their gelato, they talked about Paolo. It seemed like that was the one subject that would bring Dito out a bit. He laughed at Catrina's stories, reminding him of Paolo's early years, and he described for his wife how hard their son worked in the vineyard.
“He worries,” said Dito, “I know he does. He worries that I don't appreciate his effort. But I do.”
“Well, maybe you should tell him.”
With that, Dito nodded, but both of them knew that his quiet nature would prevent him from offering praise to his son.
“And if he doesn't come back?” Catrina asked.
It was clear that Dito didn't want to consider that possibility. He looked at his wife with a controlled sense of horror. He knew that Paolo would leave someday, probably when he got married; that was normal. But if he left for any other reason, well, that would be abnormal.
“He'll come back,” he said.
“And you'll show you missed him?”
“Si,” was all Dito would add, but he couldn't figure out how he would change his nature to keep his son closer, even given the chance.
Chapter 35
Last Harvest
It was about time. They had been working through the night for a week and half, making good progress he had to admit, but he had long since concluded that they had enough truffles for this plan.
In fact, the man was so sure they had enough that he began storing some for own use. And he had taken to asking questions in the market about how to prepare them and how long they lasted. The second question was what got him to stop hoarding the truffles he had unearthed.
“They're only fresh for about a week,” said one storekeeper. He wouldn't be done with this plan for more than a week and, if the shopkeeper was right, all the truffles that the man had taken would be, what, “overripe?”
But it was his first question – how to prepare them – that got him in hot water with her.
“What are you doing, you idiot?” she said. “Don't go around Alba asking all these questions about how to prepare truffles when everyone's asking questions about where they all are.”
After that they decided to end the hunt and call in the truck to get them out of the warehouse.
He never could figure out how she knew he was talking to shopkeepers. Must have eyes all around Alba. Gave him the creeps. He wondered what else she saw him doing.
“Idiot, huh! Bitch!”
Chapter 36
A Dewy Morning
It was early, and only the shopkeepers were out. They swept off the walkways in front of their stores, traded stories about last evening's commerce, and argued about soccer scores. The dew was slowly dissipating and the cool air of the morning was being warmed by the rising sun. It was a scene repeated in every great city built upon centuries of age. Towering cathedrals shouldered next to huddled newsstands and aromatic cafés. The cobblestones of ancient roads contributed their peculiar clack-clack as wagons and wheelbarrows rolled by, and early-rising pedestrians yawned and took in the sight, sounds, and smells of a venerable city.
Alfonso walked down the Via Bosio with purpose early that morning. He was not one to rise from bed so early, but today he found a special purpose in locating Francesco. He knew he'd find him at the Caffé Revello on Piazza Cagnasso.
As he turned the corner, Alfonso quickly spied Francesco sipping his gran café.
“Buon giorno, Alfie,” he said with a merry tone that morning brings.
“Buon giorno, Francesco.”
Alfonso breezed past his friend to buy a double espresso at the cashier's desk. He watched Francesco out of the corner of his eye while waiting for the cashier to stamp the ticket and hand it to him, then glanced over at Francesco from the counter while waiting for the barista to prepare his drink.
Sitting down at Francesco's table, Alfonso took a direct and immediate approach to his subject.
“Your friends are trying too hard to figure out what happened to all the truffles.”
“Si,” replied Francesco, “even Nicki.” Francesco's earlier cheery mood evaporated and his voice picked up an edge of concern.
“Make them stop, lose interest, whatever. If they try too hard, we may get drawn into it.”
“Well,” Francesco said, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. “We didn't really do anything, right?”
“Do you want to try to explain that to the magistrate when they find out about the program?”
Francesco looked at his friend doubtfully, then peered down into his coffee cup. Twisting it left, then right, he said, “No.”
They spoke in somewhat muted voices for a few more minutes. Alfonso said the “investigation” – a word he repeatedly with his fingers making the symbol for quotations marks – is pointless and would just make everyone in Alba mad. He said they would never find anything.
“D'accordo?” asked Alfonso, “do we agree?”
Francesco sighed, looked into his friend's eyes, and nodded once more.
The morning coffee break took on an air of a cover-up, and it didn't escape Francesco's attention that Alfonso seemed almost to be sizing him up.
“There will be questions,” Alfonso continued, “but the fewer the better. If your friends would just accept the situation, pay more for the truffles, and go back to Genoa, we would all be better off.”
“But we are not involved,” said Francesco.
Alfonso looked sideways at his friend as he sipped his coff
ee. Putting the cup down, he arched one eyebrow, as if to suggest doubt at Francesco's claim, and sighed.
“No, not in stealing truffles,” was Alfonso brief summary, but his voice and excuse both sounded thin.
Chapter 37
Someone's Been Digging Here
Later that morning, Tomaso was in the piazza himself, selling the few truffles that were left in his field. There was great interest among the chefs and serious cooks in Alba, but the haggling began immediately after they heard the price.
“E' troppo caro!” complained one man who was already decked out in chef's toque. “It's too expensive!”
Tomaso lifted his shoulders and eyebrows in unison, and in apology, and struggled to explain the same reason he had given to so many others.
“There are so few tartufi this year, and I still must make some money. I have only one-third of last year's crop, so I should be charging three times as much to make up the difference, but I am not.”
“No, but you are charging twice the price,” the chef said, “and still it is too much!”
“Si, I understand you, but I don't know what I can do.”
“Charge the same price as last year. We'll make wonderful food at the restaurant – although much less of it – and we'll make lots of fervent believers again. Then, next year, you'll have more and we can make more money then.”
“But if I charge last year's price, I won't make enough money.”
“And if I pay this year's price, I won't be able to sell the truffle dishes in the restaurant.”
And so it went, one transaction after another. Most of these engagements Tomaso ended by compromising – some profit, some loss – but he was still dejected with each sale.
Bruno, who was also fighting a losing battle with buyers, waited for Tomaso to complete one of his sales, then approached him to talk about what he had found.
“I don't think it's a virus either, Tomaso.”
Tomaso hadn't told Bruno what they had decided the day before, but let him speak.
“Ordinarily, we only go out at night,” as if Bruno had to remind Tomaso, “so we can't really see how the earth has been disturbed in our truffle beds, right? Well, my crop has been so small, I had to look harder. So I went back during the day,” a comment that drew worried looks from Tomaso, “and I found the earth around my hunting ground was disturbed.”
The revelation didn't take Tomaso by surprise. He maintained his look of worry that Bruno would expose his fields to discovery by tending them during the day, but otherwise he accepted the news about the earth being disturbed without commenting.
Francesco approached his father and he heard only the last part of the conversation.
“Someone's been digging here,” Bruno said. Francesco stopped at the words, and stood stone still.
Chapter 38
Too Close for Comfort
Alfonso was standing awkwardly at Akash Lounge, leaning uncomfortably against the countertop to order his drink. His scowl and constant shifting from his left foot to his right telegraphed his unease. Lidia was standing beside him, with her right hand on his back, leaning in.
“What's the matter, Alfie? Why are you so tense?”
“It's the truffles, damn truffles!” he said. “I can't believe this happened.”
Her eyebrows bunched together and Lidia tried again.
“Everyone's worried, or mad,” she began, “but why is it bothering you so?”
Just then, Francesco approached the couple and noticed Alfonso's agitation right away. He stood on his friend's other side and questioned him too.
“This is a great problem,” Francesco said, “and we've got a problem, too. But I don't think we should say anything out here, where people can hear us. Let's let things smooth out.”
Lidia stared keenly at Francesco, trying to read the thoughts behind his words.
Alfonso remained mostly quiet, uttering comments only in short bursts, as if trying to squeeze them in between periodic waves of emotion.
“Haven't even harvested the fruit. Haven't sold a thing. Gotta check the warehouse and see if anything's left.”
Lidia shot Francesco a strange glance. Whatever he was talking about, Alfie seemed about ready to crack.
“Look, Alfie, maybe I can help,” she said, “I need to talk to you. Would you excuse us, Francesco?”
With that, Francesco walked away toward the sidewalk café. He, too, needed a drink.
Lidia took Alfonso's arm and led him down the street toward her car, leaning in close and whispering to him along the way.
“You're talking about your produce and your fruit business,” she commented. “Are you afraid you're losing your business?”
“No!” he nearly shouted, but Lidia pushed him into the car so they could avoid making a scene. “I'm worried about the truffles.”
“But you were saying you hadn't even harvested yet, and you don't know if there's anything left,” Lidia responded. “You have lots of the produce still in your warehouse,” she said.
Alfonso cast a confused glance in her direction. He wondered when was Lidia at his warehouse.
“Let's go,” she said. “We'll look over the inventory together and I'll show you that it's safe there.”
#
I was standing in front of Ratti Elio's shop across the street from the Akash Lounge when I saw them emerge from the dim interior into the sunlight. The shopkeeper had just handed me a tagliatartufo, the tool I'd need later to shave the truffles I kept for myself, and he was still talking to me as I stared over my shoulder at Lidia and Alfonso walking down the side street.
At one point the shopkeeper noticed that I was distracted and stopped talking in mid-sentence. Yeah, I had disregarded her instructions and was asking people on the street and in the shops about truffles. I was even getting a quick lesson in proper shaving thickness from this man, this man who was concerned about the truffle harvest yet oblivious to the thief standing right in front of him. It made me want to steal his tagliatartufo too, just to make a point.
But I didn't.
Instead, I watched Lidia guide Alfonso toward her car. I barely caught a single phrase… “in your warehouse.”
Chapter 39
Hauling it Away
The two old mariners had been sitting around Barraccone too long. They felt they were getting soft. The only reason they put up with all this time on land was because they were getting paid by the day, and their real reward was still at the end of the journey.
“It's a good thing she's paying for this hotel,” said the man with the stocking cap.
They spent their days mostly in and around that small town, but drove to Castiglione Falletto on occasion just to get away. They couldn't approach Alba, under strict instructions to avoid making an appearance there, but they found that Castiglione was small enough not to attract attention and there were a couple of nice places to eat there.
That morning, when she had called, they were sitting at Bar del Peso sipping their cappuccino and watching the workmen come and go. This was a popular place in the early hours. Many workers, some dressed in business attire and some in work clothes, passed through the door, hailed the lady behind the counter and often ordered “the usual.” Fathers with children on the way to school and mothers pushing strollers passed this way.
The proprietor inside seemed to know them all, and know them well. That was the only thing that gave the seamen pause. She knew everyone who passed through her doors, so she might wonder who were these new “regulars” who came often but never spoke to her.
But they disregarded their concerns because the town was far removed from Alba, and Bar del Peso's position on the only intersection in Castiglione Falletto allowed them to watch the comings and goings of the place.
The man in the flannel hat pulled the phone from his pocket on the first ring.
“Pronto.”
“It's time to get the truck and pick up the truffles at the warehouse.”
“Where is this war
ehouse?” he asked.
“I put instructions on the seat of the truck. Be there this afternoon at four o'clock,” and she hung up.
After hearing the click, the man stared at his cell phone for a moment, then slipped it back into his pocket.
Chapter 40
Piazza Rossetti
Nicki and Paolo were prowling the streets listening to the scattered conversations. They knew only a few people in Alba – not like Rita and Stefano – so it was harder to approach just anyone to ask difficult questions about the truffle harvest. Nicki's confidence and resolve made her the obvious leader, and strangers more easily stopped to listen to this diminutive, though attractive, young woman, so Paolo remained at her shoulder and seldom spoke.
“I'm still confused,” Paolo admitted. “If last year was so good, and the years before that were good, what has changed? Is there a virus, a thief, or what?”
Nicki considered the question, but had no answers. Thieves can't steal the truffles, because no thief would know how to find them. “That's the point of harvesting at night,” she reminded Paolo. But it would have to be a virulent strain of bacteria to wipe out most of the crop in a single year.
For a while, they mingled with the pedestrians, chefs, and trifolài who crowded the Via Vittorio Emanuelle before noon. Nicki listened intently to the conversations around them while Paolo tried to keep his attention on truffle traffic while enjoying the young beauties who were part of every Italian streetscape. “La bella figura,” the Italian phrase that needed little translation, was on display in Alba on that sunny morning.
Nicki turned to ask him something and, picking up on his distraction, she elbowed Paolo with a grin. “Stay with me here, Romeo,” she said.
