by Dick Rosano
“So this whole thing, Alfonso's computer program, Lucia's plot to steal the crop, Alfonso's death, and now Lidia's, was all so that Lidia and Ruger could smuggle drugs across the border and,” adding with a sudden look of panic, “then ditch a hoard of truffles at a truck stop!?”
“Sounds like it. All along they planned to abandon the truffles and drive off with the cocaine,” added Nicki. “But I guess Ruger wasn't very good at sharing.”
“Si. They probably met with the getaway car in the parking lot of the rest stop, transferred the cocaine from the truck at night, then drove off with their treasure, leaving the truffles behind.”
“How are the Zingari involved?” asked Paolo.
“I think Lidia wanted to cover her tracks,” Tomaso said, “so she didn't want to be seen driving the truck away. Besides she needed another driver and maybe she didn't trust Ruger.” All heads nodded at that, without surprise.
“She lured the Zingari into her plot,” Tomaso continued, “without telling them everything, and got them to drive the truck away. This is exactly what the witness told Mussino, about the truck parked outside the warehouse. By hiring the Zingari, she avoided detection, then met with them outside of Bordanecchia, and drove off with the truffles.”
With dead bodies scattered throughout Italy, they would never find out that the cocaine had been smuggled first from North Africa into Genoa, then driven north to Alba.
“Ruger must have caught up with her in Modane, killed her for the truffles and cocaine, and would have gotten away except for that K-9 unit,” Paolo said. “Lucky that they had a bulletin out for her, lucky that the stop was by a K-9 unit, and lucky that they stopped long enough to search his car.”
“Yeah, lucky day,” said Stefano, “not so lucky for Ruger.”
“A zappino, though?” remarked Rita, almost smiling in wry satisfaction at the irony.
“Si,” said Tomaso, “the police said Ruger bragged that he knew a lot about truffles. That he had been hunting them for weeks and he deserved to keep those he found. I'm sure his fingerprints will end up on the zappino they found in Lidia's chest.”
“What about us?” Lucia asked.
“The French policeman said we can cross back over into Italy. Of course, I had to promise him a few truffles first.” And everyone laughed when Tomaso relayed how the Frenchman couldn't be all bad. “He admitted that he preferred Alba's white truffle to the Périgord anyway,” and everyone laughed.
They rejoined their vehicles and proceeded to the checkpoint. Slowing to a stop, Francesco reminded the guard what he had heard about being able to pass through. The guard waved him on by, but stopped Tomaso driving his truck.
Francesco paused with a worried look on his face as his father was detained, then smiled broadly when he saw Tomaso's hand emerge through the open window with his palm open and up-raised. Francesco saw the guard reach toward Tomaso's hand, close his fingers around something, and withdraw.
“Ah, yes, the truffle tax,” he murmured, and Paolo laughed too.
Chapter 62
Return to Alba
The passengers of the three vehicles were more relaxed and more talkative on the drive back to Alba. Finding the truffles had been an unexpected victory, even discovering that Lidia had been dispatched with a truffle-digging stick didn't dampen their spirits.
But the conversation in each truck and car followed the same course.
“What will we do with the truffles?” Paolo asked Francesco.
“I don't know. There's a fortune piled up behind us,” jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at the truck bed, “but we can't claim it for ourselves.”
They sat in silence for a moment, each apparently trying to figure out the solution.
“We can't put them back in the ground,” Paolo said, pointlessly.
Francesco looked at him with a look of disbelief.
Another moment of silence while Francesco looked in the side view mirror at the vehicles following them.
“We could distribute the tartufi among the hunters,” Paolo offered, although he couldn't exactly phrase how to do that. “But they don't all get the same amount.”
“No,” Francesco said, “each trifolào has his own fields and harvests different amounts. The traditions and conoscenza of the region,” he said, referring to the awareness that Albese have of the hunters, “give us an idea of how much each hunter usually brings in. We could create some sort of formula and distribute the truffles that way.”
“But that would result in fights and arguments, no?” said Paolo.
Francesco retreated to silence again and remained that way for most of the return trip. Paolo looked out the front of the truck, as if he was studying the road ahead, but his thoughts were clearly on the cache of truffles that sat behind him. He inhaled deeply at one point, luxuriating in the heady scent of truffles, and his thoughts turned to his life and what had happened to him in the recent weeks.
His mother had sent him to visit Rita and work in her restaurant. Catrina no doubt imagined the sojourn would be a learning experience, but she couldn't have anticipated the lessons her son would actually collect.
Paolo chuckled to himself as he recalled the donkeys in the Palio degli Asini, how they would buck and dawdle while their riders tried to urge them on. And he recalled the meals, the many delicious dishes and new flavors that had passed his palate. The stupendous wines, the scent of truffles, and the eye-opening aroma of fresh espresso on a misty morning in Alba.
As the truck rumbled over rutted roads outside Alba and Paolo saw the skyline of the ancient city come into view, he thought more about the food of the region. His mouth watered as he rekindled memories of the pappardelle, the buttery sauces more common in this northern region than in his hometown in Tuscany, the succulent meats, and the herb-infused vegetables that accompanied every meal.
His lips grew moist and his mouth watered at the thought of the fabulous Barolo and Barbaresco wines he had sampled here. He would never forget the white wines like Arneis and Cortese, but it was the regal reds of Piedmont that most captured his imagination.
“True,” he mumbled, then saw Francesco look over at him quizzically. True that his mother didn't realize what an adventure she had sent him out on.
Debates continued in the other vehicles as well. Rita, Lucia, and Nicki were hotly arguing who the truffles belonged to.
“They belong to the trifolài,” said Lucia, daughter of one.
“Of course they do,” agreed Rita, but she pointed out that most of the trifolài wouldn't talk to the authorities about their crop, so how would the bounty be returned to them.
“I think we should bring the tartufi to the market,” said Nicki. “Once they were sold, we would distribute the money. That way we could disconnect the value that was being shared with the truffle hunters from the crop itself. The fisco would be fooled and couldn't accuse the hunters of avoiding their taxes.”
“But the fisco would want to know where the money came from,” argued Rita, “besides don't you think the fisco would wonder where a truckload of truffles came from?”
And so it went the rest of the way into town.
But wise Tomaso wasn't at all confused about the way to handle the sudden treasure trove of the world's most expensive ingredient.
Chapter 63
The Only Solution
Just before dinner, the three vehicles pulled into Alba. First, they veered to the west side of town where Tomaso kept his warehouse to store the farm produce. He parked the truffle-laden truck in the warehouse, locked the doors, then climbed into the back of his own truck which Francesco still piloted. Stefano joined him in the back, and the four men waved for the women to follow in Lucia's car.
Francesco weaved through evening traffic to Vincafé. They climbed from the vehicles and entered the restaurant. Tomaso went up to the owner and said, “See, I told you we'd return.” And the seven were seated at the same table they had abandoned at lunch the day before, a meal that now seemed
like it had happened weeks ago.
Once chilled bottles of Prosecco and Arneis were delivered, the conversation veered toward how to solve their problem with the truffles. Ideas were flung from every perspective, whether honoring the labors of the trifolài, avoiding detection by the fisco, sharing the wealth with the restaurants, managing to preserve the dignity and tradition of Alba's truffles, even punishing those who caused this disaster.
“The criminals have already been brought to justice….of a sort,” explained Stefano, to a chorus of nodding heads.
At one point, Francesco realized that in the midst of this cacophony, his father was the only one who hadn't expressed an opinion. So he turned to him and asked what he would do.
Tomaso surveyed the table, poured another glass of wine, then signaled to the waiter to bring a bottle of Ceretto Barolo Brunate, one of the Piedmont's most exquisite wines. Stefano smiled, Lucia nodded in recognition, and Rita licked her lips. Paolo, sitting between Nicki and Lucia had already learned much about the local wines, and he knew that this Ceretto was a classic. He let out a soft yet audible gasp at Tomaso's order which brought smiles from the others and gentle elbow to the ribs from Lucia.
“Papa, what would you do?” asked Francesco.
Tomaso spoke without hesitation, and with conviction.
“Two thirds of the truffle hoard will be distributed among the regular customers of mine and the other trifolài in Alba. I know everyone and, despite the secrecy, we know about how much each hunter usually brings in. The trifolài will be told that, to receive their share, these truffles must be given to their customers like restaurants and regular buyers for free,” and he paused to let this sink in.
“Free,” he repeated, lest anyone had missed his point.
Anticipating the questions and objections, Tomaso plowed ahead. “We have all taken a loss, but we have also sold truffles this year for a higher price than usual. By sharing these with our customers, we will regain their trust and only suffer a modest loss of annual revenue. We will count on the traditions of the black market to prevent anyone from questioning the sudden largesse or contact the authorities. And all will benefit from the windfall.”
He paused again, and watched as the meaning sank in. Heads nodded, and faces around the table seemed to brighten up at this straightforward solution.
“The other third of the truffles will be given to Rita and Stefano to serve at their restaurant in Genoa.”
Francesco objected, though only lightly so as not to alienate his friends at the table.
“Papa, I'm sure they would be delighted to have these truffles, but one-third?”
“They put pressure on us all to keep this investigation alive, questioning trifolài, their customers, even the police to make sure we didn't give up on this. And without Paolo's help,” here Tomaso nodded at the young man he had come to love and respect, “and Nicki's persistence while Rita and Stefano were forced to return to Genoa, we might never have uncovered this evil deed.”
Tomaso spoke these last two words while staring directly into his son's eyes, a son who then cast his guilty gaze downward. Everyone at the table knew that Francesco was swept innocently into this criminal act, but they also knew his actions made the theft possible. With some reservations and a wealth of tolerance, they were able to forgive Francesco's actions, but he would live with the guilt for a long time.
Just then, when Francesco's face still burned from shame and embarrassment, his father chose to deliver his most solemn declaration.
“And Francesco,” his voice nearly boomed. “What of you? Will you continue to lead an easy life of pleasure, or will you settle down and help me with the farm?”
Francesco looked at his father and realized that this was not a question as much as a command. He had enjoyed his youth, and plied his good looks, but he was also growing into a man. My father is right, he thought to himself, while he also realized that family was the bond that held Italian society together.
Paolo searched Francesco's face to somehow glean the emotions that swirled through his friend's heart and mind at that moment. He knew that Francesco would obey his father; that's what Italian men did. At that thought, Paolo nearly began crying, thinking of his own father in the vineyard in Sinalunga.
“Si, papa,” began Francesco slowly. “It is time that the family farm is worked by the entire family.”
Tomaso offered the proud smile only a father can possess.
“Si,” Francesco repeated, with a surreptitious look in Nicki's direction. She was drinking from her wine glass, uninterested in the conversation, and obviously uninterested in Francesco. He knew he had lost her.
Chapter 64
A Clash, and an Agreement
Tomaso called a meeting of the trifolài at the Castello Grinzane Cavour, the fraternity quarters of the Ordine dei Cavalieri del Tartufo e Vino. He began by reporting on the events of the last few days, and made sure that the gathering of hunters was fully apprised of the successful work of the group from the Ristorante Girasole.
When he announced that the truffles had been recovered, there was a roar so loud it threatened to bring down the ancient walls of the building where they met. Then, in careful detail, Tomaso laid out his plans for redistributing them. He said some were given to Rita and Stefano, without detailing how much, then said the remainder would be shared with the regular customers of those gathered, for free.
Looks of disbelief and cries of anguish from the crowd were accompanied by worried glances and accusations of what some quickly named a “second” theft. Tomaso raised his arms and tried to quiet the mass before him, repeating many of his earlier remarks about the secrecy of their work, the greed of the fisco, the risks of discovery, and the need to re-establish the reputation of the Tartufo d'Alba. He also reminded them of the importance of regaining the market for the next year, and regaining the trust of the buyers.
New looks appeared on faces throughout the crowd. There were still some doubtful glances and some shaking heads, but the consensus was beginning to shift.
“How many truffles were found?”
Tomaso described the quantity in kilos, summing up the two-thirds that remained only. The hunters in the room huffed and sighed, but no one offered a different plan. This all-against-one debate continued for nearly two hours, but in the end the gathering agreed to Tomaso's plan.
Chapter 65
Back to Genoa
Rita, Stefano, and Nicki left for the train station the next morning. Francesco was nowhere to be seen, which suited Nicki just fine. Paolo commandeered the truck with the truffles back to Genoa.
Just before pulling away from the curb, Lucia drove up in her car.
“So, you're returning to Genoa,” she said.
“Si, but from there to Sinalunga. That's where I belong,” he responded.
Lucia gave him a long look, and a longer kiss.
“Just as I belong here in Alba,” was all she could say. With that, she turned back to her car, started the engine, and waved lightly at Paolo as she drove away.
On the train ride back home, Rita couldn't take her mind off of truffle recipes. Stefano had bigger ideas, which he wouldn't reveal to Rita until later.
When the train pulled into the station on Piazza Acquaverde, Paolo was waiting for them.
“I've already delivered the truffles to the restaurant,” he said, whispering his news as if a stranger might be spying on them.
The four of them squeezed into a single taxi for the ride back to the Ristorante Girasole. On the way home, Rita talked about all that had to be done, and the preparations that she would have to make to manage all the truffles that now awaited them at the restaurant. She noticed, but didn't pay much attention to, the smug look on Stefano's face.
As they neared the Ristorante Girasole, Rita noticed a long, rolled up cloth above the doors that stretched from one end to the other. She craned her neck to see it better as the taxi pulled up to the curb, then alighted on the sidewalk.
&nbs
p; Rita had her hands on her hips when the other taxi pulled up, and she looked sternly now at Stefano's grinning face. Nicki and Paolo were standing beside them before Stefano made any move. Then he walked up to the front of the restaurant, gripped a thin rope that dangled from one end of the furled cloth, and gave it a sharp tug.
As the cloth unrolled, Rita gave out a little shriek of pleasure, clapping her hands over her mouth as she did so. Below the ornate lettering of the Ristorante Girasole's original sign, the new cloth banner declared it to be “La Casa del Tartufo.”
Stefano's grin spread across his face as he saw the effect this had on his wife. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a moist kiss on his cheek.
They spent the next day re-organizing the menu and cleaning up the place for re-opening that night. It was a busy evening, especially as pedestrians and regulars took note of the new name on the banner. Rita and Stefano couldn't have wished for a more propitious night than this first one as “La Casa del Tartufo.”
Later, exhausted from serving more plates than ever before, the five gathered at their own table in the kitchen after closing. Rita and Stefano chattered non-stop about the truffle hunt and Nicki offered her own version of the tales. Rita ticked off new ideas for recipes on her fingers, and her detailed description of the flavors made Paolo's mouth water.
Stefano gathered up some of the plates and offered to begin washing them. He disappeared into the kitchen and they could hear the sound of water filling the stainless steel sinks behind the swinging doors. Rita soon joined him, leaving Paolo and Nicki alone.
“I belong here too,” said Nicki, as she stood to join her adopted family in the kitchen.
Paolo sat alone for a few more minutes, enjoying the last of the great wine in his glass, and comparing it to the equally fabulous wines from his own region. His mind wandered helter skelter from Piedmont to Tuscany, from Barolo to Chianti, and from this close-knit family to his own in Sinalunga.
