Malavita by Tonino Benacquista Read Free Book Online Page B

Striptease?”
    The lunch bell rang, but everybody miraculously remained seated. Mr Morvan had no objection to learning something on his own subject from a pupil, and asked Warren to carry on.
    â€œI think I’m right in saying that the Americans planned to land in Sicily by 1943. At the time the CIA knew that the only anti-fascist force in the country was the Mafia. The boss was Don Calogero Vizzini, and he had sworn to kill the
Duce
. The Americans wanted him to take charge of the landings, but to get that to happen they had to get into Lucky Luciano’s good books, and he had just been sentenced to fifty years for tax evasion in the toughest prison in the United States.”
    Warren knew perfectly well what happened next, but he pretended to search his memory. Mr Morvan urged him on; he was both intrigued and amused. Warren wondered if he hadn’t gone too far.
    â€œThey got him out of prison, put him in the uniform of a US army lieutenant and took him to Sicily in a submarine, with some Secret Service people. There they met Don Calò, who agreed to prepare the ground for landings three months from then.”
    He had hardly finished talking; several of his classmates rushed out, others asked questions, thrilled that a gangster could have played a part in helping the Allies. Warren claimed not to know any more; he may have had an interest in obscure corners of American history, but he preferred to pass over certain details in silence. When the boys asked him what had become of Luciano, Warren heard another question: could a criminal end up in the history books?
    â€œIf you’re interested, there are plenty of Internet sites that tell the whole story,” he said, as he left the classroom.
    Mr Morvan called him back, and waited until the room was empty.
    â€œIs that your father?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, my father?”
    Warren had almost shouted. What on earth had made him talk about the exploits of Luciano himself, his greatest idol after Capone? How many times had Quintiliani exhorted them to avoid sensitive subjects, whatever the circumstances? They had been expressly forbidden to mention the Mafia, or its American affiliate that originated in Sicily, the Cosa Nostra. Just for the sake of showing off in class, Warren had probably condemned his family to take to the road again only a month after their arrival.
    â€œI gather your father’s a writer, and he’s come to Cholong to work on a book about the Second World War? Did he tell you all this?”
    The boy grabbed the lifeline that was being held out; his father had saved his bacon. A father who didn’t know a single date, not those of the Second World War any more than his children’s birthdays, a father who would be incapable of drawing a map of Sicily, or even of being able to say why Luciano was called Lucky. But his status as a self-proclaimed author had pulled his son out of an awkward moment.
    â€œHe tells me some things, but I don’t remember it all.”
    â€œWhat became of Luciano after that?”
    Warren realized that there was no escape.
    â€œHe started the great heroin pipeline that still pours into the United States.”
    *
    At the beginning of the afternoon Maggie began gathering her strength to embark on preparations for the barbecue to which Fred had invited the whole neighbourhood.
What better way to get to know them, eh, Maggie? To blend in, get accepted?
She was forced to agree – going out to meet the neighbours would spare them a lot of mistrust and create a good atmosphere. But all the same she was suspicious that what her husband really wanted was to live out his new fantasy in public – the fantasy of being a writer.
    â€œMaggie!” He yelled again from the end of the veranda. “Are you making me that tea, yes or no?”
    With his elbows resting on either side of his Brother 900, his chin on his crossed fingers, Fred was pondering the mysteries of the