Bell for Adano, A - John Hersey [6]
He waved to them and went back into his office. Now he was happy and quick.
He took up his brief case again, reached in and pulled out a pile of proclamations. He took them over to the table by the door, set the leftover maps and photos aside, and arranged the proclamations in order on the table. While he was on his way back to his desk, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he said in Italian.
The door opened. A man came in whose appearance was vaguely familiar to Major Joppolo. The Major realized later that he had seen, not this man, but several who looked just like him, in bad American movies. He was the type of the second-rate Italian gangster, the small fellow in the gang who always stood behind the boss and who always took the rap. He had the bald head, the weak mouth. He had a scar across his cheek. His eye was furtive and he had the appearance of being willing but in need of instructions.
He said in English: “You pull up a flag. War’s a finish here in Adano, huh?”
The Major said: “Yes, who are you?”
The Italian said: “I’m from a Cleveland, Ohio. I been here a three year. You got a work for me?”
Major Joppolo said: “What’s your name?”
The Italian said: “Ribaudo Giuseppe. In a Cleveland, call a me Joe.”
Major Joppolo said: “What can you do?”
Ribaudo said: “I’m a good American. I’m a hate these Fascisti. I could do a good a job for you.”
Major Joppolo said: “If you’re such a good American, why did you leave the States?”
Ribaudo said: “I’m a kick out.” “I’m a no passport.”
“How’d you get in, then?”
‘I got a plenty friends in a Cleveland and a Buffalo.’ “What did you do in the States?”
“Oh, I work a here, work a there.”
Major Joppolo was pleased with Ribaudo for not trying to lie about his illegal entry and repatriation. He said: “Okay, I’ll hire you. You will be my interpreter.”
“You don’t a speak Italian?”
“Yes, but there’ll be other Americans here who don’t, and I may need you for other things, too. Do you know these people well, do you know who’s for us Americans and who’s against us?”
“Sure, a boss, I help a you plenty.”
“All right, what did you say your name was?” “Ribaudo Giuseppe, just a Joe for you.”
“No, we’re in Italy, I’ll call you Giuseppe here. Just two things now, Giuseppe. You’ve got to be honest with me; if you’re not, you’ll be in bad trouble. The other is, don’t expect me to do you any favors I wouldn’t do for anyone else, see?”
“Oh sure, a boss. You don’t a worry.”
“Now tell me, what does this town need the most?” “I could a go for a movie house, a boss.”
“No, Giuseppe, I mean right now.”
“Food, a boss. Food is a bad now in Adano. Three days a lot a people no eat a nothing.”
“Why is that, because of a shortage of flour?”
“No, everyone been a scared. Baker don’t a work, nobody sell a pasta, water don’t a come in a carts. That’s all, a boss.”
“How many bakers are there in town?”
But before Giuseppe could answer this question, there were two simultaneous knocks on the door, one strong, and one weak.
“I open ‘em up, a boss?” Giuseppe was at least eager. “Please, Giuseppe.”
Giuseppe hurried down the long room and opened the door. Two men almost tumbled in. Both were well dressed, and had neckties on. One of them was quite old. The other was very fat and looked forty. They hurried down the room, and each seemed anxious not to let the other get ahead of him.
The old one said in English, with a careful British accent: “My name is Cacopardo, at your service, Major. I am eighty-two. I own most of the sulphurs in this place. Here Cacopardo is sulphur and sulphur is Cacopardo. I wish to give you advices whenever you need of it.”
The fat one, who seemed annoyed with Cacopardo for speaking first, said in English: “Craxi, my name. I have a telegram.”
Major Joppolo said: “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
Cacopardo said: “Advices.”
Craxi said. “Telegram.”
Cacopardo said: “The Americans coming to Italian countryside need some advices.” The old man looked