The Sicilian - Mario Puzo [134]
A low moan of terror and exultation rose from the crowd. Guiliano remained leaning against the wall, his heavy pistol still in its holster. He stood with his arms folded as if he, too, were wondering what Aspanu Pisciotta would do next.
The remaining five Mafia chiefs continued their parade. Their mounts had reared up at the sound of gunfire, but the riders quickly brought them under control. They rode as slowly as before. Again Pisciotta stepped onto the path. Again he raised his hand. The lead rider, Don Buccilla, stopped. The others behind him reined their horses still.
Pisciotta called to them, “Your families will need your horses in the days to come. I promise to send them. Now dismount and pay your respects to Guiliano.” His voice rang loud and clear to the ears of the multitude.
There was a long silence and then the five men dismounted. They stood there proudly gazing at the crowd, their eyes fierce and insolent. The long arc of Guiliano’s men broke as twenty of them came close, guns ready. Carefully and gently they bound the arms of the five men behind their backs. Then they led all six chiefs to Guiliano.
Guiliano regarded these six men without expression. Quintana had humiliated him once, had even tried to assassinate him, but now the situation was reversed. Quintana’s face had not changed over these five years—it had the same wolfish look—but at this moment the eyes seemed vacant and wandering behind the Mafioso mask of defiance.
Don Siano stared at Guiliano with contempt on his gray face. Buccilla seemed a little astonished, as if he were surprised by so much ill feeling in an affair that did not really concern him. The other Dons looked him coldly in the eye as ultimate men of respect must do. Guiliano knew them all by reputation; as a child he had feared some of these men, especially Don Siano. Now he had humiliated them before all Sicily and they would never forgive him. They would be deadly enemies forever. He knew what he must do, but he knew also that they were beloved husbands and fathers, that their children would weep for them. They gazed past him proudly, giving no signs of fear. Their message was clear. Let Guiliano do what he had to do, if he had the belly for it. Don Siano spat at Guiliano’s feet.
Guiliano looked at them in the face, each separately. “Kneel and make your peace with God,” he said. None of the men moved.
Guiliano turned and walked away from them. The six Mafia chiefs stood outlined against the white stone wall. Guiliano reached his line of men, then turned. He said in a loud clear voice that could be heard by the crowd, “I execute you in the name of God and Sicily,” then touched Pisciotta on the shoulder.
At that moment Don Marcuzzi started to kneel but Pisciotta had already opened fire. Passatempo and Terranova and the Corporal, still masked, also fired. The six bound bodies were flung up against the wall by the storm of machine-gun bullets. The jagged white stones were splattered with red-purple gouts of blood and pellets of flesh torn from the galvanized bodies. They seemed to be dancing from strings as they were flung back again and again by the continuing hail of bullets.
High in the tower of his palace, Prince Ollorto turned away from the telescope. So he did not see what happened next.
Guiliano stepped forward and advanced to the wall. He drew the heavy pistol from his belt and slowly and ceremoniously shot each of the fallen Mafia chiefs through the head.
There was a great hoarse roar from the watching crowd and, in seconds, thousands were streaming through the gates of Prince Ollorto’s estate. Guiliano watched them. He noticed that none of the crowd came near him.
CHAPTER 22
THAT EASTER MORNING