The Sicilian - Mario Puzo [168]
And so on the evening of July 5, as Pisciotta made his way to Castelvetrano, he had committed himself to Don Croce. He had told him where he would meet Guiliano, and he knew that the Don would tell Colonel Luca and Inspector Velardi. He had not told them that it would be at Zu Peppino’s house, but only that it would be in the town of Castelvetrano itself. And he had warned them to be careful, that Guiliano had a sixth sense about traps.
But when Pisciotta arrived at Zu Peppino’s house the old carter greeted him with an uncharacteristic coldness. Pisciotta wondered if the old man suspected him. He must have noticed the unusual activity of the carabinieri in the town and with that unerring Sicilian paranoia, put two and two together.
For a moment Pisciotta felt a thrilling pain of anguish. And then another agonizing thought. What if Guiliano’s mother learned that it had been her beloved Aspanu who betrayed her son? What if one day she stood before him and spit in his face and called him traitor and murderer? They had wept in each other’s arms and he had sworn to protect her son and he had given her a Judas kiss. For a moment he thought of killing the old man and thought too of killing himself.
Zu Peppino said, “If you’re looking for Turi, he’s been and gone.” He took pity on Pisciotta; the man’s face was white, he seemed to be gasping for air. “Do you want an anisette?”
Pisciotta shook his head and turned to leave. The old man said, “Be careful, the town is full of carabinieri.”
Pisciotta felt a flash of terror. He had been a fool not to know that Guiliano would smell out the trap. And what if now Guiliano smelled out the betrayer?
Pisciotta ran out of the house, circled the town and then took the field paths that would lead him to the fallback meeting place, the Acropolis of Selinus in the ancient ghost town of Selinunte.
The ruins of the ancient Greek city glistened in the summer moonlight. Amidst them, Guiliano sat on the crumbling stone steps of the temple dreaming of America.
He felt an overwhelming melancholy. The old dreams had vanished. He had been so full of hope for his future and the future of Sicily; he had believed so fully in his immortality. So many people had loved him. Once he had been their blessing, and now, it seemed to Guiliano, he was their curse. Against all reason he felt deserted. But he still had Aspanu Pisciotta. And there would come a day when the two of them together would bring all those old loves and old dreams alive again. After all, it had been only the two of them in the beginning.
The moon disappeared and the ancient city vanished into darkness; now the ruins looked like skeletons sketched on the black canvas of night. Out of that blackness came the hiss of shifting small stones and earth, and Guiliano rolled his body back between the marble columns, his machine pistol ready. The moon sailed serenely out of the clouds, and he saw Aspanu Pisciotta standing in the wide ruined avenue that led down from the acropolis.
Pisciotta walked slowly down the rubbled path, his eyes searching, his voice whispering Turi’s name. Guiliano, hidden behind the temple columns, waited until Pisciotta went past, then stepped out behind him. “Aspanu, I’ve won again,” he said, playing their old childish game. He was surprised when Pisciotta whirled around in terror.
Guiliano sat down on the steps and put his gun aside. “Come and sit awhile,” he said. “You must be tired, and this may be the last chance we can talk to each other alone.”
Pisciotta said, “We can talk in Mazara del Vallo, we will be safer there.”
Guiliano said to him, “We have plenty of time and you’ll be spitting blood again if you don’t take a rest. Come on now, sit beside me.” And Guiliano sat on the top stone step.
He saw Pisciotta unsling his gun and thought it was to lay it aside. He stood and