The Sicilian - Mario Puzo [169]
Pisciotta’s mind crumbled with all the terrors of what Guiliano would ask if they spoke. He would ask, “Aspanu, who is the Judas of our band? Aspanu, who warned Don Croce? Aspanu, who led the carabinieri to Castelvetrano? Aspanu, why did you meet with Don Croce?” And most of all, he was afraid that Guiliano would say, “Aspanu, you are my brother.” It was that final terror that made Pisciotta pull the trigger.
The stream of bullets blew away Guiliano’s hand and shattered his body. Pisciotta, horrified at his own action, waited for him to fall. Instead Guiliano came slowly down the steps, blood pouring from his wounds. Filled with superstitious dread, Pisciotta turned and fled, and he could see Guiliano running after him and then he saw Guiliano fall.
But Guiliano, dying, thought he was still running. The shattered neurons of his brain tangled and he thought he was running through the mountains with Aspanu seven years before, the fresh water flowing out of the ancient Roman cisterns, the smell of strange flowers intoxicating, running past the holy saints in their padlocked shrines, and he cried out, as on that night, “Aspanu, I believe,” believing in his happy destiny, in the true love of his friend. Then the kindness of death delivered him of the knowledge of his betrayal and his final defeat. He died in his dream.
Aspanu Pisciotta fled. He ran through the fields and onto the road to Castelvetrano. There he used his special pass to contact Colonel Luca and Inspector Velardi. It was they who released the story that Guiliano had fallen into a trap and been killed by Captain Perenze.
Maria Lombardo Guiliano was up early that morning of July 5, 1950. She had been awakened by a knock on the door; her husband had gone down to answer it. He had returned to the bedroom and told her he had to go out and might be gone for the whole day. She had looked through the window and seen him get into Zu Peppino’s donkey cart with its brightly painted legends on the panels and wheels. Had they news of Turi, had he made his escape to America or had something gone wrong? She felt the familiar anxiety building to terror that she had felt for the last seven years. It made her restless, and after she had cleaned the house and prepared vegetables for the day’s meals, she opened the door and looked out into the street.
The Via Bella was swept clean of all her neighbors. There were no children playing. Many of the men were in prison on suspicion of being conspirators with the Guiliano band. The women were too frightened to let their children out into the street. Squads of carabinieri were at each end of the Via Bella. Soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders patrolled up and down on foot. She saw other soldiers up on the roofs. Military jeeps were parked up against buildings. An armored car blocked the mouth of the Via Bella near the Bellampo Barracks. There were two thousand men of Colonel Luca’s army occupying the town of Montelepre, and they had made the townspeople their enemies by molesting the women, frightening the children, physically abusing the men not thrown into prison. And all these soldiers were here to kill her son. But he had flown to America, he would be free, and when the time was ripe, she and her husband would join him there. They would live in freedom, without fear.
She went back into the house and found herself work to do. She went to the rear balcony and looked at the mountains. Those mountains from which Guiliano had observed this house with his binoculars. She had always felt his presence; she did not feel it now. He was surely in America.
A loud pounding on the door froze her with terror. Slowly she went to open it. The first thing she saw was Hector Adonis, and he looked as she had never seen him look before. He was unshaven, his hair unruly, he wore no cravat. The shirt beneath his jacket was rumpled and the collar was smudged with