Guiliano felt La Venera's legs pressed against his back; her heat came through the rough cotton of her dress. When she moved in front of him to cut around his forehead she kept well away from his leg, but when she had to lean forward, the swelling of her bust almost brushed against his lips and the clean heavy scent of her body made his face as warm as if he were standing before a fire. The portraits on the wall were blotted out.
She swiveled her rounded hips to deposit another clump of hair in the wooden bowl. For one moment her thigh rested against his arm and he could feel the silky skin even through the heavy black dress. He made his body steady as a rock. She leaned against him harder. To keep himself from pulling up her skirt and clasping those thighs, he said jokingly, "Are we Samson and Delilah?"
She stepped away from him suddenly. And he was surprised by the tears running down her face. Without thinking he put his hands on her body and pulled her closer. Slowly she reached out and lay the silver scissors across the mound of brown hair that filled the wooden bowl.
And then his hands were under her black mourning dress and clutching her warm thighs. She bent down and covered his mouth with hers as if she would swallow it. Their initial tenderness was a second's spark that roared into an animal passion fed by her three years of chaste widowhood, his springing from the sweet lust of a young man who had never tasted the love of a woman but only the bought exercise of whores.
For that first moment, Guiliano lost all sense of himself and his world. La Venera's body was so lush, and it burned with a tropical heat that went to his very bones. Her breasts were fuller than he could ever have imagined; the black widow's dress had cleverly disguised and protected them. At the sight of those oval globes of flesh he felt the blood pounding in his head. And then they were on the floor making love and taking off their clothing at the same time. She kept whispering, "Turi, Turi," in an agonized voice, but he said nothing. He was lost in the smell, the heat and fleshiness of her body. When they finished, she led him into the bedroom and they made love again. He could not believe the pleasure he found in her body, and even felt some dismay at his own surrender and was only comforted that she succumbed even more completely.
When he fell asleep she stared down into his face for a long time. She imprinted it on her memory in fear she would never see him alive again. For she remembered the last night she had slept with her husband before he died, when she had turned her back after making love and fallen asleep and ever since could not remember the sweet mask that comes over every lover's face. She had turned her back because she could not bear the fearful nervousness of her husband when he was in the house, his terror of being trapped so that he could never fall asleep, the way he started up if she rose from the bed to cook or do some chore. She marveled now at Guiliano's calm; she loved him for it. She loved him because, unlike her husband, he did not bring his guns to bed, he did not interrupt his lovemaking to listen for the sound of lurking enemies, he did not smoke or drink and tell his fears. He was gentle in his speech, but took his pleasure with fearless and concentrated passion. She rose noiselessly from the bed and still he did not stir. She waited a moment and then went out and into the kitchen to cook him her best dish.
When he left her house in the morning he went through the front door, stepping out carelessly but with guns hidden beneath his jacket. He had told her he would not stop to say goodbye to his mother and asked her to do so for him, to let her know he was safe. She was frightened at his boldness, not knowing he had a small army in the town, not noticing that he had held her door open a few minutes before he went out so that Pisciotta would be warned and would eliminate anycarabinierigoing by.
She kissed him goodbye with a shyness that moved him and then she whispered, "When will you come to see me again?"
"Whenever I come to see my mother, I'll come to you afterward." he said. "In the mountains I'll dream about you every night." And at these words she felt an overwhelming joy that she had made him happy.
She waited until noon before she went down the street to see Guiliano's mother. Maria Lombardo had only to see her face to know what had happened. La Venera looked ten years younger. Her dark brown eyes had black flecks dancing in them, her cheeks were rosy with color, and for the first time in almost four years she wore a dress that was not black. It was the frilly dress beribboned with velvet that a girl wears to show the mother of her lover. Maria Lombardo felt a rush of gratitude for her friend, for her loyalty and her courage and also a certain satisfaction that her plans had come out so well. This would be a wonderful arrangement for her son, a woman who would never be a traitor, a woman who could never make a permanent claim upon him. Though she loved her son fiercely she felt no jealousy. Except when La Venera told how she had cooked her best dish, a pie stuffed with rabbit meat and chunks of strong cheese riddled with fat grains of pepper, and how Turi had devoured enough for five men and sworn he had never eaten anything better in his life.
CHAPTER 15
Even in Sicily, a land where men killed each other with the same ferocious enthusiasm with which the Spaniards slaughtered bulls, the murderous madness of the citizens of Corleone inspired a universal dread. Rival families exterminated each other in a quarrel over a single olive tree, neighbors might kill each other over the amount of water one took from a communal stream, a man could die from love – that is, if he looked too disrespectfully at a wife or daughter. Even the cool-headed Friends of the Friends succumbed to this madness and their different branches warred to death in Corleone until Don Croce brought them to peace.
In such a town, Stefano Andolini had earned the nickname ofFra Diavalo,Brother Devil.
Don Croce had summoned him from Corleone and instructed him. He was to join Guiliano's band and win their confidence. He was to stay with them until Don Croce gave orders as to his future course of action. Meanwhile he was to send back information as to Guiliano's real strength, the loyalty of Passatempo and Terranova. Since Pisciotta's loyalty was unquestioned there remained only to evaluate that young man's weaknesses. And if the opportunity arose, Andolini was to kill Guiliano.
Andolini had no fear of the great Guiliano.
Also, since he was redheaded, and redheads were so rare in Italy, Stefano Andolini secretly believed he had been excused from the rules of virtue. As a gambler believes his system can never lose, so Stefano Andolini believed himself so cunning he could never be outwitted.
He picked two youngpicciottito go with him, that is, apprentice killers, who had not yet been admitted to the Mafia but hoped for that honor. They journeyed into the mountain haunts of Guiliano carrying knapsacks andlupareand sure enough were picked up by a roving patrol headed by Pisciotta.
Pisciotta listened to Stefano Andolini's story with an impassive face. Andolini told him that thecarabinieriand Security Police were looking for him because of the murder of a Socialist agitator in Corleone. This was quite true. What Andolini did not say was that the police andcarabinierihad no proof and were merely seeking him for questioning. A questioning that would be more kindly than exhaustive due to the influence of Don Croce. Andolini also told Pisciotta that the twopicciottiwith him were men who were also being sought by the police as co-conspirators in the killing. This was also true. But as he was telling this story Stefano Andolini felt a mounting uneasiness. Pisciotta was listening with the expression of a man who has met someone he has known before or of whom he has heard a great deal.
Andolini said that he had come into the mountains in the hope of joining Guiliano's band. And then he played his trump card. He had the stamp of approval from Guiliano's father himself. He, Stefano Andolini, was a cousin of the great Don Vito Corleone, in America. Pisciotta nodded. Andolini went on. Don Vito Corleone had been born an Andolini in the village of Corleone. His father killed, himself hunted as a boy, he had escaped to America where he had become the great Godfather. When he had returned to Sicily to wreak vengeance on his father's murderers, Stefano Andolini had been one of hispicciotti.Thereafter he had visited the Don in America to receive his reward. While there he had met Guiliano's father who worked as a bricklayer on the Don's new mansion on Long Island. They had become friends, and Andolini, before he came into the mountains, had stopped in Montelepre to receive the blessing of Salvatore Guiliano Senior.
Pisciotta's face became thoughtful as he listened to this story. He distrusted this man, his red hair, his face of a murderer. And Pisciotta didn't like the look of the twopicciottiwithMalpelo,for so he called him in the Sicilian style.
Pisciotta said to him, "I'll take you to Guiliano, but keep yourluparestrapped to your shoulders until he's spoken to you. Don't unsling them without permission."
Stefano Andolini grinned widely and said with the utmost affability, "But I recognized you, Aspanu, I trust you. Take myluparaoff my shoulder and your men can do the same with mypicciottihere. After we speak with Guiliano I'm sure he'll return our guns."
Pisciotta said, "We're not pack animals to carry your weapons for you. Carry them yourselves." And he led the way through the mountains to Guiliano's hideout on the edge of the cliff overlooking Montelepre.
More than fifty of the band were scattered around the cliff cleaning guns and repairing equipment. Guiliano was seated at the table, watching through his binoculars.
Pisciotta talked to Guiliano before he had the new recruits brought forward. He told all the circumstances and then he said, "Turi, he seems a little 'moldy' to me." "Moldy," the Sicilian idiom for a man who informs.
"And you think you've seen him before?" Guiliano asked.
"Or heard of him," Pisciotta said. "He is familiar to me somehow, but redheaded men are rare. I should remember him."
Guiliano said quietly, "You heard about him from La Venera. She called himMalpelo – she didn't know his name was Andolini. She told me about him too. He joined her husband's band. A month later her husband was ambushed and killed by thecarabinieri.La Venera didn't trust him either. He was full of little tricks, she said."
Silvestro came over to them. "Don't trust that redhead. I've seen him at Palermo headquarters for private visits with the Commandant ofCarabinieri.''
Guiliano said, "Go down to Montelepre and bring my father here. Meanwhile keep them under guard."
Pisciotta sent Terranova to fetch Guiliano's father and then he went to the three men, who were sitting on the ground. He bent down and picked up Stefano Andolini's weapon. Members of the band encircled the three men like wolves surrounding a fallen prey. "You don't mind if I relieve you of the task of caring for this weapon now?" Pisciotta asked with a grin. Stefano Andolini looked startled for a moment, his face twisting into a grimace. Then he shrugged. Pisciotta tossed theluparato one of his men.
He waited for a few moments, making sure his men were ready. Then he reached down to take theluparefrom Andolini's twopicciotti.One of them, more from fear than malice, pushed Pisciotta away and put his hand on his shotgun. In the next moment, quickly as a snake baring its tongue, a knife appeared in Pisciotta's hand. His body darted forward and the knife cut thepicciotto'sthroat. A fountain of pink blood burst into the clear mountain air and thepicciottoslumped over on his side. Pisciotta was straddling his body, leaning down, and another quick stroke finished the job. Then, with a series of quick kicks, he rolled the body into a gully.
The other men of Guiliano's band had sprung to their feet leveling their guns. Andolini, sitting on the ground, raised his hands in the air and looked around him beseechingly. But the otherpicciottolunged for his weapon and tried to bring it around. Passatempo, standing behind him and grinning with enjoyment, emptied his pistol into the man's head. The shots echoed through the mountains. They all remained frozen, Andolini pale and shaking with fear, Passatempo holding his pistol. And then Guiliano's voice from the edge of the cliff said quietly, "Get rid of the bodies and tie thatMalpeloto a tree until my father comes."
The bodies were wrapped in bamboo nets and carried to a deep crevice. They were thrown in with stones tumbled down after them to keep the stench from rising, according to old superstition. This was a task for Passatempo, who robbed the bodies before he buried them. Guiliano constantly fought against his distaste for Passatempo. No amount of rationalization could turn that animal into a knight.
It was after dusk, almost seven hours later, that Guiliano's father was finally brought into the camp. Stefano Andolini was released from his tree and brought over to the cave lit with kerosene lamps.