Adam Foulds - In the Wolf's Mouth

‘Oh, yes.’

‘And you were never a Fascist?’

‘Certainly not. None of the old Sicilian families were. A little enthusiasm here and there but no more than that. The Fascists came from the north. They were invaders, “polenta eaters” as we Sicilians call them. Some Sicilians joined them for advantage.’

‘Not out of conviction, because they believed in it?’

‘Oh, that. My dear fellow, you never know what a Sicilian believes other than that nothing can be done.’ Will disliked this glib, unhelpful remark delivered in such a relaxed tone. The urge came to him, the old mental tic, to hurl his tea into the Prince’s face. Will cleared his throat.

‘This makes it rather difficult for us. We’re trying to establish leaders here, to create a new political class. It’s our job, now the war is over, to make the peace. And it would be nice to know that the people getting involved were not … tainted. We have Cirò Albanese working with us and we know he was not.’

‘Yes, I’d heard he was back.’

‘And Alvaro Zuffo. Heard of him?’

‘Just out of prison, I believe.’

‘That’s correct. What about you? Do you have any interest in politics?’

‘Me? No. The less politics the better. It’s when the peasants get hold of useless political ideas that I have problems. You should be on guard for Communism in this area.’

‘Oh, we are. And would you have any idea who would be sending us denunciations of Cirò Albanese?’

The Prince shifted in his chair. ‘Perhaps you’d like to stay for supper. My daughter will join us. She’s forever disappearing these days. She loves to ride, that one. Do you ride?’

Luisa had become stealthy in her own house, a thief in the kitchen at night, returning to her room with food in her pockets and sleeves. She flitted between the movements of the servants. She breathed quietly, full of secrets. The American lived inside her just as he lived, unguessed at, unimagined, in the attic of the house.

She opened the door and saw him again on his hands and knees, peering into the cracks between the floorboards. Lost to her, he was barely a man at all in these moments. His mind was gone and his body had taken over. It was his body, overruling his thoughts, that was determined to survive. It used him indifferently so as to stay alive. He wouldn’t even remember now that he had once kissed her. Perhaps that was better. A different madness of the night. Luisa couldn’t imagine where that might have led, what the future with this man might be.

‘Ray,’ she said.

Ray’s thin head swung around. A face patched with shadows, his beard darkening his cheeks.

‘You look like Saint Onofrio.’

‘What’s that? Who?’

‘Saint Onofrio.’

‘No, you?’

‘Ray, it’s me.’

Ray reached one hand up and swiped across his forehead and eyes. ‘Yes, it’s you. I remember. I do.’ He shivered. ‘I’m gonna sit down,’ he said.

‘Yes. Sit.’

‘Yes, I haven’t finished but …’

‘There’s nothing here.’

‘Yes.’ Ray detached his hands from the floorboards and sat back. ‘There’s nothing here.’

‘You have to remember that. There’s nothing here.’

‘I do. I will. I’ll remember.’

A young woman entered and Will rose to his feet.

‘Ah,’ the Prince said. ‘Here she is. This is my daughter, the Princess Luisa.’

Will bowed. The young woman seemed startled, breathless even.

‘Excuse me. I did not know we had a guest.’

She touched her hair, pulled at her sleeves. She was fine-looking with a dignified strictness about the nose and mouth, but she wasn’t lovely. Not like the girl in the dark in Palermo. The thought made Will twitch with shame. It was wrong to think of that in this place, wrong but exciting in its way. It made Will think of the warm blood in the Princess’s body also. The Princess had dark, oriental eyes. Perhaps this was her, the Sicilian woman promised by the Invasion Handbook , complaisant and yielding.

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.

‘Yes, yes. Everything is quite all right. I’m just here to talk with the Prince. To make your acquaintance.’

‘I see.’ The Princess waited.

‘Excuse me. I should introduce myself. My name is William Walker. I’m …’

‘Walker. Please sit. And has father told you what things are like round here?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Why I am never allowed to ride my horse on my own?’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because of bandits, kidnaps.’

‘Luisa, please. Do not exaggerate.’

‘I’m not exaggerating at all.’ She turned to Will. ‘Do not talk is what he means.’

‘I’m not sure I understand.’

The Prince attempted to explain. ‘The war has been very difficult for us. It was very frightening. So the Princess has become agitated.’

‘Ask Angilù,’ Luisa said. ‘Ask anyone. If they will tell you.’

‘There was a problem here with criminals,’ the Prince said. ‘Very Sicilian. And now people are worried they will come back.’

Will looked at them both. ‘I’ve met Angilù, I think. His name, it’s like “casino”.’

‘Cassini, yes.’

‘He came to me a little while ago. About his house, about owning his house, or rather that you owned it. And about how one of the returnees, Albanese, would claim it as his own.’

‘He is very frightened,’ the Princess said.

‘He works for me for many years. A very good man, very decent. He was a simple shepherd boy when I met him.’

‘Sounds like something out of a poem.’

‘Yes, perhaps. In a way it is.’ The Prince knitted his eyebrows. ‘But it is also normal here. Where there are sheep, someone must be a shepherd.’

‘Of course.’

‘For twenty years we have run the estate together. In a way, he is like a son. He is a peasant, of course, but …’

‘Earlier, you didn’t answer me about Albanese. Angilù isn’t the only one, I don’t think, to have things to say about him.’

The Prince frowned, looking down into his lap. He fiddled with his cigarette lighter. He looked up again. ‘Perhaps you would like to listen to the gramophone?’

‘Possibly. But to stick to the subject.’

‘You like opera? I can find out what we have.’

‘You see, Mr Walker,’ the Princess said. ‘You see what I am saying.’

Prince Adriano twisted around in his chair to look at a clock. He said, ‘Look, Angilù will be here in a little while. Perhaps it would be better to talk to him yourself.’

‘That seems like a good idea.’

‘Perhaps you would like to stay for dinner?’ the Princess asked.

‘That’s very kind. I accept.’

‘I’ll let the cook know,’ the Princess said. And then, compounding this peculiar atmosphere of languor and fear, of ease and morbidity, she said, ‘An American was killed on the Montebianco road. By a mine or an unexploded shell. It happened some time ago but his body is still out there in pieces. It is disgusting. I found it when I was out riding.’

Beginning to describe his evening to Samuels, Will said, ‘It was all rather strange.’

Samuels, in his pyjamas, joining Will for a nightcap, said, ‘Go on.’

‘It was difficult to make them talk. They didn’t want to. Or they did and didn’t. Other than the Princess, fiery little thing. She wanted to talk.’

‘The Princess,’ Samuels laughed. ‘It’s absurd.’ He put on his thickest Cockney accent. ‘Wait till I tells ’em back ‘ome. What was she like?’

‘Quite a pet. Very Mediterranean. Slender. Dark-eyed.’ Will immediately felt that he was misdescribing Princess Luisa. There was a pang of shame at reducing her to this type. He could not find the words to convey her dry, dignified anger, so self-possessed and righteous that at times when she spoke she seemed to rise a few inches off the ground. And there was the quality of her silences too. When she wasn’t speaking, the silence around her was very composed, full of what she was thinking and not saying. Will thought she had recognised his intelligence, saw him as an equal, and that a wordless acknowledgement had passed between them. Perhaps it was she, at last, the one he’d been imagining. ‘Highly intelligent, though, I think.’