Kal (14 page)

Rico felt a sudden surge of animosity. Was he supposed to feel grateful towards his brother? Giovanni was a good brother, sure, a devoted brother, but Rico had earned such devotion. Many a time during the pain of his recovery he had regretted the fact that he had not cried out to the De Cretico brothers that night. He should have. He should have cried out, ‘It was not me! You have the wrong man!' Now he was paying the price for playing the hero. As he looked at Giovanni's fine straight body, he thought, once I too had a body like that. Once I was Rico Gianni, desired by women and envied by men. Suddenly he needed to get out of the room. He needed to get away from Giovanni.

He stood slowly, easing the cramp in his lower back. ‘I am tired, Gio.' Giovanni put down the concertina and Rico envied the ease with which he jumped from the bed. ‘It is good to be together again,' he said as they embraced. ‘I will come to the dockyards at noon.'

Giovanni watched his brother shuffle awkwardly out the door and down the passage. The gait was not so comical now Rico was tired. Without energy it was the shuffle of an old man, defeated. Giovanni wanted to weep.

 

T
HE FOLLOWING DAY
, however, Rico's facade was back in place and his gait was once more that of a clown. At five to twelve, just before his lunch break, Giovanni looked through the dockyard gates up the hill toward the boarding house which, although out of sight, was only several blocks away, and there was Rico lurching down the street, defying Teresa to keep up with him.

With Carmelina on her hip and little Enrico at her side Teresa's pace was indeed hampered. ‘Slow down, Rico,' she kept calling. ‘Slow down, it is not a race.'

‘Eh, Giovanni!' Rico bellowed when he was half a block away and could see his brother working alongside the other men. ‘Eh, Giovanni, we have brought you lunch!' He waved the canvas knapsack stuffed with bread and olives and cheese. ‘
Mangiare Italiano buono. Non roha Australiana quella.'

Giovanni was pleased that Rico's buoyant spirits had returned but he looked around self-consciously, wishing that his brother would keep his voice down. The foreman had been dubious about taking on a casual labourer who could speak no English. Strangely enough, Rico's physical disability had meant nothing to the foreman when Giovanni had warned him.

‘Who cares if he's a cripple so long as he can work,' Bill Coburn had said. ‘And if he works hard like you say he does then he's welcome aboard.' Bill liked the several Italians in his employ, they were all hard workers. But it was a different matter when Giovanni told him his brother could not speak English. ‘I don't know,' Bill muttered, ‘could be trouble with the others. They don't like it when you dagos don't speak English.'

When Giovanni promised that his brother would keep his mouth shut and they'd work side by side and it was only for a fortnight anyway, Bill said he'd think about it. ‘Let me meet the bloke first,' he said. And here was Rico, bellowing at the top of his lungs that he'd
brought good Italian food, not Australian rubbish. Giovanni ran to meet him at the gate.

On the dot of noon a whistle blew and all ten of the stevedores downed the sacks of grain they had been carrying from the carts to the dockside. They gathered up their lunches, sat on the sacks and started to eat. They watched as Giovanni greeted Teresa and the children.

‘Keep your voice down.
Parla più piano
,' Giovanni muttered to Rico, as he saw Bill Coburn walking towards them.

‘Perché?'

‘They do not like you to speak Italian.'

The smile faded from Rico's lips. What was wrong with speaking Italian? he thought belligerently.

Teresa put Carmelina down and took the canvas knapsack from her husband. ‘Look after your sister,' she whispered to Enrico, hoping that the men seated nearby could not hear. She too had no idea why she should not speak Italian, but if those were the rules, she would abide by them.

‘This is my brother Rico,' Giovanni said as the foreman joined them. ‘Rico, this is Mr Coburn.'

‘Morning.' Coburn shook Rico's hand. ‘The name's Bill.'

‘
Buongiorno
,' Rico replied.

‘Come over to the office.' Coburn nodded for both Giovanni and Rico to follow him.

Teresa had taken the paper bag of food from the knapsack and was about to feed the children when one of the men, having fetched a wooden crate, came up beside her and gestured for her to sit down.

Before joining the foreman, Rico turned to his wife, just in time to see the man put his arm around Teresa as he gestured to the crate.

It happened in an instant. So fast that the stevedores, all of whom had been watching Teresa from the
moment she arrived, silently and lustfully, were dumbstruck. With a howl of rage, Rico was upon the man. The full impact of his body weight would have forced them both to the ground but the man staggered back against one of the huge wooden carts loaded with sacks of grain and Rico, his hands locked around the man's neck, staggered with him. He steadied himself and tightened his grip.

‘
Se vai vicino a mia moglie ti ammazzo
. I swear I kill you,' he hissed between clenched teeth. The veins in his neck stood out as he channelled every ounce of strength he possessed into his fingers, intent on squeezing the life out of the man.

The other workers were suddenly galvanised into action. Several of them tried to pull Rico away but it was impossible.

‘Get a stick for God's sake,' someone yelled. ‘Get something to bash him with, the bastard's mad!'

A few men looked around for a weapon while the others kicked at Rico's legs and smashed their fists into his ribs, but nothing would make him release his grip. Like a fighting dog having purchased a hold on its victim, Rico had found his perfect point of traction. His feet were firmly planted, his body weight was against the man and the jaws of his fingers were mercilessly locked. They could batter him to death but, doglike, he would not let go.

The man's eyes were bulging, rasping sounds were coming from his throat. Rico squeezed and squeezed. Tighter and tighter. Then a voice beside him said, ‘Rico!
Se tu ammazzi quest' oumo, ti rinnego come fratello
.' In his madness Rico became vaguely aware of Giovanni's face only inches from his. But what was Giovanni saying? What did he mean? Rico glanced sideward.

‘
Hai svergognato la famiglia
.' Giovanni's eyes were cold with contempt. ‘
Non sei mio fratello
.'

Rico was shocked. ‘You disgrace our family,' Giovanni had said. ‘You are not my brother.' The voice was like ice. Giovanni despised him, Rico could see it in his eyes. But how could that be? Giovanni idolised him. All of their lives Rico had been a hero to his brother.

‘
Lascialu stare
,' Giovanni ordered. ‘I said let him go!'

The madness left Rico as quickly as it had engulfed him and he released his hold. The man fell to his hands and knees gasping and retching, his lungs fighting for air.

Giovanni turned his back on his brother. ‘I am sorry,' he said to Bill Coburn. ‘I am sorry,' he said to the surrounding men, one of whom was by now clutching a wooden mallet. ‘I will take him away.' Still he did not look at Rico. ‘Come, Teresa,' he said and waited while Teresa gathered up the children. Finally he turned to his brother. ‘Rico.'

Rico recognised the command. His madness had vanished as if it had never been, and he realised that it was a good thing Giovanni had halted his attack—by now he would either have been clubbed to death or facing a murder charge. But he felt no remorse. The man had touched his wife. If they had been alone the man would most certainly be dead, and deservedly so. Rico looked defiantly about him and then followed Giovanni from the dockyard.

When they were out on the street Giovanni stopped. ‘Teresa, take the children home. Rico, come with me.'

Teresa looked at her husband. She was grateful to Giovanni but she was accustomed to Rico being in command. Rico nodded, however, so she handed the knapsack to him and started up the hill.

‘Where are we going?' Rico asked as they walked along the street towards the Round House.

‘We need to talk.'

‘Why? Why do we need to talk, little brother?' Rico
felt perfectly calm now. It was a pity he would miss out on a job at the dockyard but he would find work elsewhere. ‘A man touches my wife so I teach him a lesson. There is no harm done.' He grinned. ‘You did well to stop me from killing him though.'

Giovanni said nothing until they were at Arthurs Head, standing on the grassy knoll beside the Round House overlooking the sea.

He sat on the stone wall and gazed down at the small beach below. It was a still day and the waves lapped the sand lazily. Way out there, beyond the horizon, was Africa, he thought. Across the vast Indian Ocean another whole continent.

Giovanni felt depressed. All these years he had nurtured his desire to explore this vast brown land, to dig for gold. But always the excitement was to be shared with Rico. Since his arrival in Australia three years ago he had done nothing but work towards that aim. And now with whom was he to share all this? A madman. His childhood hero, the brother he had idolised, the man he had most wanted to emulate, was a madman.

Beneath Giovanni's disillusionment rested the terrible burden of his guilt. If the De Creticos had found the right brother that night, all those years ago, Rico would not be like this. Or would he? A germ of doubt was gnawing somewhere in the back of Giovanni's mind. Was it possible that, through his child's eyes, he had never really known the true Rico? Amidst his confusion there was one thing of which Giovanni was sure. He must be responsible for his brother. Rico was the child now and he must be the leader.

‘You cannot behave like that, Rico. You must curb your anger.'

‘Why?' Rico sat on the stone wall and opened the knapsack. ‘The man touched my wife.'

‘He meant no harm by it.'

‘Hah!' Rico snorted derisively as he lifted out the bread and unwrapped the parcel of food. ‘He lusted for her, they all did. I smelled it the moment I walk in the yard.'

‘Of course they lusted for her.' Giovanni was exasperated. ‘They are men and she is a handsome woman. Are you going to kill every man who lusts for Teresa?'

Rico looked up. In his strong hands he held a large loaf of bread. He was smiling but there was a hint of danger in his query. ‘Do you lust for her, Gio?'

Giovanni returned his brother's gaze. ‘I admire her,' he said. ‘Very much.'

Rico ripped the loaf in two and the loud bark of his laugh was genuine. ‘Ah Gio, you have great taste in women. Here.' He handed Giovanni one half of the bread. ‘Eat.' He nodded at the food. ‘The provolone is good.' He broke the slab of cheese in two then, bread in one hand, cheese in the other, took a large bite of each. He noticed that his brother still looked concerned. He chewed healthily for a minute then gave a repentant frown. ‘All right. All right, I did the wrong thing. I am sorry.'

Giovanni nodded but did not appear particularly convinced. ‘Eh, Gio, do not look so unhappy.' Rico grinned his irrepressible grin. ‘We are alive, and this is a good world to be alive in. Look around, look at that sky, smell the air …'

Giovanni concentrated on breaking off a piece of cheese, avoiding his brother's eyes. The cheeky, cocky smile which had always so charmed him no longer did. There was a manic edge to it now, a desperation, as if it were himself Rico was trying to convince.

Realising that his charm had fallen flat, Rico opted for sincerity instead. ‘I am sorry, Gio. Truly I am sorry. You are worried about me, eh?' Giovanni's eyes met his and he nodded briefly. ‘Do not be. I will be good. From
now on I will control my anger, I promise,' He dropped the bread and held out his hand. ‘Agreed?'

They shook hands and Giovanni smiled back, although he did not for one moment believe that his brother was capable of curbing his anger. Such anger as had come upon Rico today was not of normal proportions, it was madness and one could not curb madness. ‘Sure, Rico,' he said. ‘Agreed.'

They ate in silence for a while, each man lost in his thoughts. Rico was convinced he had successfully placated his brother and he was glad. He needed Giovanni, although he would admit that to no one, barely even to himself. He must be careful not to shake Giovanni's confidence in him. He most certainly must not tell his brother about the man he had killed. Such knowledge would worry Gio. Even though the man had deserved to die.

It had happened at the stone quarry two years ago. The quarry was only an hour's walk from Santa Lena and Teresa had decided to surprise him one day by bringing a special lunch out to the work site. There were six men working in pairs and Rico was aware of the glances cast in her direction. It angered him and he led her away from the others as quickly as he could. But after they had lunched together and Teresa had gone, he noticed the two men working the far end of the quarry. He could not hear what they were saying but they were nudging each other lasciviously and one of them mimed breasts with his hands and laughed.

Rico downed his pick and walked over to them, his partner barely glancing up as he left, presuming he was going to relieve himself.

‘You're talking about my wife, eh?' he asked the bigger man of the two, the one who had cupped the air with his hands and laughed.

‘So?'

‘So, if you speak filth about my wife, I will kill you.'

The smaller of the two read the rage in Rico and backed away nervously. He knew the strength of the man. They all did. Rico was the strongest worker on the site. ‘We just admire her, Rico,' he said. ‘We meant no harm. Truly.'

Rico glared at them both and turned to go but the big man could not resist goading him. ‘What is a woman like that doing with a cripple like him?' His voice was deliberately loud.