Free The Coming of Fabrizze: A Novel (Black Squirrel Books) by Raymond Decapite Page A

assistant.”
    â€œGrace is waiting,” said Fabrizze. “The coffee is hot.”
    Suddenly they were gone round the corner. The street had come alive with talk and laughter.
    For three months Mendone led Fabrizze in and followed him out of the railroad yard. The old man was first to arrive in the morning and last to leave at night. In this way he made sure that nothing happened.
    â€œHe comes to take lunch with Fabrizze,” said Rossi.
    â€œHe likes to be in the fresh air,” said Penza.
    â€œIt’s the trains,” said Rumbone. “It’s the excitement of the trains bringing him back.”
    Fabrizze advised Mendone to pay no attention to them.
    â€œThey need tools and I need weapons,” said Fabrizze. “You’re like a weapon. Keep lighting the pipe and watching them through the smoke. Here is a pair of white gloves. Wear them all day. Follow me. Sometimes I make mistakes. You’ll be the one to point them out.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œI’ll warn you beforehand,” said Fabrizze.
    For three months it went well. Grace washed the white gloves and they could be seen hanging in the sunlight. She listened in the evening to little talks on the effect of power. Mendone concluded that power was as nourishing as it was delicious. He went downtown to have his picture taken.
    One summer afternoon Fabrizze sent him to fetch the water boy Poggio. Poggio had been gone since morning. The men were grading under a white and terrible sun. Rails were smoking in the heat.
    â€œPoggio will wear that bucket when I see him,” said Cardino.
    â€œIs it rest he wants?” said Gritti. “I make a place for him.”
    The idea took hold. Ominous words echoed down the line.
    â€œDown he goes.”
    â€œAll the lies and laughter.”
    â€œGoodbye, Poggio, goodbye.”
    Fabrizze called Mendone aside.
    â€œFind the boy and bring water,” said Fabrizze. “These men are choking with thirst. Listen to them. It’s getting worse.”
    â€œHe brought no water at all?” said Mendone.
    â€œI don’t understand it,” said Fabrizze. “Two buckets of water, I told him, and nothing more is expected of you. Not even one will he bring. And still he comes every morning for the bucket.”
    Mendone set forth.
    He walked half a mile in the sun. He went astray in a patch of woods. He staggered into the clear again and up the last long hill.
    Poggio was napping under a maple tree. He lay there in his underwear. His bare feet were cool in the bubbling stream and his head was pillowed sweetly in his palms.
    â€œIt’s the end, my boy, it’s the end,” said Mendone, after he caught his breath. “It’s all up with you.”
    â€œMendone!”
    â€œIt is Mendone. Mendone caught you in the act.”
    â€œOff with your shoes, Foreman Mendone,” said Poggio. “How good it is to see you.”
    â€œIt’s the worst thing that could happen to you.”
    â€œSit in the shade a little,” said Poggio. “Rest yourself.”
    â€œNever mind, never mind,” said Mendone. “The men are dropping with thirst and you sleep in the shade here. And with your feet in their water. You go too far with it.”
    â€œBut it’s not the same water, Foreman Mendone. See how it runs. Fresh every second. Fresh since you spoke. That’s the wonder of it. Stay a while. We’ll go back with a full cold bucket. I had a cramp in the stomach. Look how my tongue is green.”
    â€œThe truth is, I’m worn out,” said Mendone.
    â€œIt’s the heat,” said Poggio. “And all this talk, too. Sit a moment then. It’s a long walk.”
    Mendone slipped off his shoes and socks. He soaked his aching feet in the stream. He kept looking over his shoulder.
    â€œA secret chill is in it,” Poggio was saying.
    â€œGuilt,” said Mendone.
    â€œIt will reduce the swelling,” said