The Coming of Fabrizze: A Novel (Black Squirrel Books) Read Free

arrange it. She’ll be tickled to have you.”
    â€œVery nice, very nice,” said Augustine. “But I can’t afford a wife. You forget the people back home.”
    â€œBut they expect too much of you,” said Josephine. “Are you to sacrifice your life for them?”
    â€œI am in chains,” said Augustine, huskily. And here he put his hand to his throat and began to choke himself.
    â€œPoor soul,” said Josephine.
    Augustine had let it be known everywhere that he was the sole support of his mother and his nephew. Thus he was overwhelmed with food and drink when he made his round of visits in the neighborhood. At least once a week he turned up for supper at the house of his railroad foreman Rossi.
    â€œTake a glass of wine with me,” Rossi would say. “We were just going to have supper. A glass of wine.”
    â€œYou don’t mean it?” said Augustine, with hapless brown eyes on the floor. He was holding a hat which looked as if it had been used to beat out a fire.
    â€œOf course I mean it,” said Rossi, flushed with wine. “And I want you to take supper with us.”
    â€œIt’s a trick,” said Augustine, in his innocent way.
    â€œWhat a fellow he is,” said Rossi, throwing up his hands. “I tell you, Augustine, you don’t leave this house till you take food to warm you. Do you hear me? I say I won’t let you out the door. Nancy, snap the lock on the door.”
    â€œI believe you mean what you say,” said Augustine, musing and stroking his chin. “You speak from the heart. And yet I was on my way home this very minute to bake a loaf of bread.”
    â€œHe makes his own bread,” said Rossi. “Nancy, Nancy. Come and listen to this.”
    â€œPerhaps I’ll stay the next time,” said Augustine.
    â€œI’m giving an order,” said Rossi. “Why, it’s a curse to eat alone. Stay, stay. Talk a little. Tell me about things in the old country. Your people are from the Abruzzi, eh? How well I know it. The mountains, Augustine, the mountains! First thing in the morning your eyes lift up and your heart pounds!”
    â€œI am in chains,” said Augustine.
    â€œBut I know about you,” said Rossi. “I know how you do without things for your family. Your landlady told me. You give your heart away and all the while you count your beans. I was thinking about you. The way you live gets me excited. It’s going through me like a music. You’re living like a saint!”
    â€œLike a spider,” said Augustine.
    Suddenly his nostrils dilated.
    â€œIs it hot sausage we’re having?” he said, unable to control himself any longer.
    â€œIf I could only paint your picture, Augustine, if I could only catch the look of such a man! Nancy, do you see it there? Look, look! It’s around the eyes! My name would live forever!”
    Sausage was hissing in the oven.
    â€œGood, good,” Augustine was saying, softly.
    â€œForever and ever!” said Rossi. “Such devotion and sacrifice! It’s a look of the spirit!”
    Sausage was sizzling and popping.
    â€œWonderful,” said Augustine.
    â€œIn a class by yourself,” said Rossi. “Think how many people depend on you! A lion would break his teeth on such a man!”
    â€œA bit of meat,” said Augustine.
    â€œWe’ll talk later over the wine,” said Rossi.
    â€œIf you wish.”
    â€œYou are mine, Augustine!” said Rossi. “My prisoner! I’ll have the secret of your strength before the night is done! Nancy, Nancy: snap the lock on the door!”
    â€œAugustine snapped it,” said Nancy.
    â€œThe mountains, the mountains,” said Rossi.
    D URING those bleak years Augustine moved between the railroad yard and his lonely room as though dragging a cart. It seemed that his life was reduced to shoveling and sleeping. He was fixed so fast that he carved his