Federico Manzo bangs hard on the door.
‘Ettore Tarano!’ he says loudly. Ettore holds his breath; the goat rumbles in its throat again.
He hears the door squeak as it opens, and Paola says, ‘What do you-’ before she is pulled down the steps by her arm, and shoved towards the waiting men.
‘Hold her, and watch out for this one – she’s a whore and a mean bitch,’ says Federico, grinning at Paola’s furious expression. ‘She’s probably got a knife in her cunny, and from what I hear, she’ll use it. Where’s your brother, whore?’
‘At his uncle’s farm, where he’s been for the last two weeks. As you know,’ she says coldly.
‘I think you’re lying.’ Federico smiles, and carries on into the room.
‘There’s nobody in there but my baby and my sick father! Leave them alone!’
‘Shut your mouth,’ says one of the men darkly. ‘Unless you want to cause trouble? We’ll be gone once he’s checked. You needn’t fear for your virtue – if you have any. I like my women to have breasts,’ he says, grinning at her, and his fellows laugh. One of them puts out his hand and grabs at Paola’s chest, making her wince.
‘I have bigger tits myself!’ he declares, to more laughter. Inside the room there’s a thump, and a muffled exclamation, and then Iacopo howls. Paola rushes forwards but is grabbed, held back.
‘Iacopo! If you touch him I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!’ she shouts. Ettore can’t keep his breathing even, his whole body shakes with adrenalin; he silently begs Paola to be still. He hears, but can’t see, Federico speak from the top of the steps, and from the sudden clarity of Iacopo’s cries, it’s obvious he’s brought the baby out with him. A new thrill of fear goes through Ettore.
‘What a shithole. No wonder your brother likes it at the masseria so much. Tell me where he is,’ says Federico.
‘Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt my baby, you son of a whore!’
‘Tell me where your brother is, or I’ll drop him off these steps.’
‘He’s at the masseria! If he’s not, I don’t know where he is! I haven’t seen him since he went there. Give me my baby! Give him to me!’
Slowly, Federico walks down the steps and Ettore sees that he has Iacopo cradled in one arm, jouncing him gently enough as he crosses to where Paola is held, a man on each of her arms. Federico smiles at the expression of mixed terror and hope on her face. ‘Give him to me,’ she says again. Federico looks at her with his head on one side.
‘He’s a beautiful baby. You must be proud of him,’ he says, in a conversational tone. Then he sighs, pulls one of his pistols and puts it to Iacopo’s head.
‘No!’ Paola cries. ‘No! No!’ Ettore can’t move; he can’t breathe. Get up. Get up, he orders his body, but it won’t obey him. These men mean to kill him, that much is clear. No man would put a gun to a child’s head merely to make an arrest, or give a beating. He won’t do it, Paola, he sends her the silent reassurance. He won’t do it – Iacopo is Leandro’s blood.
‘Where is he, Paola? I know he came to Gioia today,’ says Federico. Paola stares in mute horror at her son, and the gun pointing at him. She shakes her head.
‘I… I don’t know,’ she says, barely a whisper. Ettore shuts his eyes in sudden agony. He knows then that there’s no one in the world braver than his sister. Federico watches her for a moment longer, then shrugs and holsters the gun.
‘Perhaps you don’t, after all. Perhaps he stayed at the farm – he will if he has any sense. We can’t get at him there. Not yet, anyway.’ He nods at his men and they release her. She grabs Iacopo from Federico’s careless hold, and cradles him as they march out of the courtyard.
‘Bye for now, whore,’ says the one who grabbed her breasts as he passes. ‘I might come back to see you later.’ But Paola cradles her son, pressing her lips to his head, and ignores the man. For a while the only sound is Iacopo howling, and Ettore wonders if he will ever have the nerve to leave the shit and piss reek of the goat stall. If he will be able to stand the shame.
Eventually, Paola goes back inside without looking at the doors to the stable. Ettore doesn’t move until he hears her call for help, and then he goes in, stinking, silent with hatred, to help her pick Valerio up off the floor.
‘Paola…’ he says, but he’s got nothing to say.
‘Go back to the masseria, Ettore. You heard him – you’re safe there,’ she says, tucking the blanket back around their father, pressing her hand to his gleaming forehead.
‘I can’t go back tonight – I’ve no means to. Anna will have left when trouble started. Paola, listen, he… he can’t hurt Iacopo. Leandro is his boss…’
‘I know. I knew it – that’s why I kept quiet.’ Her voice is leaden with exhaustion. ‘What does it mean, Ettore? What does it mean when our own uncle’s servants may come here and threaten us? He would have killed you. Why? Have you done something to anger them? What does it mean?’ Suddenly there are tears in her eyes, the first Ettore has seen since Davide, Iacopo’s father, was killed. He can’t bear to see them; he folds his sister into his arms, rests his chin on the top of her head, and she lets him, for once. A tremor goes through her.
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what it means. But I will find out.’ Paola pulls away, wipes at her eyes.
‘You can’t stay here. They might be watching; they might come back to look again. Go to Pino and Luna.’
‘They know Pino’s my friend.’ Ettore shakes his head.
‘Go to Gianni and Benedetto then; go to Livia’s family. But don’t stay here.’
‘All right.’ He gives her all the money he has and she takes it without a word. ‘Paola,’ he says, squeezing her hand with the money in it. He finds it hard to speak. ‘You have the heart of a lion. You have twice the heart of me.’
Everywhere in town are sounds of trouble, clashes. There are several fascist squads on the streets, and many groups of Gioia’s working men, greater in numbers but weaker, and unarmed. The squads attack unionist buildings, and the homes of known agitators; the workers attack the police headquarters, the town hall and the new fascist party offices. Livia’s mother, Bianca, opens the door to Ettore with her face full of fear, and her eyes pinch when she sees him. He can’t tell how she feels about him, but she has been cold towards him, distant, since Livia died. He thinks perhaps she blames him for not protecting her daughter, and he accepts that blame. He blames himself, after all, and now he has more guilt – the guilt of a new lover. He wonders if Bianca can sense it on him – the traces of another woman. Perhaps since Livia was killed by a man who wanted to take pleasure from her, she now hates all men who ever thought of her that way. All men who ever wanted to make love to her.
‘Can I come in? Men are looking for me,’ he says.
Bianca hesitates for a second before she nods and steps aside to let him into their room, which is every bit as cramped and dank as the Taranos’. She returns to her place on a three-legged stool in front of the stove. She looks twice her age.
‘You weren’t followed?’ says Gianni, a watchful presence in a shadowed corner.
‘No. I would not trouble you but they have been to my house once already, and they mean business.’
‘They are attacking anyone who’s ever been a spokesman, or led a strike, or been at a rally,’ says Benedetto, Livia’s oldest brother, a bear of man with gnarled shoulders and a mass of black beard. ‘Anyone whose name they know. Come in, of course. I heard you were at your uncle’s.’ Space is made for Ettore, though there’s nowhere for him to sit but on a straw-filled mattress on the floor in the far corner of the room. He winces as he sinks onto it, noticing the pain in his leg from all the movement of the afternoon.