The Prince (30 page)

Saro did nothing but think of Mena and recall every moment he had spent with her. He felt a great sadness, but he consoled himself thinking that she would wait for him. He'd made her swear to it.

His father, on the other hand, seemed crushed by everything that was happening: Peppino Ragusa appeared to have aged ten years. He couldn't stand the thought of abandoning Annachiara and Ester. But Saro had managed to convince him to leave, promising that his mother and sister would join them in America within a month, as soon as they could send them money for the trip.

The whole time, Losurdo had not stopped pacing back and forth across the big room, stopping occasionally to talk with the men from the two Jewish families.

At eight o'clock that evening, they heard a truck stop in back of the sanctuary. Peering through the windows, they saw Brother Antonino motion the driver to pull up as close as possible to the door. The truck had its tarpaulins lowered and was driven by an unfamiliar man whom no one had ever seen around there before.

Shortly afterward, the friar entered the room and gave the long-awaited green light: “All clear! Let's go, quick.”

They hurried through the monastery's corridors, excited over the departure they'd been dreaming about for days. Then they climbed into the truck bed, which was partially filled with fruit crates. Before stepping into the now empty corridor, Saro paused beside his friend the monk and clasped him tight to show his gratitude, despite the fact that the priest had demanded a certain sum from each of them.

There were twelve people in total. They settled themselves on the floor of the truck bed, and the monk lost a little time arranging the crates along the drop-down rear edge so that if they were searched, the fugitives wouldn't be visible from outside.

When Brother Antonino had finished, he blessed them in a low voice: “May the Lord be with you.” He heard murmuring from behind the wall of fruit crates in response. Then he stepped down from the truck, pulled up the rear panel and secured it in place with the two side latches. Walking around to the driver's window, he waved his permission to take off.

Brother Antonino watched the truck disappear on the road leading to Castellammare del Golfo. Then he turned and went back into the sanctuary for evening services.

The truck rocked and swayed on the bumpy dirt road full of potholes. In back, the fugitives sat on the truck bed floor in silence and in absolute darkness. A mixture of fear and hope filled everyone's minds. Each time the truck slowed, they were terrified of having run into a roadblock, but the vehicle never stopped. Only Vito Pizzuto seemed calm, as if the others' fears did not concern him.

None of them could possibly know that, shortly after leaving Calatafimi, the driver had taken a side road which, instead of heading toward the sea, led back to Salemi.

About ten minutes later the truck seemed to grapple with a steep uphill climb. The driver shifted into low gear, and the engine screeched trying to make it over the rise. Saro, deep in thought, noticed the change in course. They were going up, he felt, whereas to get to the coast they should have been traveling downhill. He turned around to try to peek under the tarp. But the cover was stretched down tight, and he couldn't raise it.

“Do you want them to discover us?” hissed one of the Jews, seeing what he was doing.

“We're climbing!” Saro said.

His exclamation drew Rosario Losurdo's attention. “You're right. To get to the coast, from Calatafimi, it's downhill all the way. I must have traveled this road a million times in the buggy.”

Saro finally managed to move the tarp aside, but it was too dark to see where they were. “I can't make out the road,” he said, dismayed.

Losurdo changed places with him and peered out.

The truck was now slowly lumbering up the hill. Then it came almost to a stop. It was nearing a junction, at the crest of the rise. It passed a sacred niche with a picture of the Madonna. Losurdo shouted, “It's the crossroads of the Assumption! We're going in the wrong direction!”

Saro started banging on the cab, yelling, “Driver! You're going the wrong way!”

But the driver didn't answer. Instead, he turned onto a track that led downhill, and the truck picked up speed.

Inside the truck bed, there was great confusion. Panic had seized everyone, and they were all yelling and screaming to get off. Only Peppino Ragusa continued sitting silently on the wooden truck bed.

Those who stood up were pitched left and right, depending on the driver's sudden swerves to adapt to the road's curves.

Someone shouted, “We've been sold out!” And someone else: “They're taking us to Salemi!”

It was like a signal; some began moving aside the fruit crates so they could get to the rear panel. Distraught like the others, Saro tried desperately to unfasten the side of the tarp that was already partway open.

“Papa, stay close to me,” he cried to his father, who continued to ignore him.

Meanwhile, one of the Jews had reached the tailgate and managed to unlatch the two clamps. The panel swung down, and as the truck swerved again, several crates shot out.

Saro finally managed to wedge himself into the opening under the tarp. “Papa, get up, we have to get out of here. Jump after me.”

Ragusa looked at him with immense sadness. Saro squeezed into the space he'd created between the side panel and the tarp. Before leaping, he shouted to his father again, “Get up! Jump after me!” He let himself drop and rolled onto a soft pasture. He stood up and sprinted for cover behind a bush. He watched the truck continue its descent, but none of the others made their way out from his escape route.

Veering sharply to the right, the truck entered a cattle enclosure. The cows huddled in the corner began lowing, frightened. The driver braked suddenly, and the passengers went tumbling on top of one another. The chaos was at a fever pitch. At that point, everyone scrambled to find a way out, climbing over baskets and fruit crates. They jumped out of the vehicle and dropped to the ground. But as soon as they touched down, strong hands grabbed them and, cursing and swearing, made them all lie on the ground, facedown in the dirt.

A hundred yards or so back, Saro, hearing the cries, realized that they had fallen into a trap. He advanced cautiously so that he wouldn't be spotted. In the moonlight, he could make out the dramatic scene in the distance.

He again hid behind a bush. From that position he could see the truck. He saw Vito Pizzuto come out last, assisted by one of the assailants. Now he recognized them: they were the combat league henchmen under Jano's command. And it was Jano himself who helped Pizzuto out of the truck. The traitor led him around to the truck's cab. Now Pizzuto climbed in—on the passenger side.

Jano walked back to look at the fugitives, who were still lying facedown on the ground. Saro tried to pick out his father and Rosario Losurdo and recognized them by the clothes they were wearing. Then he saw the comrades randomly bludgeon their captives with their clubs, aiming at any part of the body and ridiculing them.

The driver restarted the truck's engine, and the vehicle circled around the corral to get back to the exit.

Jano was checking the identity of fugitives: he lifted each one's head, grabbing him by the hair.

Suddenly Saro heard him shout, “There's one missing! Saro Ragusa is not here!” Jano ran after the truck, which had already left the enclosure, yelling at the driver to stop. Then he ordered one of the comrades, “Go see if he's still hiding in there.”

The Black Shirt—it had to be Ginetto—struggled up into the truck bed and disappeared inside the tarpaulin. He came out almost immediately, shaking his head. The truck then moved on again and drove off into the night, this time toward the coast.

Jano and his acolytes, enraged, went back to the fugitives and began beating them savagely.

Saro, powerless to act, couldn't stand to watch. Tears of rage ran down his face. He saw Losurdo rise from the ground and attack one of the Black Shirts, trying to defend himself. But he was immediately surrounded by the others, who clobbered him as hard as they could. Rosario Losurdo's face was bleeding, his eyes swollen; one of the comrades struck him in the stomach using his club as a battering ram. Rosario dropped to his knees and fell facedown, hands pressed to his abdomen.

Saro cursed Jano, realizing that they had been sold out in exchange for Vito Pizzuto's freedom. He swore he'd come back, and then Jano would pay for all his crimes.

He stood a little while longer in the shadows, in silence. He saw his father clubbed as well. Peppino Ragusa tried to get up from the ground, but a blow to his head knocked him unconscious.

Saro couldn't stand watching the scene any longer. He hurried away, the painful cries of those hapless people ringing in his ears for quite some time.

– 1939 –

T
he dock at the port of Palermo was packed with a shabby crowd decked out in its Sunday best. It was a humanity with a difficult past but with the faint hope of a different future. The people brought with them tablecloths knotted into sacks, which held all their earthly possessions, and baskets filled with cheese and salami; their shoes and boots hung around their necks so they wouldn't get worn out. Some who were leaving were recognizable by their dazed expression, fearful of the step they were about to take, while others seemed joyful, realizing that they were finally leaving behind the poverty they had known since birth. The relatives, however—those who were staying behind—were silent and sad. They knew that they would never see their sons, husbands, and brothers again, and they stood motionless, watching the frantic preboarding activities without a word.

Reports about “America” were fantastic. It was rumored that coins sprouted on trees and that land was freely given to anyone who would cultivate it. Land! Owning a piece of land was the dream of half the men who swarmed the dock at the port of Palermo. The other half hoped to make their fortune as laborers, while the women daydreamed about marrying some nice young man who had gone there before them.

Saro had traveled all night and a good part of the following day, sometimes on foot and sometimes hitching rides from passing trucks headed for Palermo. When he reached the port, he was assailed by a horde of solicitors, some wanting to sell him medicine to prevent seasickness, some promising him a job as soon as he landed in America, and some asking him to marry their sister—otherwise she wouldn't be permitted to leave. He was completely bewildered by the demands of those desperate petitioners, who were often joined by small-time con men and swindlers who, posing as health officials for the port or as customs officers, managed to cheat a fair number of naive souls out of their few coins in exchange for promises that would never be kept.

Holding the third-class ticket he had purchased, Saro was directed toward a long line of people who were required to undergo a preliminary medical examination. The doctors simply had to make sure that the individuals did not have lice or some contagious disease; then they sent them to a second line, where a boarding pass was issued to those who had passed the exam and had a ticket.

When evening came, the second officer finally gave the order to board the ship. Like a swollen river, people flooded to the sleeping quarters below deck, lugging bundles and parcels, shouting and shoving one another to grab the berths on the first level.

Saro did not join the charge and remained on deck, in a corner next to the hawsers and air outlets. Leaning against the railing, he watched the maneuvers of the sailors who were preparing to cast off the moorings of the Florio fleet's
Principessa Matilde
. When the siren blew its raucous whistle, Saro Ragusa felt a piercing laceration in his brain. It was as if his heart were being squeezed by a fist. For the first time, he became conscious of the journey he was about to make. For the first time he understood the meaning of
good-bye
: that he might never see his beloved land again, the land of his roots, his parents and his sisters, his friends, but especially Mena. Sweet Mena. With her he had experienced the most intense emotions of his brief life.

The second time the siren shrieked, the steamer began to move. It was Saro's first time on a ship. He was intrigued by it all, watching the sailors on the wharf and on deck casting off the hawsers, and the display put on by the tugboat that had started pushing the
Principessa Matilde
out of port. The dock was mobbed with relatives, and silence hung over the scene. Some wept quietly, others waved white handkerchiefs, but most of them were overwhelmed at seeing the vessel move slowly away from shore.

Saro leaned his forehead on the railing and felt tears running down his face. He tried to suppress his emotion, but the tears were unstoppable. Then he thought of his mother. When he was little, before falling asleep, he often felt discouraged, and at those times, his mother would tell him to pray. “Prayer is the medicine of the poor,” she whispered in his ear and began a litany that she made up on the spot to lull him with its sweet sound.

Though he was no longer a child, Saro began to pray.

He curled up in his shabby clothes, and sank into a troubled sleep.

Once the
Principessa Matilde
passed the Strait of Gibraltar and confronted the great ocean, it began to pitch and lurch, as unstable as a toy boat. Scores of third-class passengers fell sick, many vomited and were forced to leave their sleeping quarters and find a sheltered corner on deck. The wind blew fiercely on the open seas, and only the hardiest could withstand the intense cold, wintry despite the fact that it was late spring. People were irritable and in a bad way, while the crew was short-tempered and insolent. Everyone's mental and physical endurance were sorely tested.

Saro didn't know a soul and kept to himself, spending most of the time crouched in the shelter of the afterdeck. Because there was nothing to do, the days dragged by interminably. The only time there was a flurry of excitement was when meals were served in the large hall below the cargo hold. It was there that Saro met Titina, a young girl from the Noto area, who was looking, she said, for a soul mate.