HE’S BORN
“He’s born!”
“What do you mean, he’s born?!”
“That’s right, he’s born.”
On the other end of the line, silence, nothing but breathing crackling over the microphone. Then: “Wait, are you sure?”
He’d been expecting this call for weeks, but now that Tucano was telling him, Nicolas felt the need to hear it again, repeated so he could be convinced that the day had finally come, to savor it well and truly in his head. So he could be ready.
“Right, like I’m kidding around! No, trust me. He was just born, I swear it, adda murì mammà, ’a Koala is practically still in the delivery room … No sign of Dentino, I came straight to the hospital.”
“Sure, no surprise, he doesn’t have the balls to show his face. But who told you the baby was born?”
“A male nurse.”
“And who the fuck is he? Where did this nurse come from?” Nicolas wasn’t about to settle for generic information, this time he wanted the details. He couldn’t afford to improvise, nothing could get screwed up.
“He’s a guy who used to work with Biscottino’s father, Enzuccio Niespolo. I told him that Koala is a friend of ours, and we just wanted to make sure we were the first to know, when the baby came into the world.”
“And how much did you say we’d pay him? You don’t think he’s spouting bullshit just because we haven’t given him a hundred euros yet?”
“No, no, I promised him an iPhone. That guy couldn’t wait for this baby to be born so he could get his hands on a new phone. He was practically bent over with his ear against Koala’s belly.”
“Then let’s do this thing. Tomorrow morning, the minute the sun rises.”
* * *
Dawn found him ready and fully dressed, eager for action. The bed he was sitting upon was barely rumpled, he hadn’t slept in it for even a minute. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, then exhaled, a flat sharp sound. Day had risen. He needed to keep his mind clear, not let himself be sucked down by memories. He had a mission to perform; after that there’d be plenty of time for everything else.
Tucano’s voice acted like the switch that opens the electric current. He stuck the Desert Eagle in his jeans and was down in the street quick as a flash.
Tucano had already put on his full-face helmet.
“Do you have the telephone?” Nicolas asked him as he put on his own helmet. “It’s in the original packaging, right?”
“Maraja, everything’s set.”
“Then let’s go buy the flowers.” Nicolas swung his leg over the seat and started off at reduced speed. He felt a sense of calm warm his whole body. An hour from now, the whole matter would be settled. Case closed.
“These fucking assholes…” Tucano said. “They say they’re not making money, but they sleep all day.”
The metal roller blinds on the florist’s shop were pulled down, they had no idea where to find another one, and in any case, they had to move quickly, thought Nicolas. Then he jammed on the brakes and the front of Tucano’s helmet slammed against the back of his.
“Maraja, maronna…”
“That’s right, the Madonna,” said Nicolas, and, pushing the bike backwards with his feet, he rolled back to the mouth of the narrow alley, the vicolo. There, enclosed within a metal cage that glittered like gold set against its shabby, decaying surroundings, a votive shrine was lit by a small spotlight. Photographs of ex votos and holy cards of Padre Pio practically covered the Madonna, but still, she smiled reassuringly, and Nicolas returned the smile. He got off the TMAX, blew a kiss, the way his grandma had taught him to do when he was little, and, standing on tiptoe, slipped a bouquet of white calla lilies out of a vase.
“Isn’t that going to piss off the Madonna?” Tucano asked.
“The Madonna never gets pissed off. That’s why She’s the Madonna,” said Nicolas, pulling down the zipper on his sweat jacket to make room for the lilies. They took off again, engine roaring. At that exact time, as agreed in advance, Pesce Moscio was about to go into action.
* * *
Just inside the gates, the nurse was waiting for them; he was stamping his feet on the asphalt, bundled up in a down jacket. Tucano raised one hand in greeting, and he went on hopping up and down in place, even if what was driving him now was no longer any thought of warding off the bone-chilling cold, as much as the lurking fear that these two new arrivals on a scooter wearing full-face helmets might not be there to repay him for the favor.
“All right, then, take me to pay a surprise call on this baby,” Nicolas began.
The male nurse tried to stall for time, trying to understand the spirit of the visit. He replied that they weren’t relatives, he couldn’t let them in.
“What do you mean, we’re not relatives,” said Nicolas. “It’s not like the only relatives are first cousins. We’re the closest kind of relatives, because we’re friends, we’re real family.”
“Right now he’s in the nursery. Soon they’ll take him to his mother.”
“It’s a boy?”
“Yes.”
“So much the better.”
“Why?” asked the nurse, trying to gain time.
“It’s easier that way…”
“What’s easier?” he insisted. Nicolas ignored the question.
“Easier to bring ’em up, it’s easier if you’re a boy, am I right?” Tucano put in. “Or maybe it’s easier if you’re a girl. At least if you know how to fuck, you can get where you want, right?”
Copyright © 2017 by Roberto Saviano
Translation copyright © 2020 by Antony Shugaar
