Read Online Badfellas by Tonino Benacquista Emily Read - Free Book Online

at home in his new country than in the one he’s left behind. Me, I’ll never be at home again with my brother criminals, and honest folk won’t make space for me anywhere. Believe me, regrets are worse than anything .
    Fred was getting in a muddle with his definition of regrets. He could see how clumsily he was expressing himself, but was unable to change anything. The parallel with his life was all too clear.
    “I’ll start the grill about six,” he said. “I’ve got to finish my chapter.”
    He went solemnly back to his veranda, which, tonight, would not be open to the public.
    “His chapter? What does he mean, exactly?” asked Warren.
    “No idea,” Maggie replied, “but just for the sake of the survival of the human race, it might be better if no one ever found out.”

    Three hours later, the whole neighbourhood was crammed into the garden – no one would have missed it for anything. They came prepared to stay up late, taking advantage of the unseasonable warm weather, perfect for a garden party. And they had made sartorial efforts too, the women in white or brightly coloured summer dresses, the men opting for linen and short-sleeved shirts. The buffet was laid out at the end of the garden, loaded with salads and different sauces, with two little casks of red and white wine at each end. A few yards away, people gathered around the still-cold barbecue, impatient to see it lit. Maggie welcomed her guests with open arms, pointed them towards a pile of plates, answered all the expected questions with prepared answers, and expressed her great happiness to be living in this Normandy which had been so dear to the memory of her parents. She showed them round the house, introduced each new arrival to her two children, whose job it was to divide the guests between them and entertain them as much as possible. She accepted all invitations, including the suggestion that she join an association to protest against a local building threat. She took down a great many telephone numbers. Howcould they possibly have guessed that soon their private lives would have no secrets for Maggie?
    Belle attracted more attention than her brother. Belle always attracted attention – from men and women, young and old, even from those who were suspicious of beauty, who had perhaps suffered from it at some time. She was good at reversing the roles, and playing at being the guest, allowing herself to be served, answering questions. All Belle had to do was be herself, and imagine that she was addressing her public. Warren, on the other hand, cornered by a small group of adults, was undergoing a grilling. Ever since he had arrived in France, he had been asked a million questions about American life and American culture, to such an extent that he had made a list of the most frequently asked: What’s a home run? What’s a quarterback? Do people really grill marshmallows over a flame? Do all the sinks have grinders? What does trick or treat mean? etc. Some of the questions were surprising, some not, and, according to his mood, he would either deny the clichés or reinforce them. That evening, against expectation, nobody asked him to play this role – on the contrary, he found himself obliged to listen to the interminable stories of those who had been over there. Starting with a neighbour who had just come back from a visit to New York for the marathon.
    “After the shopping, I went to have dinner at the Old Homestead Steak House, at the corner of 56th and 9th Avenue. Do you know it?”
    Warren had, between the ages of nought and six, been to New York fewer than a dozen times, to a skating rink or a toy shop, and of course that visit to the hospital to consult an asthma specialist, but he had certainly neverbeen to a restaurant, and definitely not this steak house he’d never heard of. So he didn’t answer, but the man wasn’t waiting for an answer.
    “There were just two dishes on the menu – steak weighing less than a pound, and steak