Read Online The Coming of Fabrizze: A Novel (Black Squirrel Books) by Raymond Decapite - Free Book Online Page A

nail!”
    â€œThere’s a man called Cardino,” said Fabrizze. “He speaks of your ability. He showed me the cabinet you made for him.”
    â€œCardino can’t put a nail!” said Mancini. “Not even a nail!”
    The carpenter knew that he was in trouble. Night after night he found himself watching for Fabrizze as for a thief. He came down from his room whenever the front door opened or closed.
    â€œWhere is he?” Mancini would say, as though Grace was hiding him somewhere. “Where did he go?”
    â€œHe’ll come tomorrow,” said Grace.
    â€œWho came in then?”
    â€œMy grandfather went out.”
    â€œWhy isn’t he here?” said Mancini. “Why does he come every other day? Why not every day? Why is he hiding in between?”
    The next day Fabrizze arrived just before dark. Grace had set aside a bit of supper for him. A sudden hush fell over the house. Light was fading. Mancini sat there with his head resting on his hand. He sipped wine and watched for a false move. He could make nothing of the conversation.
    â€œThese potatoes are very good,” said Fabrizze.
    â€œI roasted them in olive oil,” said Grace. “With parsley.”
    â€œMy grandmother used to steam them,” said Fabrizze. “They were the red potatoes.”
    â€œShe steamed them?” said Grace.
    â€œShe left the skins on,” said Fabrizze. “She covered them with a damp cloth. A very low fire. We had to wait and wait for them. But how sweet they were. I make them here and they have a different taste. Now I remember how they were.”
    â€œIt depends where you are,” said Grace, softly.
    â€œIt depends who is with you,” said Fabrizze.
    â€œPotatoes are potatoes,” said Mancini. “And why is everyone speaking so softly? It’s like a church in here!”
    The card game started. Mancini was watching Grace and Fabrizze. Long breathless looks filled him with desperation. Often he flung up his cards and plunged into the basement where he set about hammering and sawing and singing at the top of his voice. One night he left the table and a moment later something fell down the stairs and pounded the floor. Everyone jumped up.
    â€œMancini!” said Grace.
    Mancini gave a cry terrible with triumph. He had gone up to his room and thrown a chair all the way down the stairs.
    â€œCome here,” he said, hurrying down. “Look at this chair. I made it with my own hands. No nails, no nails. I myself chose the wood. Feel it, Fabrizze, feel it! Nothing loose! Like a tree!”
    He lifted the chair and for an instant it seemed he would throw it through the window. He carried it to his room and then came down. He went right to the cupboard. He embraced and shook it until the dishes rattled.
    â€œIt’s hanging by a thread!” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “It was a shoemaker put this up!”
    He came over and pounded the corner of the kitchen table.
    â€œThis is the leg I fixed!” he said. His burning black eyes held Fabrizze. “Quick, turn the table over!”
    He swept off the cards and turned the table on its top.
    â€œYou, Fabrizze, you,” he said. “Do you see how I fixed it? Try to loosen the leg. Tear this leg off and you’ll tear the table to pieces! How solid and strong!”
    â€œA fine piece of work,” said Fabrizze. “You put the rest of the table to shame.”
    â€œI changed it,” said Mancini. “I tapered it. Follow the leg with your eye. You see how it goes up to join the top?”
    â€œBut it flows up,” said Fabrizze. “And then it’s gone.”
    â€œIt flows, it flows!” cried Mancini. “A work of magic! But I’ll fix this house from cellar to chimney if they give me the chance! Quick, turn the table up!”
    â€œI’m putting my glass down,” said Mendone.
    Mancini was pounding with pride.
    And yet