Shirley Soodeen was born in Tanzania and has spent her childhood living on various continents. She has worked in the human resources development field for over ten years dealing with intercultural and people management issues. In her collection of short stories, Life and I, she explores how certain choices can unknowingly ruin a person’s life. For the moment she resides in Italy.
A Family Affair
Maria
I was on the “Traghetto”, the ferry that connected the island of Marettimo to the mainland. The boat heaved through the waves, pounding hard on the blue waters. Above, flocks of seagulls swirled around in lazy circles, enjoying the warm morning sun. I looked away. Beside me, the headlines of a leftover newspaper grabbed my attention.
Mafia strikes again. More civilians killed in Palermo
Government promises to strengthen security measures.
Outrage at public killings!
I picked up the stained pages. In the article, the journalist explained how local gangs had been secretly warring with each other, fighting for the control of lucrative drug deals. Their mutual loathing and inner power struggles had turned into a public spectacle. Gangs were exterminating each other in the streets of Naples and Palermo, killing many innocent bystanders during vicious gun battles. As a result, many local gangs had lost control of their territories. The article hinted about Albanian criminals who were planning to take advantage of the situation, hoping to extend their own drug trafficking territory. Rumours spoke about a meeting with their boss, Michlevik, and former bosses to discuss possible alliances. It also mentioned that special police squads had been assigned to regain control of the situation. Their spies were probably crawling everywhere. I replaced the newspaper on the table. None of what was reported as new to me. My family and I knew the Albanians very well.
Above me, the horn of the Traghetto hooted twice. We were about to arrive. I approached the white railings to get a better view of the island. Marettimo was named after the wild bushes of wild rosemary and thyme which covered its mountainous slopes. They reached into the blue waters like dark green fingers. A small fishing village huddled around the base of Monte Falcone which stood shrouded in white clouds. Its steep rocky outcrops offered protection to the small grey falcons which nested there. I knew this island well; I was born here twenty years ago and was glad to be back after all those years. It was time to descend. I heaved my heavy rucksack and moved towards the exit with the other passengers.
The sun was higher now; I could feel the burn on my shoulders. Rivulets of sweat trickled down my armpits. Around me, crowds of relatives were loudly hugging and kissing, though no one recognised me as many years had passed. I followed the other passengers along the pier, looking at the boats tied below. The island’s main sources of income were tourism and fishing. To the few hundred people who lived here during the year, boats were considered a prize possession. Each boat was unique in style. Their owners painted them in bright colours, blue, yellow or red and named each one with care as they were passed on from generation to generation. Gaia. Giuseppina. L’Amaretto, I admired them as I walked along. To my left , a rusty blue sign indicating “La Nave”, creaked as it swung on its hook. I decided I could do with a cool drink.
Rock music blared from the bar entrance. I knew the place well, as this used to be one of Fathers’ favourite drinking spots. It had changed enormously. It was now a tourist haunt with dolphins and colourful fish painted along the walls. Inside, the stink of stale cigarette smoke accompanied me as I ordered a tuna sandwich and a “granita”, peppermint syrup with crushed ice. The coolness was a welcome respite after the overbearing heat. I moved to a quiet corner to enjoy my meal. My reflection bounced off the mirrors behind the bar, long tangled hair, flashing green eyes, and sweaty perspiration marks under my arms. Tension had etched lines across my forehead. .
Sitting in the bar, I thought about my childhood memories. My father had been a fisherman, as his father before him, and his grandfather before that. Our means were modest, so both our parents worked hard to maintain our family. My mother, a petite taciturn woman, always dressed in black even during the scorching months, used to work as a cook in one of the local guest houses in summer. Father was a tall stocky man, with piercing green eyes and a thick black beard. When he was not out at sea, he spent most of his time drinking wine or beer in bars with other fishermen among where he was famous for two things, his ability to pick good fishing spots and his stubborn character.
I could almost hear him boasting to my mother. “You’ll see, Maria. They’ll become important men one day. Not stupid fishermen like the rest of us. My sons will make the Tonelli family proud. They’ll show these poor island people who we truly are.” Although the Tonelli’s had been fishermen for many generations, Father had grander ideas for his own family. He had decided to send both my brothers, Carmelo and Ignacio, to a boarding school on the mainland.
“Giovanni, you ego is as bloated as rotted fish gut”, she snapped back. “Tell me, where will the money come from? Tell me! You think I work like a dog so you can send my children away from me?” She raged at him. “You’re so full of yourself. Look,” she would point at his ragged appearance and callused hands, “just take a look at you! You’re a poor fisherman, Giovanni. Have you no shame to make your family the laughing stock of the village?”
“These are my sons, woman,” he shouted back. “And you do as I say.” He’d stomp off fuming, usually coming here to the Nave to drink with his friends. At least with them he could boast all he wanted.
Their violent arguments made no difference to Father. Eventually, my mother gave in, but they hardly ever spoke to each other after that.
After graduating from professional schools, both my brothers remained on the mainland to work in white collar jobs, thus fulfilling Father’s ambition. However, his pride was short lived. Their tragic deaths completely destroyed my family.
Uncle Salvatore, Father’s brother, arrived early one morning from the mainland. He was very agitated. He said he had some urgent news and wished to speak to Father in person. Mother was away at work so I was sent to fetch Father who was mending his nets on the beach below our house. Uncle Salvatore stood in the centre of the room, pulling at his hat as if he wanted to tear it to pieces. I crouched behind the sofa, curious about what he had to say.
Your sons, Giovanni. They were shot. Gunned down like rats! Father stared at him with his piercing eyes, without saying a word. His silence hung in the air, invading the small room with a feeling of dread. Uncle hurried on with his explanations.
They say that Ignacio stole lots of money. He gambled you know. I knew about it. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He stole from the wrong people, Giovanni. Those Albanians are like animals his voice wavered. When he couldn’t pay them back, those pigs shot him down. And to make sure the lesson was clear, they tracked down Carmelo. Salvatore grabbed my Father’s arms as if trying to elicit some kind of response. They shot him as well. In cold blood. Uncle made the sign of the cross. Father carried on staring at him, in silence. Than, he turned on his heels and left the room without saying another word. I lay behind the sofa, trying to comprehend what I had just heard. Father informed my Mother. She never recovered from the shock and died a few weeks later from a sudden and unexpected heart attack. After that Father never spoke a word to anyone again. One day, his fishing boat was discovered abandoned at sea with all his fishing gear still intact. His body was never retrieved.
I was orphaned at fifteen and went to live on the mainland with Uncle Salvatore and his family. To make sure I was safe, he changed my name to conceal my identity. Right after Mother’s funeral, Uncle Salvatore had taken me aside. “If it weren’t for me, you would now be married to some poor stinking fisherman, splitting fish guts at the market for peanuts! Now you live in luxury, thanks to me.” He swept the rooms of his vast house with a wide gesture. The sun, shining through the window illuminated his bald head and small greedy eyes. “You’re a very lucky girl. You know that don’t you?” he waved his fat fingers in my face.
I smiled meekly." Yes, Uncle. Thank you."
“Good girl! We Tonelli’s always stand unitedunderstand? Look at your Father, a fine mana very fine man. And those Alabanians swine killed his sons,” he spat with contempt. "But soon they’ll see Maria. Remember this, Maria. One day, I will find a way and they will pay. He chuckled at his private joke.
The music in the bar changed tempo. I shook my head, it was time to move on. Stepping outside into the afternoon glare, I decided to have a look around. I still had some time before evening came, plus walking would help soothe my nerves. I turned to the right, along the road which led into the mountains. I was tired but I wanted to make sure all my bearings were still correct. Along the rocky path, bushes of wild thyme and rosemary grew in abundance. My senses were assailed by their pungent scent. The early blossoms, a token of early spring showers, would soon be gone, scorched by the fierce sun. Father and I had often used this route when I was a little girl. He pointed at the herbs and berries as we passed by.
“You see, Maria, when local doctors were unable to come here by boat, we had to find own remedies. Even those doctors knew nothing about our herbs. Before, women would come here to pick herbs to tend the sick. Now, for a simple cold they rush to the hospital to pay hundreds of lira! Pah! A bunch of faint hearted islanders that’s what they are. Remember, Maria, we Tonellis are different. We are strong.” He thumped his chest when he said this.
“Yes papa.” Id’ shuffle my feet, awed by the character of my family. I wondered if my brothers knew about thsi as well. Father never spoke about them to me Instead, he taught what he knew. He was also a skilled hunter who knew the mountainous slopes like the back of his hand. During our walks, he showed me how to locate vipers under giant boulders, or follow the tracks of wild animals to find their secret hiding spots. I loved stalking wild game, and shooting. It became our shared secret. Father patiently nourished my skill, until under his careful guidance I became an accomplished sharpshooter.
“Always remember, Maria, suffering is abominable. Shoot to kill, never to maim. Even if you’re afraid, stand your ground to aim carefully. A good hunter overcomes his fear and kills quickly. If not”, he paused, looking at the ocean below, “he stays away from the mountains and sticks to fishing.”
“Yes papa.” I replied diligently, proud to share such a secret with him. I was only twelve the first time he handed me his Remington shotgun, but I still recall the feeling of love at first sight. Hunting was my way of earning attention from Father and I did not want to disappoint him. With a single shot, I was able to bring down my prey, even in dire weather conditions. Even now, I still missed the feel of his rough hands over my head when he ruffled my hair after a good shot. If Father was proud of my ability, he never let it show. “You have good Tonelli blood,” was his only comment at my skill. It was only years later, that I found out from Uncle Salvatore that Father had shared our secret with him.
I blinked my tears away. I wished Father was still around to tell me what I should do. I felt guilty for misusing his guidance. What would he have thought about me now? I reminded myself that it was my duty to fulfil a family obligation. Hadn’t Uncle made that clear? During our last conversation, his words drummed into me
He had summoned me into his study. It was gloomy; the heavy velvet drapes were closed even though it was still daylight outside. The musty smell of books filled the room. Uncle leaned over the heavy wooden desk. "Maria, my child, you know how much I love you? I have helped you, clothed and fed you. Like a loving father. He patted his fat stomach, pleased with himself. Now it is your turn to help me. Family is everything, Maria. Without each other, we are nothing. Your father would have wanted you to honour your family. Don’t you think so?
I nodded, wondering what was coming next. I despised this man but I owed my life to him. He was also my Father’s brother. Father had always told me that Tonelli blood was strong and how we should stick together.
Good. I have a small mission for you. Nothing complicated. He pushed a photograph over the desk. This is the man who offended your family. Now he must pay for what he has done. You are the only one who can do it.
I picked it up, unsure of what he was saying. You mean you want me to he nodded. I choked. ButI cannot do that! Father always said .he interrupted me. Your father is no longer here. He leaned forward, his cold eyes drilling into mine. Child, you owe this to your family he paused. And to your brothers.
I struggled for something to say. He continued. Remember we are Tonelli. If someone offends one of us, he offends the family. Do you understand? He sounded menacing. Look at me. Do you understand? I nodded, unable to speak. He quickly filled me in on the details of the operation.
16.30. It was time to find my next destination, Via Dante, number 23. it turned out to be a cramped apartment with a small blue and white tiled kitchen tucked away in a corner of the room. Next to the entrance a sagging sofa lay beneath a badly sketched black and white wall painting representing Marettimo under the setting sun. In the tiny bedroom, crisp, white cotton sheets covered the big double bed. I fell asleep instantly under the clean sheets.
In my dream, Father was standing beside a small door that was too small for him to pass through. He was trying to make me enter, but I resisted with all my might.
He shouted, “Do as I say Maria. Do you hear me? Obey me now, go through.” He kept pushing me forward, forcing my head down so I could enter. From the other side of the door, I heard my brother’s voices.
Don’t do it. Maria." “Don’t!” They sounded angry, yelling at me to stay outside and not to open the door. Ignacio, my youngest brother was screaming at me, but I didn’t understand his words.
“Yes, Papa. Please don’t hurt me” My voice resonated loudly inside my head. Then a loud crash.
I awoke with a thumping heart, my face covered with sweat. 18h30. I sat up between the crumpled sheets. Outside, strong gusts of wind pounded a wooden shutter against the wall. I was disturbed by my dream. As children, Carmelo, Ignacio and I had always obeyed Father. We never questioned his motives, even when he sent my brothers away. The usual doubts assailed me. Would they still be alive if they had disobeyed Father’s wishes? What were they trying to tell me in my dream?
I moved towards the shower hoping cool water would help clear my head. Emerging a few moments later, I stopped in front of the bathroom mirror, staring back at my reflection; wet blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, cold, hard eyes. Once again my brother’s voices echoed inside my head. Were they trying to tell me something about myself? I wondered if my brothers were asking for revenge or if they were begging me to forget the past and to start living my life? I shook my head, pulling away from the mirror. I had a job to do. I opened my rucksack and set to work.
Clad in my climbing gear, I silently made my way through the back streets of the village. A loud clamour emerged from the open windows; the clatter of dishes, parents yelling at their children, and the high volume of TV sets merged together as families gathered together for dinner. The smell of fried fish and onions hung in the air. I was hoping to get away unnoticed, until I heard a small sound behind me. I turned swiftly, coming face to face with a small child cowering in a dark, narrow doorway. As he saw me, he instantly buried his face behind his grubby fingers. I was worried he would begin to cry.
“Giovanni! Where are you? Gio? Come here at once!” A woman shouted from the open windows above our heads, then the sound of rapidly descending footsteps. She was on her way to find him.
“Ssshhhh” I mouthed to him as I slipped away quickly, melting into the shadows. When I reached the mountain trails the stinging smell of wild thyme overwhelmed my nostrils.
I began my climb, treading carefully over the rocky terrain, along familiar paths that I had walked many years ago with Father. The setting sun illuminated the whole mountainside in shades of crimson and gold. Hanging over the dark blue ocean, it seemed to be suspended in space. I had little time to revel in the scenery. It would soon be dark; I needed to hurry to reach my destination. I hiked higher into the dense shrub which hid me well from the village below,. Small rodents called out to each other as they scurried away, unseen in the gathering dusk. I went higher, using sure footholds, until I reach a small rocky outcrop. On one side, a sheer cliff of cold granite plunged into the dark foaming waves beneath; on the other, the huge granite block disguised a small hiding place concealed by thick fragrant bushes.
Crawling on my belly, I settled into the tight space. My heart was pounding and my palms were slippery with tension. I kept asking myself if I could carry this out on my own. I tried to relax my tense muscles. Fear rose to my throat as I heard the faint sound of a throbbing outboard motor. A few minutes later, the sound of rubber scraping against rocks indicated that a party had just landed on the beach below. The sound of approaching voices and heavy footsteps became clearer as the party reached the small clearing. I could also hear the clink of bottles being passed around. Crouching lower, I peered into my binoculars, spying a group of six men standing close together. I recognised Michlevik from the photo; a small man with a thin emaciated face. As he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, I clearly saw his eyes. He had arrived in Italy as a young refugee from Albania. It had only taken him only a few years to carve a fortune for himself by taking control of most drug rings in Southern Italy. It was rumoured he was cruel, murdering anyone who tried to oppose his ascension. His men stood closely around him. Suddenly a voice from within the group made my blood freeze.
“No discussions Mica. Like we agreed. Remember?” A voice with an Italian accent, one I knew very well.
“You think I’m stupid?” Michlevik retorted in anger. "You follow what I say, ok? Then a spate of words in Albanian as he ordered his men around.
“Ok Mica, whatever you say. The voice was calmer now, as if trying to soothe him. Both men moved away.
I was in shock. It couldn’t be. I fought my nausea and my urge to pull aside the branches so I could get a better view. I struggled with my emotions as my mind screamed, “It can’t be!” but I would recognize that voice anywhere. Inside my head the same voice called out during my dream, “Maria don’t!” My hands slipped. I couldn’t do this.
“You Must!” Uncle’s voice hissed inside my head. “You are a Tonelli”.
Ignacio
Bouncing at the back of the zodiac, I stared at Michlevik’s profile as we approached the meeting place on the beach. Above us, the cliffs of Marettimo loomed in the darkness. I felt little emotion returning to the place of my birth. Memories were still too painful.
I hoped that my intentions remained hidden to Michlevik. Lately, stress had made me careless. I was impatient for my mission to end, but caution invited me to remain alert until the end. Three years ago, my unit had been ordered to infiltrate Michlevik’s gang. I had, slowly moved through the ranks of his organisation, until I became his second in command. I passed on any confidential information I could get my hands on to other undercover agents working for the Italian government. A wrong move at this moment could cost me not only my life, but also that of several men and women who were involved in the operation.
Michlevik would not hesitate to kill me. All his henchmen were ex-mercenaries, hired to execute without asking questions, as they did when they murdered Carmelo. I had witnessed his killing, trapped in a nearby car between two henchmen. His assassination had been orchestrated by Michlevik as part of my initiation into his gang. I hadn’t known about his intentions until I saw Carmelo. I had sat petrified in the back seat as I watched my brother’s execution. I fought to control myself. At the slightest sign of weakness, these ruthless killers would have killed me as well as members of my family. I wondered what Father would have thought if he had known about my work. The old man had always liked to boast about us. Instead, I ended up killing his eldest son. I pushed the thought way. The zodiac scraped over the rocks on beach below: We had reached our meeting point.
As we waited for the others to arrive, I tried to focus. My superiors intended to end this mission tonight. We had prepared everything in detail for the final showdown. Each one knew what they had to do. Michlevik interrupted my thoughts.
“Hey Nazio, brother. Hey!” He was snapping his fingers in my face, seeking a response. I reacted quickly.
“Va bene, Mica! Good. No more discussions.” The effort to mimic relief made my words tumble out fast. I turned away to hide my face.
“Hey, Pietr,” I ordered in a gruff voice, “Over here, bring some beer.”
Pietr’s voice was already thick with booze and drugs, like that of the most of the men around me. I hoped the meeting will go smoothly. We had gathered enough evidence to keep the man behind bars for a few centuries. I had been promised that this was to be my last assignment. After that, a cushy job in some state office. Peace, finally. A boat was approaching. We crouched with our guns ready.
Two signals in rapid succession with the torchlight. A pause, then three more. Pause. Two more. Tonight, Milos was on time. He was probably with Caruso, one of the spies who worked for Michlevik. He had been providing the Albanian with precious information regarding the local smuggling operations. Figures jumped out of the zodiac as if in a hurry to commence the discussions. As they reached the clearing, Michlevik stepped forward to greet them. At that instant, a single shot exploded, and Michlevik screamed, cupping his cheek. The bullet exited from the other side of his skull, shattering the bones beneath. He dropped dead. For a few seconds, both groups remained stunned. Then guns roared into action. In the darkness, it was difficult to make out who was friend or foe. I dived into the bushes, clawing at the surrounding bushes to get out of the way of flying bullets. Close by, Caruso shrieked. A bullet smashed his knee cap. He stumbled and toppled screaming into the sea below. As abruptly as it had happened, the shooting came to an end. In the clearing, dead bodies were sprawled everywhere.
Some of the survivors tried to reach the abandoned boats on the beach below. A few more shots exploded, then silence. I lay dazed in the darkness. The mission was finally over. Everything was going according to plan. It was time to make my own getaway.
Maria lay in shock. Who had fired? She hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. Something stronger than family duty had restrained her from committing murder. She couldn’t do this to the memory of her Father. She knew he would have understood. Trembling, her fingers clutching at her pistol, she wished she had never listened to Uncle Salvatore. Whatever these men had done to her brothers, it was not for her to make them pay. Crouching in the dark, she waited for the right moment to slip away. The wind had picked up, making the bushes above her swirl around in furious circles. She crawled out cautiously. Rustling bushes covered the sound of her body as she slithered over the ground. At the same instant, from the other side of the clearing, a figure darted away. She crouched lower, not wishing to be seen. She knew what she had to do.
As silence descended, Ignacio stood up slowly, feeling unprotected in the open space. As he took a step forward, cold metal pressed against the side of his neck. His heart felt it would explode. Turning to meet the gunman, he struggled to keep his anger in check.
“Please.” he put my bloodied hands in the air, “I’m unarmed.” The gun fell away. A balaclava covered the face. From the holes of the mask, the eyes were still, watchful.
I/ I / he struggled for words. Anger spilled over. “And just who in the hell are you!” he demanded, his voice shaking with emotion. In the ensuing silence, the faint click of the barrel sounded again. Closing his eyes, he was grateful for one thing. Michlevik was dead.
A female voice. “Ignacio?” His eyes flew open in surprise. The balaclava was off. Blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Through the tendrils, green eyes flashed back at him.
“Who are you?” His voice was harsh.
“Maria.” She paused. “Your sister.” We stared at each other. How can you still be alive? Uncle said you had died Father
A shot rung out. She collapsed over him. Blood oozed from a hole in her back. Ignacio looked down at her in disbelief.
Ignacio! Over here. Thank God, We saved you in time." In the clearing, his colleague, Manuel, strode towards him.
originally posted by: Shirley Soodeen
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