The violin Player

THE VIOLIN PLAYER

Paul.Speroni@italmail.com

Pietro stopped typing. Is this what I want? Can I do this? Of course, it is my duty. Uncle Vincenti agrees I must. Right! Here goes nothing. 

Dear Mister Speroni, my name is Pietro Golino. Mia madre è Maria Golino. Do you remember her? I am her son. I am twenty years old. Do you remember now? She was sixteen. I am loro figlio, your son. Respectfully, Pietro.

His mother stood behind his chair clutching the uprights.

‘Why? Why do you want to talk to him? He left me, left us to fend for ourselves. He knew the shame that awaited me. I spit on him.’ She spat to the left. ‘He is dead to me. Dead.’

‘But Mama,’ Pietro sighed. ‘Il è mio padre. I must fix this.’ 

‘Hah! He won’t answer. He has not been in touch these last 20 years. He doesn’t care. I hate him. He won’t answer.’

P.S.  Pietro typed. I have attached a photograph of me at my 20th birthday party. Everyone in the village was there. Mama was so proud. She is very respected. Though the old people don't forget, they have come to love her for the wonderful person that she is. Maybe one day you could come to visit us. Your son, Pietro.

Pietro studied the screen, clenched his teeth and pulled his lips back in an expression of confused emotions; anger, hope, disgust and joy. 

***

Oceans away, Paul Speroni, owner of the largest Real Estate Agency in Townsville, sucked air through his teeth.

Dio! It can't be true. I have a son? Pietro? My son? Maria? … Shit! How do I tell Daphne?... The worry of this could not override his next thought… I have a son…Pietro–my son.  Paul grinned, took a quick look around his study and across to the door to make sure Daphne wasn’t about to enter.

He hit reply and typed. 

Dear Pietro, I don’t know what to say! Of course, I remember your mother. How could I not, such a beauty. I remember her with great affection…and chagrin. I suppose she told you how I ran out on her, you, when she told me she was pregnant. I am not proud of that, but I was only seventeen. 

He stopped typing and mused aloud. 

‘Only seventeen. A child. I couldn’t get married. I hadn’t lived. I couldn’t settle for life in our little village. I had plans. I wanted more. I wanted adventure and riches and fame. I wanted to be someone.’ 

How on earth did you find me? He typed. Where are you? I hope you and your mother are well? Please write again. I want to keep in touch with you.  Your father… He paused considering the word. Deleted it and typed. Your proud father, Paul Speroni.

***

‘Hah! You see Mama,’ Pietro called. His mother was in the adjacent kitchen cooking up a storm as she always did when upset. ‘He did answer. I told you he would. How could he not answer?’ 

In the next room, a heavy cast iron pot hit the flagstone floor, followed by angry, muttered curses. 

Dear Mister… He shook his head. That doesn’t sound right… Paul... No, Papa... Damn! Dear Sir, how would you prefer me to address you? I am glad to hear that you want to stay in contact. I was very frighten... No. That's no good.Once again, he deleted his words, chewed his lower lip then wrote. Mama did not tell me about all that. At least, not as I was growing up. She said you were dead. Drowned in a fishing boat accident.

***

Maria Golino stood clutching the infant growing inside her as she stared out over the choppy sea, watching the ship depart. The chill wind whipped her skirt around her bare legs. ‘Hush my darling! I feel you cry out for your father, but he has left us. He is dead to me and he shall be dead to you. We will never cry, you and I. It will be just us. You and me against the world. We must find a way to face the village with pride. My brother, your Zio, will help.’

‘Bastardo!’ roared Vincenti. ‘He has run away.’ He flapped the letter in her face. ‘To Australia. Maria, you have shamed our family. You act like a puttana, you get treated like one.

‘He said he loved me. I love him. Make him come back, Vincente. Make him come back! He said he loved me.’

Vincente hugged his adored little sister. ‘It's all right sorellina. I will look after you. He was my best friend but now, I wish him in Hell!’

***

Pietro: continued typing. 

It was not until my twentieth birthday, last month, that Mama told me the truth. Zio Vincente made her tell me. Do you remember him, Mama's brother? He has been like a father to me. His sons are my brothers. He said you hated life here in the village, but it has been good to me, good to us. Our life is not an exciting adventure, but a safe haven with proud, ancient laws, strong ties.

Zio is the one who found you. He has known for some time where you are, but wanted to wait until he thought I was ready, to tell me. He wishes to be remembered to you. Mama is well. She never married. You know what small villages are like. She became a teacher and dedicated herself to the children under her care. She is still beautiful and has many admirers. But I think Uncle is too protective of her. Are you married? Do you have other children? Yours, Pietro.

**

Paul eyed his son’s email. This was getting awkward. He grinned, but I’m not losing contact with my son now. 

My dear son, Pietro, Yes I am married to a wonderful woman. Her name is Daphne. I told her about your email the other night. She is such a good person. She took it very well and is anxious to meet you.

***

‘You what? You have another child? And he is twenty? How can you sit there and calmly tell me this? You bastard! Why haven't you told me before?’ Daphne held up her hand to stop his answer. ‘No, don't tell me. I don't want to know’ She marched to the study door and swung back to face the lying bastard who had replaced her loving husband. ‘Well, you needn't think he will be welcome here. You can write to him if you like but he will never be part of this family. You hear me. Never!’

***

Paul sighed. 

By the way, you have a sister, Cara, who is new born. She was quite a surprise. We thought we were past it. Perhaps, I should have gone through with that vasectomy, eh?

Paul rubbed the stubble on his chin. His wife had not been happy…

***

Daphne retched into the porcelain toilet bowl. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking pale and sounding shaky she asked, ‘How can this be possible? You've been fixed. I don't want any kids. I want to stay at work. I love it.’ She heaved into the bowl again. ‘Oh god! Bloody doctors. You go back and demand he does the job properly this time. You hear!’

***

Paul shook the memory away. ‘Sorry Daffy,’ he whispered. ‘At least, I've actually had it done now.’

 He returned to his typing. You can call me 'Dad', that's what fathers are here in Australia.  Yours, Dad.

P.S. I am glad Vincente has taken such good care of you. Say hello and thank him for me, will you?

***

Daphne rocked the baby and looked over Paul’s shoulder at the computer screen. ‘Hmmmm. He’s certainly a handsome young man.’ She paused. I suppose that since Pietro is part of your history, and because I love you, I will learn to like your son. He looks like a good boy.’ 

‘Of course! He takes after his old man.’

‘Not a lot. Though, he does have your sexy eyes.’ Daffy squinted at the screen. ‘How come some village strumpet hasn’t managed to snaffle him yet?’ 

‘He’s either celibate, a poofta or a lot more careful than his father was.’

Daphne snorted derisively. ‘Time to put baby to bed. Say goodnight.’ 

Paul kissed baby’s head and whispered, ‘Goodnight Cara. Ti voglio bene.’ Mother and infant swept from the room. He regarded his reflection in the computer screen. ‘Yes. I love you little one, but I also have a son now. A son. It’s important for a man to have a son to carry on his name.

Pietro, thanks for the photo by the way. I showed it to Daffy, and Cara. They think you’re good-looking. Just like your Papa, eh? I would love to visit but can’t get away. I don’t want to brag but I am an important bloke around here, with lots of businesses and investments. Nice for the wallet but it means I’m too busy for long holidays. 

How about, you visit me instead? I will pay for the airfare, of course. I’ll make the ticket open, so you can come whenever you’re ready. You can even fly business class. It would be great to meet you face to face. A lot better than all this emailing. What do you say? Come on. It’ll be an adventure. Tell your Mama I will be sure to look after you really well. No problemo. Dad.

***

‘Dad…’ Pietro tried the sound. ‘That is an odd word. It feels strange in my mouth. I wonder what Mama is over there.’

Maria read over Pietro's shoulder. ‘No! Never! You must stay here with me. He cannot have you. I will not allow it.’

‘He must,’ Vincente said. ‘He must go, Maria.’

‘Please, Mama.’

‘You are my baby.’ She rounded on Vincente. ‘He is my baby. I can't lose him.’ Vincente put his arm around her shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. ‘No more shame, sorellina.’

Pietro nodded. ‘I will do this. There must be no more shame, Mama.’ 

Dear Dad, Mama is not happy that we are in contact, but is getting used to the idea. 

Thank you, I would love to come to Australia and meet you and your new family. I have never been in a plane before. You're right. It will be an adventure. Will they let me take my violin case in the cabin with me? I never let it out of my sight. Pietro.

***

Paul danced Daffy around the room. ‘He’s coming. Thank you for changing your mind. I’m so happy. I didn’t believe Maria would let him. Thought she would still harbour anger, but he is coming.’

Son, of course, you can bring your violin with you. I will make sure there are no problems. I'll pull a few strings, (ha ha) if I have to. So, you play violin? That's wonderful. Your mother used to play, didn't she? She was pretty good, as I remember. And, Vincente too. He was such a dork. Don't suppose he can come with you? Dad.

***

Dear Dad, Yes Mama still plays and teaches violin, but it was Zio Vincente who taught me to play my instrument. He presented it to me on my tenth birthday. As he handed it to me, he said. ‘Here, my Pietro, this is yours. You must learn to use it. You will become a virtuoso and make your Mama proud. Make all of us proud, the whole village. The Golino name will be famous. No more shame.’ I was very excited and have learned to use it with great accuracy.

***

Pietro looked down at the boarding pass in his hand and a slow smile lifted the corners of his generous mouth. He was looking forward to meeting his father, at last. He slipped the pass into his pocket and picked up his violin case and his duffle bag before shuffling out of the DC3 with the other passengers.

As he exited the air-conditioning and descended the steps, the heat scorched his cheeks and scraped his windpipe, even though the sun was setting. The humidity pressed down on his head and lungs. Pietro felt a trickle of sweat slide between his shoulder blades as he quickly crossed the tarmac to the welcome of the shade of the arrivals' lounge. 

He hadn’t told Paul when his flight was arriving. He wanted to surprise his father. Pietro gave the taxi driver a paper with the address written on it, put the duffle bag in the boot but placed the violin case carefully on the passenger seat. He laughed softly as he patted it and sat back with a satisfied sigh. Soon.

He had rehearsed this meeting over and over again in his mind for the past several months. Now it was real. He would soon see his father and Daffy and little Cara.

***

‘Don’t get up, I’ll get it,’ said Paul. ‘You look all in. Who the hell could it be at this time of night?’ He opened the door.

‘Pietro?’

The young man in the doorway grinned, showing his strong, white teeth. They stared at each other for long seconds before Paul broke the spell throwing himself into the boy’s arms.

‘Daffy, Daffy it’s Pietro. It’s my son…Come in, come in.’ He dragged Pietro into the living room. He indicated Daphne, who sat in a large, comfortable armchair feeding the infant in her arms. ‘Welcome to our home Pietro, my son. Let me introduce you to Daffy, Daphne my wife, and your little sister, Cara.’ 

The wickedly handsome, young man stepped across and bowed over Daffy’s hand. ‘Ciao!’

Daphne blushed, then laughed at her silly response to this old-world gesture. ‘Ciao? I thought that meant good-bye.’

Father and son exchanged glances and said together, ‘Both!’ 

They all laughed.

‘I see you have your violin with you. Will you play something for us? Perhaps you can convince this naughty baby girl to go to sleep. And, we're dying to hear you too, of course. Paul hasn't stopped bragging since you told him you were bringing it.’

‘I don't want to bore you.’

‘Nonsense, my boy,’ Paul chimed in. We want you to do it. Even little Cara. Don’t you my little baby girl?’

***

All the village gathered around the bonfire. A piano-accordion wailed into the night. Vincenti held his hand out to Maria. ‘Shall we dance my dear sister?’

‘Yes. It is time for dancing. My Pietro will make me proud. No more shame.’

***

Pietro smiled as he turned and put the case on top of the buffet against the wall. With his back to the family he said, ‘Okay. I promised Mama, no more shame. But just remember, you asked for it!’