The Good Left Undone(56)
McVicars predicted his next assignment would most likely take him to the grid of the southern hemisphere. The Boidoin had been requisitioned by the British government, and he would be reassigned to a new ship. Like Domenica, he would be forced to transition out of his current position into the unknown. At his level and rank, they would likely send him as far away from home and Domenica Cabrelli as a ship could take him.
CHAPTER 21
Glasgow, Scotland
MAY 1939
The first Italian immigrants to arrive in Scotland at the end of the nineteenth century went into business as soon as they unpacked. They made gelato, opened pizzerias, and mastered deep-frying fish and chips, a local delicacy. Their dark eyes and hair and olive skin stood out in contrast to the robust, pale, blue-eyed Scots. The Italian women matched their hardworking men in ambition, as they worked side by side in the bistros and pubs. The Italians married and had children. In three generations, the Britalians had become part of the fabric of Scotland, giving the native silk wool a new heft, strength, and color.
Arcangelo Antica was part of the first wave to arrive in Scotland from Italy to peddle ice cream in Glasgow. His brother, Francesco, the smarter Antica, according to Arcangelo, became weary of the life of a peddler and borrowed money to put up a factory to make gelato. The factory did well enough to take care of his family in Scotland, with extra money left over to send home to Bardi, Italy. Arcangelo was happy to peddle his brother’s product.
Antica maintained a route through the streets of Glasgow that began on the west side and ended at the pier. At seventy years old, he wondered how much longer he could do the job. He had loyal customers, but there was more competition for their business now. The current Italian immigrants had brought an array of new offerings to cart service: peanut brittle, candy floss, and hot waffles and cream. When it came to selling, Antica remained faithful to the past. He burst into song along the route, usually an Italian folk song, and the old schtick attracted customers. He knew that children chose his cart not because his gelato was the best, but because it was an excuse to see the three-fingered man. When Antica was a young man, he had lost two fingers on his right hand in a quarry accident. He even turned that loss into a sales tool.
“General Antica!” McVicars saluted from across the street before crossing it to join the peddler.
“Where have you been, Captain?”
“Oh, you know. On the high seas. Port side, we were in Marseille for a spell.”
“Good for you, McVicars. France. Beautiful women.”
“My eyes hurt from the sight of them.” McVicars reached into his pocket. “How about a gelato?”
“How about it?” Antica scooped the vanilla ice cream into a cup and handed it to McVicars. “Keep your money today. I want our sailors strong.”
“You think we’re in?”
“Soon. And not just me. That’s what they’re saying in the pub. More accurate than the paper.”
“I don’t know if your friend Il Duce has the guts.”
“He’s not my friend. He’s an embarrassment to my people. My mother had an expression: ‘Just because they’re Italian doesn’t mean they’re good.’ There are good and bad people everywhere. How’s your mother? I haven’t seen her in a long while.”
“Signora McVicars is holed up in the old house with the shutters closed. She lived through the Great War, so she has decided to hide until England takes a proper stand. If we go to war against Germany, she’ll head down to the basement and stay there for the duration.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“This is all too much for her.”
“She should leave Glasgow and go to the country. Can your brother take care of her while you’re gone?”
“That would be difficult. Reverend McVicars is in New Zealand on another mission to convert the pagans.”
“He should stay there until the trouble blows over.”
“If you knew my brother, you would know that he has a way of staying as far from trouble as trouble allows.”
“The opposite of you.”
McVicars laughed. “True enough. I met one of your own in France. An Italian nurse.”
“What’s the name?”
“Domenica.”
“Means ‘Sunday.’?”
“Cabrelli.”
“Cabrelli. Hmm. She’s Toscana.”
“Viareggio on the sea. Do you know it?”
“Bella! The beach goes on for miles.”
“I’ve sailed the Ligurian Sea.”
“That’s why you have the eye of the fish. Someone waits for you on the shore.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I haven’t received a letter in weeks. Of course, you never know, the nuns may have her digging trenches in the South of France and she hasn’t time to write.”
“You make a joke, but you don’t find it funny,” Antica said. “You like this young lady.”
McVicars took a moment to think. “Very much, my friend.”
“The one you want is usually the one you can’t get.”
“Is that true, Antica? I do not accept your treatise. Do you know how many ports there are on the coast? Too many to count. Do you know how many women live in those port cities? Too many to count. I stand before you, one man. One man in a sea of women looking to drown him.”