The Grotto

Chapter 1

I have always claimed that the best years of our lives are when we go to school, but we never realize it until it is too late.w I wanted a job so badly that I quit school even before I graduated, and yet, when I got one, I couldn’t hang on to it

I was only sixteen and in a matter of not even a year, I had already changed three jobs, but instead of climbing the ladder I was going down deeper and deeper.

When I lost my first job as a bell boy at the Hotel Torino, one of the best in Rome, right away my father decided to employ me at a clothing and fabric store owned by Signor Spizzichino (Mister Cheap) an old Jewish merchant of Piazza Vittorio, which he knew from way back. That day on the way to the store he kept repeating to me don’t forget my son that working for somebody will never get you anywhere, but as far as I can remember, I have never seen a business man starve to death. Look at the Jews, those people sure know how to make money, so stick with this guy, learn his trade and maybe someday, who knows, maybe you can start your own business.

I knew the man and the place so well because I had been there so many times with my father to buy mostly some remnant pieces of fabric. Usually the best cloth to be found in the market but that was either out of style or there was not enough material for a whole suit, therefore could be bought very reasonably. Naturally as far as I remember, not once was a deal was closed before a big long story and lots of genuine crying from both patron and store owner was involved. The buying was especially planned by my father only bright and early on Monday morning. We waited at the corner for Signor Spizzichino to open the store door and as soon as he had disappeared inside we would walk right in behind him .A trick that my father played on him every time and he didn’t like it at all. I don’t know how much truth there was in it, but being very superstitious, Signor Spizzichino hated to lose his first customer. It brought him bad luck on all the oncoming week.

That scene is so vivid in my mind that I can still see the two of them going at it, arguing back and forth. First my father would look around and choose what he liked, than ask for the price. Once he knew it he dropped the material and immediately turned to something else, making him take down sample after sample, each time asking for the price but always showing a dissatisfied look in his face, until he put his hand on top of the original choice saying:

Signor Spizzichino, this is the one I want. Without any doubt it is the best, it’s all wool, but on the price we are a mile apart. I will give you... and pulling out the wallet and counting the money. Here this is all I got. , waving the bills in front of his face.

At the sight of money, the dead eyes of Signor Spizzichino, a light built little man with a big nose and a guttural voice, would give a sparkling sign of life but that was all and raising his hand over his head with a crying voice he would say. Please, please Mr. Viselli. I am here to do business, not to be ruined by you.

Come on Signor Spizzichino, as you well know, I would never think of doing that, thank you just the same and friends as before. All right, you keep your merchandise and I keep my money. Vabene? Come on Armando. Let’s go someplace else. And pulling me by the hand he would start for the door.

Un momento, un momento, Mr. Viselli, would then holler Signor Spizzichino running after us. Please give me another ten lire and the cloth is yours.

My dad would stop, turn around and very seriously say: Signor Spizzichino. Have you ever seen blood come out of a turnip? I don’t have another penny. Let’s go Armando, we are wasting our time.

Wait Mr. Viselli, let’s split the difference. Give me another five lire.

Pulling two lire from his pants pocket and putting them on top of the others, very unhappily he would say: Signor Spizzichino, take them, but don’t forget this boy is going to be hungry all day. Those two lire were for his breakfast.

Right at that moment he could care less if I starved or not, all he could see in front of his eyes was the two extra lire and reaching for the money he would put the big bill right up in the air against the light and once sure that they were not false, he would place them in a thick oily wallet hanging from a gold chain, swiftly put it back in his coat pocket and crying he would add: Another deal like this and I will go broke.

I think they were both good actors and enjoyed teasing each other.

No doubt he was a very shrewd business man, but a poorly minded person, always afraid that somebody would steal from him, he was very different and trusted no one. Not too long after I started working for him, one afternoon his old crabby wife came to the store with a good size parcel. I was repairing a step ladder in the back of the store when she appeared thru the door calling my name.

Coming, coming, I hollered back, and when I got there Signor Spizzichino had the parcel on the counter and was writing something on it.

Do you know where the Concentration Camp of the English prisoners of war is? He asked as he kept writing.

No, I never heard of it.

Well it is not very hard to find, it is past Cinecitta’ on Via Tuscolana and the Tranve dei Castelli goes right by it. You can’t miss it. I want you to deliver this parcel to the son of an old friend of mine. I am sure he will appreciate what I send him, food, cigarettes, brandy and a wool sweater. His name is Samuel Pascovich, it is written all over the parcel, you can’t make a mistake. Try but I doubt very much if they let you see him at this hour, if you cannot deliver it personally, leave it at the guard house, here is two lire you got more than enough for the street car, now go and hurry back.

Once I got there, it was not as easy as he had described it. The easiest part was to pass the guard at the gate, after that it was all like a dream to me.

I was introduced in front of the fascist lieutenant who started to ask me all kinds of questions. Who are you? What are you doing here? Who are the people that gave you this parcel? Why didn’t they deliver it personally? Are you related to the prisoner? Are they related to the prisoner? What is in this parcel? Do you collaborate with the enemy? Do you know that I could have you arrested for this? He kept going on and on, he wrote down every little bit of information, and when he finally released me, I cursed all the fascists and all the Jews on earth.

I was not home when three days after my unforgettable experience at the camp; two carabinieri came to the house and asked my father all kinds of questions about myself, the prisoner and Signor Spizzichino.

After what happened that afternoon, I couldn’t say exactly what it was, but it was not the same thing anymore, I was very uncomfortable with the whole set up, Signor Spizzichino, his wife, the store and everything that had anything to do with them, never the less I tried my best to please him, and worked my little butt as hard as I could, but it was one thing to be his customer and a completely different thing to work for him, he never seemed to be satisfied. Because of my father I endured quite a lot, but at the end of the month, when he handed me a lousy thirty lire, one miserable lira per day, I almost had a fit. Cheap, cheap bastard, as bell boy, sometimes I made that much in tips in one single week. No wonder he had a hard time to keep his help.

That night when I got home and told my father he really surprised me when he said: I knew it. What did you expect millions? Don’t forget you are learning. Maybe he was right, but that was the last of our association, because even against my father’s will, I never went to work there again, instead I let Viano my best friend, talk me into going to get a job with him as labor at the Railway Depot of Scalo Sar. Lorenzo, where the pay was decent, the work although dirty and greasy was very interesting and the hours, lots of overtime.

Tile foreman of the labor pool Mr. Panto was the one that assigned us to our day after day jobs, almost the same routine, in fact unless something very unusual happened, we always worked inside the round house, either with the boiler maker to repair the boilers, or around the steam engines to put out the fire and clean the oven on the oncoming locomotives, or get them ready with coal and water, lubrication and a new fire. The other assignment was with the mechanics, with them, besides the fact that I was learning something new every day, there was no limit on the amount of working hours. The department was going steady twenty four hours a day and still that wasn’t enough. After every trip the big locomotives 685 used for the long haul with the 735 called the Americana, were always brought in for repairs. Ninety percent of the time scarcities of good oil and grease, plus cheap metal were the main cause of all their troubles. Because of poor lubrication the big bearings on the wheels main axle, became so hot that actually melted away.

We were in bad shape, but there was a war going on, that was all that was available and no matter how, limping, puffing, sweating, pushing or pulling, those locomotives had to be on the road on time.

One day a terrified fireman brought in a 735 full of machine gun holes, the engineer, a big friendly guy, which we all knew and joked around with, was laying dead near the oven door with his head completely blown off. Man, what a gruesome sight he was. We had heard so much about what was going on down south, especially in Sicily and around Naples, but this was the first time we really witnessed the death of a victim of the war. Rome had been declared Open City from the first day of the hostilities, therefore beside a few little variation in our daily routine nothing had changed drastically. In fact if it wasn’t for my brother Peppe being away in the Navy, we would have never noticed any big difference in our house. Food was rationed but papa’ was always buying flour in the black market, therefore when we finished our rations, mamma would switch to homemade bread and noodles. Every time nonna Teresa visited us or we went to her farm, she kept us well stocked on dry beans, lentils, chick peas, homemade sausages, lard and oil. As for cheese we could have supplied an entire army ourselves. Without exaggerating, our parents’ bedroom was like a storage place. Behind a huge dresser that covered all one wall, papa’ had driven long spikes into the wall, from which were hanging at least a dozen gigantic provoloni.

One night we were all sound asleep, when suddenly we were awakened by a thundering crash, as though if the wall and the pavement of the whole house had collapsed. In a matter of seconds the whole family was up and under the reflected rays of a bluish painted light bulb, with terror in our eyes, all you could hear was: What was that. What happened? We looked all over, we even climbed on the roof, thinking that maybe a bomb or some kind of mysterious object had fallen on top of us, but we couldn’t find anything. We went back to bed and we forgot all about it. At that time, papa’ had been recalled in the army and was stationed in the grenadiers barrack, near the Parioli, but almost every night he came home to sleep. All his fellow soldiers were more or less the same age, around forty, veterans of the first world war, aggregated to an auxiliary division, which seemingly nobody knew exactly what to do with, but lately they were seriously talking of shipping them out, Russia, Creta, Greece, nobody knew, in the meantime they were on the alert twenty four hours a day and all leaves were cancelled. Finally one day we got a phone call front papa’; tomorrow we are leaving. Bring six pair of heavy socks, four knitted wool vest and four heavy long underpants. While you are at it, bring me a nice dish of homemade noodles, which it could very well be my last one for a long time to come. And don’t forget, tell your mother not too much sauce, also wrap up a big slice of provolone cheese, maybe a couple kilos. You got everything? Hurry up; we might be leaving anytime now. Ciao.

When I got there, calm and poised he was waiting at the gate laughing and joking with the sentry. After one of the guards let me in, we joined a group of his Roman bon vivant friends and their respective wives, sitting on the grass under a giant walnut tree and having a real picnic. After the banquet was over, we waited until ten o’clock in the evening, but the order to leave never came. Papa’ shoved the cheese in the haversack, and told me to take the clothes back home. He was afraid that somebody might steal them. He accompanied me to the gate and with the big bundle of clothes under my arm, in the dark I walked over a mile to get to the street car. This went on for a whole month. They were leaving, they were not leaving, and every time if it wasn’t me, it was my brother Carmine, or mamma that had to go. By then, everybody was getting on everybody’s nerve. The barracks were in the middle of nowhere and to walk for a good fifteen minutes in the open under the scorching sun was not very pleasant. Everyone was fed up, a day didn’t go by without someone complaining, especially the wife of one of my father’s fellow soldier. One day while he was enjoying his favorite dish, she was pacing up and down the little path that we had made, she was steaming. She waited until he was finished, she put everything away, then as calmly and as respectfully she could possibly be, she said:

Now listen to me Teodoro. What you just finished eating was the last of the spaghetti that there was in the house. I have no more money, no more of any food and most of all no more patience. This nonsense has gone far enough, if you are leaving tomorrow or ever, don’t call me anymore, because for all I care, you can go to hell. Understand? Good bye. She angrily picked up her bag, turned on her heels and before he had a chance to say anything, she had passed the gate and disappeared behind the high walls surrounding the barrack.

Teodoro’s wife never showed up again, but we kept going and one day papa’ reminded me to bring him another piece of cheese. When I got home, I asked mamma to prepare it for the next day, and since there was only a small piece left in the pantry, we had to remove the big dresser in the master bedroom to get to the provoloni hanging high on the wall. And what did we find? One huge provolone weighing at least seventy five pound resting on the cement tile floor, the big straw rope from which it was hanging severed. Thus we were finally able to solve the mystery of the big bang that scared the hell out of us a while back during the night.

Among all the gossip going around the camp, one day we heard that Mussolini was coming to give his farewell to the departing troops. Nobody believed it, it was only the usual fib, the same old bull, but when the order was given to raise a platform for him, every doubt dissipated from everybody’s mind.

I had never seen him before, and that day I took advantage of the situation to satisfy my curiosity. The security measures were very tight but the orderly officer knew me well and at the last moment he let me pass.

The huge quadrangle was crowded with soldiers standing at attention, when a flourish of trumpets announced his arrival. He was wearing his fascist uniform and ordinary army helmet. Quickly he scrambled up the ladder and once he reached the podium platform, holding himself to the parapet in front of him, made of rough two by fours, he immediately began:

Camerati. Soldati.

Since their coming to power in the twenties, there had always been bad blood between the fascist and the military. There was lots of rust and the ill feeling had opened a deep wound in the heart of the old king’s guard, beginning from the generals to the last professional soldier. While the fascist militias, a minority group, were enjoying all kinds of favoritism, those same privileges were denied to the others, who actually were the real backbone of the Italian army, navy and air force. For instance, just to mention a few, while the militia men were making ten lire a day, the ordinary soldier was paid a miserable lira per day, where the militia man had free rides on buses and street cars, the regular army, sailor and air force man had to pay. The same thing had to be said for the theaters and cinemas. There was an endless list of injustices inflicted on the regulars, therefore it can only be imagined what went through the soldiers mind when they got wind of his coming. Lots of them hated Mussolini’s guts and immediately began to think how they could give him a hard time or better yet scare the hell out of him without making it look so obvious.

To make sure that he had plenty of vision all around him, the soldiers built the podium sky high but very narrow at the base, making it quite unstable and shaky at the top. Naturally everybody knew about it and the general opinion was that as soon as he started to rock the boat, he would get panicky and come down in a hurry. But I doubt very much if height ever bothered Mussolini at all, because clinging nonchalantly with both hands to the two by fours, vigorously he began his speech. The more he talked, the more he got excited, the more excited he got the more he kept swinging the podium, until all the soldiers standing in front of him, began to wonder if the son of a gun would ever land on top of them. Man, what a switch that was. He sure gave lots of them a hell of a scare, and I would have staked my life on it that many of them must have felt quite relieved when he finally decided to come down.

Finally the troops were shipped out to Greece, but thank God, two days after Mussolini’s visit, my father was sent home forever and went back to his old job as a street car conductor. He had been exonerated for having a numerous family, because of my brother Peppe the oldest son that was already in the service.

Chapter 2

That morning the birds woke me up. Rubbing my eyes I went to the window, I opened it and looked outside. Wow! What a beautiful day! The sun already high, the sky clear, not a single cloud and the air so fresh and good. It was exactly what I had prayed for.

Carmine get up, I called out to my older brother who shared the room with me. I bet the other guys are already waiting for us.

So ... Let them. Who cares. He replied sleepily. Shoving his head deeper under the cover.

Come on. I insisted. Pulling the blankets away from him. It is the most gorgeous day I have ever seen and it is a crime to waste it in bed.

While he sat on the edge of the bed yawning and scratching his head, quickly I rushed to the bathroom, washed myself and, dripping, with a towel still in my hands, broke into the kitchen, where mamma was busy preparing breakfast.

Boungiorno mamma, is the picnic bag ready?

It certainly is. It has been ready since six o’clock. I prepared it right after your father went to work.

Thanks mamma. You are an angel. Getting closer I tried to kiss her, but she wouldn’t let me.

Go away silly, there are many more interesting things to do besides wasting time with you. She said pushing me aside. Come upstairs, your shirts are ready I pressed them all yesterday.

Dancing, I followed her like a happy little dog.

Here, this is your, and give this one to your brother. She added thoughtfully.

Thanks mamma. This time I did steal a little kiss and quickly going down the stairs I bumped into Mario, my younger brother, who was wandering around the house barefooted, holding his shorts up and asking questions;

Are you going to the beach? Can you take me to?

I am afraid not. You know we can’t, papa’ wouldn’t like it. You know what he always says.

Ya ya I know. If you can’t take care of yourself, how do you expect to take care of me. Same old story. In the meantime I have to stay home.

Feeling sorry for him I tossed half lira in the air saying: Here, catch it. Buy yourself some candies and don’t forget Maria, give her some too.

Are you going to talk forever or are you going to bring me that shirt, yelled Carmine impatiently. Come on, Viano is at the door.

We were almost out on the street, when mamma called back Be careful when you go swimming, that lake is very treacherous, and for a change comeback early tonight will you? Don’t make me spend all night worrying and waiting.

At the usual corner, we met the rest of the gang and all together, laughing and joking we walked to the street car stop on Via Prenestina. After the short ride we got off on Viale Manzoni where boarding the Tranve dei Castelli we had to scramble for the seats and got separated from each other.

From Rome, the street car follows the Appia Highway all the way to the many little towns and villages. Among them and about fifteen minutes ride away from the main line, there is Castel Gandolfo, which is altogether not more than twenty kilometers and a little more than one hour’s ride.

Most of the passengers were Air Force soldiers, going to Ciampino Airport and as we got there they descended leaving the tramway almost empty. I got up with the intention of joining my brother, but seeing that he was already busy talking to a beautiful brunette sitting opposite him, I quickly changed my mind.

Sitting back and enjoying the scenery was very relaxing. First it was a farm house here and there, then fields of golden wheat, as far as the eye could see, then hundreds of fruit trees and finally as we began climbing, vineyards after vineyards.

Past Frattocchie, the street car slowed down and leaning my head out of the window I tried to get a glimpse ahead to see what the holdup was. Wow! We were going uphill, straight up and brother........what a hill.

Here begins the land of the famous Colli Albani, once the original sight of the ancient Rome, and now the largest and best source of supply of white wine for all the roman bonvivants.

At a snail’s pace we arrived at Ercolano, where the tramway stopped to let us off. We were saving ourselves a full hour by taking the short cut to the lake, but boy o boy, climbing that desolate hilly lane full of rocks and cracks on the uneven floor, was real hard work. In fact nobody seemed able to talk much and when we entered Castel Gandolfo, everybody heaved a sigh of relief.

The town was still asleep, the few stores opening their doors, the restaurant owners, white aprons on, getting ready for the business of the day and carrying loads of tables and chairs outside. Sunday is the big day for them; from noon on through midnight, they will have their hands full of Romans, from every walk of life, that come in groups of all sizes, with only one plan in their minds; stuff their bellies, quench their thirst and have a lot of fun, the more the better.

Passing the Pope’s summer residence, we noticed two carabinieri standing guard at the gates of the old Villa, built right on the edge of the cliff overlooking the lake. We stopped for a while to admire the beautiful view below, then we continued down to the lake on a winding dusty road. Thousands of years ago, this lake used to be an active volcano. The area is sparsely settled with very few houses and a couple of unlicensed pubs, so we kept on marching right into the woods, until we found a nice spot near the water, with lots of trees around where we finally decided to stop and erect our little tent.

It didn’t take us long to change into our bathing suits and race for the water to cool off, the excitement and splashing that followed, reflected our high spirits, and while Carmine, Bruno, and Carlino raced with each other and swam quite a way out, the rest of us, not too sure of ourselves, stayed close to the shore. For Viano, Pino and myself, this was our first experience in the water, as for me, it was also the first time I had seen the water and it certainly showed from our clumsy movement, but in spite of this we enjoyed ourselves Immensely, in fact long after our friends were gone, we were still playing and kept at it until our skins became blue and started shivering. Only then we decided to go out.

While drying up under the strong sun, somebody went to buy a couple of fiaschi of vino at the osteria and when they got back we were all waiting, we were all hungry and in no time we were seated on the ground making a circle with the wine in the middle.

Did you guys bring any water? I asked after I finished my second sandwich.

No. you think we’re crazy? Sergio replied laughing. For a bottle of water she asked half lira, so we told her to drink it herself. They have no drinking water down here and when they need it, they have to bring it from Castel Gandolfo.

That’s all the better anyway, Carlino broke in, who in hell wants to drink water when we have a couple fiaschi of blonde nectar.

Aha, this is the most intelligent remark you have made since this morning, and just for that let’s have another one. Pino pass the glass will you? Said Sergio picking up the fiasco. We only had two glasses so we each took our turn.

Come on Sergio, don’t be a hog, you are not the only one here, you know? Complained Pino throwing the empty glass. There, catch it, sponge.

Aha, hey guys, listen who is calling me a sponge. This is only my second round and he is already on the fourth glass. I have been counting them, you know.

This went on and on until all the wine was gone, by then we were all satiated and feeling well and with nothing else to argue about, the circle broke up.

Right at that moment, a king could have not felt better than I did and picking up my towel, I went to lie down under a tree. Ah what a beautiful life, this is like heaven. I thought, as I stretched my whole body. The crickets were singing their age old song: Cree cree, cree cree, a bird flying just a few feet above me, then another. Looking up saw the sky and it was such a rich blue.

It would be so nice to be able to come here every day, just lie in the sun at will, rest and play in the water every time I felt like it. Everything was to calm and serene now, a soft cool breeze came from the lake and suddenly my eyes were trying to close on me. Well if that is their desire, why fight them. Let’s give them a rest too.

I must have slept more than I thought. Slowly I got up and walked toward our pile of clothes left near the little tent to dry up, picked up another towel and threw it over my shoulders as a cold chill went thru my body. I gave a quick look but nobody seemed to be around. My throat felt harsh and dry. I was terribly uncomfortable and thirsty, but there was not a single drop of wine in the fiaschi. Eating a handful of cherries didn’t help any either, but gradually from standing too long in the sun I began to sweat, so to get some relief from the heavy heat, I went for a swim and when I came out Viano and Pino were back.

How about going down to the pub with me. We can take the fiaschi with us and bring them back full. I asked them.

Maybe the others don’t want any. Replied Pino the sponger, always ready to take advantage of a free ride, but always very cautious when there was money to dish out. I could have said something nasty; instead I held my tongue saying: So what? Are you afraid it is going to be wasted? I am sure that if they went for a walk in the woods, when they come back they will appreciate something cool and wet, beside right now I could use a couple glasses myself.

Maybe I didn’t sound very convincing because they still hesitated.

Come on darn it, don’t chicken out on me, I promise that if they won’t pay they won’t get any. And picking up the fiaschi I started walking.

There were all kinds of people all along the beach. An accordionist was giving a demonstration of his ability, while the spectators did their best to encourage him. A couple dozen boys and girls were trying to dance and keep pace with his music, while others kept singing and clapping their hands.

Further down along the road, a group of kids my age, were playing soccer with a tennis ball, lifting up quite a cloud of dust. By accident one of them kicked the ball too hard and it landed on an old phonograph belonging to an elderly couple sitting on the grass under the shade of a tree near the water. Suddenly the music died out and by the time the owner realized what had happened, a young red headed stallion grabbed the bouncing ball and ran away. You dirty scoundrel, you broke my phonograph. The old man shouted getting up and starting to run after him. But the boy and the rest of his gang were no match for his old leg. By this time a small audience had already collected and were snickering delightedly at his discomfort, and seeing that everybody was laughing at him, he sat down and shaking his head said to his wife: Times have changed dear. This young generation has no respect at all for the older people anymore.

At a little farm house we stopped to buy the wine. My first sip was a very long sip. Ah! This is what I needed, really refreshing. I could feel it reaching the bottom of my stomach. There is nothing better than wine to quench your thirst after you have walked for a long time under the hot sun.

This time we had no glasses at all, so we drank from the fiaschi and helped ourselves by passing them around, but soon to our surprise we realized that both fiaschi were empty. How did we do it no one could explain it, but they were empty.

Let’s fill them up again. Suggested Viano laughing loudly.

Damn good idea Viano I agreed heartily, and that done we headed back.

My face was getting hotter by the minute, but, it must be the sun, I said to myself, it can’t be the wine that is for sure, it can’t be the wine. I felt as if my feet were hardly touching the ground, everything seemed so rosy and quite, quite beautiful. My friends seemed to be having the same experiences, so singing yelling and laughing our heads off, swinging the fiaschi up in the air and sipping slowly from time to time to clear our throats, we finally got back to camp. From then on, until we got home at three o’clock in the morning, is something that I recall very vaguely. As in a dream I remember walking back to castel gandolfo and on the way my brother hurled curses at me for getting into this miserable condition. Indistinctly I recall that we didn’t take the short cut this time, and thank God for that, because in the dark I would have never made it, instead we waited for the street car for Albano and from there the one to Rome, the struggle to get on it, my friends and the guy with the mouth organ encouraging me to sing which I did and before long I had all the passengers harmonizing with me, including the conductor, who if am not