"Laura Resnick - Under a Sky More Fiercely Blue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Laura)

air. Upon being told who wished to pay him a visit, Vizzini himself came
outside and greeted Luciano as a father would greet a son. As a sign of trust,
Luciano was permitted to enter the don's home without being searched for a
weapon, though they must surely know he had not come without one.
Vizzini's house was the grandest place I had ever seen, though I
suppose it looked humble to Luciano. Vizzini himself was already quite old, a
fat, wrinkled man with thick features.
"And who is this?" he asked Luciano, upon noticing me.
I returned his gaze boldly, feeling my own importance. I had guided
Lucky Luciano through the mountains!
Luciano introduced me and added respectfully, "Toto's father and
brothers were killed in the war. He's the man in his family, now."
I looked up at Luciano and started to say that my father and brothers
hadn't been killed in the _war_, but Vizzini was speaking again, his voice too
loud and rumbling for my own thin one to be heard. Then the don guided us into
the kitchen and offered us food, and I forgot about everything except the
gnawing pain in my belly.
Luciano grinned as I fell upon the bread and pasta like a ravening
wolf, swallowing before I had chewed, taking huge bites before I had
swallowed.
"Careful, kid, or it'll come right back up."
I didn't care. The taste of last night's bitter meal had fouled my
mouth all day, and the sauce I was eating now was spicy and delicious --
almost as good as the sauces my mother could prepare if the ingredients were
available.
"Only at Easter, once a year, do we eat like this," I sighed, shoving
more pasta into my mouth.
A woman -- Vizzini's wife, I supposed -- fussed over me then, putting
more food within my reach, taking off my cap and ruffling my dirty hair,
remarking on how thin I was. I tried to smile politely and thank her for this
feast, but my hands could not seem to stop reaching for more. Fresh green
salad, olive oil, cheese, thin slices of _prosciutto_! It was a banquet of
ecstasy.
I was finally full when Vizzini sent the woman out of the room, but I
continued to slowly savor the sweets she had given me, sitting quietly in the




Page 6
shadows as the two men talked.
"Do you like the _cannoli_, Toto?" Vizzini asked jovially. I nodded,
and he grinned. "All boys have a sweet tooth, eh?"
I nodded again, my mouth too full to respond, but I suddenly remembered
another boy with a sweet tooth. The previous year, my family had travelled all
the way to Agrigento, the farthest from home I had ever been, to celebrate
Easter with my mother's sister. I remembered walking past the bakery and
seeing a boy, perhaps eight or nine years old, being thrown out of the shop by
the baker for having attempted to steal some sweets. The boy stood crying in
the street as a man came out of the bakery carrying a box of _cannoli_. He was