The next morning Carlo was down at the cafe early. He always
dropped in first thing to supervise the work of the day and today Rosa was with
him.
Though Rosa was brought up now as a young lady, she still loved to do
the rounds with her father and surprisingly she took a great interest in all
his plans. In spite of her ringlets and pretty dresses, this plain girl never
forgot her father's promise that one day she would be "his right hand."
Her cousins, Agostino and Stephano, were chatting with the other waiters when Carlo and Rosa came in and enquired about Ragazzo. No, there was no sign of him. He had not returned to the cafe last night and the news was that he had been seen down at the docks late last evening. There was a buzz of excited chatter as the waiters speculated on what could have happened to him and whether, indeed, he had been part of the gang.
In the midst of this confused conversation, Carlo looked up to
see a large policeman standing in the doorway of the cafe.
"Morning Mr
Gatti, sir," he said advancing into the café. "I've come about the young
lad and the theft at Thoroughgood's. It's said he works here."
"Yes
officer, he does. The theft has been reported to me, but I find it hard to
believe he was involved." Carlo shook his head. "I've known Ragazzo since he
was a child. He lived in my household."
"They're a very bad lot, these
boys, sir. This particular gang's causing a lot of trouble, petty theft,
threats, pestering folk. The sergeant wants it cleared up. Can I see the lad,
sir?"
"He's not here. He didn't come back last night."
"Well sir,
isn't that proof enough? If he was innocent, surely he'd be back by now?"
Carlo had to agree. Giuseppe had told him Ragazzo had said he
had been threatened, but if that were so, why had he run away.
"Perhaps he
was frightened - did not understand!," said Agostino awkwardly.
The
policeman looked unimpressed. Excuses always excuses from these foreigners. He
got out his notebook.
"I'll need some details, sir. His name, please."
"Ragazzo."
"How do you spell that, sir?" He wrote down the name slowly.
"And the Christian name?"
"He has no other name - just Ragazzo."
The policeman looked puzzled. "Age?"
"About sixteen - maybe less."
The
policeman said patiently. "Can you describe him?"
"He's a good looking
lad, just beginning to fill out."
"Height?"
"About this tall." Carlo
put his hand to his breast.
"Hair?"
"Black."
"Eyes?"
"Blue
- very blue. So different from most of our countrymen."
"Any
distinguishing marks?"
"What?"
"Any scar, any blemishes. Something that
would identify him."
Surprised Carlo said, "No, I don't think so." And
turning to Rosa and the others standing by, "Can you think of anything?"
Rosa said suddenly, "Yes, there was a mark. A big red blotch on his shoulder."
"That's right," said young Stephano. "I've seen it sometimes - a big red
mark on his ... his left shoulder. He's rather shy about it."
In silence
the policeman wrote all the information down. Then he closed his notebook.
"Well, sir, if you have news of him, I hope you'll let the station know
rightaway and bring him in."
Carlo sat down heavily at the cashier's desk. "Jesu, I can't
believe it. Why should Ragazzo get muddled up with a gang like that. Is this
how he rewards me?"
"He was frightened, so he ran away," said Rosa,
remembering how afraid Ragazzo had been when he first came to them.
"They
say he tried to find you at the docks," said Agostino.
"Perhaps he's too
ashamed to come back," said one of the waiters unkindly.
Agostino, who was
assistant manager, turned angrily to the waiters standing round.
"To your
work. There's plenty to do. We're late already." As the boys dispersed to their
various tasks, one young lad, Pasquale Fialli, who had only arrived from the
Ticino a few days earlier, hung back.
"Signore," he said timidly. Carlo
looked up.
"Yes, lad?"
"This boy, Ragazzo. You don't know his name?"
"No, he has no other. I found him in the street, beaten and abandoned by a
cruel padrone!"
Pasquale caught his breath. Then he said boldly, "In our
village when we were noisy or mischevious or did something wrong, our mother
used to say, if you don't behave the padrone will get you."
"Is that
so?"
"And over and over again, she would tell us the story of little Luigi
Derighetti who was stolen from the village."
Carlo stood up suddenly.
"Derighetti - Derighetti, that was my mother's name. My mother's family."
Taking the boy by the arm, he said, "What else do you remember?"
"Mother
used to say his grandparents searched everywhere and never found him. They
believed he'd been taken by one of those travelling padrone. Each autumn, when
the chestnut sellers set off for Paris, they would go down to the market square
and ask them to look out for the child and when the men came back in the spring
they would ask again, hoping for news. But they were always disappointed."
Again Pasquale paused. Then he said simply, "They were looking for a little boy
with blue eyes and a strawberry mark on his shoulder."
"There was a sudden
silence. Rosa stood open-mouthed. Agostino smoothed his clean apron nervously.
All eyes were on Carlo.
He said slowly, "If Ragazzo is a Derighetti, then
he's a relation - one of our own." Rosa said softly, "But now we've lost him."
