he tried, he failed to hook up to the higher echelons in the chain of command. Not even his political connections, who could normally be bought for money or persuaded by threat, could help in this case. In the end, Frank had to go. He and Rocco were assigned to the same assault division that would first reach the shores of Italy in the summer of ’43.
Before the guys’ departure, Vince showed up at Rocco’s place. He looked tired and depressed as if he had somehow aged overnight. He sat at the kitchen table, took a glass of wine from Lucia’s hands, patted Joe on the head, then looked at Rocco in the eye and said:
“We’ve known each other for years. I’ve got to love you as a second son, and will continue to keep your family under my protection when you’re gone. But now I want you to do something for me. I want you to keep an eye on my boy when you two are over there. I don’t want him to come back in a body bag. Look over him, as if you were his guardian angel. Dammi la tua parola d’onore. Your word of honor.”
Vince extended his hand. Rocco took it and said:
“Parola d’onore.”
The Americans disembarked on the coast of Sicily and joined the British and Canadian forces already on the ground. It took about six weeks for the Allies to secure their positions on the island. In early September, they began their march north through the peninsula. They did not meet a serious resistance for the first two months, because the Italian army had evaporated after the government signed an armistice with the Allies, and the occupying German army had strategically retreated as far as the town of Cassino south of Rome. But Rocco took his guardianship job seriously, and made sure that Frank had plenty to eat every day, even sacrificing part of his own ration, and a comfortable place to sleep at night.
When the Allies arrived in Naples, at the beginning of October, they were prepared for a big battle to liberate that main military and commercial port. But, to their surprise, the local population had already liberated itself in a bloody uprising that lasted four days, and there was not a single German soldier left in town. So far so good, Frank thought, there’s nothing so terrible about this war, and spent a few days in the city spending his money generously on girls and local food, offered on the black market at astronomically high prices. The city was devastated and on its knees, and the people were desperate to exploit whatever opportunity the new powers would bring.
Frank began to get a true sense of the war when the army reached the German fortifications at the foot of Monte Cassino. The road north to Rome was barred by the formidable Gustav Line, which extended from the Tyrrhenian to the Adriatic coasts. It consisted of trenches, gun pits, concrete bunkers, turreted machine-gun platforms, barbed wire, and minefields, and employed fifteen German divisions. Monte Cassino dominated the entrance to the Liri Valley, through which ran the main highway. On top of the mountain was a sixth-century abbey, believed to be a German post. To make things worse, it was now the middle of November, there were several feet of snow on the ground, and the sub-zero temperature made it extremely difficult to engage the enemy. Frank felt miserable and relied heavily on Rocco for support—even in battle, where he would take cover crouching behind his guardian’s back. At the camp, Rocco would manage to get him a thermos of hot coffee and fetch an extra blanket to keep him warm.
For six long months the allied forces fought valiantly on the impregnable slopes of Monte Cassino. They assaulted the Gustav defenses four times. In February, American bombers recklessly destroyed the ancient abbey in an action meant to help the ground troops. Unfortunately, it made things worse. As it turned out, the Germans were not garrisoned there, but after the bombing they took up positions in the ruins, finding protection among the rubble. Only at the end of May, with the arrival of the spring, were the Allies able to gather twenty divisions for a major assault. And they broke through the Gustav Line.
During this decisive action, Frank stepped on a landmine and lost his legs. He wanted to avoid the thick of the battle and took a detour through a clearing in the woods, thinking of rejoining his comrades later, when the fire subsided. Unaware, he entered a minefield. He would have bled to death in that secluded spot if it were not for Rocco. At the end of a heroic attack against an artillery post, Rocco realized that Frank was missing. He retraced his steps and found his charge agonizing in a pool of blood. Although he himself was wounded in a shoulder, Rocco managed to carry Frank on his back to the nearest field hospital, where the medics saved his life.
Frank was sent home with the first available transport, while Rocco continued his painful march north, from battle to battle, from victory to final victory.
In January ’46, New York gave the returning troops a heroes’ welcome—a glorious Victory Parade along Fifth Avenue, with marching bands, flags hanging from every building, a ticker tape blizzard, and thousands of women with open arms eager to hug and kiss the warriors.
The war ended, at least in the Western hemisphere, and the peace began—and with the peace, the most extraordinary period of prosperity.
Rocco’s uncle decided to retire and enjoy his senior years on the Florida beaches. He left the diner to Rocco because he had no direct heirs. Under Rocco’s management, the old diner was renamed Pizzeria Santa Lucia, and acquired a new identity and a new clientele. “Italian” was no longer just an ethnic qualifier, it became a commercial label. And, yes, mozzarella cheese became a pizza topping— and not only cheese, but pepperoni, sausage, ham, olives, anchovies, mushrooms, and more and more... In the emerging consumer society, the more the better was a fundamental principle.
Rocco felt pretty good about the business and about his family. Lucia worked at the counter and Joe, who was fifteen, tended tables after school. Only one thing still bothered him. He was determined to get rid of the racket once and for all. When the two henchmen showed up punctually at the end of the month, Rocco refused to pay, and the next day took his courage in both hands and went to see don Vincent Marrano.
A high wall surrounded the Marrano property out in the countryside. A wrought-iron gate gave access to the alley that cut through the woods and led to a villa in Renaissance style. The gate was locked, and Rocco stood there, uncertain of what to do. A man came out of the guardhouse and asked who he was. Then went back inside to make a phone call. Finally, he opened the gate and escorted Rocco to the mansion.
Don Vince was sitting behind a monumental desk in his study. Everything in the room was oversized—the leather chairs, the fireplace, the chandelier, the vast vista on the lake. Rocco was overwhelmed and felt very small. Vince pointed to a chair across from the desk and began to speak.
“I’m glad to see you, although I heard you treated my boys pretty badly last night. I should be angry with you. However, I’m a man of honor. And I’m indebted to you big time. You saved my son’s life. Frank is now a broken man, on a wheelchair, dependent on nurses, and addicted to drugs that are supposed to alleviate his deep depression. He’s a total wreck. But he’s alive, and I’m grateful to you for that. I want to pay off my debt. Ask me anything you want—money, power, influence. Anything. Tell me. Parla.”
Rocco spoke in a firm, unemotional voice.
“Don Vince, I have only one request: please, get out of our lives. Forget about us, as if we never met. Leave us alone. If I never hear from you again, I’ll consider your debt repaid a thousand times.”
Vince was silent for a long time. His eyes closed, his jaws clenched. Then, he took a deep breath and spoke.
“I’ve never done this for anyone. My friends are friends for life... But I’m an honorable man, and I intend to honor my word. You’ll have your wish.”
He got up, walked around the desk, grabbed Rocco by the shoulders, pulled him up, and kissed him on both cheeks.
Rocco
