them and no other ships have left the port.
Cap3 looked at them and the clouds. “None to worry, boys, it’s only a quick storm, and we’ll just push right through it and have you back in Italy in a short while. Go back to your suite. I have work to do to get us through this short little storm.”
Another wave hit The New Sole 2, tossing Luigi and Guido again against the wall of their windowless, cramped cabin. This time it was Luigi’s turn to use the small commode in the corner to let go of little was left in his stomach.
Just when they thought the “brief” storm had ended, a wave—larger than the next—slammed into side of the rusting ship, causing paint chips to scatter off the walls and again surround the twins, catching in their eyes, ears, and mouth. More to vomit up. The rats in the walls were also cowering in the corners, climbing over one another to get to the “safe spot” on the top of the pack.
The twins were standing next to each other, as usual, and as green as the algae on the walls and passageways.
Their two “roommates” from the eight-bunk room across the hall joined them when the bulkhead next to their bunks sprang a solid stream of water.
They were the same green as Luigi and Guido. The only toilet in their room was cracked and full of four-day old olive laced port food, simply unusable. They all took turns using the crew’s toilet that wasn’t much better, only that it had a flap that opened to the outside the ship—no water, just seawater backwash.
The rusted-out ship was the perfect carrier as the only attention they got was when crews of the other ships, as they left port, laughed at him and the ship. Cap3 was happy: he had a ship, not a good one, but a ship. He not only allowed drinking by the crew but encouraged it so they wouldn’t leave.
When they were leaving port, Cap3 told them the storm would only last four to five hours before it slowed down and they could make good headway. They were now on day 4. The storm started as they quickly left the port and headed for open sea.
After day 5, the twins decided to go and talk to the captain and find out when they could stop puking.
They weaved their way, unsure of the route as the walls changed color and one of the ladders fell since they were led down by McGurne, or maybe it was simply nausea and dehydration.
The walls were damp and slippery green. They wobbled—a carryover when they were conjoined at their toes—Luigi to the left and Guido to the right—up the rusted stairs and oily railing to what they thought would be the pilot house.
They found a door that said, “Private. No Visitors. Wheelhouse authorized only.” Luigi and Guido took this mean it was where the captain is.
They reached the inside doorway to the bridge, and as they approached the captain, he was laughing and yelling at the ocean as he took long drinks from his bottle, just like his grandfather.
Luigi spoke first, “Capt. Thirda, we very scared about the storm outsida. When you drive us to a smooth water like you promised?” Their English, after all these years, was improved!
He stated laughing loud and yelling, “I told you goombahs that this would not be an easy trip. I take shortcuts to save fuel. Get back to your box and stay there until I say it’s okay to come on deck. If you don’t, I will send you up the mast to watch for whales and icebergs,” sounding the same as his grandfather did years ago!
“Get your Italian asses out of here, and hold on when you get back to your windowless cabin. There’s more to come!”
Two days later, the sea was finally calm. Luigi and Guido spoke to each other. “Do you think we can go up and talk to Cap3 about some food and how much longer?” asked Guido.
“I donno. I have had nightmares about this same trip all those years ago. It explaina why we haven’t traveled much, only to the pizza and beer convention in North Carolina.”
“I think we should give it a try.”
Again, weaving/wobbling, they went up the rusted staircase, now soaked with seawater. They approached the wheelhouse, knocking lightly to carefully alert Cap3 and possibly avoid another drunken tirade.
From inside the wheelhouse, the booming voice, resonated with authority—one that they hadn’t heard before—invited them in.
“Cap3,” meekly stated Luigi, “we hava little questions about this trip. Would it be okay to ask?”
“Yes, my fine passengers, no problem. I welcome your interest in this fine ocean-going ship,” Cap3 stated with clear eyes. He was drinking a cup of what smelled like fresh coffee.
He continued, “Have you had breakfast and coffee yet? If not, I’ll ask McGurne to bring you some breakfast sandwiches and coffee. Please make yourself at home on this fine sailing day.”
Guido, not sure of what was going on, asked, “Cap3, are you okay? Luigi and me see a big difference in you since yua kicked us out.”
Cap3, looked at them straight on. “Well, guys, the truth is, I am petrified of bad weather, always afraid that the ship will break up. I also get seriously seasick, and the only way to settle my stomach is with gut bad liquor, your man, Demtria something gave me a few bottles of this piss-poor stuff that worked well. So now I am as sober as a day-old baby. Why don’t we sit down, and you can tell me all about yourselves. My grandad told stories of The New Sole and the journey of his most interesting passengers, you two. We still have four more days, so let it out, boys. I love a good story.”
Luigi started, “We actually met some college kidas who gave us our first idea on coming to the US.”
Guido continued, “It’s a long story, and we’ll both tell sections of it.”
“If you don’t mind, we tell it from a narrative, that’s what we was told to do, ifa asked.”
Guido started, “I start tellin’ you about our papa, adoptive dad.”
Chapter 1
Emilio Banafasi
In Pissaccotta, a small town in Italy that is well known for its fine pork products, Emilio was a professional hog massager, following in his father’s vocation. He is the only son of Piero and Martina Banafasi.
According to Piero, Emilio’s father, massaging a hog meant going into the pigsty and gently rubbing the sows and swine to make sure their meat was tender. Although a dirty job, he was paid well.
It wasn’t an easy job. He had to soooey (traditional way of calling the pigs in the area) the pigs first to calm them down and convince them to come to him at his massage cage. Once he had them in the cage and calmed down, knowing that pigs are near the top of intelligence, he felt it important to talk to them to let them know that he wasn’t the butcher that they would see soon.
The local swine owners’ farms were known for the tender meats, especially the bacon. All credit went to Emilio and his magic hands.
Swine owners from farms around the area heard of Emilio and hired him on weekends to massage their swine before the Monday butchering. Business was good, although the house did have a bit of smell!
Emilio’s training consisted watching his father rub the swine before
