Toto - 1. Chapter 1

The July sun beat down on the parched olive trees, and cicadas sang their scraping song in their silvery depths. A dusty footpath made its way up the valley from the coast. At a turning near the top of the deserted path a crazy, serpentine flight of steps snaked its way up the final climb to the Italian mountain town of Ravello. At the foot of this stairway sat a lone figure clad in a navy-blue polo shirt and khaki shorts.

Toto, fourteen, kicked savagely at the broken, spalling concrete of the bottom step. Shards of concrete skittered away onto the dirt of the path below.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Toto ran his hands fiercely through his short dark hair, as if to punish himself. Unhappiness roared through him like a hurricane. The side of his face still smarted where his father had hit him as he ran from the building.

Why? Why did I have to give him that stupid kiss?

The afternoon had started normally enough. It had been the hottest part of the day, when many businesses still shut for an hour or two in the tradition of the siesta. Toto had been hanging out at home with his best friend Michele. The two boys had been laughing and joking as they sat on the side of the bed, playing a few videogames. But then Michele had turned his signature smile upon Toto, and that was the moment that something inside Toto – something that had been building inside him for months – finally snapped, and he had leant across and planted a quick kiss on Michele’s lips.

It was over in a heartbeat, but what followed had changed everything. First there was a moment’s shocked stillness, but then Michele had cried “Get off me!” and pushed Toto back onto his bed. That was the moment that Toto saw his father, Salvatore, watching from the doorway, his brow already creasing in disbelief.

Panic setting in, Toto had scrambled to his feet and, leaving the frightened-looking Michele behind him, rushed to the corner by the door where he kept his shoes and clumsily shoved them on.

“Explain yourself, Toto,” Salvatore said sharply.

At the exact same moment Toto had risen from the floor, Salvatore had reached out to stop him. His outstretched hand caught Toto hard by the right eye. Toto had cried out in pain, shoved past his father and fled down the ceramic tiled hallway and down the stairs, his father in hot pursuit.

“Get back here…!” Salvatore called angrily from the top of the stairs.

“Leave me alone!” Toto cried over his shoulder.

Salvatore started down the stairs after him, but Toto had already reached the front door. He had burst forth into the street, set off at a run… and eventually fetched up here.

Here was better. Here, there was no-one around and he could breathe.

It was not like he had always felt this way. Toto and Michele had been best buddies since nursery. They had grown up together, doing all the fun and innocent things that young boys like to do. But in recent months, things had changed. Toto had become aware of his friend in a different way: he often thought of his brown eyes, his smile, the cockeyed way his hair always stuck up slightly to one side, the way he laughed, the way he moved… and he had naively hoped Michele might feel the same.

Not now, that was for sure. A big part of Toto thought he had probably just ruined everything and, worse still, his father had seen it happen. Toto’s chest hitched and he stifled a furious sob at his bad luck.

I knew Papà would react that way. I remember how he was about those two boys years ago.

Salvatore ran a grocery store in Via Roma, the main street of the town. An elderly couple from an old local family, Marina and Vittorio Bianchi, had been regular customers of his. When their estranged teenage grandson Gianni had moved to Ravello to live with them, it had caused some excitement among the community and, at first, Toto’s father had been as curious about the new arrival as the rest of the town had been. However, then there had been that business with Angelo Rossi from the neighbouring village of Scala. The initial excitement had turned to furious gossip, and Salvatore had told Toto that he was no longer allowed to talk to either of the boys. Toto, who had only been seven at the time, had struggled to understand why; but now, he thought, he knew.

Toto kicked at the broken concrete again, but less furiously now. Fear was starting to take over. How could he hope to come back from this?

A slight noise impinged on Toto’s consciousness over the racket of the cicadas in the trees, and he looked up sharply. He had had a sudden impression that he was no longer alone and, sure enough, a figure was making their way up the footpath from further down the valley. Toto’s heart sank as he saw that he had already been spotted.

“Toto?” the visitor said as he approached. He must have seen something of Toto’s misery etched on his face, for he added, “Are you all right?”

The visitor, who was now looking at Toto with some concern, was a young man in his early twenties, a well-dressed individual with shortish dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He was accompanied by a small, beardy sort of dog with coarse white fur and a black spot on its right flank. From the man’s right hip hung a small shoulder bag, from which protruded a sketch pad and a pack of pencils. Toto recognised him at once.

“Leave me alone,” Toto said quickly. “I don’t want your help.”

The young man’s open expression closed a little. “Whatever you say, Toto,” he replied quietly, and walked on up the path, turning to the small dog, which had been snuffling with interest at a hole by the side of the path, and tugging gently on its lead. “Come on, Alfredo.”

Toto watched the man go for a few seconds, inwardly cursing himself. For a moment, he had heard his father’s voice in his own. He called after the man.

“Gianni, wait, please!”

The young man stopped and turned. Toto rose and took a few hesitant steps towards him. “I’m sorry, I…”

And then it all came pouring out. In a flood, Toto told the man about his friend, his changing feelings, and what had happened with Michele and his father that morning. By the time he had told most of his story, hot tears were pouring down his face. Gianni received all this with wide eyed concern.

“Toto, slow down,” he said when Toto paused for breath. “You’re telling me your father hit you?”

Toto shook his head desperately. “No!” he said, “I don’t think he meant to…” he tailed off, rubbed the corner of his eye where it still stung, and then settled to weeping. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Gianni said reassuringly, putting his free arm around Toto’s shoulders. “It’s all right. You won’t be alone in this. We’ll make sure of it.”

Toto had no more words. He took a great gulp of air and then buried his face in the young man’s chest. Gianni held him and tentatively stroked his shaking back. “I think you’d better come with me.”

* * *

Once Toto had quietened down, Gianni led him on up the path, passing between olive trees, lemon plantations and wild scrub. The sun cast dappled shadows through the leaves and glinted off the ripening yellow fruit. All was quiet apart from their footsteps, the cicadas in the trees and the occasional muffled burr of a passing vehicle on the single road that led down the valley to the coast.

Climbing a steep flight of steps between stone walls, they left the trees behind them as they approached the main part of town. Looking over to the left, Toto could see the whole of the valley: a lush, tree-lined gorge bounded by steep cliffs and hills. At the bottom of the valley, somewhere far down below, the Dragone stream tumbled down through the rocks on its way to the coast. To the left, Toto’s home town stood proudly atop a rocky crag overlooking the distant blue sea, its terracotta skyline punctuated by churches and tall, sculptural-looking pine and cypress trees. To the right, the mountains rose to even greater heights, with the neighbouring village of Scala clinging to the carefully terraced and cultivated slopes. At the head of the valley, the tree-crowned peak of Monte Brusara glowered down upon them, with a single finger of houses climbing steeply up towards its summit.

“We’ll need to speak to your father,” Gianni said.

Toto faltered, his chest tightening with anxiety. “I can’t!” he gasped. “Not yet.”

“I didn’t mean right away,” Gianni reassured him. “Come on – our place is just up here.”

They were approaching the top of the steps, where a narrow band of buildings crested a ridge between their valley and the next. Nearby, a small, paved square chuckled with the sound of running water from the fountain at its centre. Gianni led Toto into the welcome shade of an overhanging building, where an open door led onto a private staircase lined with pot plants. Gianni ushered Toto inside.

Gianni’s apartment was on the first floor. Toto found himself in a light and airy living space which was pleasantly cool. Whitewashed walls and a vaulted ceiling made the best of the light coming in through the French doors leading onto a tiny balcony at the back, which looked out over the sun-drenched valley. Nearby, a comfy-looking leatherette sofa and a matching easy chair looked over a coffee table towards a large flat-screen television while, in the slightly darker corner near the door, a small, fitted kitchen had been squeezed in. In the final corner, a dining table large enough for four people stood next to a corridor leading to the bedroom and bathroom.

“Make yourself at home,” Gianni said.

Toto shed his shoes by the front door, padded across the tiled floor and slumped down onto the sofa, which sagged down pleasingly and threatened to envelop him. Toto watched as Gianni released the little dog from its lead. Alfredo puttered across the room, took several slurps from a water bowl by the French doors and flopped down on a patched and hairy-looking dog bed next to the open curtains.

Gianni appeared in front of Toto moments later, wordlessly passing Toto a glass of chilled mineral water before sitting down in the comfy chair at the end of the coffee table.

Toto took a sip from his glass, wondering how to begin.

“I hate feeling like this,” he said miserably. “How did you deal with it?”

“I almost didn’t,” Gianni replied quietly. “But thankfully I had someone to save me.”

“Angelo?” Toto asked, taking another sip of water.

Gianni nodded. “I know it seems bad now…” he began.

“It is bad!” Toto replied hotly.

Gianni inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I guess it is,” he said. “But… I think you can get through it.”

“Tell that to my father,” Toto muttered. And Michele, he thought, but that was too painful to talk about right now.

“We’ll try to talk with him this evening,” Gianni said. “At least he’ll know where you are then, and maybe I can help. I know I’m not his favourite person… but he’s always been polite with me.”

“He has to be,” Toto replied. “You’re his customer.”

Gianni shrugged. “I’ll give it a go. And if it goes badly… well, I guess you can stay with us until we can sort something out. We don’t have a lot of room, but it could do for a few days.”

At the thought that he had somewhere he could stay, the knot of anxiety in Toto’s chest eased just a little. He raised his hands to rub his eyes. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

Gianni smiled. “I guess… I remember what it’s like to be a boy who needs a friend.”

Toto sniffed. He could feel tears threatening to break forth again, but he didn’t want the young man to see it. Tactfully, Gianni rose from his seat.

“Have a rest, Toto,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it for a bit.”

“Thanks,” Toto mumbled. Pulling up one of the soft cotton scatter cushions, he rested his head against the arm of the sofa. Within minutes, he was asleep.

* * *

Toto woke a couple of hours later to find a furry face staring complacently into his own. A large tabby cat with green eyes was perched on the arm of the sofa, mere inches away from where Toto lay. A shiny metal tag dangling from its collar read ‘Ennio’. Sleepily, Toto sat up, extending a hand for the cat to inspect. Ennio gave it a sniff and a quick lick, then jumped down, stalking off towards the bedroom corridor with his tail held high. Still lying in his bed by the window, Alfredo the dog stretched, yawned, and then put his head back down on his paws.

Of Gianni, there was no sign. Toto took a sip from the now tepid glass of mineral water on the coffee table and stood, arching his back and stretching out his arms to bring them back to life. Feeling more awake, he looked about the room.

On the wall between the television and the kitchen area there were several framed pictures. One of these was an old drawing, with the creased and beaten-up look of a piece of paper that had spent several days folded up in someone’s pocket. Toto recognised the scene as a view of Ravello’s main square. In the background the artist had made a fair study of the town’s simple, whitewashed cathedral, lined with trees. In the foreground, rough silhouettes had been added showing a teenage boy with a football and two smaller figures, one on a bicycle and one on a micro scooter. Toto frowned as a memory tried to surface, but then it slipped away again. He shrugged and moved on.

At the centre of the wall, two black and white photographs had been placed side by side, in front of which a small shelf bore a vase full of fresh flowers. The right-hand photo was of a thin, middle-aged man whom Toto didn’t recognise. His face was prematurely lined, but his eyes twinkled behind a fine moustache. The left-hand photo featured an elderly man with a flat cap, a pipe and a kind, weather-beaten face.

“Vittorio,” Toto mused.

At that moment, a key turned in the lock and Gianni appeared at the door carrying his sketch pad and pencils. Seeing Toto on his feet, he placed these down on the kitchen sideboard.

“Good, you’re up,” he said. “Time we were going, don’t you think?”

A few minutes later, a slightly reluctant Toto accompanied Gianni back out into the warm evening sun. Toto had asked to stay behind, but Gianni had insisted.

“I can’t do this without you there,” he had said, in a tone that would brook no argument.

They set out across the small square with the fountain, passing the arched façade of a small hotel. Water trickled down from spouts set into the mouths of the twin stone beasts mounted to the outside of the basin. Toto paused by the water, dipping his fingers in its refreshing coolness and dabbing his brow. Behind him, Gianni chuckled quietly.

“What?” Toto asked, turning to look at him curiously.

Gianni shook his head, smiling. “Nothing,” he said. “You just reminded me of something, that’s all.”

After a short walk down a quiet road they climbed a flight of steps next to a low cliff on top of which a row of villas and palazzi perched. To the right, sprays of pink oleander flowers framed a view across the valley to distant mountains and buildings of Scala. Lizards, basking on the low stone wall, scattered into cracks and crevices as they passed.

Before long, they had passed between buildings and entered Via Roma. Here, locals and tourists alike wandered to and fro along the shady, crazy-paved alleyway, coming and going from among the shops.

On a corner next to a small church, they passed a building that was in the process of being converted to a restaurant. Here, Gianni paused to speak to a fit-looking man in his thirties who was measuring up some newly delivered kitchen equipment outside.

“Gianni,” the man said, extending a hand in greeting. Gianni reached out and shook the hand firmly.

“Ciao, Pietro,” Gianni said. “Is he here?”

Pietro shook his head. “You just missed him. Anna told him to call it a day. I think he went for some fresh air.”

Gianni paused, nibbling the side of one finger a little anxiously. “Okay, thanks, I’ll text him,” he said. He turned to Toto, who had watched the conversation blankly, with no idea what they were talking about. “Looks like it’s just you and me, then.”

Gianni thanked Pietro and led Toto on up the narrow street, passing various little shops as they went. Toto trailed morosely behind; they were terribly close to home now, and he wasn’t sure he could face his father just yet. But there was no delaying the inevitable, and soon they had arrived at Salvatore’s grocery store, where they paused on the threshold.

As luck would have it, Toto’s father was alone behind the counter, with only the little shop’s stacked shelves, which groaned with produce from floor to ceiling, for company. Seeing the new arrivals, Salvatore stepped out from behind the counter to stand in the doorway, a slim figure with a thin moustache and a widow’s peak. His expression was unreadable.

“Toto,” he said. “Where have you been?”

“With Gianni,” Toto replied, glancing towards the young man.

Gianni inclined his head respectfully. “Signor Friuli,” he offered. Salvatore offered him a curt not in return.

“I found Toto in the valley a couple of hours ago,” Gianni continued tentatively. “He seemed really upset. He told me something had happened with his friend Michele?”

Salvatore largely ignored Gianni and continued to address himself to Toto.

“Come inside, please, Toto,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Toto rubbed his sore right eye. “You hit me,” he said.

Salvatore’s brow knotted a little. “An accident,” he said, a little impatiently. “Please come inside.”

“Signor Friuli, if I may…” Gianni began. This time, Salvatore did look at him.

“This is a private family matter, signor Fortuna,” he interrupted. “I’ll thank you to leave it to me.” He turned back to Toto. “Come inside.”

Gianni seemed momentarily at a loss, and Salvatore certainly didn’t seem to be ready to hear Toto’s side of the story. Plucking up his courage, Toto took a step back from his father.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he said.

“What is this?” Salvatore rounded angrily on Gianni. “What have you said to him?”

“Nothing, signore,” Gianni replied, standing his ground. Toto could tell from the uncomfortable look on his face that this was not going at all as he had intended. “I’m just trying to be a friend. Toto is obviously wrestling with enormous questions about his identity and his place here...”

“His place is with me,” Salvatore snapped.

Tears were pricking at Toto’s eyes again. “But what happened earlier…” he began.

“Yes, well, we’ll have no more of that,” Salvatore said. “What would your mother say, if she were still here?”

“Papà…” Toto cried desperately. Salvatore remained implacable. Toto turned to the younger man and took hold of his arm. “Please, Gianni!”

Gianni took a nervous breath, patting Toto on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Signor Friuli,” he said. “The last thing I want is to cause any more trouble. But Toto came to me for help, and I don’t think he’s ready to come home just yet. I’ve told him he can stay at ours for a few days.”

Salvatore looked at Gianni for a long, hard moment, but then, to Toto’s surprise, he backed off.

“Then take him,” he said shortly. “But we’ll talk again.”

Salvatore turned back into his shop without another word. Toto and Gianni exchanged an uncertain glance.

“Aren’t you just glad to know your son is safe?” Gianni called after him.

Salvatore glanced over his shoulder for the briefest moment. “Of course I am,” he retorted. “Buonasera.”

And, just like that, the conversation was over.

* * *

Toto and Gianni looked at each other in silence for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Toto,” Gianni sighed. “I thought…”

Gianni trailed off and looked at his feet. Toto turned away; he did not want to face the young man right now. Instead, he made for the side door that led to his family home above the shop.

“Can I pick up a few things?” he asked without looking.

“Of course,” Gianni’s voice replied. “I’ll wait for you here.”

A few minutes later, Toto trailed back down the stairs with a rucksack over his shoulder containing a few clothes and something to read. Gianni came to meet him as he closed the door.

“Can I at least buy you some dinner?”

Toto nodded, and followed wordlessly as Gianni led the way along the shady street until they emerged into the golden sunlight and gentle hubbub of the main cathedral square.

The large, paved square faced out over the valley. On the western side, tall pine trees framed an expansive view over the mountains and the hillside houses of Scala. The evening sun streamed over the mountain tops, lighting up the white façade of the plain but imposing cathedral with its grand flight of central steps. Old houses with rusting ironwork looked down from both sides while, in one corner, an ancient stone gatehouse twined with creepers marked the entrance to the ornamental gardens of the Villa Rufolo.

Bars with outside seating were dotted around the square, where couples sat under the shade of large parasols enjoying an evening drink while pigeons pecked for crumbs around their feet. High in the pine trees, cicadas continued their raucous scraping song, drowning out the quiet babble of conversation.

Through all this Toto drifted, lost in his own gloomy world. He barely noticed as Gianni led him to a table outside one of the bars and sat him down, ordering two Lemon Sodas and a large bottle of mineral water from a passing waiter.

The drinks arrived. Toto popped his can open and sipped the sparkling drink listlessly, staring at a food menu but barely taking it in. He only looked up when he became aware of a figure approaching from the far side of the square.

Gianni got to his feet and the two men embraced.

“I got your text,” the new arrival said. He sat down next to Gianni and looked at Toto with interest. “I see we have company.”

“Ciao, Angelo,” Toto replied quietly.

Otherwise the perfect match for Gianni in age, height and build, Angelo had obviously been working hard. He was dressed for physical work, with a tough and dusty-looking shirt open over a light grey vest top and sturdy cargo trousers. However, his mid-length dark hair was as neat and stylish as it ever was.

“How was your day?” Gianni asked.

Angelo feigned a look of great weariness, casting a quick wink in Toto’s direction. “Your cousin is a hard taskmistress,” he replied, “but the build’s coming on well. I reckon we’ll be finished in a few more days.”

“What are you doing there?” Toto asked.

“Carpentry,” Angelo replied offhandedly, “but enough about that.” He glanced from Gianni to Toto, his dark brown eyes alight with curiosity. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Between them, Toto and Gianni told their story. Angelo listened in silence, looking from one to the other as they spoke. When they had finished, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

Gianni raised an eyebrow at his choice of phrase. “Don’t let Nonna hear you say that,” he replied with the faintest of smiles.

Angelo punched Gianni gently on the arm, sparing most of his attention for Toto.

“Gianni’s right, Toto,” Angelo said. “Of course you can stay with us for a few days.” He exchanged a glance with Gianni. “I don’t know how we’re going to get you back on your feet, but… we’ll think of something.”

Gianni took Angelo’s hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. Thinking of Michele, Toto watched, feeling utterly wretched. Tiredly, he rested his head in his hands.

“Thanks.”