Genio

CHAPTER 1

A sharp, bitter-cold wind blew out of the north, expelling ferocious gusts that churned the sea and slammed into the ship’s hull. Like a pack of snarling dogs, they howled and bit at the solitary passenger on number two deck. Only the clouds, ripped and shredded into speedier, darker shapes, gave any contrast to a glowering, leaden sky.

He stared out at the angry sea that, harried by the merciless wind, tossed huge, fragments of foam and spray onto the lower deck of the pitching, rolling vessel. A mist of finer particles, flung higher, reached the upper decks and steadily soaked through his long greatcoat. But he was so tightly wrapped in his own gloom that he seemed immune to the furious onslaught of the elements. Except for his tearing eyes and red tipped nose, the passenger remained impervious to the cruel wind and spray.

He was just twenty-four, but he felt as if he’d already lived an entire lifetime. He shivered. Back inside, in the compartment he shared with three other passengers, the rank, heavy stench of sour vomit, bad when he’d left an hour ago, must have gotten worse. Almost from the moment they pushed away from the pier at Liverpool, the Jew merchant and the other two-drummers of some sort, he’d guessed-had been heaving and retching their guts out. The cabin would be cleaned later, he knew, but even then, he thought he’d stay out on the deck. He sure wasn’t interested in any conversation, though the Jew, a nice enough fellow, spoke

Italian surprisingly well. No, what he needed was to feel the sting of the briny spray, slapping his face. He needed the discomfort of it all just to know that his cold, miserably chafed skin was still whole, still able to contain the bleakness in his soul. He’d stay out on deck as much as he could. A day or so more without sleep wouldn’t matter.

Bracing himself against a stanchion, he continued his solitary vigil. Under a leather cap, now black with moisture and pulled down low on his head, a strong, thin nose, sharp, like the prow on a ship, emerged from between two black, slightly flared eyebrows and ended crisply above a bristling and ragged mustache. A sheen of moisture gathered across his unblinking visage, wetting his mustache and dripping from his chin. But it was his eyes, coal-black and intense, staring out from a grim, woodenly composed face, that seemed to scorn the power of the elements to add anything to the misery he already carried within. He was dark complexioned, with a face thin to the point of gauntness and he seemed almost a fixture of the ship, so still did he hold himself against the force of the wind and waves and the heaving, pitching deck. He gazed steadily forward, into the distance, where the steel-gray ocean merged with a steel-gray sky. Genio stared ahead, west, towards America, while his thoughts, crowding out all else, flew back over space and time, to the Italy of his childhood. It seemed so long ago, yet he remembered it vividly.

CHAPTER 2

Under a dome of cerulean sky, the hawk wheeled in lazy spirals, powerful wings instinctively feeling for thermal updrafts to ride. Fierce red eyes, keen enough to spot a two-inch field mouse from an altitude of three hundred yards, restlessly scanned the terrain below. Beneath her spread a pastoral scene of white flocks of sheep, single-mindedly grazing the sparse, green vegetation on the ancient, rock-strewn plateau. But her interest lay in smaller prey, other birds and rodents. She noted the sheep and shepherd and glided past.

A small, slight boy stood on a rise on the high meadow, one foot planted on a boulder. His clothes were coarse and dirty and too ill fitting to have ever been sized for him. A visored cloth cap, pulled low over his forehead, roofed two alert, black eyes and rose and fell with each deep breath he took. Rhythmic, pulsating songs of cicadas filled the clover scented air which, that high up, was colder than he was used to. The sun was barely over the trees, not yet mid-morning and already, despite the coolness, he was drenched in sweat. His face was lined with beads of perspiration that popped up under his cap and rolled down his hollow cheeks, leaving tracks through the dust and grime. They paused, trembling, at the base of his jaw before dropping to his shirt. Under his coarse, black pants and white, dirt-streaked shirt, the boy’s thin body was bathed in sweat. His stringy muscles were quivering in fatigue, sore from pulling sheep, one after another, from the ravines, gullies and dry washes that radiated inward, deepening as they went, tracing ever narrowing, downward paths to the edge of an abrupt, deep drop-off.

The fog, which had earlier turned low-lying portions of the plateau into a solid wall of snow-like whiteness, from which protruded, here and there, a tree branch and bush top, began to burn off. As it did, the sun’s rays lit the last remaining daubs of moisture into tiny, flashing prisms of rainbow colors that set the high meadow gleaming.

Heedless of the rustic beauty of his surroundings, he scanned his area of responsibility for any other sheep that might be headed for trouble. The boss wasn’t kidding, he thought, as his eyes, coal black and huge in his thin face, searched restlessly from boundary to boundary, drawn each time, to the sharp cliff where, earlier, he’d gone to the edge and peered over. Below, in a half-circular basin, stunted oak and scrag- gly pine struggled up between the jumbled rocks and weather-eroded boulders. Lining the basin and supporting the level where he stood, dark gray, fissured rock loomed high above the tops of the trees, casting a strong, foreboding presence over the torturous ground at its feet. Down in its hidden places, a partridge had called an all clear.

The boss was Vincenzo, a strongly built, olive-complexioned man in his early twenties. His mustache, thick, carefully groomed and drooping on both ends, sprouted beneath a prominent, Roman nose and ended at a point past the corners of his mouth. It was the feature most people noticed first, often missing the shrewd, restless eyes, quick at assessing any situation at a glance. He was in charge; the senior shepherd with responsibilities encompassing everything having to do with the wellbe- ing of Padrone Melilli’s sheep. His authority was absolute and unquestioned by the other four shepherds. He’d gotten to it immediately after breakfast, taking Genio out of camp at sun up to explain his duties. Daybreak was cold and moisture-laden, the warming sun not yet strong enough to assert itself and the boy inhaled deeply of the clean smelling air.

Did you get any sleep last night? he’d asked, as they walked out and down the path to the grazing meadow. Vincenzo wore a wide-brimmed, felt hat that, retaining its shape, kept the upper portion of his face in concealing shade. His close fitting, butternut shirt gave hints of the supple power in the long, flat muscles that stretched its fabric with every move.

Genio nodded. He’d arrived at the camp at twilight, bearing a letter from Melilli. He’d trudged up the steep, serpentine, mountain path from town to high meadow all alone. The trip had taken the entire day as he followed the upward, winding path that rose among hills planted with olive trees and grape vines, whole orchards of which, changed color from green to gray as they receded in the distance.

He’d seen no one, nothing moving the whole day, except some mules, off in the distance, carrying loads of lumber, plodding down tiny trails to the towns below. The sounds of a small stream, twisting and turning as it fell precipitously past him to broader, flat pools, was his only companion and he concentrated on it’s noise and his footing as he climbed. The stream dropped among the stones and rocks that lined its ancient, downward route, close at times to his path and at others, far enough away that he couldn’t hear its gurgling, rushing music. Hourly, he took advantage of the turns that brought it close and drank the cold water, using those breaks to bite off mouthfuls of the hard, crusty bread he’d brought with him. He’d kneel and lean out over the stream, hands pressing for support on the tops of rocks above the water line and slowly lower his face to the water. He watched as his reflection grew, the closer down he leaned, only to see it break up in the ripples caused by his nose touching the water. By the time he’d reached the shepherds’ camp at nightfall, he was exhausted and, after supper, fell quickly to sleep, awakening only when Vincenzo grabbed and shook him just before dawn.

Well, that’s good, because you’re going to need it. You’re the new boy, he’d said, not unkindly, as he shrugged his shoulders, so you get the roughest side. See that little hill just sticking up out of the fog? He pointed and Genio followed with his eyes. Hey! Do you see it? he demanded, looking back and scowling. Are you awake? Do you see the hill?

I see it. The boy answered calmly, looking directly up into the boss’s eyes. He was barely twelve years old, but his manner of gazing steadily at a speaker and serious way of listening, would give him an appearance of maturity far beyond his years. Vincenzo glanced quickly at the boy. His face was all planes and angles, with black, straight eyebrows that over-arched, but did nothing to soften the impact of his bold, black eyes. His cheekbones showed prominently above concave cheeks that ended in a clean, firm jaw line, while his thin, slightly curved nose gave dimension to a picture of controlled, quiet intensity. Genio would never be considered particularly handsome, but the force of his penetrating eyes, highlighted by thick, dark lashes and eyebrows, became the focal point of a demeanor that projected a depth and competence, surprising in one so young.

The early morning air was chilly and damp. The boy, his jacket buttoned up to the neck, shivered involuntarily as he waited for further instructions. The boss grinned and nodded. You’ll do O.K., kid. Damned if I don’t like your style. Now, he pointed again to the hill, these dumb sheep can slip, stumble, or just walk right into a dry gully. It’s easier for them to stay in it than climb out, so they do. And, it’s easier for them to move downhill than up, so they do. They plod along and never notice that the slopes are getting higher and higher and narrower and narrower. He paused, making sure Genio was listening. Now they can’t turn around and they’re too stupid to just back up and, SNAP! He snapped his fingers right under the boy’s nose. They panic, bolt and go over the edge, right down there and, SMASH! he clapped his hands

- 6- loudly, next to Genio’s ear. The boy didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink. Approvingly, he smiled and nodded his head. This was a good boy. He continued, Now you’ve got a dead animal, or one who’s hurt so bad it’s got to be killed. Worst of all, the padrone has lost money. So, besides the beating you’re likely to get, he might ask your pa to give back whatever payment he got for your services, eh? Vincenzo smiled. He was highly competent in what he did and it showed in the confident, easy way he talked and moved. His broad shoulders gracefully carried tapering lines that flowed down over a deep chest to a thin, flat waist, cinched with a broad, leather belt. He wore rough, heavy work pants that flared slightly, ending inside the tops of his knee-high work boots. Deeply tanned and corded arms, with black hair curled and matted, ended in strong hands, blunt fingers and nails coarsened by a lifetime of hard, physical labor. Vincenzo grinned and patted the boy’s shoulder. He was satisfied.

O.K., you’re up there and you keep watch from there to that outcropping. See it over there? He pointed to the landmarks.

The boy nodded.

Pretty soon the fog will lift and you’ll be able to see better, but any stupid sheep that start down below that line, you get them turned in a hurry. You’ve got to get them before they get caught up in those ditches. Otherwise, it’s hell trying to back them out. It’s your job to turn them or carry them or whack them till they move back on their own. Do you have a good stick?

Genio shook his head. No, he answered, but I can go cut one. My grandfather gave me this knife when he heard I was coming up here to work. He pulled out his proudest possession. Except for his clothes and an old, battered valise for which his mother had bartered some preserves, it was his only possession. It’s real sharp, he warned. He held the bottom of the dark leather sheath and drew out the gleaming, beautiful knife. It’s shiny, silver blade was a full, eight inches in length from

- 7- its tip to where it disappeared into an indented grip of solid, yellow- ivory bone.

Oh, wow! What a knife. Let me see it.

He handed it over, smiling shyly at the boss’s obvious admiration.

What a beauty, he said, stroking it gently and smoothly along the back of his forearm. You want to trade for this? The boss grinned, turning his wrist so that the blade reflected the sun’s rays in brilliant, white flashes. Hell, I’ll trade anything I’ve got for a knife like this.

Genio smiled and shook his head. Reluctantly, Vincenzo handed him back the knife.

You know, kid, nobody up here; no one on this whole plateau has a knife like that, no one. You make sure you take good care of it He looked straight at the boy and was pleased to see that the lad didn’t avert his eyes.

O.K. Find yourself a branch about this big around at the bottom. He made a circle a bit larger than his thumb and forefinger could encompass. It should be pretty straight and about as long as you. There might be some over there. He pointed to a small copse of stunted oaks. And Genio, make sure the other end isn’t much smaller. You’ll need to find a longer sapling or branch and then cut offboth ends, understand?

He nodded.

Good. Well, if you get a good one, tonight, after the sheep are penned, we’ll smooth out the ends and sear them in the fire. Now listen, he continued, for the rest of the day, you’re responsibility is from there to there, O.K.? His hand swept the line he wanted the boy on. There’s a stream near those trees, with good, clear, drinkable water for when you get thirsty.

How about when I get hungry? He asked.

Hungry? Vincenzo snorted, There’s no ‘Angelus’ ringing up here, boy. What you had for breakfast lasts you all day if you didn’t stick some polenta and cheese in your pocket. Now, are you clear on the positions? You’re right on this line and Stelio is—right over there, see? He pointed to a small figure off to the right side of the almost motionless flock. Jimmy’s on the other side. You can’t see him from here and Tonio’s— The boss stopped in mid-sentence and turned slowly, thoughtfully, back to the boy. You, ah, you don’t know about him, do you? Maybe I better tell you right now. He paused as he sought the best way to continue. You, ah, know about women and men and, ah, um, sex-

Genio made no response.

Vincenzo grunted, then made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. He held up his hand, oscillating it in tiny movements. Then, raising the forefinger on his other hand, he plunged it back and forth through the circle. He stopped and looked at the boy for some sign of understanding. Jesus, boy, he said, exasperated and a little embarrassed, how your mama and papa made you, understand?

The boy’s face grew red. He looked confused as he dropped his head and stared at the ground.

The boss shook his head. Hey, look, his voice softened, The man sticks his thing-his cock-in the woman’s box, he repeated the motions and continued, now thrusting his hips back and forth in a quick movement. Zazoom! His juices blow into the woman and nine months later, little Genio is born, understand?

He nodded slowly, still keeping his eyes on the ground. He hadn’t really.

Well, the boss continued, when there aren’t any women around, like up here on the grazing lands, most guys just pull their pricks a couple of times a week. His hand came up, closing around an imaginary penis and made rapid stroking motions. He looked at the boy’s uncomprehending face. Now he began to feel a bit foolish. Come on! Don’t tell me you’ve never jerked yourself off!

Genio’s head snapped up. He was very uncomfortable with this whole conversation, but the last question galvanized him. No! He said, indignantly, I’ve never done that. It’s—it’s disgusting!

Yeah, well, Vincenzo was already looking away, off towards Tonio’s station. When your cock stays hard all the time and you wind up pushing it from side to side in your pants, you’ll forget,’ disgusting’, believe me. Look, kid, he grimaced, to a few guys like that pig, young boys and sheep are just substitutes for women.

Genio stared at him, his brow furrowing in confusion and concern, then amazement, as he began to understand. His eyes widened. He was all attention. The boss sighed and dug into the earth with the toe of his boot. The kid you replaced, Joey Purillo-know why he didn’t come back this year? The boss was shaking his head as he spoke, but didn’t wait for a response. He was a little guy, like you and, somehow, the pig got to him-got to him good-a couple of weeks before the first snow, last year. I had no idea, never saw it coming. From then on.... He shrugged, digging deeper into the dirt, working furiously with his boot, his voice trailing off.

You mean, he did THAT to that boy? That’s awful! Why didn’t you stop it? He was horrified. Why did you let something like that happen?

God damn it, listen! Vincenzo was angry, ashamed and seemingly resigned all at the same time. I didn’t even know about it. Then, when Jimmy told me there was something wrong with the kid, I asked him what was wrong and he said, ‘nothing’, He wouldn’t talk to me. It wasn’t until we were driving the sheep down and I saw how Tonio had his arm over the kid’s shoulders at a rest stop, that it hit me, what had to have happened. Jesus, Joey looked like he was shrinking from the inside. He looked up at the boy. "You know, I can really only control things during the day, when everybody’s supposed to be doing their job. Hell, I can

- 10 - look at the flock and get a pretty good idea of what’s going on; who’s doing what and where and who isn’t. His voice was earnest, explaining. That bastard’s sharp enough not to cross me directly. He knows he has to do his job. But, at night, everyone’s got to be careful. You have to watch out for yourself."

But you’re the boss. It’s-

Look, kid, he cut in. The bum’s been up here almost as long as I have. I don’t know that it’s ever happened before, but I do know that he’s never tried that crap with any of the older guys. Maybe Joey was the only one. Maybe it happened because he was the new kid and too small to fight back.

Like now, I’m the new kid. Genio responded, bitterly. If you think it might happen again; that he might— he shuddered,—he might try something to me; if you’re so anxious to help, why not just fire him and make him leave?

It’s not that easy. He answered. I can’t just fire him. Melilli does all the hiring and firing. I can’t interfere without good reason and right now, I don’t have a reason I can bring to the padrone.

Then, what am I supposed to do? His voice quavered.

I don’t know, kid. He shook his head, Just be careful. He turned, his shoulders slumping and took a step, then stopped and turned back. I’m really concerned, truly, and I’ll keep you two apart as best I can. But, Genio, we’ve got almost two hundred and fifty sheep up here, from rams to kids, and five of us to take care of them, every hour of every day. He looked steadily at the boy. I’m responsible to the padrone for all the sheep and all of you, but as far as Melilli’s concerned, the sheep come first. You saw that Goddamn ox this morning. He lifts boulders this big, just for the fun of it. The old man loves him and I can’t just get rid of him.

Is he stronger than you?

Sure, Vincenzo answered, with a tight grin, but I’m faster and a whole lot smarter. You, on the other hand, his face took on a grave, somber look, wouldn’t have anymore of a chance against him than little Joey, except.. He mused, half to himself, yeah, except for that knife. It might just equalize things. He thought for a moment longer. Genio, his voice quickened, does anyone else; I mean anyone up here, know you’ve got this knife?

He shook his head. No. I just got in late last night.

Good! He nodded with satisfaction. Let’s keep it that way, just in case. If trouble comes, maybe we can make sure what happened to Joey, won’t happen to you. Look, you’re right handed, right? O.K. Slide the sheath around on that sorry-looking belt to your other side. No, like this. He pulled the boy’s belt away from his body and slid the knife and sheath around to his left hip. From now on, keep it like this and have your jacket or shirt pulled over it to cover it. He pulled Genio’s jacket up and over the knife. See. That covers it He stepped back, but the bulge over the boy’s bony hip was too obvious. He reached forward and pulled, positioning the sheath forward, just over the hollow in front of the hip joint. It was much less noticeable. Then he angled it so that the hilt pointed to the boy’s right shoulder. He adjusted the jacket again and walked around the boy. Perfect, he said, keep it that way. O.K., kid, I’m going to step back, then come at you. Let’s see what you can do. He took a few steps back, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy; then came quickly forward.

Genio’s left hand shot down to the bottom of his jacket and yanked it up. He grabbed for the exposed knife handle with his right, fumbling, as he tried to pull it out of the sheath.

No, no, he said. "Use your head. Nobody knows you’ve got a knife, remember? Why give me warning? Why put me on guard? Here, as I come in, just slide your hand, real easy and smooth, like you’re going to scratch your belly. If you don’t panic, I don’t panic. Here, let me show

- 12 - you, He reached out, took the knife and stuck it inside his belt, dropping his wool jerkin over it. Now, watch. Casually, he dropped his arms. His right hand slid smoothly, without any sense of urgency and grasped the hilt under the jerkin. With one continuous movement, his hand, grasping the knife, fell down below the shirt, then, with palm turned up, picked up speed and swung the knife, point first, all the way up beyond his shoulder. It was quick, but so smooth that the speed was deceptive. Without pausing at the top, almost like a pendulum, the arm came flashing back down, accelerating in a smooth, slashing movement. Now kid, that’s the way you want to do it, see? Always with balance and always smooth. This move’ll work real well if your enemy’s face is fairly close to you or when there’s not a lot of clothes between his skin and the blade. Otherwise, do this. He made the same wide sweep back up, but now, turning his hand palm down, the downward swoop became a stabbing thrust. See, it’s just turning your hand at the top that’s different. He said, again demonstrating both moves. Remember, he was very serious and the boy listened intently, the blade to slice where you can and the point to stab, if you’ve got to go through a lot of clothes to get to the meat. Got it? O.K., try it."

He handed the knife back to the boy and watched as he re-sheathed it and attempted both attacks. Not bad, not bad. But don’t tip off your enemy with sudden moves, He instructed. That time, you moved your feet. Leave them alone. Don’t change anything, your feet, your position, where your hands happen to be, nothing; just swing your arm. He eyed the boy. He seemed to be sincere about defending himself. He hoped so. The trouble with some of these kids from the poorest of families, the only ones it seemed, that Melilli recruited, was their fatalism. Poverty had so ground them down, even at such an early age, that a numbed acceptance for whatever the fates or the padrones sent their way almost always precluded any idea of resistance. The kid was small and thin, only reaching the top of his chest. He wouldn’t stand a chance against the older, bigger and much stronger Tonio, unless he was very quick, very determined and he didn’t hesitate.

The boss’s voice dropped lower, Right at the beginning of the season, I told the padrone, he confided, without mentioning any specifics-I didn’t want to add to the kid’s problems-that I didn’t want Tonio back. He shrugged his shoulders. The old man doesn’t always listen to me and he likes having the strongest guy on the plateau working for him. But if I’d known in time, his voice hardened, I’d have cracked the bastard’s skull. Believe me, kid, I was sick over it. Hell, I’m the one who makes the work assignments. I put Joey with him. I could have paired him with Jimmy. He shook his head. God, to have that on my conscience! But, by the time I put two and two together and figured out what must’ve happened, it was already too late.

Grimly, the boy listened without interrupting.

Joey never said a word, continued Vincenzo, not from that day to this. Afterward, he never talked much about anything. Hell, from that day on, he never looked any one of us in the eye. He’d been such a happy-go-lucky kid before. Then, nothing. He stared down at the ground. It was like he was all done; like he had no more chances; like, if you tried to help, it could only hurt him more. It’s hard to explain, but afterwards, no matter what, he acted like it was all over for him. Jesus, he shuddered, I even thought, ‘What if Joey was my kid brother?’ What would I do then? But it was as if Joey had made a decision to put up with the pig’s filth and keep it secret, rather than fight back or tell me and take a chance on word of it getting back to his family or friends.

My God! Genio interrupted. Are you saying that it happened more than once; that it went on and on?

Who knew? Nobody knew. Vincenzo raised his hands in helpless exasperation. "Jimmy and I put it together, only when the season was over. The change in the kid; the way Tonio kept patting and hugging

- 14 - him like he was a long-lost brother. Christ, if I’d known, I’d have stepped in immediately and put a stop to it. I’d have confronted that Goddamn pig, brought Joey back into camp and taken his shifts myself." He paused and the silence between them, lengthened.

He looked up as the boss’s voice hardened, became more clipped.

Do your job, understand? Keep your knife a secret from everyone, but every time you’re sure you can’t be seen, you practice, understand? And, Genio, he held the boy’s eyes with his own, if he ever does come after you, don’t panic, don’t hesitate, don’t try to warn him off or threaten him, don’t even talk. God forbid it happens, you act! The only chance you’ll have is surprise and you’ll never get a second chance to do it right, understand?

Genio was nodding at the points made by the boss, his eyes wide and unblinking. Now it wasn’t just a possibility. In his mind, it had become a probability. The boss stopped speaking and stared intently at the boy. He turned to walk back to camp then, abruptly, turned back. He pulled a large square of oiled paper from beneath his jerkin and unwrapped it, breaking off a generous portion of the polenta.

Here. He pressed it into the boy’s hand. From now on, you make sure you take care of yourself, O.K.? Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked swiftly away.

The boy stood silently, the polenta in his hand, watching him go. A lump formed in his throat. No adult had ever taken any time with him. Except for his mother and grandfather, no one had ever tried to help him, show him any kindness. Certainly, his father hadn’t. Suddenly, tears welled, unbidden, in his eyes. The lump, now grown so big, made swallowing troublesome. He began to cry, the sobs tearing from his throat and shaking his whole body. He couldn’t control himself. God, he was so alone! He’d be mortified if anyone came up and saw him crying for no reason. He wiped his eyes and nose on the back ofhis sleeve. This was impossible! It was getting worse. He wasn’t a crybaby. What was wrong with him? He’d never been so frightened or felt so alone before. Genio didn’t want to be here, facing a terrible threat like Tonio. He wanted to be back home with his parents and brothers and sisters. He wanted to be just a kid again and maybe go to school. He tried to set his jaw, gain control, before he completely dissolved in tears and despair, but his chin trembled even more. Suddenly, the enormity of fear, the overwhelming sense of abandonment by his father, blotted out everything at the far reaches of his vision. The darkness fell in on him. At the very brink of utter panic, he tensed his entire body, grinding his teeth and clenching and unclenching his fists, as he fought back against the temptation to crumble into a ball. Somehow he knew, If he did crumble, he’d stay there, unmoving, until they came to get him. He fought hard against the darkness. Pa, he cried softly, through tightly clenched teeth, what did I do? It was almost a whimper. Why did you make me come here? He stood stiffly, his voice breaking, as involuntary gulps of air shook his body; a thoroughly frightened, home-sick little boy. Mama, please, he whispered, I want to come home. Wracking sobs shook his body. He made a pitiful, forlorn figure with his ripped, uneven and coarse, black stockings, that exaggerated the trembling that shook his legs. Emerging from the confines of his scuffed and cracked work boots, they struggled against gravity to maintain a precarious hold just below the droop of his knee-length short pants. He walked awkwardly over to the limestone rock where he’d earlier laid his jacket, the spasms of sobbing slowing down to a stop and carefully placed the mangled remains of the polenta in its folds.

He took a deep, shuddering, breath and, turning slowly, made a long, careful scan of the whole horizon. Vincenzo was long since out of sight, swallowed up in the distance and the rough, uneven ground. His eyes were still wet and he wiped them with the back of his hand, then swept the line of his responsibility again. He would do his job. He turned his head in the direction of Tonio’s station, at the rear of the flock. "I’m

- 16 - going to control myself. He promised, aloud, not turning his eyes away. I’m going to do what the boss said and I’m not going to be afraid. He stared into the distance, over the huge body of sheep. There was no chance he could see him from where he was, but he easily conjured up Tonio’s image. He’s like a short-legged bull, he thought, as he remembered back to the morning meal. Had it really been only a matter of a few hours ago? It had been very cold. Even the boss had on a heavy jacket. Everyone was bundled up against the cold except Tonio, who wore only a thin cotton shirt. He better not try anything with me. Genio said aloud, patting the bulge under his jacket, his jaw thrusting out. I’m not Joey."

Tonio was short and stocky, only a few inches taller than the much younger Genio, but he was all trunk, with short, muscular, bowed legs. His deep chest, shoulders and long arms were thick with ropy, bulging muscles and his strength was legendary on the high meadow. He had little body hair, except under his arms, where a thick nest of black, curly hair filled his armpits. Everything about him suggested coarse, raw power. His neck was so thick and corded, as to appear to have no taper from head to shoulders. He had thick, black hair, a broad, prominent, fleshy nose with flaring nostrils and beady, little eyes. Even his teeth, big, square and yellowish, connoted power. Genio could imagine that powerful jaw, gaping open, then clamping shut on his arm, ripping and tearing the skin and meat from the bone. Self-consciously, he clasped his hands behind his back and brought his mind back to this new enemy.

In spite ofhis bravado, he quailed inside at the thought of the brutish lout taking a perverted interest in him. But this time, it didn’t cause him to break down. There was no longer a hint of tears. He seemed to have moved past his fear to a wary appreciation of the danger and a firming resolve to find a way to defeat it. He scanned the area again. Satisfied, he walked to the scrawny tangle of stunted oaks near the brook the boss had earlier pointed out. He searched carefully for a suitable sapling and began to hack at its base. With every blow, his resolve grew to face down his fears. He wouldn’t cry again, nor would he ever let a challenge by anyone, go unanswered. Any affront, he promised himself, no matter how slight, would generate an automatic response. He nodded grimly. That way, he wouldn’t have to think about whether to act, only how. And if that pig tried anything, he’d kill him, or die trying.

Genio was pleased with his plan for action. It made things seem more manageable, somehow. He’d have to remember that in the future. He’d thought so intently on this new code for himself that, unknowingly, he had cut, trimmed and dressed his new shepherd’s stick.

CHAPTER 3

Weeks passed in steady routine. There were constant chores and attention to the flock; all of which were required to protect the sheep from their own inability to recognize danger. Vincenzo was a good teacher and because the boy listened so attentively, he spent extra time with him during the late afternoon down times.

These are coarse-wool breeds, Genio. The old man prefers them because they also provide milk and meat. He explained. Up here, we get all the milk we want and it cuts down on the cost of feeding us. Of course, he grinned, the meat is a no-no, except at slaughter-time. You just missed it, but a week or so before you joined us, all the lambs marked for slaughter were cut out and sent down to town from the summer pastures way up on the mountain. We were given one. He rubbed his hands. Mmmm, roasted lamb, garlic and rubbed oil and spices. That’s good eating! Hey, Stelio! He yelled, Is it your week for cooking, or what? Start the fire. He sat down on one of the smooth boulders a few feet from the fire pit and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. He grinned back at Genio, his teeth flashing in the waning light. Thinking about roasted lamb must have got me hungry He said.

The boy didn’t respond. He watched as Stelio came up with an armload of twigs and wood and prepared to start a fire for the evening meal. He hoped supper wouldn’t make too much of a mess. It was his job to scour the pots and tin plates at the stream, whenever Stelio cooked. He looked over at the boss.

We still have a bunch oflambs. How come they weren’t all butchered?

Vincenzo shrugged. Some go to slaughter, but the healthiest stay to replenish the flock. Anyway, he continued, we’re up here till winter and then we go down to the town. He looked at the boy. You know, you’re lucky you came here to work for Melilli. Well, lucky in one way. A lot of the flocks up here are bigger than ours. Some a lot bigger and they use dogs with the shepherds. They’re on the go constantly. But the old man owns the pick of the grazing areas. The others; he shrugged, doesn’t take them long to overgraze and they have to move all the time. Some of them will migrate and graze over a hundred miles in the course of a year.

But we don’t?

Nope. A few hundred head don’t overgraze good, watered area like this. He waved out toward the horizon. We can move them around during the days and still be close enough to that little box canyon we use as a penning area, most every night.

How come we don’t use dogs?

The boss shrugged. The old man doesn’t like them or doesn’t feel we need them, or is too cheap. Take your pick. Who knows? He stirred up the new fire, sending up flames and sparks. Put a few more sticks on it, boy. It’s going to be a beautiful night. He settled his hat lower, almost at eye level and leaned back, pulling a stogy out of his shirt pocket.

What’s the bad news? he asked.

Bad news?

"Well, you said I was lucky I came to work here, lucky in one way. What way aren’t I lucky.

Oh, he answered, "I meant the night walk-arounds. They don’t do any good except to keep a couple of you awake and closer to the animals. If we

- 20 - all stayed back here, we’d be asleep and never hear anything. But not many herders patrol at night. Of course, they have dogs. Anyway, Melilli insists on it, so we do it; except for the nights when there’s no moon and the stars are hidden; when it’s so pitch-black you can’t even see the path"

Shadows raced across the uneven ground as the sun sank behind the mountains to the west, gathering strength and mass as they advanced. The ridges and hills quickly drew in the blackness as they stood out, backlit by the lighter, slowly fading sky. The boss pulled a crackling twig from the fire and lit his cigar. He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke straight up into the sky.

After placing a few more branches on the fire, Genio lay back, stretching out on the ground, with his feet crossed and his hands cradling his head. He wrinkled his nose against the pungent odor, as a wayward puff of cigar smoke wafted over him and wondered idly why anyone would want to smoke. He could feel the warmth from the fire against the cooling evening. There was an excitement to an outside campfire, with its waving, crackling flames shooting sparks at hovering shadows that danced out of the way. His mood lifted as, mesmerized, his eyes followed the leaping, ascending pinpoints of light. Hmph, he thought to himself, the euphoria vanishing, I didn’t know that our evening shifts weren’t necessary. He looked up at the darkening sky. Maybe, one day, we won’t have to do them anymore. He’d never admit it, but the darkness always frightened him a little. Even when he and Stelio were together at the rock, he was nervous. His mind raced. What if there were some wolves left, or some that might have wandered down from the mountains to the north? He had his strong stick. It was as tall as he, but-what if some wild dogs sneaked up on them, or waited till they separated and then attacked? What good would his staff do then? He shuddered. What about snakes? Oh, this is crazy, he thought. I’ve got to get my mind off that. He shook his head angrily.

Just then, Stelio, cooking on the other side of the pit, began to sing. Genio didn’t recognize the tune, but the boss did, joining in with a deeper baritone. He shaded his eyes from the glare of the fire and listened, looking up into the night sky, now ablaze with bright, pinpoints of light from countless stars. Nursemaiding sheep was hard, dirty, constant work, but nights like this, Ah, he sighed contentedly. It was so beautiful, so peaceful. Stelio and Vincenzo harmonizing, the sound of burning wood crackling and the clean smell of a blazing campfire; clouds unseen, but noted by their movement, blocking out starlight in their passage and making him feel as if they were still and he was moving. Even the underlying odor of sheep and the meadow was such a pleasant, familiar matrix.

They began to sing a new song, one he recognized. His mother had sung it. He hummed along, breaking into words as he remembered them. A rare feeling washed gently over him, banishing his constant loneliness. His chest swelled and a lump formed in his throat as his eyes filled with tears. He felt a kinship, mystical, almost indescribable; a oneness with the earth and everything on it; the dirt, the weeds, the scrub oaks and brambles and the insects humming in the night air. Uplifted, he watched the sparks spring into the air on their brief, brilliant journey from the flames to nothingness and wondered if he was like that and the second-long life of a spark was his life, climbing through the years and then, nothing. It was a serenity he’d never felt before and wondered what his companions would say if he got up and went over and hugged each one of them. He giggled silently at the thought and pushed down, wiggling into a smoother, more comfortable stretch of ground. He sighed again. They’d be relieving Tonio and James in a few hours.

CHAPTER 4

As the days wore on, he faithfully practiced the moves Vincenzo had taught him. He was very smooth now and had taken to time himself, by counting at an even tempo. From start to finish, the dropping of his hand to the knife, the upswing and down to the slash or stab, was taking only to a count of four. It had been over seven when he first began.

The evening hours, split between guarding the sheep and sleeping, passed uneventfully. There were no untoward problems with the flock. Vincenzo had said there were few, full-blooded wolves left in the province, but wandering, wild dog packs could pose a real danger. For a solid hour each evening, after supper and before the first shift, the boss drilled the boys on ways to protect the flock in the event of an attack. The lessons continued for a month, until he was satisfied that each shepherd would function well in an emergency. The problem was that sheep were often their own worst enemy. They were the dumbest animals in Italy. It was common for panic to rip through a flock, impelling them to headlong flight in whatever direction taken by the first to flee. If that direction happened to end against a sheer canyon wall, they would smash right into it, injuring and killing themselves. The rest of the flock would continue on in the same mindless flight, suffocating those in front by the sheer weight of bodies colliding.

The boss saw to it that Tonio’s assigned location during the day, was always farthest from Genio. It was only at suppertime, after the flock was bedded down for the night and before the start of the watches, that the shepherds were all together. The sturdy stone and wood framed hut, used for storage of food, supplies, the boys’ personal items and for shelter in inclement weather, was some sixty yards from the mouth of the box canyon, used as a penning area for the sheep. Twenty paces closer were the round, fire-stones, covering an area about four feet in diameter and sunk bowl-like in the ground.

Partners and shifts were assigned by the boss at the beginning of the season and seldom changed. Stelio and Genio, the two youngest boys, were on one shift; Tonio and Jimmy, the other. The boss took a shift only if something happened out of the ordinary, or if a shepherd became ill, was hurt, or sent off on an errand. Each week, the shifts alternated from first watch to last. When on shift, the two partners would take a position midway in the throat of the canyon opening, at the base of a large sandstone outcropping. They’d then circle the sleeping flock, going in opposite directions, all the way to the canyon end and back. At a strolling pace, the trip would take about an hour. Usually, when both returned, they’d sit for a quarter-hour, or so. If it were light enough, they’d cast dice or pitch pebbles to a mark. Otherwise, there was nothing to do except tell stories or sing, always searching for new ways to harmonize. Then it was time for another trip. Since evening watches were only for the hours of darkness, mid-summer, with it’s shorter nights, was the easiest for the shepherds. But, short or long, the night was never his friend. When darkness fell, an apprehension set in, slight at times, but constant. He felt himself to be always on guard, fearful of what lay beyond the next shadow and would never completely relax until sleep overwhelmed him back at camp, or when daylight came.

CHAPTER 5

Though the days and weeks passed with no trouble from Tonio, Vincenzo’s story and stern warning and his own constant practicing, kept the boy on alert. He quickly noticed the first signs of Tonio’s growing attention. It started with an increase of jokes