shorty and domenico
From the memoir "Corporal Lavery and other Army Stories"
by Dell Franklin
Shorty and Domenico work in the post snack bar here in Verona, Italy, Shorty cookin’ up burgers and fries and breakfast, Domenico at the register, or he movin’ down the line supervisin’ Italian lady servers, they been working for the US Army since right after the big war, almost 20 years, they thankful to have these jobs, shitty as they are, cuz the money better than what they make in downtown Verona, cuz these Italians, they ain’t rich like most honkeys in America, they poor like us niggers in our ghettos. These 2 dudes, if it ain’t for the US Army, they be doin’ somethin’ shittier than sweatin’ they asses off servin’ GI’s and officers and military dependents.
Shorty and Domenico are around 40, maybe 50, but look older cuz both was in the Italian army during the war and got they asses kicked big time in North Africa and was captured by the British and stuck in prison camps 5 years, and they kind-a jumpy, they get rattled and riled sometime when they real busy and everybody yellin’ at ‘em, wantin’ extra fries, wantin’ they burger medium rare, this and that, these dudes been through powerful nasty times and got to keep smilin’ and kissin’ American ass. These Italian folks, they ain’t like us, they ain’t hard asses and fighters, everybody kick they ass, Germans, British, us, and now here they are workn’ for the mothafuckas bomb their asses.
Every Friday afternoon and on payday, Shorty and Domenico get the hell out the snack bar and open a little burger stand on the other side of post beside the Enlisted Mans Club. Shorty do the cookin’ on this big old bar b cue grill, givin’ them burgers a righteous flavor ain’t like what you get in the snack bar. Shorty, he only a little over 5 feet tall, but he husky, always wear baggy brown pants and a gray shirt and apron, his face real red, and his hair wild and bushy and white, he always smilin’ though he ain’t necessarily happy, and I can dig this in a dude, and I like him.
My 2 honkey buds, Ruffner and DeSimone, are tight with these 2 dudes, sellin’ ‘em cigarettes and oil and gas and booze and cameras, so they can make an extra buck on the black market. Right off, Dee set up a big old tip jar, and he put in a dollar, and so do Ruff, and so other troops get in the habit of droppin’ in dimes and quarters, and it pretty mellow at the burger stand, these 2 dudes put up some chairs and tables and umbrellas, they got a big ice tub of Budweiser bottles they sell for a quarter a piece, and they always in a better mood than in the snack bar cuz they makin’ tips and bullshittin’ and jivin’ with troops, everybody like Shorty and Domenico, cuz, you see, they are real live characters, they ain’t like us, or nobody else, most especially my man Domenico, who is way smarter than Shorty, and he don’t EVER smile, it his way not to, he lookin’ real grim, got his gray-black hair swept straight back and curl up on his neck, he got these big bushy black eyebrows and narrow slitty eyes don’t tell you nothin’, and his nose is some beak off a bird, and his mouth always clamped shut, he is a fierce man, don’t stand for no bullshit, he stand by the register and troops try and make him smile or laugh, be a bud, but Domenico just stare at you while Shorty cookin’ and smilin’ and singin’ opera, wavin’ at troops, knowin’ their names, but Domenico, he don’t care if you the general, he ain’t gon give you no smile.
I always put a dollar in the tip jar and Domenico, he nod at me, that’s all, as if he say “you ain’t so bad, Johnson,” cuz he ain’t no gusher, but Shorty, he smile and say thank you very much, cuz a dollar is a lot of money, but shit, he stack my burger with extra cheese and onion like I want, and at the snack bar he do the same, and pile on extra fries, it so much easier get along with folks like Shorty and Domenico by puttin’ a little jingle in they jar, hell, they got families to feed.
Anyhow, when Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara start closin’ down bases in Europe durin’ Viet Nam, he gon close down Verona. It stay open with a skeleton crew, and I stay, bein’ a medic in our dispensary support air bases and missle sights, but when Dee and Ruff and Robbie and Lamb get discharged, ain’t no replacements, and since all garrison and headquarters troops move up to the base 35 miles away at Vicenza, the post snack bar cut back, and poor Shorty and Domenico transferred to Vicenza, ain’t beautiful and fun like Verona, troops always soldierin’, and Shorty and Domenico got to come to our base early in the morning and take a bus, and then take a bus back, and they hate it, they miss Verona and the burger stand, ain’t no place for them after 20 years.
I miss Shorty and Domenico. It like these dudes part of my life, like certain dudes back home in the Cleveland ghetto. I see them at the bus stop in the morning, outside the dispensary where I work, and I say CIAO, bullshit, but it ain’t the same, we ain’t jivin’ and talkin’ Italian, it ain’t the same vibe, and Domenico takin’ it harder than Shorty, he downright pissed off and sick of gettin’ the short end.
By this time I got a car, big black Ford Fairlane, all beat up and dented, Dee and Ruff buy it with their black market booty and run it crazy in the hills and out at Lake Garda chasin’ pussy, these 2 dudes drive that motha down the boot to see DeSimone’s old country relatives, and when Dee get discharged Ruff drive it till he get discharged, and he give it to me.
First of the month I get me some cash and drive all over, the country fine to look at, stop in little villages and have some vino and watch folks watchin’ me, this car give me freedom, sometimes I take my main squeeze, Maria DeRia up in the hills make love, sometimes I take my bud, bad nasty actin’ nigger PFC Thomas for a cruise, and he diggin’ it, smokin’ his cigs, sippin’ vino, and down along Lake Garda in summer we meet Dutch girls come on holiday and want to shack up with our black asses.
Anyway, one morning I’m off work after a night shift and Shorty and Domenico spot me outside the dispensary and come running up, say they missed the bus, they got to get to Vicenza, and can I drive ‘em there? Hell yes. Hop in. Now, most of the time when I drive through town I am in an Army Bonneville ambulance, got my siren on, lights flashin’, sick person in back, everybody get out my way. I get through town and the dude at the toll booth of the Autostrada see me comin’ and wave me through, and I be in Vicenza, where they got a hospital, in half an hour. But now I got to drive this beast through heavy traffic, can’t get on no Autostrada, it cost 3,000 Lira or $5, and I ain’t got no $5, so I got to jam through town and they yellin’ at all the slow pokes and dudes crossin’ streets and bicycles cuttin’ in front, shakin’ fists, getting’ redder than they already are, cussin’ the lights, cussin’ everybody, and then when we get to the outskirts I got to take this old tree-lined road full of pot-holes, everybody drive on it like crazy mothafuckas, Italians the wildest, craziest, most foolish drivers, they playin’ chicken passin’ in these little tin can Fiats, Shorty and Domenico beside me squirmin’ somthin’ awful, yellin’ at me go faster, faster, subito, Johnson, subito!
The old country road is narrow, and I barrelin’ ass, comin’ up on these tin cans, honkin’, forcin’, ‘em off the road, Shorty and Domenico screamin’ at the dudes, wavin’ they hands, shakin’ they fists. I start passin’ everybody, goin’ 60, 70, 80, drivin’ tin cans into ditches on both sides, Domenico beatin’ the dash yellin’ subito, Shorty beside me, Domenico shotgun, both screamin’ like maniacs, and sure as shit I look in my rear view mirror and the mothafuckin’ Carabinieri motorcycle cop on my ass, light flashin’, and I got to pull over. Fiats pass by, drivers shakin’ fists at me, givin’ me the finger Italian style and yellin VA FANGOOL!
When the Carabinieri come to the window Domenico and Shorty fly out the Fairlane and are on the big dude, furious crazy, like some baseball manager jawin’ at an umpire, both dudes comin’ up to the neck of this tall very serious Carabinieri, wavin’ they arms, shakin’ they fists, like they gon attack his ass, and the cop backin’ up to this tree, wavin’ his own hands, pissed now, they goin’ round and round, Shorty turnin’ around and raisin’ his arms to the sky like he don’t know how things be so bad and then he go back after the dude, so I light up a Marlboro and watch these crazy mothafuckas and wonder do I got to pay a fine, cuz I ain’t got but a few bucks till pay day, this dude probably get me for speedin’, reckless drivin’, tryna kill innocent Italians, you name it, I done it. I start to get out, but Domenico scream at me to stay put.
Finally they cool down. They got to. A person carryin’ on that crazy gon croak. They still talkin’, still wavin’ they hands, but slow, real slow, noddin’, and Domenico come to my window.
“Johnson,” he say. “Gimme cigarettes.”
I give him my pack. He go over and hand a cig to the Carabinieri and light it for him, and the Carabinieri make a big deal of smokin’ it, he look at the cigarette like it really precious, like a treasure, cuz Italian cigarettes rotten and kill a guy, he take another puff, blow out smoke, and he nod at Domenico, and so Domenico hand him the pack and come back and point toward my glove box, and I take out a pack of Marlboros and hand it to him and he walk back and stuff that pack in the shirt pocket of the Carabinieri, and they talk and nod some more, all calm now, like normal folks on a street corner, and then the Carabinieri come to my window and I reach over into the glove box and hand him 2 fat Jamaican cigars like the ones sergeant McCray smoke, and the Carabinieri shove them in his shirt pocket and salute me Italian style and I salute him American style and Shorty and Domenico jump back in the car and yell ANDIAMO, subito, subito, and I take off, drive the last 15 miles to Vicenza while they go crazy all over again, yellin’ at everybody. When I drop ‘em off on post, both dudes fly out the car, don’t offer no gas money, but that’s okay, cuz I wouldn’t take it even if I am broke, not from these 2 dude, cuz they special, and too funny.
* * *
A month later Shorty come in the dispensary. He ain’t never been in there before. He invite me to dinner. I say I be most pleased to come. Well, since they both married, I bring some flowers for they wives. They live in some poor apartment building in town, kind-a like us niggers live in, but older, we talkin’ a hundred, 2 hundred years older, but fixed up real nice, got pictures of family on walls and the crucifix everywhere, and when the wives come out the kitchen and see them flowers they oh so pleased, they small, skinny women, ain’t too many fat folks in Italy, they ain’t packin’ down meat and potatoes like Americans, and these ladies are oh so shy, and smile at me, take the flowers and put ‘em in a vase and then stare at me, still smilin’, and then they go into the kitchen while me and Shorty and Domenico get comfy in a big old couch.
They got a gallon jug of home-made vino and it good, and I point at a picture of a dude look just like Shorty in an army uniform, and Shorty, he stop smilin’ and look sad enough to cry, and Domenico look at me real grave and say Shorty’s twin brother killed in the war, and I know us Americans killed him, so I say I’m sorry, and Shorty got to leave the room and don’t come back for a few minutes or so, but then he okay, and we drink and bullshit and then dinner is served, and we talkin’ a feast, bunch-a courses, soup, anti pasto, meat, fish, pasta, fruit, pastry, cheese, and at the table Domenico tellin’ the wives how I’m drivin’ down the road to Vicenza, he imitatin’ how I clutch the wheel, and the wives, they smilin’ real soft and shy at me, diggin’ the story, diggin’ me, they makin’ sure I get enough to eat and diggin’ every bite, and I’m eatin’ slow, tell ‘em I love this food big time in Italian, ain’t none of ‘em eatin’ steak but me, cuz I’m special guest of honor.
After dinner the wives back in the kitchen and me and Shorty and Domenico sit around sippin’ some cognac they bring out, and I bring out 3 Jamaican cigars and we puffin’ and sippin’ like kings, and then Domenico slip over real close, all serious now, and say he want to do black market business with me like he did with Dee and Ruff, gone home to the states.
I gon get them 15 cartons Marlboros, gas and oil coupons, 3 bottles Cognac, watches, socks, cameras. They want to pay twice what I pay, but I bargain for three and settle for two and a half, and we shake hands, and Domenico, he almost smilin’, and afterwards he walk me to the door and slap my back, and I feel mighty fine, like a businessman, like I got it all handled, like Italy the place for me.
For a year we do business. Every payday I make $150 on the market, more than I get paid by the US army, allow me take my sweetie around Lake Garda and drink some vino and eat a meal, allow me cruise and scout babes at the lake when Sweetie ain’t around, allow me freedom buy somethin’ good to eat downtown and buy me some swank hand-made shoes, allow me cruise down to Rome and look at the sights and gaze at a few statues and learn me some culture about these white folks, man, life is good, this ain’t like no army.
I go see my friends for dinner every month on payday, always bring flowers and a bottle of Tia Maria, and let ‘em keep it. Day before I get discharged I drive to Vicenza say good bye to these dudes. They see me come in the snack bar in my civvies. Shorty back at the grill, hair all wild and mussed, face sweaty, Domenico growlin’ an’ scowlin’ at the register. They both stop what they doin’, troops and dependents watchin’ this, wonderin’ what goin’ on, everybody in a hurry, wantin’ this and that, but these dudes step out and Shorty hug me. He so small I got to bend down to hug him back, and he kiss me on both cheeks, I feel his bristly beard, and I don’t give a damn if it look like a bunch-a queer bullshit, I kiss him on both cheeks, and I see he all choked up and cryin’ and he say, “You are kind man, Johnson, you always my friend.” And he walk away, back into the kitchen, I don’t see where he is, and then Domenico lookin’ at me, real grave, we hug, and I bend down and let him kiss me on both cheeks, just like Shorty, and I kiss him back on both cheeks, pat his back, hold him a little longer, don’t wanna let go my friend, cuz Domenico is some dude, ain’t no other like him, he still ain’t smilin’, and I don’t want him to, and when we let go I see he choked up and hatin’ it, he whisper in my ear, “I never see you again, Paladin, but that okay, you always my family.”
“You and Shorty been my family, Domenico,” I say.
He turn and go back to the register and start waitin’ on folks, grim, not lookin’ at me, and I turn and walk out the snack bar, and I don’t look at none of the paddy-asses disapprovin’ of me kissin’ my men friends.
by Dell Franklin
Shorty and Domenico work in the post snack bar here in Verona, Italy, Shorty cookin’ up burgers and fries and breakfast, Domenico at the register, or he movin’ down the line supervisin’ Italian lady servers, they been working for the US Army since right after the big war, almost 20 years, they thankful to have these jobs, shitty as they are, cuz the money better than what they make in downtown Verona, cuz these Italians, they ain’t rich like most honkeys in America, they poor like us niggers in our ghettos. These 2 dudes, if it ain’t for the US Army, they be doin’ somethin’ shittier than sweatin’ they asses off servin’ GI’s and officers and military dependents.
Shorty and Domenico are around 40, maybe 50, but look older cuz both was in the Italian army during the war and got they asses kicked big time in North Africa and was captured by the British and stuck in prison camps 5 years, and they kind-a jumpy, they get rattled and riled sometime when they real busy and everybody yellin’ at ‘em, wantin’ extra fries, wantin’ they burger medium rare, this and that, these dudes been through powerful nasty times and got to keep smilin’ and kissin’ American ass. These Italian folks, they ain’t like us, they ain’t hard asses and fighters, everybody kick they ass, Germans, British, us, and now here they are workn’ for the mothafuckas bomb their asses.
Every Friday afternoon and on payday, Shorty and Domenico get the hell out the snack bar and open a little burger stand on the other side of post beside the Enlisted Mans Club. Shorty do the cookin’ on this big old bar b cue grill, givin’ them burgers a righteous flavor ain’t like what you get in the snack bar. Shorty, he only a little over 5 feet tall, but he husky, always wear baggy brown pants and a gray shirt and apron, his face real red, and his hair wild and bushy and white, he always smilin’ though he ain’t necessarily happy, and I can dig this in a dude, and I like him.
My 2 honkey buds, Ruffner and DeSimone, are tight with these 2 dudes, sellin’ ‘em cigarettes and oil and gas and booze and cameras, so they can make an extra buck on the black market. Right off, Dee set up a big old tip jar, and he put in a dollar, and so do Ruff, and so other troops get in the habit of droppin’ in dimes and quarters, and it pretty mellow at the burger stand, these 2 dudes put up some chairs and tables and umbrellas, they got a big ice tub of Budweiser bottles they sell for a quarter a piece, and they always in a better mood than in the snack bar cuz they makin’ tips and bullshittin’ and jivin’ with troops, everybody like Shorty and Domenico, cuz, you see, they are real live characters, they ain’t like us, or nobody else, most especially my man Domenico, who is way smarter than Shorty, and he don’t EVER smile, it his way not to, he lookin’ real grim, got his gray-black hair swept straight back and curl up on his neck, he got these big bushy black eyebrows and narrow slitty eyes don’t tell you nothin’, and his nose is some beak off a bird, and his mouth always clamped shut, he is a fierce man, don’t stand for no bullshit, he stand by the register and troops try and make him smile or laugh, be a bud, but Domenico just stare at you while Shorty cookin’ and smilin’ and singin’ opera, wavin’ at troops, knowin’ their names, but Domenico, he don’t care if you the general, he ain’t gon give you no smile.
I always put a dollar in the tip jar and Domenico, he nod at me, that’s all, as if he say “you ain’t so bad, Johnson,” cuz he ain’t no gusher, but Shorty, he smile and say thank you very much, cuz a dollar is a lot of money, but shit, he stack my burger with extra cheese and onion like I want, and at the snack bar he do the same, and pile on extra fries, it so much easier get along with folks like Shorty and Domenico by puttin’ a little jingle in they jar, hell, they got families to feed.
Anyhow, when Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara start closin’ down bases in Europe durin’ Viet Nam, he gon close down Verona. It stay open with a skeleton crew, and I stay, bein’ a medic in our dispensary support air bases and missle sights, but when Dee and Ruff and Robbie and Lamb get discharged, ain’t no replacements, and since all garrison and headquarters troops move up to the base 35 miles away at Vicenza, the post snack bar cut back, and poor Shorty and Domenico transferred to Vicenza, ain’t beautiful and fun like Verona, troops always soldierin’, and Shorty and Domenico got to come to our base early in the morning and take a bus, and then take a bus back, and they hate it, they miss Verona and the burger stand, ain’t no place for them after 20 years.
I miss Shorty and Domenico. It like these dudes part of my life, like certain dudes back home in the Cleveland ghetto. I see them at the bus stop in the morning, outside the dispensary where I work, and I say CIAO, bullshit, but it ain’t the same, we ain’t jivin’ and talkin’ Italian, it ain’t the same vibe, and Domenico takin’ it harder than Shorty, he downright pissed off and sick of gettin’ the short end.
By this time I got a car, big black Ford Fairlane, all beat up and dented, Dee and Ruff buy it with their black market booty and run it crazy in the hills and out at Lake Garda chasin’ pussy, these 2 dudes drive that motha down the boot to see DeSimone’s old country relatives, and when Dee get discharged Ruff drive it till he get discharged, and he give it to me.
First of the month I get me some cash and drive all over, the country fine to look at, stop in little villages and have some vino and watch folks watchin’ me, this car give me freedom, sometimes I take my main squeeze, Maria DeRia up in the hills make love, sometimes I take my bud, bad nasty actin’ nigger PFC Thomas for a cruise, and he diggin’ it, smokin’ his cigs, sippin’ vino, and down along Lake Garda in summer we meet Dutch girls come on holiday and want to shack up with our black asses.
Anyway, one morning I’m off work after a night shift and Shorty and Domenico spot me outside the dispensary and come running up, say they missed the bus, they got to get to Vicenza, and can I drive ‘em there? Hell yes. Hop in. Now, most of the time when I drive through town I am in an Army Bonneville ambulance, got my siren on, lights flashin’, sick person in back, everybody get out my way. I get through town and the dude at the toll booth of the Autostrada see me comin’ and wave me through, and I be in Vicenza, where they got a hospital, in half an hour. But now I got to drive this beast through heavy traffic, can’t get on no Autostrada, it cost 3,000 Lira or $5, and I ain’t got no $5, so I got to jam through town and they yellin’ at all the slow pokes and dudes crossin’ streets and bicycles cuttin’ in front, shakin’ fists, getting’ redder than they already are, cussin’ the lights, cussin’ everybody, and then when we get to the outskirts I got to take this old tree-lined road full of pot-holes, everybody drive on it like crazy mothafuckas, Italians the wildest, craziest, most foolish drivers, they playin’ chicken passin’ in these little tin can Fiats, Shorty and Domenico beside me squirmin’ somthin’ awful, yellin’ at me go faster, faster, subito, Johnson, subito!
The old country road is narrow, and I barrelin’ ass, comin’ up on these tin cans, honkin’, forcin’, ‘em off the road, Shorty and Domenico screamin’ at the dudes, wavin’ they hands, shakin’ they fists. I start passin’ everybody, goin’ 60, 70, 80, drivin’ tin cans into ditches on both sides, Domenico beatin’ the dash yellin’ subito, Shorty beside me, Domenico shotgun, both screamin’ like maniacs, and sure as shit I look in my rear view mirror and the mothafuckin’ Carabinieri motorcycle cop on my ass, light flashin’, and I got to pull over. Fiats pass by, drivers shakin’ fists at me, givin’ me the finger Italian style and yellin VA FANGOOL!
When the Carabinieri come to the window Domenico and Shorty fly out the Fairlane and are on the big dude, furious crazy, like some baseball manager jawin’ at an umpire, both dudes comin’ up to the neck of this tall very serious Carabinieri, wavin’ they arms, shakin’ they fists, like they gon attack his ass, and the cop backin’ up to this tree, wavin’ his own hands, pissed now, they goin’ round and round, Shorty turnin’ around and raisin’ his arms to the sky like he don’t know how things be so bad and then he go back after the dude, so I light up a Marlboro and watch these crazy mothafuckas and wonder do I got to pay a fine, cuz I ain’t got but a few bucks till pay day, this dude probably get me for speedin’, reckless drivin’, tryna kill innocent Italians, you name it, I done it. I start to get out, but Domenico scream at me to stay put.
Finally they cool down. They got to. A person carryin’ on that crazy gon croak. They still talkin’, still wavin’ they hands, but slow, real slow, noddin’, and Domenico come to my window.
“Johnson,” he say. “Gimme cigarettes.”
I give him my pack. He go over and hand a cig to the Carabinieri and light it for him, and the Carabinieri make a big deal of smokin’ it, he look at the cigarette like it really precious, like a treasure, cuz Italian cigarettes rotten and kill a guy, he take another puff, blow out smoke, and he nod at Domenico, and so Domenico hand him the pack and come back and point toward my glove box, and I take out a pack of Marlboros and hand it to him and he walk back and stuff that pack in the shirt pocket of the Carabinieri, and they talk and nod some more, all calm now, like normal folks on a street corner, and then the Carabinieri come to my window and I reach over into the glove box and hand him 2 fat Jamaican cigars like the ones sergeant McCray smoke, and the Carabinieri shove them in his shirt pocket and salute me Italian style and I salute him American style and Shorty and Domenico jump back in the car and yell ANDIAMO, subito, subito, and I take off, drive the last 15 miles to Vicenza while they go crazy all over again, yellin’ at everybody. When I drop ‘em off on post, both dudes fly out the car, don’t offer no gas money, but that’s okay, cuz I wouldn’t take it even if I am broke, not from these 2 dude, cuz they special, and too funny.
* * *
A month later Shorty come in the dispensary. He ain’t never been in there before. He invite me to dinner. I say I be most pleased to come. Well, since they both married, I bring some flowers for they wives. They live in some poor apartment building in town, kind-a like us niggers live in, but older, we talkin’ a hundred, 2 hundred years older, but fixed up real nice, got pictures of family on walls and the crucifix everywhere, and when the wives come out the kitchen and see them flowers they oh so pleased, they small, skinny women, ain’t too many fat folks in Italy, they ain’t packin’ down meat and potatoes like Americans, and these ladies are oh so shy, and smile at me, take the flowers and put ‘em in a vase and then stare at me, still smilin’, and then they go into the kitchen while me and Shorty and Domenico get comfy in a big old couch.
They got a gallon jug of home-made vino and it good, and I point at a picture of a dude look just like Shorty in an army uniform, and Shorty, he stop smilin’ and look sad enough to cry, and Domenico look at me real grave and say Shorty’s twin brother killed in the war, and I know us Americans killed him, so I say I’m sorry, and Shorty got to leave the room and don’t come back for a few minutes or so, but then he okay, and we drink and bullshit and then dinner is served, and we talkin’ a feast, bunch-a courses, soup, anti pasto, meat, fish, pasta, fruit, pastry, cheese, and at the table Domenico tellin’ the wives how I’m drivin’ down the road to Vicenza, he imitatin’ how I clutch the wheel, and the wives, they smilin’ real soft and shy at me, diggin’ the story, diggin’ me, they makin’ sure I get enough to eat and diggin’ every bite, and I’m eatin’ slow, tell ‘em I love this food big time in Italian, ain’t none of ‘em eatin’ steak but me, cuz I’m special guest of honor.
After dinner the wives back in the kitchen and me and Shorty and Domenico sit around sippin’ some cognac they bring out, and I bring out 3 Jamaican cigars and we puffin’ and sippin’ like kings, and then Domenico slip over real close, all serious now, and say he want to do black market business with me like he did with Dee and Ruff, gone home to the states.
I gon get them 15 cartons Marlboros, gas and oil coupons, 3 bottles Cognac, watches, socks, cameras. They want to pay twice what I pay, but I bargain for three and settle for two and a half, and we shake hands, and Domenico, he almost smilin’, and afterwards he walk me to the door and slap my back, and I feel mighty fine, like a businessman, like I got it all handled, like Italy the place for me.
For a year we do business. Every payday I make $150 on the market, more than I get paid by the US army, allow me take my sweetie around Lake Garda and drink some vino and eat a meal, allow me cruise and scout babes at the lake when Sweetie ain’t around, allow me freedom buy somethin’ good to eat downtown and buy me some swank hand-made shoes, allow me cruise down to Rome and look at the sights and gaze at a few statues and learn me some culture about these white folks, man, life is good, this ain’t like no army.
I go see my friends for dinner every month on payday, always bring flowers and a bottle of Tia Maria, and let ‘em keep it. Day before I get discharged I drive to Vicenza say good bye to these dudes. They see me come in the snack bar in my civvies. Shorty back at the grill, hair all wild and mussed, face sweaty, Domenico growlin’ an’ scowlin’ at the register. They both stop what they doin’, troops and dependents watchin’ this, wonderin’ what goin’ on, everybody in a hurry, wantin’ this and that, but these dudes step out and Shorty hug me. He so small I got to bend down to hug him back, and he kiss me on both cheeks, I feel his bristly beard, and I don’t give a damn if it look like a bunch-a queer bullshit, I kiss him on both cheeks, and I see he all choked up and cryin’ and he say, “You are kind man, Johnson, you always my friend.” And he walk away, back into the kitchen, I don’t see where he is, and then Domenico lookin’ at me, real grave, we hug, and I bend down and let him kiss me on both cheeks, just like Shorty, and I kiss him back on both cheeks, pat his back, hold him a little longer, don’t wanna let go my friend, cuz Domenico is some dude, ain’t no other like him, he still ain’t smilin’, and I don’t want him to, and when we let go I see he choked up and hatin’ it, he whisper in my ear, “I never see you again, Paladin, but that okay, you always my family.”
“You and Shorty been my family, Domenico,” I say.
He turn and go back to the register and start waitin’ on folks, grim, not lookin’ at me, and I turn and walk out the snack bar, and I don’t look at none of the paddy-asses disapprovin’ of me kissin’ my men friends.
