Levoton mustalainen

Huomasin katseen.

Kun hän katsoi minua, istuessaan paitani päällään nojatuolilla.

Nielaisin. Tunsin taas sen tunteen.

Oli aika lähteä.

Aamulla pakkasin reppuni. Katselin hänen paljasta selkäänsä, sen kaarta. Heitin laukun selkääni, vedin ajosaappaat jalkaani.

Ulkona oli vielä hämärää ja sumuista. Polkaisin Intiaanin käyntiin. Se tärisi ja eli allani kuin korskuva hevonen. Se janosi matkaan, venytellä jäseniään.

Vaihde kolahti silmään. Löysäsin kytkintä. Ajoviima alkoi hivellä poskiani. Väänsin kaasua, vaihdoin vaihdetta.

Levoton mustalainen.

Se oli lempinimeni.

En tiennyt mihin ajoin, kai kohti etelää.

Hiljaisuus. Pitkä, suora valtatie.

Vain minä ja Intiaani.

Lopulta päivä nousi. Annoin valtatien viedä. Näin isäntiä pelloillaan. Näin villihevosia niityillä.

Toisia maa sitoo, toisia se elättää.

Päivän loppuessa huomasin motellin ja huoltoaseman. Antaessani bensapojalle pennosia kysyin, oliko motelli vielä toiminnassa.

Kuulemma oli, joten marssin sisään.

Keski-ikäinen, paria tummaa parranhaiventa leuastaan kasvattava nainen ei sanonut sanaakaan, heitti vain avaimen eteeni kun ladoin dollareita luukulle.

Armeijan parakkikin oli ollut viihtyisämpi. Istuin natisevalle laverille. Avasin reppuni ja nostin tavaroita ulos.

Ulkoa tuleva ilta-aurinko heijastui reppuni pohjalta. Katsoin sinne, vaikka tiesin mitä siellä oli.

Armeijanvihreä univormu. Sen rintapielessä oli purppurasydän. Käsivarressa oli väkänen.

Se oli raahautunut mukanani halki Euroopan. Kaiken nälän, kylmyyden ja pelon läpi.

Kymmenen vuotta tuntuivat lyhyiltä verrattuna niihin pitkään kahteen.

Ei kunniaa, vain tuskaa.

Silloin opin sen, minkä tiesin nyt:

Mikään, mihin sitoudut, ei ole vapautesi arvoista.

Sillä vain aika on ainoa jumala, eikä ole mitään sen vertaista.

*

Vendetta

He wakes up. His instincts are sharpened. Someone is coming up the stairs. Too quietly. He crouches and graps a stiletto. Steps are coming closer. 

He hides next to door. Revolver barrel sticks from doorstep. Figure is crouched a bit. 

He jumps forward and graps the arm. Revolver goes off. Both are blinded from flash and ears are rinning. He holds gunman's arm and pumps stabs with the knife. Figure cries out and folds. Last strike he aims at the throat. 

He hears how men yell downstairs. He runs before his bed and takes trousers and twin barrel lupara under it. 

He steps carefully in dark house. When he is at the lowest step, two figures move in the kitchen. One of them fires but misses. He empties both barrels at the figures. Outside men yell yet again. How many goddamn crooks are there? 

He reloads and after catching breath he yanks the front door open. One figure fires a shot, he feels sudden pain in his right arm. Lupara drops. Cursing he crouches at the balkony. Bullets rip the blanks. He draws Johnson pocket revolver from his pocket with left hand and stands up. He empties the cylinder. He crouches again and gasping reloads the revolver. Pain in the arms is daunting. But as no further shots are fired, he draws his belt off and wraps it around his bicep. There's only one thought in his head:

He has to warn others. 

--- 

Matteo! Mi padre, he's injured!

Hassling fills the balkony as Matteo is helped inside. He is plain and tired, but alive. 

- Mi figlio, mi caro figlio, what's happened? 

-They... came... at my house, Matteo gasps.

-How many, his godfather asks. 

- Five. Three in and two outside. All of them are now dealt with. I... reckon they were Martelli guys. 

- Martelli... Porgo! He is gonna suffer for this! godfather yells and shakes his fist. 

- Nicolosi! Come out! I'm here to make an offering! 

They look at each other. Men draw weapons and rush for windows. There are three cars and twenty armed men in their headlights at the front. Luparas, rifles, pistols. 

- What you want, you son of a bitch? 

Young man, with a big scar on his face, laughs heartily. 

- Watch your mouth, old man. I'm here to make you an offering, in the name of Giorgio Martelli. 

- Spit it out! 

- Very well. You give us half the share of your moonshining business. We've  heard you make good bucks with it. Then, you give us quarter of the doorman business you've got. 

- And what we get in return? 

Man laughs again. 

- So that we don't destroy you! Think, for once, you old hubby. The pigs are after us all! They want to see us hanged. We must unite, to fight them. 

- You have got a big mouth, young man. Is this how you mother taught you to talk to elders? She was a whore like the rest of the Martelli! Hear your own words. You want all but give nothing in return. I may be old but I have my mind still! You are gonna have even bigger mouth now! 

Godfather raises his pistol. Matteo's cousin empties his lupara at the man's head, blowing it off. Guns blaze. Matteo shoots through a window. Left hand and blood loss, accompanied by darkness, make aiming hard, but he empties his revolver at the Martellis. Couple of them leap from behind the cars and throw firebottles at the house. They are cut down but bottles shatter and fire starts to spread. Rest of the Martellis run into darkness. 

-Quick, we have to get everyone out! 

Later, they all stand on the street, watching their home burning down. 

- This. Is. War, godfather gasps. Flames reflect from his dark eyes. 

- We'll revenge this. All, Matteo says and clasp godfather's shoulder. 

- You will. You will, godfather says. A lone tear runs down his grooved cheek. 

Nicolocies wouldn't die without a fight. 

*