The Boy, the Bird and the Coffin Maker Page 9
“No,” Tito said. “I’m not ever eating again.”
Tito heard the clink of a bowl being placed outside his door and then fading footsteps as the kind and gentle coffin maker walked away. He turned back to the sea and stared at the silent water. No waves crashed against the rocks below. No fish jumped on to the roof above. And no rainbow bird soared and dived and sung as it flew back to him.
Tito wanted to call out to Fia: call out across the sea and beg for her to come back. He knew that if she heard his voice she would. But he couldn’t call out. Not ever. If he did, someone would hear and tell his father. Then he would be dragged all the way back to the north and he would never see Alberto or Fia again.
Alberto climbed the stairs that led to Tito Bonito’s room. A bowl of untouched chocolate pudding lay outside the door. He picked it up and replaced it with a new plate.
“Tito?” Alberto tapped on the wooden door. “Tito?” he said again. “I’ve bought you a slice of Enzo’s apple pie.”
When Tito didn’t respond – he always said something – Alberto grew worried. He opened the door and let himself in. The chair beside the window was empty. All three beds were too.
“Tito?” he said. “Where are you?”
Just like their games of hide and seek, Alberto began to search the house. When he had checked every inch of every room, every bush in the garden and every coffin in his workshop, he realized the truth. Tito wasn’t hiding. He had run away.
All the lights in Allora were out when Alberto stepped outside. The water below was so calm that even the stars were reflected, like pinpricks of diamond lace. In all his life, Alberto had never seen the sea so still.
Alberto could think of no reason for Tito to go down into the town but he could think of a reason for him to go up.
Despite the dark houses below, Allora graveyard was bright. In the moonlight, Alberto opened the gate and stepped inside. He made his way to Miss Bonito’s grave – certain that Tito would be there – but he wasn’t.
Panicking, Alberto began to search the graveyard. It wasn’t until he looked on the other side of the clock tower that he spotted a small figure standing alone at the peak of Allora Hill.
Alberto weaved through the graves until he reached Tito’s side. The boy stood with his telescope pressed to one eye. He didn’t even lower it when Alberto began to speak.
“Tito?” he hissed. “What are you doing?”
“Looking.”
“For what?”
“For Fia.”
“She is too small to see from up here. And it is far too dark. You need the light of a sun, not a moon. Come now, Tito. We must go home before you are seen.”
“But what about Fia?” Tito lowered the telescope and looked up at Alberto. A round, red mark covered one eye. “Where is she? She wouldn’t leave me. Not ever. She loves me. Just like my mum.”
“Oh, Tito. The sea is a dangerous place. Perhaps – Perhaps…” Though they stood in a graveyard, Alberto could not bring himself to speak of death. “Perhaps she is injured and someone is looking after her until she gets better.”
“Do you really think so?” For the first time in weeks, Tito’s eyes lit with hope instead of despair.
“How about we go home and make her a bowl of porridge? If we place it on the window she might see it and fly back. Come now, Tito. We must go. It is so late even the wolves are sleeping.”
But while the wolves may have gone to bed, someone else remained up. An old woman missing her sister and thinking of her as she looked out to sea, saw something else: an old man and a little boy standing on the peak of Allora Hill.
For the first time since the death of her sister, Clara Finestra thought of something to say.
A FRIENDLY WARNING
The afternoon felt fresh and bright as Alberto made his way down into town. The air was hot with high summer and the warmth of the cobbles passed through his shoes and warmed his feet. Today had been a good day, because today was the day he and Tito had finally, after twelve months work, finished the mayor’s coffin.
Despite the events of last night, he and Tito had woken early to complete the piece. Together they had created the greatest coffin Alberto had ever made. Soon he would present it to the mayor, but for now he had something more important to do. He had to go into town and buy his little apprentice a treat.
The bell of the bakery tinkled as Alberto stepped inside.
“Good afternoon, Enzo,” he said as he walked towards the counter. He had been into the bakery countless times since the search of his house, but neither had mentioned that night or the lies Enzo had said to help his friend. “Do you have any of those little buns with cream inside?”
Alberto scanned the glass counter. This late in the day most of the shelves were empty, but there were still a few small treats and a very large pie.
When Enzo didn’t reply, Alberto looked up at the baker. His heart skipped a beat. The man looked unwell.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Si, si. I am fine, Master Alberto. But I fear you are not.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Was he the one who looked sick? He did not feel sick on the inside but perhaps he looked it from the out?
Before he replied, Enzo walked out from behind the counter and flipped the sign on the door from Open to Closed.
“Clara has seen you and the boy,” he said. “She swears on the freshly made grave of her sister. She did not spread it around the town this time. She went straight to the mayor and he to Mr Bonito.”
“But how? When? Wh—?” Fear jumbled every question Alberto had, but finally he got one out. “How do you know?”
“Mr Bonito came in here only just the hour passed. He’s looking for men to help him search. He said he is going to your house tonight when the bell tolls twelve and you and the boy are sure to be asleep.”
Alberto’s face whitened with terror, but things only got worse.
“The mayor said he doesn’t have to knock this time. He can go straight in. The Carabineers are coming too. Six of them. Before it was just a toy, but now it is a child that has been sighted. There is proof.”
“But it’s Clara’s words,” Alberto said. “When did they become proof of anything? I doubt she’s spoken a truth in all her life.”
“I would have believed you in winter, but this spring just gone has changed her. Since her sister died, she hasn’t spread a single rumour. So why now and why this?”
“But – But…” Alberto struggled to understand. “Why are you telling me?”
“Because I have known Mr Bonito for less than a year, and I am certain he is bad. But you, Alberto, I have known a lifetime, and I am certain you are good. If what Clara says is true then I believe, I am sure, there must be a reason you have hidden this boy. You are trying to protect him, from something or someone, though I’m not sure which.”
“What should I do?” Alberto said.
“I don’t know. This time Mr Bonito said he will not stop searching until he finds him. He will tear down your whole house and break apart every coffin. In his anger, I don’t dare to disbelieve it.”
Alberto searched his crowded mind for a plan. “Can I hide him here?”
“I wish I could help, but you know my wife. She is almost as bad as the Finestra sisters. She knows everything that passes into our house, even a fleck of dirt on my shoe, and makes sure the rest of the town knows it too.”
“I understand,” Alberto said. “I will think of something. Thank you, Enzo. For all you have done.” He turned towards the door, but Enzo called him back.
“It would look suspicious if you left without buying something. Here.” He ducked behind the counter and pulled out a large strawberry pie. It was big enough to feed twenty and dusted with large granules of golden sugar. “Good luck to you, Alberto,” he said as he handed the pie over. “You have been a good friend to me.”
“And you to me.”
“I will try to delay them as long as possible.”
Alberto returned to a silent house, but it did not remain silent for long.
“Is that strawberry?” Tito asked as he followed Alberto into the kitchen. The smell of freshly baked pie had lured him from the window upstairs.
“It is,” Alberto said. He put the pie on the kitchen table and sat in the chair beside it.
Tito stared longingly at the pie, but made no move to eat it. He still hadn’t eaten anything, not a crumb, since Fia flew away. To keep his mind off it, he turned to the coffin maker.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Alberto looked sad.
Alberto looked down at Tito’s bright face – his cheeks were as rosy as Enzo’s strawberry pie – and then around the kitchen. For the first time in decades it was bright and clean. He looked at all the life that had returned to his house and to the boy before him, and then he started to cry.
“What’s wrong?” Tito said. “Why are you crying?”
“Because they know, Tito. Clara saw us last night. I’m so sorry.” His eyes filled with tears and Tito became a blur.
“Don’t worry,” Tito said. “I’ll hide. Just like last time.” And without Alberto’s asking, he turned and raced from the room.
Alberto found Tito hiding in the mayor’s coffin.
“Out you come, Tito.”
“No,” the boy replied. He sat up and began to pull the lid over the box. “You have to cover me up. Nail me in, like last time.”
“You can’t hide in there,” Alberto said. “The mayor would grow suspicious if his own coffin was closed.”
“Then we’ll make another one. If we both work together it wouldn’t take long.”
“But it would be too long. They’re coming for you tonight.”
“Then I’ll hide somewhere else. In one of the fireplaces or in a cupboard, just like our game. I can hide in there all day and night if I have to.”
Alberto looked down at the frightened face peering out of the coffin, and his heart broke. “Hiding won’t be enough. Not this time, Tito.”
“What do you mean?”
“He knows you are here. You have been seen. Now he is sure and he won’t stop until he finds you. Like he searched every town for your mother, he will search every corner, every fireplace and every coffin in this town and this house for you.”
“But why won’t he leave me alone?” Tito wailed from inside the coffin.
“Because he thinks that you are his.”
“But I’m not. I’m my own person. Just like you said. All myself. And I don’t belong to him. I don’t want to go with him. I want to stay here with you.”
“Even I can’t stay here with me, not any more.”
“What do you mean?”
“They know I have hidden a child that is not my own, and I have lied to the mayor. Very few people would look favourably upon that.”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong. It isn’t fair. What will they do to you?”
“Lock me away.”
“In prison?”
Alberto nodded. At the prospect he sank, tired and hopeless, into a chair. Tito climbed out of the mayor’s coffin and sat beside him.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I know what to do. I’ll go back to him. I’ll say I was hiding here in secret, all the time, and you didn’t know. I was stealing food whenever you went out. They won’t be able to get you in trouble then.”
“Oh, Tito. How kind. How very generous. But seeing you go back to him would be worse than spending my life in prison.”
“It’s better than both.”
“No, Tito,” Alberto said firmly. “You can’t go back to him. I promised.”
“Then what will we do?”
Alberto thought for so long that the sun fell below the sea, and a dark shadow spread over his old house.
“We will run,” he finally said.
“Again?” Tito’s face fell. “I’m tired of running.”
“I’m sorry, Tito,” Alberto began. “But it’s all I can thi—”
At that moment, a loud crash came from upstairs.
“What’s that?” Tito asked.
More thuds sounded in the room above their heads.
“I think it is your father,” Alberto whispered. “We have been tricked. He has lied to Enzo to keep us off the scent. He isn’t coming tonight. He is coming now. He is already here.”
FIA’S GIFT
Though he had just said it wouldn’t work, Alberto helped Tito back into the mayor’s coffin and closed the lid. He grabbed a plank of wood and headed towards the kitchen.
All was silent as Alberto climbed the stairs, but when he reached the landing he heard a scraping sound in Tito’s room. He tightened his grip, mustered his courage and threw open the door.
Alberto raised his arms in the air, ready to swing, but he didn’t. Instead of finding Mr Bonito on the other side of the door, he saw a very bright and very large bird standing in the centre of the room.
Upon hearing the door open, the bird turned to face Alberto. Lumpy, cold porridge dripped from the tip of its bent beak.
“Fia?” Alberto stepped into the room and checked behind the door. No one else was there. Relief made him laugh. The crash they had heard wasn’t the mayor breaking in. It was Fia landing on the windowsill. She had knocked the bowl of porridge over before greedily gobbling it up.
Remembering Tito still hiding downstairs, Alberto raced back to his workshop.
“Tito?” He pulled off the coffin lid and a little head poked out. “Do not worry. It is not your father. Come and see. Come and see who has flown back to us.”
At the mention of flight, Tito jumped out of the mayor’s coffin and raced out the door.
“Fia!” he cried when his eyes fell upon the bird standing in his room. “I knew you’d come back. I knew you’d never leave me.”
Abandoning the porridge, Fia flew into Tito’s arms. She was now so large her wings spanned half the room and she knocked a bowl of flowers off the mantel.
As Alberto watched Tito hugging Fia, he forgot all about the danger they were in. But then the clock tower tolled seven times and he remembered who else was coming.
Alberto walked over to the window and looked outside. He knew they would have to run, but run where? No trains left Allora tonight and the Carabineers would surely be guarding the town gate. In despair his eyes dropped from the tower on the hill to the porridge splattered around his feet. It took several moments for him to notice something red lying beneath the largest clump of oats.
Kneeling down, Alberto picked up the porridge and wiped it on his sleeve. When the oats fell away, a little rock of red glistened in the palm of his hand. It was a flower: a flower made from rubies.
Alberto gasped. “It can’t be,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. Across the room, Tito and Fia rejoiced too loudly to hear. “It’s just a story. It’s impossible.”
But then Alberto thought of all the impossibilities around him – the flying fish that called Allora home; little Tito, the frightened boy who felt so safe in his house; and the biggest impossibility of all: he, the sad, lonely coffin maker who had found a new reason to live – and he began to think that maybe it was possible after all.
“Tito?” he said. “I know where we can go.”
Tito stopped playing with Fia and turned to Alberto. “Where?”
“To Isola.”
“But that’s just a story.”
“No it’s not.” Alberto held up the ruby flower. “That’s where Fia must have gone. She flew all the way to Isola Island and brought us back this flower as proof, so we could go there too.”
“But we can’t. The sea’s too dangerous.”
“It has been calm for many weeks, and no trains lead to Isola. Your father would never find us there.”
“But how would we get there?”
“The water is calm, so we will take a boat.”
“But we don’t
have a boat. Unless…” Tito’s own eyes flashed with an idea. “Should we steal one?”
“There isn’t a single boat in Allora for us to steal. No one’s sailed out into the sea for years.” Alberto felt his dream slipping away, but then he had another idea. “Come, Tito. I think we can use something downstairs.”
“A coffin?” Tito looked at Alberto like he was going crazy.
“Not just any coffin, Tito. The mayor’s coffin. It’s huge. We can both fit in there. Even Fia could too.”
Across the room, Fia let out a happy trill.
“But a coffin isn’t a boat,” Tito pointed out.
“Yes it is,” Alberto enthused. “After all, a boat is just a wooden thing that floats.”
“But what if Isola Island isn’t there?”
“Then we will keep sailing, on and on, until we reach the wilds of Africa. And look.” He pointed to the jewels encrusting the mayor’s coffin. “We can sell all of these when we get there. We’ll have enough money to buy a new house. We can start a new life where you won’t have to hide.”
“Can I go to school?”
“Not just school, Tito. You can go to university.”
Tito gasped. “What’s that?”
“A place where you learn how to build ships, save lives and draw maps of the world.”
Tito liked the sound of university very much, but he still had one concern.
“What will we eat?”
“Why, we’ll take Enzo’s strawberry pie. That will keep us full for weeks.”
Tito and Alberto had to hurry, but they couldn’t leave the house yet. The lights of the town were on and they would surely be sighted. But if Mr Bonito stuck to his plan, they had until midnight to get ready.
The first thing they did was pack their belongings. Then they packed all of the food in the house: yesterday’s bread, half a wheel of cheese and today’s strawberry pie. When they were ready, they waited in the kitchen for the lights of Allora to go out. The clock tower chimed twice and the fire behind them dimmed but finally, well past ten, they slipped outside.
Keeping to the shadows, for Clara would be on the lookout tonight, they made their way up to the graveyard. They hid their things beneath the clock tower and returned for the mayor’s coffin.