The car started as abruptly as it stopped.

Margot and Peppe were sitting motionless in their seats. The passers-by tried to avoid looking at the broken glass of the car.

In the morning the newspaper headlines announced:

The notorious criminal, Peppe Segara, is shot in his own car!

***

A month later, a car stopped at the mansion house of the Silva family.

Lola hurried to the car, meeting Enrique.

Enrique hugged her, whispering:

“This is my son, Luke De Silva, Lola.”

Luke was fast asleep in the back seat of the car.

1 9 2 1

There were a lot of people in the streets.

It was morning twilight.

The line of the horseback riders, coming from Sololaki district, seemed to be endless.

People were standing in small crowds in Yerevan Square. They were talking nearly whispering, in very low voices.

Horse carriages were no longer moving in Golovinsk Avenue.

No one could smell the fragrance of the spring.

There were crowds of people in the street.

There were lots of them near Soboro as well.

It was obvious that something extraordinary, not quite comprehendible was going on.

New epoch was coming on.

There was a great variety of people, dressed alike, mixing up in the Government Building.

“What’s up?” a young man asked.

“Where is the government?” a middle-aged gentleman asked.

Nobody gave any answers.

An overcrowded ship left Batumi taking course due Istanbul.

The new epoch was coming on.

THE BRAND LABEL OF THE MAGLIANOS

Katanzaro is a beautiful, tiny town in South Italy. It’s famous for her potters.

Each family has its individual tradition. The individuality becomes explicite in the shape and coloring of the pottery.

Magliano is one of the oldest family names in Katanzaro and Magliano handicrafts can easily be distinguished from all the others. They say, the family has existed for three centuries already, and it was initiated by Jenaro Magliano himself, whose creations are still the pride of the town museum. The Maglianos are very proud of their famous ancestor.

Their workshop is near their house, and they spend all day working there.

Despite the fact that several of his off-springs followed the family business, the Grandpa Magliano left the Magliano stamp to Pedro, thus giving him the exclusive right of putting the brand label on the pottery.

The apprentices of the masters in each family are their own children or close relatives as a rule. Pedro had two apprentices: his own son, Antonio, and two nephews, Francesco and Jovani. The boys were all of the same age.

There were several machine tools in the workshop – one for Pedro, and the rest for the boys. Pedro was working, of course, and the boys were still learning the craft. It wasn’t easy for them – the clay didn’t easily obey them yet.

Francesco was a bit better than the others.

***

It was late evening when Pedro returned home. His wife got supper ready for him and they sat at table. Pedro seemed very tired; he was eating his supper slowly, taking a rest every now and then.

“I’m getting too tired these days,” he admitted.

His wife didn’t answer anything. She poured some red wine into his glass. Pedro took a sip.

“I have been watching the boys for twenty-five years already. I have put the brand label on their pottery myself.” He took another sip and ran his hands down his white beard. “I made decision long ago – I’m leaving the stamp to Francesco, he deserves it better than the others.”

“Are you in mind?” his wife protested. “What about Antonio?”

“You can’t understand it, woman,” the old man muttered without looking at her.

The very next day the rumor spread in the whole town that the Magliano stamp went to Francesco Magliano.

***

Antonio was upset all day long. His father tried to talk to him, but all in vain. He emptied the whole bottle of grappa, but was still quite sober. He paced the room up and down non-stop. Then he lay down and tried to sleep. He couldn’t. He couldn’t find peace. So he went on pacing till dawn. Then, as if something occurred to him, he put on his coat, ran out into the street, and hurried to the workshop. It was half dark there. He sat on a chair, scrutinizing his pottery. Then he came up to each sample, examined it again, and even touched it with his hands. He started to cry. In the end, he turned round rapidly and went decidedly to the door. Suddenly he stopped again and stood in the doorway his head drooping for a while. Then he snatched a stool and threw it at the biggest pots standing near him. It made him feel better. He broke all his pots, threw the stool on the floor and ran out of the workshop.

There was nobody in the street. Antonio went home, took some papers, documents and a little money out of the cupboard drawer, ran into the street again and headed towards the railway station. He bought a ticket for the Rejo die Calambria – Naples train, and sat on a bench, waiting for the train to arrive.

***

In Naples he stopped at the hotel “Volturno”. He strolled in the city for several days. He felt as if he was walking in a dream. He couldn’t imagine his future life. He even thought of suicide, but then decided not to do it. He was drinking grappa all the time, and a lot of crazy ideas came to his misty mind. In the mornings he suffered from a terrible hang-over, until he went downstairs to have another drink.

One fine day he discovered that he was nearly out of money. So he bought two glasses of grappa to kill the splitting headache and went to the port.

He was looking for a job all day long, but without any success. After several days of failure, he was suggested to do the job of a docker. He immediately agreed, as there was no other way out. His job was very poorly paid, so he had to leave the hotel and rent a tiny room near the docks. It was too damp in his room.

He got awfully tired first. Often he fell asleep not even having his supper or taking off his clothes. And early in the morning it all started again. The worst for him were the days when he had to carry the boxes of fish. He hated the smell of the fish. By and by all his clothes and his room smelt of fish.

In the end, he got used to this horrible smell too.

At night he often dreamt of Katanzaro, his workshop, and the colored crockery with the Magliano brand label. He never thought of going back. He simply rejected this idea.

A year passed, and he was working as a docker again. He never made friends with anybody. In the evenings he went to cheap restaurants to have a couple of glasses of grappa, and went back to his damp room.

One morning he decided not to go to the port. He went into a small restaurant near his house and took a glass of grappa. He spotted a well-dressed man at one of the tables, but he didn’t pay much attention to him. His glass of grappa and breakfast were brought to him very soon. Antonio had his breakfast, drank grappa and took a cigarette out of his pocket. He was going to ask the waiter to bring him some matches when the stranger offered him his lighter. Antonio lit his cigarette, thanked the man and sank into his thoughts.

“You don’t seem to be native here,” the stranger told him.

“Yes, I’m from Katanzaro; I’m working in the port here.”

“From Katanzaro?” the stranger asked in surprise. “It’s a beautiful town. How did you get here?”

“It’s a long story, sir,” Antonio answered ready to leave.

“You don’t sound very content with your job,” the stranger said.

Antonio looked at him in amazement. He muttered something in return and headed to the exit.