"I hope then you have it in a safe place," Michael said.

Pisciotta said, "Yes, Don Croce would like to get his hands on the Testament."

Guiliano's mother said, "At the proper time we will arrange to have the Testament delivered to you. Perhaps you can send it to America with the girl."

Michael looked at them all with surprise. "What girl?" They all looked away, as if with embarrassment or apprehension. They knew this was an unpleasant surprise and were afraid of his reaction.

Guiliano's mother said, "My son's fiancee. She is pregnant." She turned to the others. "She won't vanish into thin air. Will he take her or not? Let him say so now." Though she tried to maintain her composure it was obvious she was worried about Michael's reaction. "She will come to you in Trapani. Turi wants you to send her ahead of him to America. When she sends word back that she is safe, then Turi will come to you."

Michael said cautiously, "I have no instructions. I would have to consult my people in Trapani about the time element. I know that you and your husband are to follow once your son gets to America. Can't the girl wait and go with you?"

Pisciotta said harshly, "The girl is your test. She will send back a code word and then Guiliano will know he is dealing not only with an honest man but an intelligent one. Only then can he believe you can get him safely out of Sicily."

Guiliano's father said angrily, "Aspanu, I have already told you and my son. Don Corleone has given his word to help us."

Pisciotta said smoothly, "Those are Turi's orders."

Michael thought quickly. Finally he said, "I think it's very clever. We can test the escape route and see if it is compromised." He had no intention of using the same escape route for Guiliano. He said to Guiliano's mother, "I can send you and your husband with the girl." He looked at them questioningly, but both the parents shook their heads.

Hector Adonis said to them gently, "It's not a bad idea."

Guiliano's mother said, "We will not leave Sicily while our son is still here." Guiliano's father folded his arms and nodded in agreement. And Michael understood what they were thinking. If Turi Guiliano died in Sicily, they had no wish to be in America. They must stay to mourn him, to bury him, bring flowers to his grave. The final tragedy belonged to them. The girl could go, she was bound only by love, not by blood.

Sometime during the night Maria Lombardo Guiliano showed Michael a scrapbook filled with newspaper stories, posters showing the different prices placed on Guiliano's head by the government in Rome. She showed a picture story published in America by Life magazine in 1948. The story stated that Guiliano was the greatest bandit of modern times, an Italian Robin Hood who robbed the rich to help the poor. It also printed one of the famous letters that Guiliano had sent to the newspapers.

It read: "For five years I have fought to make Sicily free. I have given to the poor what I have taken from the rich. Let the people of Sicily speak out whether I am an outlaw or a fighter for freedom. If they speak against me, I will deliver myself into your hands for judgment. As long as they speak for me I will continue to wage total war."

It sure as hell didn't sound like a bandit on the run, Michael thought, as Maria Lombardo's proud face beamed at him. He felt an identification with her, she looked very much like his own mother. Her face was seamed with past sorrows, but her eyes blazed with a natural love for even more combat against her fate.

Finally it was dawn and Michael rose and said his goodbyes. He was surprised when Guiliano's mother gave him a warm embrace.

"You remind me of my son," she said. "I trust you." She went to the mantel and took down a wooden statue of the Virgin Mary. It was black. The features were Negroid. "Take this as a gift. It is the only thing I own worthy to give you." Michael tried to refuse, but she pressed it on him.

Hector Adonis said, "There are only a few of those statues left in Sicily. Curious, but we are very close to Africa."

Guiliano's mother said, "It doesn't matter what she looks like, you can pray to her."

"Yes," Pisciotta said. "She can do as much good as the other." There was contempt in his voice.

Michael watched Pisciotta take his leave of Guiliano's mother. He could see the real affection between them. Pisciotta kissed her on both cheeks and patted her reassuringly. But she put her head on his shoulder for a brief moment and said, "Aspanu, Aspanu, I love you as I love my son. Don't let them kill Turi." She was weeping.

Pisciotta lost all his coldness, his body seemed to crumple, his dark bony face softened. "You will all grow old in America," he said.

Then he turned to Michael. "I will bring Turi to you within the week," he said.

He went out the door quickly and silently. He had his own special red-bordered pass and he could melt again into the mountains. Hector Adonis would remain with the Guilianos, though he owned a house in town.

Michael and Stefano Andolini got into the Fiat and drove through the central square and onto the road that led to Castelvetrano and the coastal city of Trapani. With Andolini's slow tentative driving and the numerous military roadblocks, it was noon before they came to the town of Trapani.

BOOK II

TURI GUILIANO

1943

CHAPTER 2

In September of 1943 Hector Adonis was a Professor of History and Literature at the University of Palermo. His extremely short stature caused his colleagues to treat him with less respect than his talents deserved. But this was foreordained in the Sicilian culture, which commonly and brutally based nicknames on physical shortcomings. The one person who knew his true value was the President of the University.

In this September of 1943, Hector Adonis' life was about to change. For southern Italy, the war was over. The American Army had already conquered Sicily and gone on to the mainland. Fascism was dead, Italy was reborn; for the first time in fourteen centuries, the island of Sicily had no real master. But Hector Adonis, knowing the ironies of history, had no great hopes. The Mafia had already begun to usurp the rule of law in Sicily. Their cancerous power would be as deadly as that of any corporate state. From his office window he looked down on the grounds of the University, at the few buildings that could be called a campus.

There was no need for dormitories, there was no college life as known in England and America. Here most students studied at home and consulted with their professors at stated intervals. The professors gave lectures which students could ignore with impunity. They needed only to take their exams. It was a system that Hector Adonis thought disgraceful in general and stupid in particular as it affected Sicilians, who, he thought, required a pedagogical discipline even more severe than students in other countries.

Watching from his cathedral-like window he could see the seasonal influx of Mafia chiefs from all the provinces of Sicily, come to make their lobbying calls on the professors of the University. Under Fascist rule, these Mafia chiefs had been more circumspect, more humble, but now under the beneficent rule of American-restored democracy, they had risen like worms struggling through rain-broken earth and resumed their old ways. They were no longer humble.

The Mafia chiefs, the Friends of the Friends, heads of small local clans in the many villages of Sicily, came in holiday finery to plead the cause of students who were relatives or sons of wealthy landowners, or sons of friends, who were failing in their courses at the University, who would not get degrees unless some firm action was taken. And these degrees were of the utmost importance. How else would families get rid of sons who had no ambition, no talent, no intelligence? Parents would have to support sons the rest of their lives. But with degrees, slips of parchment from the University, these same rascals could become teachers, doctors, members of Parliament, or if worse came to worst, minor administrative functionaries of the state.