I met ‘the Godfather’. I mean the actual Godfather. Don Antonio Monteleone. He wasn’t as I had pictured him, but rather a man of miniscule stature, with soft hazel-green eyes, and a warm smile. His handshake was firm; his hands calloused from the last twenty years of carpentry work he had done. Imagine that – a working Don. I sat down with him at an antiquated table in a small café a few blocks from Antonio’s home in Avellino, Naples. A rather robust man, and patron of the café greeted us with a hearty embrace and began to speak in his native tongue to Antonio. I listened intently but could only make out a few words, like ‘bene’, ‘grazie’, and ‘mangiare’, the latter the most important of the three. After all, eating was more of a social event to the Italians, than it was a basic requirement. And when in Italy…

A few minutes passed when the patron summoned one of his baristas to bring us an espresso. He turned to me and placed his hand on my shoulder. He leaned in and told me in an animated voice that ‘anyting you lika, tella me’, and with a soft chuckle, he looked at Antonio again, and left us to make his way to the bar. Antonio’s eyes followed him to the bar, and then he looked at me and nodded. I took that as my cue to begin. I reached for my voice recorder in my backpack. I carefully placed it on the table and explained briefly to Antonio that I would record his story and for him to start from the beginning. With his nod of approval, I pushed the ‘record’ button.

Antonio was born on June 1st, 1936 in a small town in Naples, Italy. He was the youngest of six, and one of two boys. The other boy, Giovanni Jr., was the eldest, and assumed the role of patriarch, as had been custom in the small villages.

His parents, Giovanni Sr. and Maria owned a great deal of land in the small town of Avellino, particularly Maria whose family name was well known amongst the dwellers in the village. They had hired people to work on the land, growing crops and tending to the farm animals, all the while conducting their business so that it was profitable for them, even if at others’ expense. Maria was the dominant one in the relationship and most of her labourers dealt with her exclusively. Giovanni Sr. wasn’t a tall man and diminutive in bone structure against his wife. He was timid, submissive, and didn’t command respect. Maria, a stout, blue eyed woman with skin like leather from years of sun exposure, was shrewd, and harsh in her dealings, and was feared by her subordinates.

Antonio didn’t fear his parents, as they were always generous with him, and hardly exercised any authority over him. In fact, it was Giovanni Jr. who abused his authority over his siblings. Antonio’s resentment towards Giovanni Jr. grew with each command he fired at him. His brother’s job was to find each of his siblings a mate to marry. He had handpicked one for Antonio but he wouldn’t have it. He had met the love of his life, Menna. When this relationship became common knowledge, it was met with disapproval and resistance by both Giovanni Jr., and their parents. His brother would try to manipulate Antonio into believing that he was too good for this woman; that she came from a low-income family, and that he deserved better. It was to no avail, as Antonio had made up his mind that she would be the one he would marry. He knew any attempt at acceptance by his family was futile, so he and Menna decided they would elope to get married.

The planned civil ceremony went off without a hitch and Antonio and Menna boarded a train to Switzerland soon after, to escape his tyrannical brother. It looked promising for him and his young bride as they started their life together, but things quickly changed.

Antonio’s father died a year after the nuptials, and he was forced to take his pregnant wife and move back to his town to assist his brother and mother with the business, until his mother died in the summer of ’86.

It was then, I shut off the recorder. Antonio and I would meet again tomorrow to get the second part of my story. As I got up to leave, Antonio signalled the patron to come over. He crossed the café in small strides and leaned his ear down to Antonio’s face when he reached him. Antonio whispered something to him. They both looked up at me, and he proceeded to smile and say, “you musta stay to eat lunch wit ussa, on me”.

When in Italy…