Posted: Aug 29, 08 8:00pm
About a month ago I submitted a short and incomplete version of this story for general comments and was gratified by a number of positive responses.
Completed now, I’m re-submitting - this time for critique and any more thoughtful comments.
Thanks!
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Danny the Baker
At 2:20 am, Lenny Saturni signed a form, was given back his personal property, and ordered to stand against the wall as the sweat-stained uniformed guard shouted “One going out, Captain!”
At the sound of a bell, the guard opened the steel door and nodded “See ya when you get back”, he taunted.
Lenny passed into the small foyer on the other side, and through another doorway, marked “OUT” that opened to the street. The six month sentence served, he clutched his boat pass tightly and headed towards the pier, trying not to run, as he’d been instructed.
An hour later, Lenny stood on the deck of the ferry, watching the island lights dim in the darkness. He rubbed his still tender ribs, a reminder of the last beating he took from the guards. Singled out three times during his term, the last one was the worst – two of them came into his cell while he was asleep, threw him to the floor, and began kicking him. The rule for survival was starkly simple - shut up, don’t resist, and never fight back.
There was nothing Lenny could do, except go fetal and wait it out.
After a few minutes, one of the guards said “Hold up” to the other and reached down - pulling Lenny’s arms away from his head and face.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Lenny Saturni, boss”.
‘Saturni? Who the hell are you? How long you been in this cell?”
“They moved me in today, boss.” The guard leaned over and looked closely at Lenny.
“Hah”, he laughed. Turning to his partner, he said “Well, whattya know, Burl, we got the wrong guy…c’mon, let’s go”, as Burl let loose with a final kick in Lenny’s back.
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“Did you hear, Danny?”
Bent over the floor mixer, Danny the baker didn’t answer, as he tugged at the large clod of dough. With arms immersed up to his elbows in the sticky mass, he jerked it up and out of the bowl, like a weight lifter and slammed it down hard on the bench, creating a mini-dust storm of flour and corn meal, sent whirling throughout the kitchen by the ceiling fans.
“Hear what?” grunted Danny. Dividing the dough into quarters, he rolled and folded them in the flour, sealing in the moisture.
His cousin, Gino, sat on a stool in the corner fanning the dust away. “Jeez, Danny…it’s a freakin’ oven in here, how do you stand it?”
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Danny, mocking his cousin, said “Jeez, Gino… it’s a freakin’ bakery – saputo…it’s supposed to be hot. Did I hear about what?”
“Old man Tristano. He’s dead. They found him this morning in his apartment. He had some fans but no electricity…and get this, Danny… his windows were rigged. They could only open a couple of inches. The old guy freakin’ baked to death up there in this heat wave. It’s a bad thing, man, very bad.
Danny kept working as he thought about the old man. Two years ago, when the bakery first opened, Tristano was his first customer. Waiting at the door that morning, he hobbled in and bought the first breadsticks Danny made and had been coming in regularly, ever since.
For the last nine days, the city was gripped in constant near 100 degree temperatures – with no relief in sight…and now people were dying – people he knew.
Reaching for the dough cutter, Danny knocked over a large tin, sending a wave of almonds off the bench and across the floor. “Damn it!” he growled.
Gino hopped off the stool. “Danny, I got it…no sweat, ok? Gimme the broom.”
After a few minutes of chasing down almonds, Gino said, “Hey listen, Danny, Ma says you should come over, ok?”
“Is she all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, fine. You know, she’s gettin’ older – I think she just misses her kids sometimes. Anyway, you comin’, right? Maybe later, Danny? Ok?”
Danny nodded.
Gino’s mother, Aunt Sophia, brought fourteen year old Danny into her home the day his mother died – and put him in with Gino. He was given a few days to grieve… then sent back to school. The following Saturday, Sophia showed him the way from Newark over to D’atillo’s market, in the city, and left him with the baker.
At first, he was terrified of Benny, the foul-mouthed ex-marine, who constantly recounted his wartime experiences, boasting of how many fascists he personally killed, and the gruesome ways he did it. Everybody at D‘atillo‘s, except Danny, knew that Benny never saw any combat action. Instead, he did one of the things he does best… bake… behind the lines, in the officer’s mess.
Another thing he did well was fight…Benny was a boxer.
A talented, light heavyweight, and undefeated in dozens of military competitions, Benny continued to box after the war, though never turned pro. A cross between a street brawler and a boxer, he won all his fights by knockout, except for a single TKO, which Benny claimed as his only ‘loss‘. The joke in the market was that if Benny had been given a weapon and sent out to the front line, the war in Europe would have ended at least two months earlier.
On that first Saturday, Danny’s job was to clean up after Benny and make deliveries. He pushed the kid, gave him dirty jobs, and afforded him little time to accomplish them, while noticing the more he pushed, the harder Danny tried. Finally, when Danny showed up 30 minutes early on that fifth Saturday in a row for more abuse, Benny decided to teach him two things …bread and boxing.
That afternoon, Benny took Danny out back to the alley. “Can you fight?” asked Benny.
Danny gave him a surprised look, but didn’t answer.
“Femminuccia, I’m talking to you. Have you ever been in a fight?”
“No”, Danny mumbled.
Benny studied him for a moment. At fourteen years old, the kid was tall - about five feet, eight inches, and still growing. He weighed about 140 lbs, he guessed. Danny was going to be a big man, in time.
“Hit me” said Benny. Surprised, Danny looked up. “What?”
I said hit me. In the gut - now”.
Danny didn’t move. Benny reached out and slapped Danny’s face.
“Ow!” yelled Danny, rubbing his cheek.
“Ow? What the hell is “Ow”? What does that mean? Girls say ‘Ow’…are you a freakin’ girl? Hit me, Danny.”
Benny slapped him again. This time Danny didn’t cry out, but he didn’t move, either. Another slap.
“C’mon, hit me!” he yelled.
Danny’s expression changed from fear to concentration, as he gritted his teeth and punched Benny in the stomach.
“Again…harder”. Danny punched him again.
“Good! Again! “
With lightning speed, and before Benny could react, Danny let loose with a roundhouse right - catching Benny in the mouth, snapping his head back, and cutting his lip. Surprised, Benny watched, as Danny, with clenched fists and watery eyes, stood his ground. The boy’s eyes had become slits, his breathing controlled, guard up, and shoulders squared, instinctively. Good, he thought. With the back of his hand, Benny wiped the blood off his mouth and looked at it.
“Oww” he pretended.
Boxing lessons had begun.
Two weeks later, instead of the weekly beating in the alley behind D‘atillo‘s, they sat quietly on a bench in Domino Park . Benny and Danny watched as a young tough made his way down the path, towards them. Dressed in a tight, white t-shirt, rolled up dungarees, and short, black boots with heel taps clicking on the sidewalk, he scowled, long and hard at Danny as he passed.
Softly, Benny said “When you fight a man, Danny, never look in his eyes. He’ll beat you with them, if you let him. Don’t look.”
“Watch the body, Danny, that’s where the fight is.
Use your ears. When you punch him, listen to his sounds. If he makes noise, you hurt him. Then, hit him again… hard and fast, ya know? Listen to him breathe. If you can hear it, he’s getting tired. A lot of guys wear out fast - and they lose. And when he hits you back, keep listening - in time, you’ll hear it coming a long time before you feel it.”
“Ya know why fighters get tired, Danny? It’s because they’re out shape - like you. Now, I want you to get up and run around the lake, twice.”
“What? Benny, I’m not wearing my sneaks today.”
“Danielle, did I ask you about your freakin’ shoes? Do you think I give a crap about what you‘re wearing? You little puke, what makes you think that I give a f…”
As Benny’s voice got louder and angrier, Danny stood up, shaking his head, resigning himself to this new form of torture and began running. Approaching the starting point after his first circuit of the lake, he noticed that Benny, still sitting on the bench, had turned his attention to something in the distance, ignoring him. Danny accelerated, darted off the path, ran behind the bench, and slapped the top of Benny’s head as he passed by.
“Son of a bitch!” Danny heard in the background as he streaked away. “You get your sorry ass back here right now! Do you hear me, boy? Right now!…No!…you little prick!…No!…screw you, keep going…and don’t come back!…you hear me?…don’t you ever freakin’ come back…No!…damn you…get back here, now!…when I get my hands on you…you’re dead meat…get over here!…you little bast…
Glancing back, Danny could no longer hear Benny’s tirade, but saw him jump up and down, wave his fists in the air, and kick over the park bench in his fury. That disturbance caught the attention of the men playing dominoes nearby, and nearly everyone else in the immediate area, including a cop on the beat, who began making his way towards Benny and the overturned bench.
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Seven years later, Flora held the door open as Danny gingerly made his way up the two steps and into his bakery for the first time. The leg hurt - he needed the heavy cane today.
Back from Korea almost a year - Danny was recovering from his wounds. He took two shrapnel hits at the same time - one saucer shaped piece sliced deeply into his right leg, burying itself just below the knee, while the other, a small, rod - shaped missile drilled into his forehead, narrowly missing his left eye.
He walked pretty well, most days, with only a slight limp, but occasionally, like today, he had difficulty.
From the back of the shop a familiar voice shouted out “Hey, Danny!”
With Flora holding his hand, he followed Benny’s voice through the few scattered tables to the rear of the shop. Benny stood in the middle of the kitchen, beaming. “How do like it? It’s just like mine, Danny - an exact copy, except for the mixer - you got a freakin’ new one, courtesy of Stone Man…I’m jealous. Whaddya think, kid?
Flora and Benny grinned at each other as Danny slowly walked through the room, touching everything. Benny was right, he thought - the layout of the equipment, the shelving, the tables, even the bottle of homemade wine they always kept stashed behind the spice shelf, was the same. It was just like being back at D’atillo’s. Danny sat on the stool and listened to the motors of the ceiling fans as they swept around the aromas of drying paint, the sweetness of cinnamon, basil, and whatever it was that Benny was baking in the deck oven.
Dumbfounded, he recalled that morning, as a very mysterious Flora told him about a special surprise she had for him. It wasn’t until walking the last block that she finally told him about the bakery – his bakery. She spoke excitedly of how Benny, and many others from the neighborhood, had put together the shop and “loaned” it to him while he was recuperating from his wounds.
“Danny”, she said, her eyes tearing. “Things and people came from everywhere, you should have seen it – the Mazzoni brothers, you know, the carpenters? They built the display cases. Tommy Rossi painted the sign and windows. Freddy Marino donated the tables & chairs – they don’t match, but who cares, Danny, right? Even Father Dominick came down personally and blessed it. All I did was cry – all the time.
And Benny… mio Dio! He made all this happen, Danny. He came to visit you in the hospital when you had the fever -you never knew. He stayed all night long – just watching over you. She squeezed his hand. Benny loves you, Danny.”
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Lenny Saturni felt himself being lifted from the chair by strong hands. “Get up. You can’t sleep in here.” Lenny opened his eyes and faced the bouncer from the Paradise Club.
“What’d I do?”
“You passed out.” he said “It’s time to go, man… ”
The bouncer forcefully led Lenny out the door of the bar, into the bright, late afternoon sun. On the sidewalk, he gave him a slight shove towards the next corner along with a warning. “Damn, you stink…take a bath, and don’t let me see you anymore today, mister.”
Drunk, disoriented, and foul smelling, Lenny slowly weaved his way down the crowded sidewalk, as pedestrians scattered, giving him a wide berth. Eventually he came upon a bus bench, laid down, and went to sleep.
Hours later, awakened by a loud thunderclap and a strong gust of wind, a startled Lenny jumped off the bench and scrambled into a nearby doorway just as the downpour began. Gathering his wits, while squatting in a corner, he slowly recalled the day’s events - his release from jail, the long journey back to Jersey , and the murky time spent that afternoon in the bar. Hoping his sister still lived in the same place, he planned to go there as soon as the rain stopped – but first, he needed money.
Walking quickly, he darted in and out of storefronts, checking doorknobs. Eventually, he found a door, not fully closed, that pushed open, and went inside. Stifling the small, announcement bells, Lenny noiselessly shut the door and ducked behind a counter. The open cash register contained some small change, which he pocketed, and a few IOU’s.
The remaining counter drawers contained various store supplies - nothing he could use.
Disgusted, Lenny checked the back room of the store. Illuminated slightly by occasional lightning, he quickly recognized he was in a kitchen of some kind. “Damn!” he thought. Doubting he would find anything that could be sold or pawned, his mood changed when he discovered a pan of yeast rolls, and realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the night before, at the jail.
Stuffing his mouth and pockets with the bread, he continued to search the shelves for more food to take with him, when the front door bells began to chime.
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It was just past 10:00 pm when Danny returned from Sophia’s house. As he opened the front door to the bakery, he heard music from Flora’s radio in their apartment above the shop, and smiled. Her touch was always present, it seemed. Danny knew that he produced good product with his hands, but was also aware of Flora’s contributions to their success. She cared for the front of the bakery in the same way he cared for his bread - with love and passion. The front of the store, he noticed, was often filled with laughter and good cheer – a tribute to Flora.
Walking towards the stairs, he suddenly detected an unusual odor and stopped. A dank, dirty, smell - a mixture of sweat and alcohol, hung in the air. Alarmed, Danny crouched in the dark with his cane – listening intently through the breaks of the passing traffic on the street…
Inside the kitchen, Lenny Saturni also crouched in the darkness, listening. Alerted by the door bells, he dropped to the floor, and hid behind a pile of flour sacks. Angry that he found nothing, and now facing the prospect of getting caught, Lenny, his bravado buoyed by the lingering effects of the alcohol, decided to fight his way out if he had to. He waited…hoping that whoever had just come in would soon leave.
He felt for the knife in his pocket…
Still crouching, Danny slowly duck-walked along the wall towards the kitchen. Just outside the doorway he stopped. The odor was stronger now and he could hear breathing.
“This is my house. Get out.”
No answer.
“You screwed up – there’s nothing here. No money, nothing you can use.”
Silence.
Heart racing, legs becoming unsteady, Danny leaned against the wall for support. He had always known that something like this might happen, but hoped it would be later when he was stronger. Now, it was here.
” I got a deal” said Danny.
“You come out…don’t do nothin’…don’t say nothin’…just walk out the door and it’s over. You stop…I’ll kill you.”
Danny’s voice broke with those last words, a point not lost on Lenny.
Lenny considered the offer. This guy was scared. Good, he thought, and if he was being straight up, he could walk away; get to his sister’s…
“Back away from the door” Lenny growled.
The sound of a chair skidding slightly across the wooden floor, followed by footsteps and a tapping sound moving through the room, broke the silence as Lenny strained to hear.
“All right”, said the voice from the dining room.
“Comin’ out”.
Lenny emerged from the kitchen and headed for the front door. The headlights of a passing car briefly illuminated the dining room and revealed Danny, leaning on his cane for support.
A freakin’ cripple! thought Lenny. And scared too… He stopped.
Standing in the darkness, Lenny stared at the shadowy form of Danny from across the room and started to tremble in anger as another Lenny began to emerge.
This other Lenny was the one that landed him in jail numerous times throughout his life, the one that never knew pleasure, or success, except that which was only imagined, poured from a bottle and sometimes, from pills. The side that viewed the world through the eyes of a victim; beaten down, abused, powerless, and always alone.
Like many times before, the images appeared - graphic and unstoppable, racing through his mind like a newsreel at fast speed – the horrific nights of a small boy forced to sleep in his stepfather’s bed, the stench of a drunken, abusive mother, dodging her random blows, but never quite quick enough, the night the door burst open , men with guns, loud noises, screams, and then blackness…
A childhood spent in a herd – cared for, but never nurtured. Eat this, wear that, go there, stay here…one of fifty others biding his time until his eighteenth birthday, when he was handed a bible, twenty dollars, and urged to go make something of himself.
All that remained for Lenny was a terrifying rage and revenge against his world – his only satisfaction, his only gauge of self-respect was measured against the harm he could inflict upon those who were smaller, weaker.
And now, he thought, this quivering voiced cripple is going to kill me?
I said “Keep going!”
For a moment, Lenny stood motionless staring into the darkness.
“Huh? Is that right, Burl? Did you say that? Oh yeah, I remember…this is YOUR house as he began pacing back and forth in the dark.
“Ya know, Burl, I think you lied to me. About the money. Ya know why? Cuz this is a nice place you got here…real fuckin’ nice.
Lenny grabbed a chair and threw it wildly, grinning at the sound of shattering glass from a display case.
“Hard to believe you ain’t got no money. You lied, didn’t ya Burl?”
No answer.
“Burl, listen, you and me will get along a lot better if you say somethin.”
“Fuck you” snarled Danny.
There was a long silence, broken only by the radio in the background. Up to now, Lenny’s voice had been hard, tough, and aggressive. Danny, now confused, listened as it changed – softened, raised in pitch, and became almost childlike.
With a long sigh, Lenny, in an eerie, almost whining voice said “You’re right…it’s not about money, anyway. Not anymore. It’s about that night, Burl. Remember? The night you and Calder came into my cell and I was asleep. You jerked me out of my bunk and started kickin’ the shit out of me. Why Burl? Why’d you do that? And all the time, you was tellin’ Calder about your daughter’s new boyfriend and what a jerk he was…while you was kickin’me. Remember? You guys was like… like washin’ your car or somethin’…and all the time…you was kickin’ me.
Danny followed Lenny’s voice as it moved back and forth across the room.
The voice was crying now.
“I didn’t mean to hurt that cat, Burl…I really didn’t. But it kicked me. For no reason. I just wanted to pet it…I like animals, Burl, but it kicked me…it shouldn’t have done that, ya know? I just wanted to be friends, Burl, but…
The voice stopped, replaced by muffled sobbing.
“Look, mister, take it easy. I’m not this Burl guy you‘re talkin‘ about. I never saw you before - and I never did nothin’ to you. You got the wrong guy, that’s all - why don’t you just leave now and forget about it? It’s a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Lenny’s gruff voice returned, full of anger. “You’re damned right it was a mistake, Burl. Just like you bastards kickin’ me… that was a big mistake…
Danny sensed quick steps and a rush of air as he instinctively raised his arms and stepped to the right. Not fast enough, he partially deflected a blow to his head, that knocked him backwards against the wall. Almost immediately he took another punch to the chest, followed by another, and then a hard blow to the head.
Covering up defensively, like Benny had taught him years ago, Danny continued to absorb a barrage of punches.
[Use your ears, Danny. Listen to him breathe. If you can hear it, he’s getting tired. A lot of guys wear out fast…]
“Whattya think, Burl, you son of a bitch!” taunted Lenny. “It’s payback time, ya know what I mean? How does it feel, Burl? C’mon, …say somethin’ “.
“Fuck you”, Danny growled.
With a howl, Lenny unleashed a furious attack. Danny, crouched and covering – fended off most of the punches that landed with little or no new damage. Hearing Lenny struggling for breath, and feeling him weakening, Danny straightened up and hit back, landing squarely on Lenny’s damaged ribcage.
Lenny shrieked, as Danny threw two more quick punches into his midsection, followed by a head butt to the face, sending him tumbling backwards into the darkness, crashing into furniture.
Outside on the street, a truck slowly lumbered by, motor straining against its load, filling the bakery with its roar. Losing Lenny in the noise, Danny was moving away from the front door and stairway when he felt something on his arm - at first it felt cold, then hot, and finally became a burning sensation. With his other hand he felt blood - he had been cut. Almost instantly another slash came from the darkness. Swinging his cane in the direction of the attack, he struck Lenny and lunged. Now, in close quarters, the two grappled , with Danny desperately trying to pin Lenny’s arms to keep the knife away. Too late, he felt a paralyzing pain as the knife penetrated deep into his left thigh.
Grabbing the knife wielding hand, Danny, in one quick move snapped Lenny’s wrist , breaking it, cleanly.
Lenny’s groan was silenced as Danny wrapped both hands around his neck and tried to lift him off the floor. Struggling for breath, Lenny tried to hit back with his good arm, and kick with his legs, with no success.
Squeezing harder, listening to Lenny’s gurgling sounds, and feeling his panicked struggle begin to subside, a loud noise followed by a sharp, searing pain in his shoulder forced him to drop Lenny.
Spinning in the direction of the noise, the last thing he heard was Flora’s scream…
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Slowly regaining consciousness, Danny felt Flora’s hand in his and listened to soft sobbing as she pressed against his ear.
“I’m so sorry Danny…so sorry…so sorry… I couldn’t help it – I couldn’t see…I didn’t know…forgive me, Danny, please…” she pleaded.
Restrained by the straps across his chest and legs, a cold feeling swept over him as the memories of the fight came rushing back. Reaching for the source of the pain in his leg, Danny felt the handle of the knife – still embedded in his thigh.
“Don’t touch that!” a male voice warned. “They’ll take it out at the hospital. Harry, you ready?”
As they prepared to lift the stretcher, Danny heard the ring of the bells on the front door as it opened, followed by a gasp from Flora.
“That’s him!” Flora screamed. “He’s the one!” and lashed out with a vicious torrent of obscenities.
Two police officers dragged in a battered and bloodied Lenny Saturni.
“We found this guy a few blocks away - looks like he’s had some trouble.”
Looking at Danny, one of the cops asked, “is this the one, sir?”
Danny raised his head, but didn’t respond.
“Sir? Is this the man who attacked you?”
Again, no response.
“Hey, bud,” Harry said to the cop, “This guy’s hurt bad - we gotta go… now.”
“That’s the one! Bastardo!” screamed Flora, fists clenched, lunging forward, only to be restrained by the other officer.
“One second…Mister…c’mon, now…look hard…is this the guy?”
Danny, saying nothing, slowly laid back down and closed his eyes, as the attendants hoisted the stretcher and carried him to the waiting ambulance.
Back inside the bakery, Flora, lips trembling, crossing herself and praying under her breath, watched from the window as the ambulance, red lights flashing, pulled away and sped down the street.
As more police arrived inside the bakery, and neighborhood residents filled the sidewalk outside, Lenny was taken and loaded, not too gently, into a waiting transport.
One of the officers approached Flora. “I’m sorry for your trouble, ma’am… Is that your husband?”
Still staring out of the window, beyond the faces of children, wide-eyed, pressed against the glass, Flora nodded.
“He works so hard.” she murmured, shaking her head.
“All his life, Danny worked, you know?” she said through the window. “ He was young - still a child, when his mother died…. Danny went to work a few days later… and never stopped. Benny, bless him, took this beautiful, fatherless, child under his wing and taught him how to bake.”
“ He can fight, too - Benny taught him” she boasted.
“Have you tried the grissini? It’s a wonder,” she smiled. “Wait here…I’ll get you some.”
“Ma’am, that’s okay…not right now, thanks…maybe later…”
“But I want you to try…“ Flora suddenly stopped and looked around the room at the broken glass, the scattered furniture, the blood stains on the floor, and froze, as if seeing it for the first time..
“Who did this? Who dares come to this house and …” her voice trailed away.
Turning to the officer, she asked “Did you know he’s a hero? No…no, how could you… you don’t know…nobody does. He won’t let me tell…he says it’s not important.”
“ Not important?” Flora was crying now, arms folded across her chest, head down.
“Ma’am, why don’t you sit down? There’s a car coming - be here soon - they’ll take you down to the hospital.”
The officer pulled a chair out from one of the tables that was still standing.
Staring through him, wringing her hands, she continued.
“They were outside a village when the attack came. Two scared children - a little boy and girl - were running down the road, away from the fight. There were explosions - chasing them. They say Danny jumped out of the ditch and ran to help when he got hit - twice. He collapsed, protecting them with his body until it was over. For a long time, they laid there in the middle of the road, the fighting surrounding them. Only one of the children survived - the girl. The little boy didn‘t make it - he suffocated under his weight when Danny passed out.”
“The first hit was in his leg - in his knee. It’s hard for Danny to walk sometimes, you know, but he gets by. And he never complains. But I see it in his face.”
“ The second one hit him in the head, and now he’s …”
“Hey Francis” a voice interrupted, “you ready?”
“Ma’am, your ride’s here. Officer Miller will take you to the hospital, now. Your husband beat up that guy pretty good. As soon as we get him fixed up a little, we’re gonna bring him by and let your husband take a look and…”
Rising from the chair, Flora interrupted…
“That won’t be necessary. He won’t be able to help you.”
“Ma’am? Why not?’
Flora stared at the cop for a moment, as if trying to find the right words.
“My husband, officer,…is blind”.
[“Grrr” said the dog.]
