Livva and Trippa

          The old man had spent almost all day Wednesday concocting his special spaghetti sauce, chopping and crushing, stirring and tasting, and generally taking up the whole center kitchen table to prepare his favorite meal.  Donald came in halfway through it, and immediately started to clean up.  He emptied the slop bucket into the pig dumpster out back, and almost puked from the aroma.  The wind was blowing at the hinges side as usual.  The pig farmer was two days late,  as usual.  He once more reminded himself to be overheard talking about that new pig farm on West Street.  Back inside the smell of Sicilian sauce was permeating the building.        He turned on the exhaust fans.  The old man stopped crushing garlic and glared at him.  Donald immediately shut off the fans.   He picked up the broom and swept up the mess on the floor, using slow strokes so that no dust was disturbed.  The black eyes missed nothing, and shone with approval.  He spoke,

" If people going by smell this we'll attract customers like flies."  "Right now it's drifting toward the swamp, and less folk 'll smell it." 

"And that's good sir?" One eyebrow lifted slightly.  Donald suddenly understood. 

"Would you like some coffee sir?".  Sal nodded and watched the kid head for the bar.  It was amazing how much this boy of fifteen was understanding unsaid words.   He thought about the table crowd and what had and had not been said.   Donald handed him the cup of coffee laced with anisette, and started toward the dining room.   "Wait Don, I want to ask you something" Donald's right eyebrow raised slightly.  "Never mind it's not that important". 

"yes sir I'll just dust off the tables" 

 

Sal stirred the mix and tasted the hot end of the wooden spoon. Smiling in satisfaction he poured the sauce carefully into the big white bowl to cool. He picked it up effortlessly and set it onto the shelf against the broom closet.   By Friday evening it would be perfectly aged.   He walked into the dimly lit dining room, and watched Donald turning over  place mats , unwrapping, wiping, and re wrapping silverware.   Maybe a couple would stop in.   Empty was okay.  Dirty wasn't.  What had made this kid pick his place to ask for work?  He realized it was the closest to home in this direction, and thanked Lady Luck for his choice to hire him.   It had just been a test of his judgement of people at first.   Nothing wrong with that yet.   He refilled his cup and sat down to read the paper.

 

    Friday came and with it came trouble.  He'd been having his morning coffee when the phone had rung twice.

It was the  party line phone.   Not the one from his old office.  The twins  were acting up at school again, and this was only their second day.   He didn't try to tell her to take care of it.   She'd been so fragile after that caesarian he'd handled her with kid gloves.   She was healthy now but the brush with death and losing one of them had taken its toll.   He remembered the laughing go to hell teenager he'd fallen so madly in love with, actually still was in love with, and sighed as he got into the Woody.   It rattled as usual and as usual he swore to get someone more competent to fix it.  The German mechanic was having a hard time staying in business and Sal liked him.   Donald had suggested he'd make a better living selling and fixing Volkswagons.  Those little round beetle shaped midgets.  Who the hell would buy those things?.  Any kid who couldn't afford to pay for gas. It was up to 25 cents a gallon in some places now.  He rolled North on the wide highway slowing down for dead man's bend and  pulled into the Jenney station at Assinippee. 

       The guy came out of the garage end wiping his hands on a rag that he stuffed in the front bib of his overalls.  He looked at the Woody in admiration. 

"Fill sir?" "Regular" Sal nodded. 

"Check oil sir?"  Sal pulled the lever and the kid opened the hood.

" y 'down a quart sir"   He started to reach for the Coke bottle with the funnel cap.  The old man's eyes stopped him cold. 

"I keep it a quart low".  The kid closed the hood  and started toward the pumps.  Sal pulled the lever again and the kid looked guilty.  He opened the hood, put on the oil cap, and re closed the hood, carefully wiping the smudge off with his sleeve.  He then washed the wind shield and back window, took out the nozzle without topping it off and said " That's two seventy three sir"   Sal handed him two seventy five and waited for his change.

 

        Donald came to work to a closed  sign on the door.   He opened both doors ,  turned the sign around, then smiled and hung it in the side window.   He went into the kitchen to find the butcher had left all the meat on the table in a wooden cranberry box that had seen better days.  The ice had long since melted and the bloody water had leaked to form a wide pool on the perfectly level table.

 'Not the nicest way to see perfection', he thought and proceeded to fill the meat cooler shelves with the soggy contents,  putting dish towels under each item.  Taking the box he turned to go, trying not to get any blood on his school chinos.  The box caught on the cloth covered bowl of sauce as his feet slipped on the wet tile floor.   Luckily the bowl stayed on the shelf.   Unluckily the bottle of bleach  he'd opened to clean with didn't.   The Sicilian sauce was ruined before Donald hit the floor.   He put the cranberry box on the back stoop and picked the bottle out of the bowl.  He dumped what was left onto the table  and proceeded to clean up the mess.   When he was done the phone rang twice.   If it had rung once he would have ignored it.

  "Hello?" 

"Donald it's me, did the butcher leave the liver and trippa with his order?, good, now I want you to slice it into two inch or two and a half inch strips put it in the oven with five sliced onions and cover it with the brozzute  and put it in the oven for fifteen minutes at 400 degrees then take it out and cover it with the sauce.   I got to go   I'll be back as soon as I can."   He stood there looking at the now dead phone then slowly hung it up.

 

   They all sat at the extended table in the middle of the dining room, sipping wine and talking business in their usual coded  fashion to keep Donald unaware of what they were really saying.   The candles had been a surprise and the salad had been sumptuous.  The old man sat at the head of the table looking forward to his favorite meal, and enjoying every minute of Donald's obviously first try at  serving a meal in grand style.   The soup was a chowder and it wasn't canned.  There were chunks of crab, lobster, clams, oysters, prosciutto, and corn.  The entree was served family style on three large platters.   It looked like dark brown worms mixed with deep fried strips of almost the same shape and size,  spread over a bed of brown and white  pebbles that over flowed to the edge of the black red lines of decorative sauce.   Donald looked nervous as hell as he sat down on the other end of the table.   The old man sat there looking at the enormous amount of food and realizing this was the entree. 

"The liver"  He started to say. 

"I tripped " Donald started to explain. 

"And the trippa" Sal continued. 

"I wrecked the sauce" Donald continued.  They were both talking at once and the rest of the crowd were still sitting looking at the platters.  The old man ladled a small portion onto his plate and took a tentative mouthful.  He chewed for a moment and then swallowed.  There was no sign of delight or disgust.  He put down his fork, picked up the ladle and filled his plate to over flowing. 

"You should trip more often Donald and I do not want you cooking for customers.  Mangez mangez"   They finished every last bite while Donald sighed with relief.  He knew how hard the old man had worked to perfect that sauce.

 

Later after they were all gone he came into the kitchen where Donald was drying the last plate. 

"I'm going fishing tonight, want to come along?"  "Good,  I'll pick you up about seven.  Wear a light hooded jacket." 

 

 

      He drove up the short dirt driveway and backed to the big sliding barn door.  The smaller square bow of the pram stuck out of the Woody almost as far as the door tied to it.  He stopped inches short of touching door to door.  Donald came down the stairs carrying a salt water fishing pole. 

 

"Leave that here Donald.  I have both rods rigged already" Donald leaned the pole against the barn, and got in the front seat. Sal noticed the large hooded rain coat in his lap. 

"you come prepared lad, but I don't think it'll rain.  I brought two skeeter covers in case you forgot".  The Woody turned just before the restaurant and bounced down the grassy lane.  In moments they were backing up to the cranberry reservoir pond.  It didn't take long until they had the lines in the water.  There was a tin square bucket between them with a wooden cover screwed to the top.  They sat in comfortable silence for a while, well not silence, the croaking frogs and singing crickets were back ground music.  Then Sal felt a bite and slackened his rod.  Donald watched.  He waited a breath and then set the hook.  Seconds later a hornpout hung before them on 15 pound test line.  He reached over as the fish swung in and expertly slip his fingers around the  horns. 

"Y' have to be careful doing this Don, these sting for days if they get you."

He held the fish and showed the boy where his fingers were.  Then he held the pout down on the wooden cover and cut into it almost where his fingers were.  The fish stopped squirming and he removed the hook from the upper lip.  He stuck his fingers into the fish and pulled. 

 

"Presto" he said and tossed the head tail skin and guts into the water.  He rinsed the meat in the pond and dropped it into the bucket.  Donald felt a bite and let the line go slack.  He then repeated the entire operation and rinsed his hands in the water.  Several minutes later Sal guessed it was time and asked Donald exactly how he had prepared the liver and trippa.  Don told him the whole story of the bloody table, even to how incredibly level it was.   Sal listened while catching more fish. 

" I did the scouse  first because I'd seen it done so many times in Birken 'ead by the Swede dockers when the Welshmen dropped off their catch, the corn and bacon was an addon  cos I didn't 'ave enough t' go round. " Unconsciously the boy's accent slipped in as he repeated the Swedish scouse recipe. 

"It's why they call people from Liverpool scousers sir.  There's no real recipe for it it's whatever is at hand and comes in all colours from cabbage green to burnt meat brown." 

"Tell me about the liver and trippa" 

" Well I sliced the liver as thin as I could so it would cook fast and not dry out like mum's does.  The tripe was a little harder.   I took the two layers apart with the filet knife and sliced up the gristle like the liver.  Then I deep fried it  till it was crispy like bacon and put it aside.

Oh I had the liver soaking in winewater all this time. Then I took the other side and sliced it up to match the liver.   Then I made a wet sauce out of egg whites and brandy and some of that nutty liqueur on the top shelf.  I put all that in the white bowl.  Then I  mixed up the onion powder cheese flour with some walnuts I ground up, and salt and pepper.  Then I deep fried them too.  After that I fried up a lot of small diced potatoes in olive oil and that dark red vinegar till they were all brown.  Then I did the onions the same way, oh and the garlic too but only after the onions were glassy.  I kept tasting and adding stuff after that like those green things that taste woodsy.  Then I made a sauce out of the liver scrapin's .  That was the last thing I did, because the liver was done so fast and I didn't want it to get cold.  Oh and I scraped a lemon and orange on top with the Mozzarella cheese bits."  Sal sat there rinsing the bucket full of fish in awed wonder. 

"Did you say onion powder cheese flour?" 

"Yessir, I used almost half the jar.  It's the dry grated stuff you shake on spaghetti"  They loaded the boat back into the Woody and Sal took him home.

 

"I'll cook the fish tomorrow Donald"  " Be in early we'll do a Boston breakfast for the crew,"  The hour and a half drive to the North End was spent cooking liver and tripper in his mind.  He was going to have to tip that damned butcher for being so inept.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Sel Whiteley]

An everyday scene depicted with seamlessly, with skill and awesome power. Whilst this has your trademark affinity for nature:

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, well not silence, the croaking frogs and singing crickets were back ground music.

It also shows an affinity for more: cooking and people. You show how the scouse just throw everything together. I can relate to that cause it was my mum does. You capture the idea of the restaurant where you are the waiter brilliantly. It is the small details that really make the piece, I've done waitressing so I know about this sort of work. You depict filmically the idea of the man cooking. If I'm not mistaken, it shows that cooking is yet one more thing you have an affinity for. The unavoidable waste of that sauce by its pollution with bleach is also well-drawn. It really creates suspense. What will happen to Donald? The unthinking selfishness of the customer asking the boy to cook when he obviously isn't trained to do so. You seem to paint a picture of people taking advantage but this is seemingly changed by going fishing.

The characterisation is superb. You get the idea of this gangster like man, perhaps even Mafioso, but also his vulnerability. I also love how switch to the idea of a poor domestic life with the really trouble wife. It's powerfully drawn. This is a brilliant piece of prose. I love it!

[JohnL]

I enjoyed this delicate exploration of a developing relationship between a man and a boy, each slowly revealing more of himself. in both their described attitudes and in the attitudes that the writing revealed naturally and quite subtly.
As Gabriella noted, I thought the setting out and paragraphing could be better but I'm sure this is only a draft. This would stand in its own right as a short story - with a bit of polishing perhaps, but does offer potential to expand - your choice.

[Gabriella]

I'm assuming this isn't finished yet, but it's pretty descriptive for a first draft. At parts I don't really know who you're talking about, like at the start of your third and fifth paragraphs. Also, this would be easier to read if formatted properly (a new paragraph every time there's a new speaker) but it looks like a really good start to something. Good luck.