The apartment leaned against several other equally old apartments which were collectively built around a lovely old square. When to-ing and fro-ing around the Vicoli we would often bump into neighbours, colourful characters who lived just across the square or around the corner. My friend would introduce me to them, have a nice chat and then tell me what he knew about them once we had walked away.
Two characters I will never forget are two eccentric gentleman with past lives I could hardly believe were real. I will call the first gent 'Frank' and his ex-comrade 'Paul.'
Frank was a humble fruit shop owner until one day he was offered a more lucrative employment: robbing banks. He left Italy and joining another two comrades successfully robbed up to 12 banks in Germany without killing or injuring anyone. However one of the trio of thieves was a dangerous unpredictable man, more so then they had predicted. This individual ended up murdering someone in a failed heist and managed to frame poor old Frank for the crime. Frank went to jail for 25 years.
'Wow...I bet he has many stories about jail too horrible to share?!' I asked my friend, but he shook his head.
'No, I asked Frank the same thing, did you hate jail Frank? He laughed and told me it had been the best time of his life.'
Eventually Frank's sentence passed, and on reentering society once again you would think he must have gone through a hard time rebuilding his life. Apparently not. Over the 12 years of robbery he had secured his fortune in safeholds around Europe. Upon leaving jail he simply collected these fortunes, married a girl, and settled down with a family in Genova.
Now at close to 70 he has mostly leisure time. He has set up his close and extended family financially and feels at peace. I saw him myself several times in Genova, jovially shuffling around with African immigrants on the backstreets of the square I didn't like walking down by myself at night. He always had a joke on the tip of his tongue and a permanently amused expression on his face as if perpetually listening to a joke. He struck me as a man who loves the working class, a bit of a robin Hood character, almost a rogue. And my impressions were proven to be correct...
It was my last afternoon in Genova with my adopted family. Very soon my new hosts in Lucca would be coming to collect me and take me to Tuscany with them. Realising that this may be my last chance to express my gratitude to this family for taking me in, I raced out in order to buy some thank you flowers and a cake for the family to share that night. I was wearing a reasonably, but not scandalously, short skirt when I flew down that back lane, a short cut to the flowershop my destination. Sitting there as usual on an upturned milkcrate, holding court with his many immigrant friends, Frank piped out a long provocative whistle as I flashed past, skirt swishing. His companions geed him on, chortling and offering me Italian compliments in thick north African accents. Affronted as I usually am by intrusive street comments, for a second I wanted to turn around and remind this cheeky Frank who I was, and that I was staying with his good friend and neighbour (my friend)! Not just some street lass was I! But I just shook my head, and continued my race to the flowershop, I just didn't have the time.
Frank wears socks and thongs, greying trackpants and a sweater that looks as if it was bought at a local flea market. Furthermore the building his apartment is located in sits above decaying chinese supermarkets and indian owned internet cafes, is completely stripped of paint and badly in need of repair. Basically a very unimposing dump. Apparently though, within Frank has a luxurious and comfortable little pad for he and his wife. My friend once was invited in for a cup of tea and was amazed by what Frank had managed to pull together...just after 12 years robbing banks and a 25 yr stint in jail...one can have quite an elegant nicely furnished home apparently!
After hearing this story I turned to my friend and asked 'What am I doing teaching english then!? Let's just rob a bank like Frank and be done with it!'
So Frank lived down the road from us. Just opposite us though was an equally fascinating man, Paul...who just happened to be one of the two other men Frank would rob banks with (not the mad one who framed Frank). Despite their close proximity the two men no longer speak, having had a fall out many years ago.
Paul was both a tragic and alarming figure. When he was 16, a teen working in a southern Italian bar in his hometown a terrible tragedy changed his life forever. An individual from the mafia burst into the full crowded bar and shot everyone inside...except for Paul who hid cowering behind the bar. Seeing he had missed this young boy, the Mafia attempted to take his life but during the following struggle it was Paul who managed to shoot the ganster first.
The next morning at the break of dawn, without a word to his family the 16 year old Paul bought a train ticket to Spain and fled Italy without packing a single thing. He knew if he stayed he would have ended up dead in a revenge killing sooner or later. In spain he got in contact with a french secret society specialising in reconstructing individuals identities.
They promised him that they could protect him from the Mafia for free by giving him a new name, a new past and a new future: helping him become untraceable. The only catch was...he had to work for them in return for 10 years. He accepted.
For the next ten years Paul worked as an assassin. Of course my first question was what mode of execution did he use?? My friend told me he used gun only. Paul must have thousands of stories but the best one my friend told me was the story of the Samurai sword. Apparently Paul in the depths of his apartment, owns a precious Samurai sword, hundreds of years old, worth thousand and thousands today. He was in Japan on his own mission when he came to know about a murder plot. Taking pity on this good Japanese man he informed the man of his impending death. The next day, sure enough, the attempt on the man's life was made, but the Japanese man was ready and the murderer was caught. To thank Paul for saving his life the man gave him the precious sword that had been in his possession for many years.
Paul married a Colombian woman who he met while travelling South America. Although she has returned for some time to her country he is looking after her daughter who has just had a little baby boy. Nowadays he earns his living primarily by going to various banks around Europe, taking out a loan to 'build a house' but then disappearing from the country without returning the loan. He has four different passports, with four different nationalities and identities. A legacy from his identity changing past.
One day when I was with my Lucca family in the square we bumped into Paul who had just arrived in his car with his step-daughter and step-grandson. It was the first time I had seen this mysterious man. He emerged from the car quite hunched over in the back, clutching a walking cane and wearing a fedora and dark sunglasses. My hostess encouraged me to have a look at the little baby boy who was jut beautiful. His gorgeous skin was so smooth and dark brown, due to his colombian heritage and he had the longest eye lashes of any baby I have ever seen. Looking at this baby staring back at me inquisitively I suddenly thought how weird it was that one day he too would hear the incredible story of his step- grandfather's identity...I wonder if he would think it was as cool as I did!
'You know I think those are the two craziest stories I have ever heard...how do I know they are true?' I asked my friend once he had finished his story. My friend told me I could believe in them because he had seen for himself Paul's precious Samurai Sword.
And so because in Italy it seems anything is possible...so I chose to believe. And that was how I met two bank robbers.
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