THIS WAS MY LIFE

“How did I get here?” That’s a long story, but I got all the time to tell you whilst I wait for the priest.

Okay, my name is Vincenzo. Vincenzo Brambilla. If someone had told me 11 years ago, I’d turn out this way; I’d laugh to their face.

I was born and grew up in Bologna, Italy- in a town called Dozza. Dozza is a beautiful city which houses the famous Rocca Sforzesca Castle. We had a lot of tourists visit Dozza to see the Castle. My Pa was an auto mechanic for Al Capone when he visited Italy, and Ma was a tailor; no, she did not make clothes for Al Capone. She made clothes for women. We were poor; Pa was rich because they always overpaid him for his services - someone got to clean the money. But Pa never used the money, he called it blood money, but I saw no bloodstains on the money. Pa would Keep the cash and keep a record of it in a small black notebook. I never really knew what he documented or if It had Capone’s name on it and his associates. He kept the book with him at all times. Even in his sleep, he’d sleep on the book.

This story is not about Pa or Al Capone, it’s about me, but I have to let you know my past to understand my future. My present isn’t all that necessary. Pa died when I was 18 years old, and we had no money to pay for his funeral. Ma and I searched all over the house for the black book because there were no secret doors or boxes where Pa kept his overpayment from Al Capone. We finally buried him in an old used brown bathtub, befitting for a man like Pa. Ma and I moved to America after his funeral.

Life was not the best for Ma and me. Ma could barely speak English, and I learned English from American TV shows in Italy, so I sounded almost fluent; some might say I had an American accent. I followed in Pa’s footsteps, repairing company vehicles for a fortune 500 computer software company. I was the workshop’s youngest employee, and I didn’t have a college education, just grit and knowledge from seeing Pa at his shop.

On the sidewalk of Kings Highway and 78th street, at a newspaper stand, I saw on the first page of The Brooklyn Newspaper, a photo of a man who found a black notebook and $20,000 dug up in the backyard of my home in Italy- the story was titled Good Fortune meets Family. They lost their home in a wildfire. I called in sick to work, bought a copy, and went back home. I wanted to know how they found the small black notebook and the money. The story read:

Alfonzo and Marie Berlusconi moved into the home after their previous house was burned down by a wildfire last spring. The couple used their life savings to purchase their new home, completely abandoned and near demolition. Alfonzo stated (translated in English), “we made plans to put new grass in the backyard, but first, we had to take out the previous grass bed. I heard from the neighbours that the property previously belonged to a Mechanic, but it was abandoned after his death, and he had no next of kin. I went to get tools from the shed. I wanted to get a rake; it was hung on the left of the shed and was hidden between a rusted metal bucket. The bucket had seen better days. I reached over to get the rake when the bucket fell; I looked over to pick the bucket when I saw a small black notebook attached to the inside of the bucket. It was weird. I opened the book and saw a painting of the backyard, at least what it should look like, in the painting was the fountain in the middle of the yard- my wife and I love the fountain- I looked closely at the painting, the fountained had a rectangular shape on it and a ‘$’ drawn on the rectangle. To cut the story short, my wife and I broke the fountain. That’s where we found the cash hidden in a box. $20,000 in $100 note wrapped 20 pieces in a band. There were ten bands. We put it in the local newspapers, but no one claimed it. We are so lucky; we found the money. It gave us a fresh start. It was a much-needed blessing after the year we’ve had”- Alfonzo Berlusconi

I booked a flight to Italy the next day. I planned on explaining to Mr Berlusconi that the $20,000 belonged to my father and I will need him to repay the money. That was the plan. What I did not know on my way there was that Mr Berlusconi was a stubborn older man. The streets in Dozza looked different, felt different. I felt like a tourist in my hometown; I felt like an aquarium fish released into the ocean. I had no footing in Dozza. I arrived at my old house; Mr Berlusconi had refurbished the house. He replaced the dark grey fence with a pink wood rail fence. My old house was a run-down bungalow; broken window glasses, a leaking roof, a cracked walkway, and uncut grass at the front of the house. He pimped the house.

Everything was brand new, and the grass could pass off for real grass. I rang the doorbell, introduced myself to Marie – Marie had a vague resemblance to Ma; she is a tan, small woman with freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her eyes lit up when she heard I was a reporter from America and was interested in knowing her Family’s story. She welcomed me into the home and advised me to take my shoes off as she had just finished polishing the wooden floors and did not want shoe prints on the floor. She called out to Alfonzo. Alfonzo came down, wearing a blue floral buttoned shirt and red shorts with a white mule shoe. He was chubby and a little taller than Marie. Alfonzo beckoned to Marie to get drinks for us. Marie got the drinks in a transparent glass bottle and three gin glasses. We talked about America for a while and went into their good fortune. Amid the conversation, I revealed my identity to them as the rightful owner of the money and the little black notebook. I pleaded with them to refund the money and book to me. Alfonzo disagreed with me because no one came to claim it when he put an ad for the money.

Alfonzo became erratic. He pulled a gun out, threatened to shoot me if I did not leave his property. Whilst leaving, I turned back and said, “I will be back with the police if you don’t refund the money.” Alfonzo fired a blank shot at me; the blank hit the flower vase on the table by the door. That’s where I blacked out. I regained consciousness to find Alfonzo’s head smashed open, and I was holding the murder weapon. I was arrested and charged with first-degree murder and sentenced to the death roll. Marie testified in court that after Alfonzo shot at me, I picked up the umbrella at the coat stand, charged at him and hit his head several times with it. He died at the scene. I don’t remember that.

I will be meeting Pa in an hour.