to Octavia and left.
“See?” the mother demanded grimly. “That is what I save your brother from.”
Octavia was bewildered.
The mother went on, “A lawyer—ha, ha. They do business with the Black Hand. There was ‘murder’ written all over his face.”
Octavia laughed with pure delight. She said, “Ma, you’re crazy, you really are.” And then she looked at her mother with love and respect. Her mother, a simple peasant, thinking this man a dangerous criminal, had not quailed or shown any fear. In fact, at the beginning she had looked as if she were going after the
Tackeril.
“So now can I go to work tomorrow?” Octavia asked.
“Yes, yes,” Lucia Santa said. “Go to work. Don’t lose a day’s pay. We can’t afford it. People like us will never be rich.”
CHAPTER 5
H OLDING BABY LENA in her arms, Lucia Santa looked out the living room window into the blinding light of the late August morning. The streets were busy with traffic, and directly below her a peddler shouted his arrogant singsong. “Potatoes. Bananas. Spinach. Cheap. Cheap. Cheap.” His wagon was filled with red, brown, green, and yellow square boxes of fruits and vegetables. Lucia Santa might have been staring down at a child’s vivid, blotchy painting on her linoleum floor.
Across in the railroad yards she saw a crowd of people, men and young boys. Thank God Lorenzo was safe in his bed after the night shift, or she would have that terrible stabbing pain, the weakening fear in her legs and bowels. She watched the street intently.
She saw a small boy standing on top of a railroad car, staring down at the people below him. He was walking back and forth, a few steps at a time, quickly and frantically. The sun glinted on a blue rayon shirt laddered white across the chest. It could only be Gino. But what was he doing? What had happened? There were no engines near the car. He could not possibly be in danger.
Lucia Santa felt that power, that almost godlike sense of knowledge women feel looking down from windows at their children playing, observing and themselves unobserved. Like the legend of God peering out of a cloud at human children too engrossed to glance upward and catch him.
There was a glint of shiny black leather as the uniformed railroad policeman went up the ladder of the freight car, and the mother understood. She rushed into the bedroom and shouted, “Lorenzo, wake up. Hurry.” She shook him. She gave her voice an urgent shrillness that would make him jump. Larry came bounding out of bed, all hairy chest and legs and BVDs, indecent to any woman but a mother, his hair tousled, his face greasy with the sweat of summer sleep. He followed his mother to the living room window. They were just in time to see Gino jump from the top of the railroad car to escape the Bull, who had climbed up to get him. They saw him grabbed by another black-uniformed Bull, who waited on the ground. When Gino dropped through the air, the mother let out a scream. Larry bawled, “Jesus Christ, how many times I told you make that kid stop stealing ice?” Then he rushed into the bedroom and put on his pants and sneakers and ran down the stairs.
When he came out of the building, his mother was shouting from the window, “Hurry, hurry, they’re killing him.” She had just seen one of the policemen give Gino a cuff on the ear. The whole group was walking toward the shanty on Tenth Avenue. Lucia Santa saw Larry run across the Avenue, rush toward them, and grab Gino’s hand away from the police-man. In that moment she forgave his insults to her at the Le Cinglatas’, forgave his sullen behavior of the last few weeks. He still knew what a brother meant; that there was no obligation more sacred than blood, that it came before country, church, wife, woman, and money. Like God, she watched the sinner redeem himself, and she rejoiced.
Larry Angeluzzi ran across the street like a man rushing to commit murder. He had been pushed around enough. During the
“See?” the mother demanded grimly. “That is what I save your brother from.”
Octavia was bewildered.
The mother went on, “A lawyer—ha, ha. They do business with the Black Hand. There was ‘murder’ written all over his face.”
Octavia laughed with pure delight. She said, “Ma, you’re crazy, you really are.” And then she looked at her mother with love and respect. Her mother, a simple peasant, thinking this man a dangerous criminal, had not quailed or shown any fear. In fact, at the beginning she had looked as if she were going after the
Tackeril.
“So now can I go to work tomorrow?” Octavia asked.
“Yes, yes,” Lucia Santa said. “Go to work. Don’t lose a day’s pay. We can’t afford it. People like us will never be rich.”
CHAPTER 5
H OLDING BABY LENA in her arms, Lucia Santa looked out the living room window into the blinding light of the late August morning. The streets were busy with traffic, and directly below her a peddler shouted his arrogant singsong. “Potatoes. Bananas. Spinach. Cheap. Cheap. Cheap.” His wagon was filled with red, brown, green, and yellow square boxes of fruits and vegetables. Lucia Santa might have been staring down at a child’s vivid, blotchy painting on her linoleum floor.
Across in the railroad yards she saw a crowd of people, men and young boys. Thank God Lorenzo was safe in his bed after the night shift, or she would have that terrible stabbing pain, the weakening fear in her legs and bowels. She watched the street intently.
She saw a small boy standing on top of a railroad car, staring down at the people below him. He was walking back and forth, a few steps at a time, quickly and frantically. The sun glinted on a blue rayon shirt laddered white across the chest. It could only be Gino. But what was he doing? What had happened? There were no engines near the car. He could not possibly be in danger.
Lucia Santa felt that power, that almost godlike sense of knowledge women feel looking down from windows at their children playing, observing and themselves unobserved. Like the legend of God peering out of a cloud at human children too engrossed to glance upward and catch him.
There was a glint of shiny black leather as the uniformed railroad policeman went up the ladder of the freight car, and the mother understood. She rushed into the bedroom and shouted, “Lorenzo, wake up. Hurry.” She shook him. She gave her voice an urgent shrillness that would make him jump. Larry came bounding out of bed, all hairy chest and legs and BVDs, indecent to any woman but a mother, his hair tousled, his face greasy with the sweat of summer sleep. He followed his mother to the living room window. They were just in time to see Gino jump from the top of the railroad car to escape the Bull, who had climbed up to get him. They saw him grabbed by another black-uniformed Bull, who waited on the ground. When Gino dropped through the air, the mother let out a scream. Larry bawled, “Jesus Christ, how many times I told you make that kid stop stealing ice?” Then he rushed into the bedroom and put on his pants and sneakers and ran down the stairs.
When he came out of the building, his mother was shouting from the window, “Hurry, hurry, they’re killing him.” She had just seen one of the policemen give Gino a cuff on the ear. The whole group was walking toward the shanty on Tenth Avenue. Lucia Santa saw Larry run across the Avenue, rush toward them, and grab Gino’s hand away from the police-man. In that moment she forgave his insults to her at the Le Cinglatas’, forgave his sullen behavior of the last few weeks. He still knew what a brother meant; that there was no obligation more sacred than blood, that it came before country, church, wife, woman, and money. Like God, she watched the sinner redeem himself, and she rejoiced.
Larry Angeluzzi ran across the street like a man rushing to commit murder. He had been pushed around enough. During the
Similar Books
