the little metal rod against the triangle. Most people walked by quickly, not looking at me. But whenever someone looked, I smiled big, and, more often than not, they dropped a coin in the tin cup.
Tin Pan Alley sat with his back against the nearest lamppost and kept an eye out. If he saw his
padrone
coming, he was going to jump up, throw me my shoes, and grab the triangle. I was supposed to run as fast as I could. And if the
padrone
caught me, I was supposed to tell him I worked for someone else; no padrone would beat a boy who belonged to another. Instead, he'd take whatever I had and send me on my way with a warning.
The very idea of his
padrone
made me queasy. But I didn't want to be alone again that night, and I didn't see any other way of getting four pennies for Gaetano.
Every so often Tin Pan Alley came over and emptied the tin cup. It had to stay close to empty or no one would give.
People ate as they walked along—ugly meat sticks that Tin Pan Alley called wienerwursts—German food. Sometimes the meat was covered in a stinking rotten cabbage. And they ate sandwiches, much smaller than the ones back in the store on Park Street.
The tomato and the orange half had made me hungrier. The sun was hot. The rumble of horses and carts hammered in my head. I felt woozy and smiled weakly at everyone, whether they looked at me or not.
Tin Pan Alley jiggled his cup in my face. “Ninety-eight cents already. You're good at this, and you don't even whistle. Usually it's slow on Saturdays.”
Saturday. It was Saturday. The Sabbath. Jews didn't work on the Sabbath.
But I'd already arranged the fruit. That was work, because the man had paid me.
In fruit, not money. That's not really pay—that's not really work.
And playing music, that wasn't really work, either. It was entertainment. So long as I didn't pocket any of the money. “I'm stopping,” I said.
“You look sick.” Tin Pan Alley counted out nine coins. “Here's your nine cents.”
I shook my head.
“That's half of eighteen,” said Tin Pan Alley, “which is what's left over after I pay my
padrone
. I'm not cheating you. You'd have had to get a whole dollar to earn ten cents.”
“I told you, I can count,” I said.
“So you're trying to cheat me now, is that it? And I thought you were okay. Well, you can't have ten cents. You can't cheat me.”
“I'd never cheat you,” I said. “I keep a promise. Look, how about you do me a four-cent favor.”
“What's that mean?” asked Tin Pan Alley.
“Come with me to Mulberry Street to give a boy four cents.”
“Why don't you give him four cents yourself?”
“I can't.”
“Why not?”
“I don't want to tell you.”
Tin Pan Alley looked at me with troubled eyes.
“Come on, Tin Pan Alley. If you do this, you get to keep my other five cents.”
Tin Pan Alley put the coins back in his pocket. “Let's hurry. If my
padrone
passes and finds I'm missing, he'll be mad.”
I thought of the welts on the neck of the boy who played the harp in Chatham Square. “How often does he come by?”
“Most days not at all. Other days he'll come a few times. But never early in the morning. Besides that, you can't predict. That way he keeps us honest.”
“Mulberry isn't that close,” I said. “It'll take time.”
“I know where Mulberry is.”
“Look, let's not risk trouble with your
padrone
. Just keep the money.”
“What, are you feeling sorry for me? Don't waste your time. I'm going to earn back what my
padrone
paid for my passage over and then I'll find a regular job and I'll send to Italy for my aunt and my cousins on Vico Sedil Capuano. We'll all have the good life.” He started up the road.
Vico Sedil Capuano. I knew that street. Tin Pan Alley's family was practically my neighbor. What had happened to his parents?
“Come on,” he called to me. “A deal's a deal. You think you're the only person in the world who can keep a promise?”
We went to Mulberry Street, to the alley where
Tin Pan Alley sat with his back against the nearest lamppost and kept an eye out. If he saw his
padrone
coming, he was going to jump up, throw me my shoes, and grab the triangle. I was supposed to run as fast as I could. And if the
padrone
caught me, I was supposed to tell him I worked for someone else; no padrone would beat a boy who belonged to another. Instead, he'd take whatever I had and send me on my way with a warning.
The very idea of his
padrone
made me queasy. But I didn't want to be alone again that night, and I didn't see any other way of getting four pennies for Gaetano.
Every so often Tin Pan Alley came over and emptied the tin cup. It had to stay close to empty or no one would give.
People ate as they walked along—ugly meat sticks that Tin Pan Alley called wienerwursts—German food. Sometimes the meat was covered in a stinking rotten cabbage. And they ate sandwiches, much smaller than the ones back in the store on Park Street.
The tomato and the orange half had made me hungrier. The sun was hot. The rumble of horses and carts hammered in my head. I felt woozy and smiled weakly at everyone, whether they looked at me or not.
Tin Pan Alley jiggled his cup in my face. “Ninety-eight cents already. You're good at this, and you don't even whistle. Usually it's slow on Saturdays.”
Saturday. It was Saturday. The Sabbath. Jews didn't work on the Sabbath.
But I'd already arranged the fruit. That was work, because the man had paid me.
In fruit, not money. That's not really pay—that's not really work.
And playing music, that wasn't really work, either. It was entertainment. So long as I didn't pocket any of the money. “I'm stopping,” I said.
“You look sick.” Tin Pan Alley counted out nine coins. “Here's your nine cents.”
I shook my head.
“That's half of eighteen,” said Tin Pan Alley, “which is what's left over after I pay my
padrone
. I'm not cheating you. You'd have had to get a whole dollar to earn ten cents.”
“I told you, I can count,” I said.
“So you're trying to cheat me now, is that it? And I thought you were okay. Well, you can't have ten cents. You can't cheat me.”
“I'd never cheat you,” I said. “I keep a promise. Look, how about you do me a four-cent favor.”
“What's that mean?” asked Tin Pan Alley.
“Come with me to Mulberry Street to give a boy four cents.”
“Why don't you give him four cents yourself?”
“I can't.”
“Why not?”
“I don't want to tell you.”
Tin Pan Alley looked at me with troubled eyes.
“Come on, Tin Pan Alley. If you do this, you get to keep my other five cents.”
Tin Pan Alley put the coins back in his pocket. “Let's hurry. If my
padrone
passes and finds I'm missing, he'll be mad.”
I thought of the welts on the neck of the boy who played the harp in Chatham Square. “How often does he come by?”
“Most days not at all. Other days he'll come a few times. But never early in the morning. Besides that, you can't predict. That way he keeps us honest.”
“Mulberry isn't that close,” I said. “It'll take time.”
“I know where Mulberry is.”
“Look, let's not risk trouble with your
padrone
. Just keep the money.”
“What, are you feeling sorry for me? Don't waste your time. I'm going to earn back what my
padrone
paid for my passage over and then I'll find a regular job and I'll send to Italy for my aunt and my cousins on Vico Sedil Capuano. We'll all have the good life.” He started up the road.
Vico Sedil Capuano. I knew that street. Tin Pan Alley's family was practically my neighbor. What had happened to his parents?
“Come on,” he called to me. “A deal's a deal. You think you're the only person in the world who can keep a promise?”
We went to Mulberry Street, to the alley where
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