The Wine of Youth by John Fante Page A

Coletta sat with her chin high, a brave smile on her lips. Once she opened her purse, drew out a pack of cigarettes, considered them momentarily, and closed the purse with a resigned snap. We felt sorry for Coletta. Mamma’s taciturn revolt was an attack upon her, and she seemed so alone, like an injured beautiful bird. We were ashamed of Mamma’s cruelty. We pitied Papa, who kept breaking the silence with pathetic outbursts such as “Swell dinner!” and “Boy, what food!” and “Best meal I ever had.” As for Dino, he ate with the appetite of a little pig.
    As he finished the last of his cake, Mamma gathered the soiled dishes. Dino rose to help her.
    â€œPlease, Dino,” Mamma said, “don’t trouble yourself.”
    â€œAh, Maria,” Dino said, “to do this is little enough after such exquisite food.”
    Papa winked at Coletta.
    â€œSo! It’s not enough that you refuse to sit next to the guest of honor. Now you want to leave her with me while you help my wife with a pile of dirty dishes!”
    â€œPerhaps we could all help, “Dino said.
    â€œOf course!” Coletta agreed, standing up.
    But Mamma wouldn’t have it. Plainly, she wanted no part of Coletta Drigo in her kitchen. The argument ended with Mamma and Clara doing the work, the rest of us gathering in the front room. Coletta slid her hands beneath her hips, smoothing back her dress as she sat in the middle of the divan. Leaning back, she sighed. Papa thumped himself down beside her. We sprawled on the carpet in the middle of the room, lying on our stomachs and gazing at the beautiful woman. She had crossed her legs, and her silken knees were like golden oranges. We stared in wonder and delight. Hugo cocked his head and lifted his ears. On the other side of the room, over in the corner, Dino had found a rocker. Lighting a cigar, he sent the smoke thinly from the corner of his mouth.
    â€œWhat you doing ’way over there, Dino?” Papa said. “Why can’t you be a gentleman and sit on the other side of Coletta?”
    Dino looked at the cigar, uncertain of himself.
    â€œI just know Dino doesn’t like me,” Coletta said. “I’ve felt it all evening long.”
    It stabbed Dino deeply. He rose, his two hands clutched at his chest, and said: “Forgive me, Signorina. I am so rude. I am not aware of these social niceties. You see, I am not often in the presence of one so lovely as yourself. It will be an honor to sit beside you, if you allow it.”
    She nodded sweetly and he sat down, frightened and ready for anything.
    â€œHe’s right, Coletta,” Papa said. “He’s telling you the truth. He doesn’t know a damn thing about women.”
    All at once Papa grew very friendly. He spread himself full length, crossed his feet, and raised both arms to the back of the divan. As if by accident his right arm fell across Coletta’s smooth shoulders, but he didn’t take it away, and his palm covered the rounded softness and he squeezed gently.
    â€œDid you ever hear the one about the iceman and the woman who was taking a bath?”
    â€œNo,” Coletta said. “Please tell it.”
    Papa shifted his cigar. “Well, this woman was taking a bath.’Course she was all undressed, and she heard the ice truck, and she remembered she didn’t put out the ice card. So she ran downstairs, naked, to put the card in the window, and when she got there she heard somebody coming, and she thought it was the iceman. So she jumped in the closet, and she didn’t have a thing on. But it wasn’t the iceman at all. It was the meterman to read the meter, and he opened the door, and there she was, stark naked, and she said: ‘Oh! I thought you was the iceman.’”
    Coletta laughed, hiding her face. Dino sat with his arms folded, smiling; it was plain he didn’t understand the story, and neither did we. Papa thought of