The Witch of Little Italy by Suzanne Palmieri Page A

bodies moving back and forth, the force of the air pressing them together. He stopped and took her face in his hands, the streetlights washing the park in artificial light glowing against her green eyes. He pulled her face to his and kissed her. His warm mouth reminded her of the ache she felt for him all those years ago. The rightness. The kiss that softly expresses wanting to be as close as two people can be. Not like Cooper’s kisses. The kisses that violently established ownership and left her mouth bruised and invaded. Elly felt that blackness begin to fill up with something else. Something real and familiar. Feels like I’m home  …
    *   *   *
    Back on 170th Street there was a rush to get Sunday dinner on the table and Anthony was sent out for loaves of bread. Elly, lost in the fuss, found herself alone. She wandered through the building, through the front hall that narrowed and then became the back hall. Up the staircase that split the apartment building into an A side and B side. She put her hands on Uncle George’s closed door and tried to remember more of him than just a muttering, smelly old man. But mostly, Elly listened closely for the crying but didn’t hear it. She heard something entirely different but somehow more unnerving. She heard the mystery child laughing. Muffled giggles now paired with echoes of tiny feet running up and down the stairs and in and out of closed doors.
    At dinner, in between courses of steaming pasta, meatballs made with friselles (pepper biscuits), and tender asparagus quickly sautéed in olive oil and tossed with salt, there was a lively discussion about the mystery voice.
    “Laughing now? The kid isn’t crying anymore, it’s laughing?” asked Mimi.
    “Yeah. And it’s just as creepy as it is curious,” she said to Mimi at the table.
    “Maybe it’s Zelda,” Fee yelled.
    “No, we’ve already decided it isn’t Zelda,” said Mimi.
    “How can you be sure?” asked Anthony.
    “I guess I can’t be sure,” said Elly, stuffing another mouthful of pasta in her mouth. She’d never had a meal that tasted so—right. It was made with a special ingredient, or so the aunts had said. Strawberry leaves sautéed with olive oil, garlic, and other greens and mixed with chicken stock. Then tossed with the homemade pasta.
    “Have you seen it? Is it a boy or a girl?” asked Mimi.
    “No, I haven’t seen it. And I can’t tell the gender by the voice,” said Elly. Then she threw her napkin on the table in frustration. “And see, this is crazy. You’re all supposed to be telling me it’s in my head.”
    Itsy scribbled quickly, showing Elly her words. They exchanged smiles.
    “What did she say?” asked Anthony.
    “ It’s in your head. See, at least one of you is sane.”
    Itsy nodded and grunted out in raspy agreement with herself.
    “This pasta is so good, Mimi! What’s it for again?” asked Elly, reaching for the large ceramic bowl in the middle of the table. It always seemed full, she noticed. As if five people hadn’t already eaten their fair share.
    “Strawberry leaves,” said Mimi. “It’s good for the baby, that’s all you have to know.” And it was all Elly wanted to know—because someone caring about her, cooking for her, keeping her safe … these feelings were magical enough. She didn’t need to know any recipes. Not just yet.

 
    9
    Elly and Liz
     
    That night, when all the pots and pans were cleaned and put away, Mimi brought Elly a fine white nightgown with delicate cutwork around the squared neckline.
    “Mama made them for all of us. Fee and Itsy made this one for you last night.”
    “Last night?” asked Elly, taking the lovely yet sturdy garment from her grandmother’s rough hands. “But it’s so beautiful.”
    “What is it? A sheet with a few fancies, not much. But a girl feels like a girl in one. So wear it and have a good sleep, okay?”
    Mimi was out of the room so fast Elly said goodnight to the door.
    She wasn’t tired. She