Alligator Bayou - Donna Jo Napoli [34]
It’s funny, because I think of Francesco as strong and blustery. But the way he squared his shoulders just now, I can tell he’s trying to be brave.
We watch him disappear into the throng and I sense my uncles’ spirits flag. They’ll feel worse when I leave, too. Where is Patricia?
“Hi, stranger.” A hand clamps down on my shoulder. It’s Charles.
Rock is beside him. He clamps a hand on Cirone’s shoulder. “Hey, Dancer.”
Cirone smiles slow, almost shy. “Hi.”
“Your foot all right?”
“Fine,” says Cirone. “It was fine the next day.”
“Ben said it: you got spirit, Dancer. He off playing the graduate, by the way,” Charles says to me, as though I’d asked. “Y’all see the seat of his pants?”
“No,” I say. I don’t understand the question.
“Big and round. Someone put a throne back there.” Charles laughs.
I look at Rock for an explanation.
“Ben shaking hands with everyone, like some king,” says Rock.
Charles kicks the dirt. “The graduate. I be doing it in another couple of years.”
“I’ll shake King Ben’s hand,” I say.
“Shake it now,” says Charles. “Come with us.” He leads the way.
“No,” I say.
“Huh?” Charles turns.
“I’m going to stay with my uncles awhile.”
Rock glances over at Giuseppe and Carlo and Rosario. They’re standing in a row with their hands folded in front of their bellies, looking vaguely stunned. Rock nods to me. “See y’all later.”
“I’ll come,” says Cirone, not shy at all.
The three of them leave. Cirone abandoned me. But, hey, if I’d seen Patricia by now, I’d have left him behind, too.
Rosario sidles up to me. “Looking for someone?” He winks. “Patricia,” he sings very very softly right into my ear. “Patricia, Patricia.”
My cheeks go hot. Thank heavens the others can’t hear. “She’s just a friend.”
“I’ve seen how you are with her,” whispers Rosario. “I felt like that about a girl back in New Orleans.” Before I can protest, he jerks his chin. “Look! Joe Evans. Come on.”
“You don’t speak English any better than us,” says Giuseppe.
“Like Francesco says, we eat and smile. Come on.”
“Not me,” says Carlo.
Rosario leaves. Giuseppe rubs the back of his neck, then trails after him.
It’s just Carlo and me.
“All that food,” says Carlo. “I’m going to find new recipes. See you later.”
Now I’m alone. Standing here like a dummy.
I follow Carlo. We sample pan-fried catfish, piles of mashed potatoes, green beans with cubes of lard floating in them, collards, black-eyed peas, steamed mustard greens. The whole time my eyes search.
There she is. Two tables up. Patricia digs a spoon into a pie. It’s been so long, I feel I hardly remember her. She’s beautiful. I move along, winding around people. But by the time I get there, she’s disappeared.
So has Carlo.
Well, all right; I’m alone. Time to feast. I taste every meat—muskrat, swamp rabbit, chicken, loggerhead turtle. Is this the turtle that attacked Cirone’s foot?
There’s our ’gator. Everyone’s saying it’s tasty. The beast of that night is long gone. This is just meat. I take a nibble; it wakes my tongue. My tight neck and shoulders finally loosen. Now that I’m not so nervous, I realize I know lots of these people. Mostly the women. They’re servants—I sell them vegetables.
And there’s Patricia again. An old man pulls her into a hug, practically crushing her. Now the old woman beside him is kissing her.
I try to catch her eye.
Ah, the next table holds desserts. One is bread pudding, full of pecans, and oh, sweet Mother of God, that’s it for me. Bread pudding, ah, bread pudding is heaven.
I eat slowly, trying not to feel lost. I see people laughing with my uncles. Just about every time I spy Patricia, she’s laughing with someone, too. She’s got the brightest