Alligator Bayou - Donna Jo Napoli [50]
“We’ve got cold limoncello back at the house,” says Carlo.
“Ice cream is what you eat on the Fourth of July,” says Cirone.
“Like you know all about it,” says Rosario.
“My friends told me.”
And I’m scanning my memory. Charles and Ben and Rock—they never said anything about ice cream in front of me. What’s Cirone talking about?
“Ice cream would go down easy in this heat,” says Francesco. “I’d like some.”
“No, I mean just Calogero and me. Can we go? It’s a holiday for everyone in the whole country. Let us go get ice cream.”
“Go on,” says Francesco. “Here.” He takes a nickel out of his pocket. “Have fun. And bring back a penny.”
I take the nickel.
Cirone glances at me sideways. But I don’t get why.
We walk toward town. There’s music coming from somewhere near Depot Street. But once we’re out of sight of the men, Cirone turns off the path.
“Where are you going?”
“The church,” says Cirone in English. “The ice cream saloon is closed, anyway. Everything closes on the Fourth of July.”
“You’ll get in trouble with Rosario,” I answer in English. “And I’ll get in worse trouble with Francesco.”
“They told us to go have fun. They didn’t tell us not to go to the church.”
“Are you crazy? We both know what they meant. And they know we know it. Besides, you said we were going for ice cream.”
“There’ll be ice cream at the church. All we have to do is eat some and we can answer—we went out for ice cream.” Cirone looks at me in disgust. “By the way, Mister Pocket-the-Money, what happened to the four pennies Francesco gave us last time?”
“I spent them.”
“On what?”
“Postage. I didn’t think it would be that much. I sent a birthday present to Rocco. I’m sorry. You can have the four cents this time.”
“You don’t tell anyone we went to the church, and we can share these four cents.”
“All right.” My heart is beating hard. “Maybe we should bring something.”
Cirone stops. “Like what?”
“We didn’t sell all the limoncello pints yesterday.”
“Good thinking.”
We turn again and go to the grocery. It’s locked, of course. But it’s easy to get in through the high rear window. I give Cirone a boost and he’s up and inside fast.
“Here.” He holds a pint out the window.
I take it.
“Here.” He holds out another.
I take it.
“Here.”
“Francesco will notice. Two’s enough.”
“Just take it.”
I do.
He climbs to the window and jumps out onto the ground.
I look around. “We can’t walk through town with bottles in our hands.”
Cirone takes off his shirt and wraps them in it. “It’s too hot for a shirt, anyway.”
Nee-haw. Bedda peeks around the grocery corner and bolts over to greet us.
“You are such a bother.” I push Bedda in the side. “Go on home.”
We walk and she follows.
“Don’t look back,” I say. “She’ll go away if we don’t look at her.”
But she doesn’t go away.
“We can’t go to a picnic with a goat. Here, hold these.” Cirone hands me the bundle of limoncello pints. He races at Bedda shouting, “Via, via—away!”
“Well, look who’s here.” Three boys come down the street. It’s the bullies. The one who just spoke is the one who kicked my cap from my hand.
“With a goat this time.”
“She’s probably their girlfriend.”
They laugh.
Cirone backs up till he’s half behind me.
Bedda follows him, but the tallest bully quick catches her around the neck. She bucks. He’s big and strong, though; he holds on. “Want your girlfriend back, boys?”
“What are you ready to do to get your girlfriend back? Huh?” says another bully. “Y’all going to shoot us?”
“Yeah. We know about that noisy one. The liar who runs the grocery store. He shot a little darkie boy just for stealing a watermelon.”
They’ve got it all wrong. Francesco didn’t shoot Jerome the Thief. Giuseppe just went “bang” with his finger.
“And that other one—the one who don’t speak any English at all. He shot the old soldier from Milliken’s Bend. He shot a white man!”
Who’s spreading these lies?
“No gun today, boys?” says the one holding Bedda. “Well, if you want her back, you