Alligator Bayou - Donna Jo Napoli [51]
I put my hand in my pocket.
“Whoa!” shouts one of the boys. “Stop right there. You chunk a rock at us and y’all’ll be sorry. We’ll pitch a fight you ain’t never going to forget.”
I slowly take the nickel out of my pocket and roll it in the street.
The tall bully’s eyes go wide. He lets go of Bedda and chases the nickel.
We run, Cirone and Bedda and me. When I look back, they’re gone.
“That was dumb,” says Cirone in English. “Now they’ll try to get money off us all the time. And we ain’t got a penny to give back to Francesco. Dumb!”
“What would you have done?”
“Same dumb thing you did.”
I laugh, but I’m not happy. “I’ll tell Francesco I lost the penny.”
“Good.”
“If you tell him you stole the limoncello.”
Cirone spits in the street. “He ain’t going to notice the limoncello. Stop whining.”
I’m just jittery because of those bullies. “Why are we speaking English?”
“I’m sick of being Italian, Calogero. I been thinking about it since you read me those newspapers. I been remembering. I can’t stand being different. I can’t stand it no more. I’ve gone my whole life without friends because I was afraid.” He looks down. His bottom lip trembles just the slightest.
All those years before I came, Cirone had no one. I swallow and throw my arm across his skinny bare shoulders.
He shrugs me off and looks me in the face. “Rosario and Carlo and Francesco and Giuseppe, they were like a wall around me. Well, I ain’t staying inside no wall no more. I’m different now. I got friends. And I don’t care who beats me up—I’m keeping them. I’m speaking English outside the house.”
“All right. Me too.”
“I’m going to eat American food every chance I get.”
I love Sicilian food. But this is important. “Me too.”
“I’m going to act American. I’ll become an American citizen.”
“Maybe I will, too.”
Music comes from ahead, from the direction of Patricia’s church. A brass band.
“We can’t take Bedda to the church,” I say.
“We go back home now and we ain’t never going to get out again.”
I take off my shirt without unbuttoning it and slip it over Bedda’s head so that it hangs around her neck. Then I grab on to the shirt so that I’ve got her tight. The buttons won’t hold if she fights me. I pet her, to calm her.
Cirone laughs. “The both of us, half naked. What do you think they’ll do?”
“Guess we’ll find out.” I grin.
The church lawn is filled with people again. Some are at tables. Others have spread tablecloths on the grass and they’re sitting right there on the ground, eating. Some aren’t even using forks. Just picking up food with their fingers and talking and laughing.
“Now that’s a barbecue,” says Cirone. “This is America. Let’s be all-American for one afternoon.”
Patricia walks up the road as though she’s been on the lookout. There’re ribbons in her hair. Red, white, and blue, like the flag. Her legs stick out from under that old flowered dress, strong in the sunlight. I will be American for this girl. I will be anything she wants me to be.
“You sure jar my preserves.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
She laughs. “You came. No shirt. And a goat. But you came.” And she smiles.
Cirone unwraps the limoncello pints. “These are for your family. But you got to put them in the icebox before you drink them.”
Patricia gapes at the bottles. “Liquor? Y’all crazy? Can’t bring no liquor to church.”
Cirone shrugs. “We ain’t got nothing else to bring.”
“Y’all already done contributed two melons. But come on, follow me.” She leads us along the road and around to the far side of the church. There’s a rose trellis running half the length of the wall, covered with red blossoms so thick it looks like a green and red blanket. She disappears behind it and sticks out her hand. “Gimme.”
Patricia stashes those three pints somewhere behind the roses.
Cirone puts on his shirt. “Where’re the boys?”
“Follow the food smell and you’ll find them for sure.”
Cirone sniffs loudly and grins. “See you later.” He takes off.
Patricia puts out her hand again.
I go behind the rose