Alligator Bayou - Donna Jo Napoli [71]
I fight and fight till I’m out of the current and back near shore. A bush branch hangs clear into the water. I catch hold and stay there.
In my head I see Carlo’s shoulder jerking; he’s trying so hard, so hard, to free his right hand, to make the sign of the cross. It’s all I can see; my head has room for nothing else. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
Starlight glints off the moving water. And I realize the things hanging all around me aren’t just leaves; they’re closed up damselflies. I fall into a kind of woozy half sleep.
Something screeches behind me on the shore. Then there’s a high-pitched eeeek.
A woodpecker drums away.
I’m shivering. The air is hot, but somehow my body’s losing heat. I don’t know how long I’ve been in the water, but I’m sure at least half the night has passed. I pull myself up by climbing through the bush and I hug the shore as I walk north now. If the dog comes back, the river is close.
North is where Joseph is. Joseph. I’ll find Joseph if I just keep walking. Or he’ll find me. He could shoot an arrow at me again. Or that musket.
Don’t think like that.
I sing inside my head. I sing in Sicilian.
I’m running again. Tiny creatures scatter and bigger ones scurry and I have no idea how far there is left to go. It’s barely dawn, so I can’t see well enough to recognize landmarks and I’m too crazy anyway and I’m crying again and I’m running.
“Pssst.”
I stop.
“Come, friend.”
“Joseph.” I practically fall against him. “Joseph. Help.”
“The Tunica tribe helps orphans.”
The word pierces. I wince. “I have to tell you something.”
“Come sleep.”
“You have to understand. I think they’re chasing me.”
“I heard the baying. They went away.”
“They could come back. Maybe someone saw me. Maybe you’ll be in danger, too.”
“Come sleep.”
“Joseph. They’re like the boys who buried you with stones.”
“Do you think I am afraid? You are wrong. Come, friend. Talk after you sleep.”
We go to his shack and lie down on the earth. I close my eyes. I can’t stop crying. “Joseph?” I whisper.
“I am here, friend.”
“I have to …figure out what to do.”
“You will.”
“No time. They’ll come after me.”
“Did you do something bad?”
“I’m Sicilian.”
“That.”
“My cousin. My uncles.” My words crack. Please, Lord, please let me still have a cousin, uncles. My head throbs as if it would split. “I have to get my … tribe.”
“The Tunica tribe is the friend of the Sicilian tribe.”
“I have to… I have to take them away from here. How far is New York?”
“New York is a terrible place.”
“What do you know?”
“I cross the river to Vicksburg. I go once a month. I read the newspaper.”
“New York …We could work making tunnels. Underground railway.”
“Do you know what a slum is?”
“No.”
“It is where you would live. It is dirty. It is full of disease. And Theodore Roosevelt is the governor. He wants to get rid of Italian slums. He wants to empty them. He does not like Italians.”
“Does anyone in America?”
“The Tunica tribe does.”
“We need work. How long would it take us to get to New York?”
“With much luck it could take weeks.”
“Too far.”
“Too far from what?”
“A girl.”
“A girl. Does she own a bowl with crisscrosses?”
“Yes. I know how to sell greens. We all do.” We. My family. Please, Lord, please. I roll my head side to side. Please. I push myself up on my elbows. “Wait. A whole town of Sicilians. Tangipahoa Parish. Strawberry farmers.”
“A big tribe. That is a good plan. Sleep now.”
I lie back and close my eyes. Cirone. Lord, please. A miracle.
I sleep like the dead.
When I open my eyes, Joseph is gone. The air presses on my chest. The shack is an oven.
I am alone.
Am I? Am I really?
The shakes start in my arms. My chest. My teeth chatter. I squeeze my hands together and try to clench my jaw, but I can’t. I can’t stop the shakes.
Maybe they got away. Just one small miracle,