Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [109]
The sun was setting, and the electric lights were switched on. The sky began to swirl with color both natural and man-made. Cacophonous music drowned out the pounding of the surf. Rocco once again counted his money. “I have an idea. Before we go home, how about we all go on that Ferris wheel.” The girls hugged him, and Giovanna smiled at the sight of her serious husband having fun.
By the time they got through the long line at the Ferris wheel, the sun had set but the sky was ablaze. It didn’t seem possible that in darkness there could be so much light. The attendants opened the door to the car, which could have fit twenty people, but closed it after the family of six entered. They inched up into the sky as each car was unloaded and refilled, and then, the gigantic wheel began to turn in a slow, continuous motion.
The dancing lights of Luna Park, the view of Dreamland, and the searchlights on the sea left them breathless. Angelina wanted to stay on this Ferris wheel forever and squeezed her eyes shut trying to lock in the memory. When she opened her eyes, she saw her mother smiling at her and her father puffed-up with pride as they circled in the New York night.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” Angelina’s voice trailed off in the salty night air.
THIRTY-ONE
AUGUST 27, 1909
Rocco decided to bring his cart back an hour early to leave time to change for the Feast of Saint Rocco procession. Usually, his name day was the only day of the year he took off, but this year with their troubles, he decided to work.
It was hard maneuvering the cart through the throngs of people—and animals. Sheep were being led through the streets to be raffled off later that night in one of the many backyard celebrations. Because the Sicilians and Calabrians wouldn’t gather together, there were competing holy rituals throughout Little Italy. Nearly any alley would take you to a shrine and backyard fire escapes festooned with decorations. At each shrine, a statue of Saint Rocco, typically owned by the local tavern, along with hundreds of candles and flowers, sat atop a makeshift altar covered in bedsheets.
Rocco had sold most everything he had because people bought more generously on feast days to prepare large meals. So when he was cleaning up, it didn’t take long to notice a piece of paper in his cart. Unfolding it, he saw a drawing of a knife and a black handprint, but also something else—a crude drawing of a Ferris wheel with a car falling into the ocean.
The realization that they had been watching his family out of the neighborhood immobilized Rocco. He was frozen in fear, and for the first time he didn’t immediately rip up a Black Hand threat—and for the first time he wanted to know what it said.
“It says bring the money, five hundred dollars, on Tuesday the twenty-fourth to the Garibaldi statue in Washington Square Park,” read Clement.
“Five hundred dollars! They are crazy!”
“Papa, how did they know we went to Coney Island?”
“How? I don’t know!” Rocco spit. “You trust no one.”
“Maybe we should pay.”
“Pay with what? We don’t have five hundred dollars!”
“If they took the time to follow us to Coney Island, they’re not going to go away.”
“That’s why I’ll kill them.”
“Papa, you’re old…”
“Look at these muscles…”
Clement interrupted, “Papa! These are thugs.”
“Then what, Clement?”
“Give them something until I find out who’s behind this.”
“No! You’re not getting involved! I knew I shouldn’t have shown you this! I want you to go far away! Do you hear me? Even if you go to Pennsylvania and work in those mines.”
“Pop, you still have to decide what to do.”
“I’ll give them something. And if you try to get involved, I’ll kill you myself.”
AUGUST 29, 1909
HIGHLAND, NEW YORK
“How long you going to stay in the woods up here, Lupo?” asked Tommaso.
“It’s not the woods. It’s a cheese farm. Can’t you see that, you jerk?”
“Lupo, you’re not a country boy.”
“Give me the ink and shut your mouth.”
Tommaso pulled a large