Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [116]
“Yeah.”
Angelina stared out the window. In a few minutes they were heading over the Brooklyn Bridge.
“This isn’t the way to my house. This is the way to Coney Island.” Angelina stood up from her seat. “We’re going the wrong way!”
The only two other people on the train looked up at the little girl. The man pulled her back into her seat.
“This is another way. You don’t know this way. Sit down.” He looked at the people and smiled, relieved to hear that they were speaking English. They smiled back. When the train pulled to a stop, Angelina jumped back up.
The man took her arm and pulled her into the seat with a forced smile on his face. He said through gritted teeth, “Stay in this seat.” His voice was tough, his grip firm, and his droopy eye looked even more frightening from below.
Angelina began to cry, and when the doors to the train closed at the stop, her cry turned into a wail.
The two other passengers stared once again, and the man smiled and shrugged, trying to communicate, “What’s a father to do?” This time the passengers didn’t smile back but turned away.
“Look, stop crying. We’ll get off soon and I’ll get you the damn banana.”
“I don’t want a banana. I want to go home!”
With the passenger’s eyes upon them, the man turned to Angelina and, using a sweet tone of voice, said, “If you say another word, or cry again, you’ll never go home.”
The table was piled with meatballs, lasagna, stuffed calamari, eggplant parmigiana, olives, and artichokes. A large number four cut from paper hung from the ceiling. The adults sat around the table, silent. Giovanna stormed out and went upstairs to bang on Limonata’s door. Rocco called to her, “Giovanna, you knocked ten minutes ago. We would hear them come home!” Giovanna, wringing her hands on her apron, walked back downstairs into the apartment. Rocco looked at his wife and said, “Okay, everyone, let’s eat. Call the children. When she gets home, she’ll eat.”
Lorenzo quietly obeyed, taking a plate and filling it with food. Soon the apartment was noisy again as the children bounded up the stairs and hungrily dove on the table. Teresa helped them fix their plates while Giovanna remained in the hall watching the door.
“We’re getting off,” growled the man, grabbing Angelina’s hand. He no longer pretended to be nice—the other two passengers had left the train, and they were alone. She noticed they were leaving the train before she could see Coney Island, but after they had passed most of the houses. Angelina bit her lip. She was trying so hard not to cry; she wanted to go home.
“Where are we going?”
The man didn’t even bother to answer her anymore.
“I can’t walk so fast,” she pleaded, wiping her eyes on her shoulders so he wouldn’t see the tears.
“Are the signora and Carmela going to be here?”
“Yeah. Keep walking.”
At the base of the stairs to the El there was open space in every direction. The man pulled her down the one paved street. Every few hundred feet, a house or store faced the road. That road led to another with even fewer buildings. Two buildings faced each other—a ramshackle wooden house and a small brick office with a sign in the window. The man led her to the door of the house and knocked. A short man answered and hurried them into a small room with a black stove in the middle of the floor. Two women and four children, all smaller than Angelina, stared at her.
“What are we doing here? Who are these people?” asked Angelina, with the tears she couldn’t control streaming down her face again.
The short man ignored her and talked to Limonata’s brother. “Bravo. Any problems, Leo?”
“Idiot!” spat Leo, slapping the man’s face. “What did I tell you about names?”
Angelina became even more frightened. “I want to go home. Take me home,” she screamed, turning her plea to the woman.
The tall man named Leo grabbed her arm. “What I told you on the train is the same here. If you cry, or scream, or don’t listen, you’ll never go home again. You be quiet, forget everything you hear and see, and you