Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [15]
As always, my grandfather came to my rescue and drew me onto his lap.
“She didn’t have to hit me, Nonno.”
“She’s upset, Anna. Everybody love your Big Nanny, but most of all your nanny.”
I watched Nanny take something from her vinyl purse. She unwrapped a small religious medal, kissed it, and placed it under the pillow that held Big Nanny’s head. For the first time ever, I saw my grandmother cry.
A month later I sat at my alphabetically arranged school desk. Mrs. Robinson handed out the new Weekly Reader. The president’s picture was on the cover and the headline was HERO. I taped the card from the funeral parlor to my Weekly Reader. At the top of the card was the Blessed Virgin Mary with outstretched arms. Underneath Mary’s robes of heavenly blue was printed, GIOVANNA COSTA SIENA 1873–1963.
PART TWO
NEW YORK, NEW YORK 1901–1902
FOUR
Nunzio stood at the prow of the ferry with the throng of new immigrants released from Ellis Island. The ferry rocked as it approached the dock in Battery Park, where Nunzio could see a huge crowd of people waiting. Moments earlier, he’d overheard one of the ferry operators say, “You can always tell when we’re releasing eye-talians. There’s five of them at the gate for every one off the boat.”
The boat bumped up against the dock, and both crowds roared. The searching for familiar faces began even before the first person disembarked. The passengers gripped bags and lifted children, nervously inventorying their families and luggage as they jostled forward through the ferry gate as one. Within seconds, people were being hoisted into the air, embraced, and patted on the back. There was uncontrolled weeping and laughing. When all had disembarked, the crowd became a knot of humanity—relatives weaving in and out in search of loved ones, or padrones looking for fresh recruits for the mines and farms. At Ellis Island, Nunzio had been handed a pamphlet warning him of the swindlers that would greet them at the Battery and how much to expect to pay in rent or for a carriage ride. Watching the solicitors swarm the crowd, he wondered what would happen to those who couldn’t read or who hadn’t heard.
With most of the crowd dispersed, Nunzio continued squinting into the sun, looking for Lorenzo. He was trying hard not to be distracted by the tall buildings in the distance. Finally, one hundred yards away he saw a man running, carrying a child with one arm and holding the hand of a small woman with the other. Another child held onto the mother’s skirt and struggled to keep up. He couldn’t see his face, but he hadn’t forgotten that Lorenzo ran like a goat.
Lorenzo reached him, breathless, and caught him in an embrace. “The walk was longer than I remembered. I’m sorry, brother.” He kissed Nunzio’s cheeks. Nunzio had not yet heard Lorenzo call him brother. Lorenzo had always called him cousin, but after Nunzio and Giovanna married, Lorenzo’s letters began to refer to him as “mio fratello.” Seeing Lorenzo made Nunzio miss Giovanna even more. He hadn’t counted on Lorenzo being a constant reminder of his wife. Lorenzo too had smooth, clear skin and was tall and straight, but his face didn’t hold the conviction of Giovanna’s—it was more relaxed.
Lorenzo stepped back. “Teresa, this is my brother, Nunzio Pontillo. Nunzio, this is my wife, Teresa, and my children, Domenico and Concetta.”
Nunzio bent to kiss Teresa and lifted Concetta from the ground as she wiggled back to her mother. He took off Domenico’s cap and tousled his hair.
“Thick hair like your father’s. Are you as strong as your father?” Nunzio asked.
Domenico put up his fists and pummeled Nunzio’s legs. “Ah, stronger! How old are you, big boy?”
“Seven.” Domenico punctuated his age by making a muscle.
Laughing, they gathered the bags and turned to begin their trek to Elizabeth Street.