Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [29]
Domenico and Giovanna continued their vigil, seated in chairs that wobbled on the uneven cobblestones. Domenico would lean forward looking down the narrow street each time he heard footsteps or hooves approaching. The Scalici family came by with food and placed it in their laps. They then left plates inside on the table for Concetta and Marianna, who remained on their knees beseeching the saints to intervene.
In the late afternoon the sunlight made the leaves of the olive trees flash silver and the ripples in the sea glitter gold. Domenico and Giovanna were equally oblivious to the light and to the untouched food on their laps. When they heard the sound of gentle footsteps approaching, Domenico did not need to lean and look. Telegraphs were delivered by boys with gentle, purposeful footsteps. The telegraph boy came around the bend holding a paper trimmed in black. Notices of death were trimmed in black. A gang of children respectfully followed ten yards behind him, waiting to run home and tell their mothers the news. The young messenger gave the paper to Domenico, but only Giovanna could read.
“I am sorry, Giovanna,” Domenico said, crying, handing her the telegraph.
Moving for the first time, she took the paper from her father, but instead of reading it, she crumpled the paper and handed it to the boy. The telegraph boy was flustered. He would be punished if the message wasn’t delivered.
Domenico motioned for the boy to read it. He flattened the paper with his palm against his leg, and in a halting falsetto the boy delivered the news they already mourned. “With great sorrow stop Nunzio killed in accident stop I will bury him in New York stop Lord have mercy stop Lorenzo.”
Concetta, Marianna, and Fortunata had ceased praying but remained on their knees inside the house, listening to the boy read their sorrow. Marianna collapsed into Concetta’s and Fortunata’s arms with thunderous wails when he read “Lord have mercy.” Little Antonio, frightened by the sobbing, buried himself in his mother’s skirts. Tears flowed down Domenico’s cheeks. Nothing flowed from Giovanna. Nothing.
The pots on the terrace of the Costa house were barren. It was late October, and an early frost had killed the last of the vegetables and herbs, but Giovanna scraped at the potted soil, trying to find even one remaining sprout she could nurture back to life. Giovanna was on her knees when Concetta passed the door to the terrace and stopped to stare at her daughter. For Concetta, Giovanna’s state of mind had become as heartbreaking as Nunzio’s death.
It had been nearly two months, and Giovanna still had not spoken a word. She spent her hours staring silently at the sea, gardening, or doing chores in the house. The first time Giovanna had been called to deliver a baby after Nunzio’s death, she simply shook her head and retreated inside the house. Signora Scalici traipsed the town, exhausted from the burden of being Scilla’s only midwife.
Giovanna’s silence was the loudest sound Concetta ever had to endure, and now, watching her once proud, strong daughter futilely digging in the dirt, Concetta snapped. She ran out the door to Giovanna and pulled her to her feet.
“Stop it! Basta! There is nothing there!”
Giovanna bent to resume her scraping, and Concetta pulled her up again and violently shook her shoulders.
“Do you think you’re the only woman to lose a husband?” Giovanna tried to wriggle free of Concetta’s grip but was rendered motionless when her mother’s hand hit her face with a loud slap. “Talk to me!”
The sight of Giovanna’s vacant stare in reply defeated Concetta, and she collapsed, sobbing. Only then did Giovanna’s face register any emotion, and she tenderly picked up her mother, wiping her tears.
“There’s unfinished business,” pronounced Zia Antoinette, Concetta’s eighty-year-old aunt, who was the town expert in all matters pertaining to the evil eye.