Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [34]
A crewman walked into their compartment holding a tray and shouting in bad Italian, “The captain sent this for the kids. Happy New Year.” He set the tray, holding a large cake, on a trunk in the center of the compartment. The “3” of “1903” had been cut out, and a bit of the decoration had slid off, but it remained three glorious layers high and covered in pink frosting. The children squealed with delight and pressed forward, trying to get as close to this marvel as possible.
The authority on l’America, Luigi, took control and shouted for everyone to stand back. Taking a knife from his pocket, he cut the cake into squares and placed them into the upraised, cupped hands of the children clamoring around him. When all the children had been served, a small section of the cake remained. The unspoken question became who among the adults would get to enjoy this luxury. After much debate and no consensus, it was somehow decided that everyone would take a crumb, which turned the eating of the cake into something akin to communion.
Giovanna had fallen asleep during the great cake debate and was awoken with a tug.
“Signora, signora, it is the New Year!”
Giovanna squinted down at her young friend and patted her head in greeting.
“Signora, I ate the most wonderful thing. On the top and sides was a cream the color of the roses in the father’s churchyard, and inside, it was soft, like bread, but sweet like biscotti. I closed my eyes when I ate it, and I could see the most beautiful things. It was sunny and clean, and my sister and I had on white dresses and hair ribbons the color of the cream. In my stomach, the torta filled me up and sang songs. And do you know what the best part was, signora? Luigi’s son said that in l’America, they have this cake for breakfast and supper! I am going to love l’America, signora!”
Giovanna smiled, caressed the girl’s face, and rolled over.
“Signora,” the girl was whispering. “Signora!”
Giovanna rolled back over and looked at her.
“I saved you a taste of the cream, signora.” The girl uncupped her hand, and there in the middle of her palm was a dab of pink frosting. “Here, signora,” she said, flicking the frosting onto her finger and holding it up to Giovanna’s mouth.
Giovanna’s first instinct was to shake her head no, but when she looked at the girl’s face, she compliantly licked her finger. The sweetness of the sugar and the girl’s gesture burned Giovanna’s throat.
“Happy New Year, signora,” whispered the girl, smiling.
NINE
When the Lombardia approached New York City’s harbor, everyone scrambled up the metal stairs and packed onto the deck, desperate to catch their first glimpse of their new home. There was a reverent hush as people watched and waited in anticipation. Slowly they saw New York seemingly rise from the sea. Prayers of thanks and animated voices rose in volume as each new detail revealed itself. Someone who had made the trip before pointed to a landmass covered in snow and shouted excitedly, “Itsa Brookalyn!” The message was passed and murmurs of, “Ah Brookalyn!” rippled through the crowd. Giovanna could make out spires on buildings and shivered at the memory of Nunzio’s descriptions of the architectural detail.
The Lombardia sailed closer to New York, and they all got a better look at the large shape holding a torch in the water. “Is that where Columbus is buried?” shouted a man on deck, trying to be heard over the jubilant shouts. “No,” thought Giovanna, remembering Maria Perrino’s mother, “that’s the whore.” The first cries of joy turned into thunderous cheers when the Statue of Liberty came into full view and she was recognized as the American Madonna. Or, in the eyes of those left behind in Italy, the American Scylla on the rock.