Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [38]
“I don’t know why we have to mark them as two races anyway. They’re all eye-talians,” complained the inspector.
“It’s only eye-talians these days,” answered Martin.
The men frightened Giovanna. Had she come this far for there to be a problem?
“At least this one reads and writes.”
The inspector handed Giovanna a pen and indicated she should sign on the line. He then handed Giovanna her papers and motioned for her to go to the staircase marked NEW YORK DETAINED.
“God, she’s big. But good-looking,” Martin called over when Giovanna strode past the desk. “Wonder how she got through alone.”
“A brother and plenty of calluses,” answered the inspector.
Giovanna walked into the swarm of people in front of the staircases. At each staircase was yet another uniformed man, the kind who spoke all the languages, checking their documents. Out of curiosity, Giovanna went to the staircase marked NEW YORK OUTSIDES. The inspector looked at her paper and said in Italian, “No, signora, a woman alone must be picked up. You take that staircase and meet your brother.”
“Where does this one go?”
“To the ferry that takes you to New York.”
“And that one?” Giovanna asked, pointing to the third staircase.
“That is for people taking the railroads. A ferry takes them to the trains in Hoboken.”
Now Giovanna understood all the tears of farewell—people from the same village were splitting up to join relatives or friends in different parts of the country. With no one to say good-bye to, she descended the staircase.
She entered yet another large room with benches around the perimeter. An iron fence from ceiling to floor divided the room. Giovanna couldn’t get to the gate, but she knew those on the other side were here to pick up their friends and family. Was Lorenzo really that close? Another guard told her to take a seat until her number was called. A teenage girl holding a photograph of a young man sat next to her. Giovanna wasn’t normally so nosy, or so friendly, but she wanted to hear her own voice again.
“Is that who is meeting you?”
“Sì, signora. It is my uncle’s nephew. We are to be married.”
“Do you know him?”
“Only from this picture. But I think he’s handsome, don’t you, signora?”
Giovanna nodded.
“What if he doesn’t like me, signora? What if he sends me back on the boat?” Not waiting for an answer, she continued nervously. “My mother told me not to worry, that he used all his money for this ticket and will have no choice, but my sister’s friend, she traveled all the way to l’America and her fiancé wouldn’t take her. She was sent back. She never married. She’s all alone.” The young woman seemed to look at Giovanna for the first time and, noticing her black dress, said, “Oh, I’m sorry, signora.”
Giovanna patted the girl’s leg. “He will like you.”
Hours later, Giovanna was half asleep when she heard number twenty-seven called. Snapping out of her stupor, Giovanna went to the guard who had her trunk at his feet. She helped him open it and he did a cursory inspection of her meager, worn belongings. He motioned for her to go to the door of the gate and hand her papers to the guard. The gate guard announced Giovanna’s name to the crowd. How could he be heard over the din? But she saw the head of someone fighting to get through. When he reached the first few rows of people clinging to the bars of the gate, she could see that it was Lorenzo. While the guard checked Lorenzo’s identification against Giovanna’s papers, Giovanna and Lorenzo locked eyes, saying nothing. The guard noticed the uncommon silence and questioned Giovanna. “You sure this is your brother?”
“Yes, he is my brother,” answered Giovanna. That recognition was all she needed to collapse into Lorenzo’s arms.
PART FOUR
NEW YORK, NEW YORK 1903–1904
TEN
Lorenzo and Giovanna walked up and down the rows of stone markers in the Queens cemetery.
“I know it’s here somewhere,” lamented Lorenzo.
Row upon row of stone markers lay imbedded in the ground, most with only numbers chiseled on them. Giovanna’s heart tightened. How could Nunzio be buried in such