Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [51]
“Mariano,” thought Giovanna.
“…the bottom gave a lurch westward, carrying away all the screw logs and laying all the jacks in that direction, and fell with a crash on the concrete bed just two feet and a half west from where it would have laid had the lowering been carried on as intended.”
Giovanna could hear no more of her husband’s death in this foreign place. She had already dug her nails into the polished wood of the table.
“Enough, Domenico. Just copy the sentences.” Giovanna got up and paced the perimeter of the room. Her pacing made Domenico nervous. Once, his father had taken Concetta and him to the menagerie in the big park past the Columbus statue and he had watched in fear as a huge striped cat circled his cage without stopping. He looked up and saw the same dazed look in his aunt’s eyes as she moved around the room. He copied the rest of the article as quickly as he could.
When at last he finished, Domenico couldn’t keep up with his aunt as they made their way through the stacks of books; she was practically running. They sped past the woman at the desk, who tried not to show her interest. When they hit the sidewalk, Giovanna seemed to go even faster. Within minutes they were at Elizabeth Street.
“You go up, Domenico. I must see Signora LaManna.” Before Domenico could say good-bye, his aunt was gone.
The moment Giovanna saw Lucrezia, all the bottled-up emotion spilled out into torrents of tears and sobs. When her tears were spent, Giovanna produced Domenico’s thick lead scrawl and made espresso while Lucrezia sat at her desk and read.
A few espressos later, Lucrezia removed her glasses and looked up. “Giovanna, I think you should go to a lawyer.”
Giovanna waited for an explanation.
“Did Domenico read this to you?”
“As best he could.”
“Well, I will read it to you.”
The reading and translation went much more quickly with Lucrezia, but it still took a long time. In the comfort of Lucrezia’s home, Giovanna cried softly throughout.
“Giovanna, it reports that the superintendent was arrested. That act alone points to the fact that something was terribly wrong. It even quotes an engineer saying the jacks did not afford the necessary protection! They talk about an investigation. Are you sure there weren’t any further articles about the accident?”
“Yes, the anarchist helped.”
Lucrezia ignored the mistake and continued. “Giovanna, Brooklyn Union Gas is a big, important American company. I asked my husband to check, which he did reluctantly. It is run by James Jourdan, a Civil War general, and William Rockefeller is on the board of directors. It would be in Italy like having Garibaldi and King Umberto running the company.”
Giovanna said nothing. Lucrezia went on, “Did they give you any money when Nunzio died?”
“Yes, a little. Lorenzo used it for his burial.”
“Did he sign anything?”
“No. But I still don’t understand why you say I should go to a lawyer.”
“Because I think this company, or the construction company, made mistakes that led to your husband’s death. They’re responsible, but because they are so powerful, there has been no further investigation.”
“But what can I do? I speak no English!”
“These companies count on you doing nothing! Without a family crying injustice, it’s easy to divert a reporter.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“Get a lawyer and sue them for the death of your husband.”
Giovanna was silent.
“They are using Italians like donkeys to build New York. If they lose a few it doesn’t matter. They can always get a new ass.”
The harshness of Lucrezia’s words set her pacing—stress and New York City’s confined spaces had turned Giovanna’s pacing into a habit. It was hard enough when Lucrezia spoke of Nunzio’s accident in personal terms; making it political overwhelmed her completely. But what was she hoping to accomplish with all her questions anyway? She wanted justice. But what would justice be?
Her thoughts did not go much further. A woman was at the door announcing that her sister had gone into labor.
Lucrezia gathered up her things.