Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [60]
Rocco didn’t really like satire, nor did he understand much of it, but he accompanied his wife because he was content to be with her. In the year since their marriage, he had grown fond of Giovanna. When Teresa and Pasqualina suggested he marry Giovanna, he readily agreed because he had already noticed her in the neighborhood and thought she was certain to be a good mother to his children. Little else entered into the decision. He was pleasantly surprised that, in addition to being all those things, she was a good companion and a good card player.
For Giovanna, the first few months were extremely difficult. She was uncomfortable around Rocco. Unlike Nunzio, he spoke rarely, and unlike her father, who also used words sparingly, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. But he had not interfered in her decisions about how to run her life and home. He only grumbled when she sent Frances back to school and said nothing when she brought Mary with her to visit patients.
Once she conceived, her feelings for Rocco changed. His status rose from “partner” to the more permanent “father of her child.” They now had a bond beyond their marriage license. But sex with Rocco was perfunctory. It was quick, and Giovanna was grateful. And although she enjoyed the warmth that followed intercourse, she looked forward to the final months of her pregnancy when she could abstain and not be questioned.
Farfariello was marching across the stage with an enormous pasted-on mustache, a sash across his chest, and a saber over his shoulder, purloining Italian patriots. Next he became the “Iceman,” “Issaman” to Italian-Americans, singing bawdy Italian folk songs. The audience knew this routine signaled the end of the show and were already on their feet, clapping and cheering. Farfariello’s baritone stretched uncomfortably into a high note, and he exited stage right with a flourish. The crowd erupted into shouts and whistles.
Rocco protectively motioned his pregnant wife to sit for a few moments to avoid getting caught in the crush of the crowd, and they sat watching the stagehands while the audience filed out. Even before the applause ended, the stagehands had begun preparing for the next show.
A heavyset bald man struggled up a rope ladder to untie a drape from a truss. His younger counterpart called, “One more cannolo and we won’t be able to hoist you up there!”
The man ignored him, but another stagehand joked, “Leave Saint Carmine alone. All he has is the cream in his cannolo and his ammoratas on Mulberry Street!”
Without saying a word, Giovanna rose and, stepping over benches, made her way directly to the stage. Rocco, concerned and confused, caught up with her.
“It’s him!” she whispered to Rocco.
“Who?”
“Carmine. Nunzio’s friend.”
With her hands leaning on the stage, Giovanna called to the man on the rope ladder, “Prego, signore, are you Carmine?”
Without looking down, the man answered, “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I am—I was—the wife of Nunzio Pontillo.”
Carmine stopped untying a knot and looked down. He didn’t move.
“Saint Carmine, che cosa fa? What are you doing up there?” yelled one of the others.
Carmine climbed down the rope, slid off the stage, and turned to look at Giovanna, studying her face and scrutinizing her eyes. “Yes, yes, surely it is you.”
They met in the cafe the next morning before the matinee. Out of respect for Rocco, they met with Lucrezia chaperoning. Though they knew each other only through Nunzio’s letters, they reminisced as if they had known each other for years, their conversation