Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [70]
“Eh, itsa Tricky Dick,” kidded Nonno.
I giggled, but my father shushed me.
“…As you talk to us from the Sea of Tranquility, it inspires us to redouble our efforts to bring peace and tranquility to earth.”
My brother scoffed. My father was aggravated and said he and my mother should have gone dancing at the Seashell. My mother didn’t hear any of it because she was absorbed in The Godfather.
The next day, we camped on the beach with umbrellas, towels, chairs, and coolers—suburban nomads exercising our tribal instincts. Since it was the weekend, there were first cousins, second cousins, pretend cousins, and the numerous gombadas who were all called Aunt or Uncle regardless of whether they were relatives.
“I’ll take two,” I said to my grandfather. We were playing poker under the fringed umbrella.
“Due,” replied Nonno, dealing.
I glowered at the men playing bocce.
“What, are you blind? Red’s closer!” shouted my cousin.
“What a bunch of gedrools! Do you believe this, Frankie? These kids can’t take losing to a bunch of old guys,” my father called out to my uncle.
“Why do they play if all they do is argue?” I asked Nonno.
“Thatsa part of the game.” Nonno didn’t look up from his hand.
“Yeah, well I can play better than any of them.”
“Now you playing poker.”
I heard my father yell, “Michael, you look like a girl, and you throw like a girl!”
My mother still had her nose in that book.
“Josie, they say there’s a character in there that’s got to be Sinatra. You were close with Sinatra’s cousin, what do you think? Was he in with the Mob?” asked one of my aunts.
Nanny tugged on her bathing cap. “I’m going swimming if you’re going to talk about those people.”
“Ma, we’re not going to discuss it.” My mother put down her book.
“I’m going in anyway,” Nanny announced.
I watched my grandmother dive into a wave. She didn’t swim like the other old ladies, who waded into the ocean and patted their broiling arms with the cold water. Nanny pushed through the whitecaps and swam far out with powerful strokes.
Nonno saw me watching her and said, “I taught her to swim when she wasa little girl.”
“I thought you met when she was in high school?”
“No, one time she came witha your Big Nanny to my home in Italy. She wasa only three years old and had these biga dark eyes.”
“Josie, what happened to the letters they sent?” My aunt interrupted my mother’s reading again.
“My father burned them when she couldn’t sleep one night.”
“What are they talking about, Nonno?”
“Nothing. You pay attention to everything buta your cards. See! I gotta full house.”
Six months later, Nonno died. The phone call came in the middle of the night, and when I heard my mother wail, I knew what had happened. I spent the rest of the night under my bed shivering and crying. My world was shattered. I wanted desperately to bond with my grandmother in grief. She allowed me to hug her, but it only lasted for a second.
PART SIX
NEW YORK, NEW YORK 1908
TWENTY
“Frances, please help me,” called Giovanna, trying to lift a crate of cucumbers. With the first payment from Nunzio’s settlement, they were lucky enough to rent a basement at 242 Elizabeth Street, only a block from their apartment. Giovanna was free to work each day with Rocco, and their efforts were paying off.
There had been a long line at Siena’s Fruit and Vegetables when word swept through the neighborhood that they had broccoli rabe for a good price. It was late in the day, and Giovanna was only now getting to stack some of the fruit and vegetables. Rocco was tending to the horse and cart that enabled him to go to a distributor in Brooklyn for their produce.
“Frances, Mary, you girls head home with Angelina and put water on for the pasta. I’ll be closing soon.”
“Sì, Zia,” obeyed Frances, taking Angelina’s hand and bundling her up for the frigid weather.
“Buon giorno,” greeted a man, tipping his hat to the girls who passed him on the stairs. The man, face covered in black