Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [93]
Giovanna stayed at the table staring. Rocco looked over her shoulder; the chart was easy enough to figure out even for an illiterate. His gnarled index finger pointed at “in rovine” across from Scilla’s name.
“What does this say?”
“In ruins.”
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“No.”
“I’ll take the children for a walk. Do you want me to get Lorenzo?”
Giovanna didn’t answer. The children, who were just waking up, gathered around Giovanna and the newspaper. Their father tried to shoo them away.
“Come on, get dressed. We’re going for a walk.” Rocco even roused Clement who was still sleeping.
Rocco and the children were nearly out the door when Lucrezia knocked. She carried holiday pastries, a New York Times, and her doctor’s bag. Rocco waved her in, and, motioning to his wife, gently shook his head. He tipped his cap in farewell.
“Giovanna, it’s me, Lucrezia.” She sat at Giovanna’s side, and Giovanna actually took her hand and held it.
Lucrezia used her other hand to fish in her bag. She pulled out Humphries Pills No. 17, which, although advertised for depression, Lucrezia had found to be a good sedative.
“Here, take this,” she said, putting the pill in Giovanna’s mouth and getting up to get her a glass of water. “Before I speak further you should know that my husband said they could be exaggerating the devastation to get more aid. But there was more news of Scilla today.”
Giovanna nodded and pointed at the chart in the newspaper in front of her. Lucrezia looked at it. “Yes, that’s what the New York Times had. There was something else, too. It said two priests from Scilla escaped because they were in the vault of a church that resisted collapse.”
Giovanna’s eyes flickered. This was the first news of Scilla that was not abstract. She tried to think which church had a vault.
“It also said that Scilla was completely destroyed. Even the rock of Scylla has completely disappeared.” Lucrezia’s voice lowered. “The priests think they are the only survivors.”
For the first time in her life, Giovanna fainted. Lucrezia had a difficult time getting her to the bed. Once conscious, Giovanna was still drowsy because the sedative had begun to work. In spite of this, Giovanna pushed up from the bed.
“I must tell Lorenzo!”
Lucrezia gently pushed her down. “He knows. I saw him before coming here. He asked me to take care of you. You need to sleep.” Lucrezia lay down beside Giovanna and held her friend, who gagged on her tears before falling into a deep sleep.
Hours later, when Giovanna woke, Lucrezia was at the stove stirring soup. “I made you broth. If you feel up to it, there is a special service at the Church of the Most Precious Blood on Baxter.”
For once in her life, Giovanna’s preference was not to be alone. This tragedy extended beyond her family, and she felt the need to congregate. “I’ll go.”
Lucrezia miraculously made Giovanna’s family reappear and got them ready for the service.
The mass, led by Father Bernardino Polizzo, was packed with people clad in black and heartbreak. Giovanna clutched Angelina’s hand. At least she had her daughter and stepchildren. From the number of single men in the church, she surmised that many of their wives and children were sent home during the last year when times in New York had become even more difficult. These men were probably all that was left of their families. She also noticed that Italians of all classes were in the pews. Tragedy was more common in the lower classes, but it had enveloped them all.
Angelina was tugging at her mother’s hand. In tired exasperation, Giovanna asked, “What is it?”
“Mamma—Nonna and Nonno are still alive.”
Giovanna squeezed her daughter’s hand a little too hard and whispered, “Angelina, I told you what we read today.”
“But he told me!”
“Who told you?”
“Saint Rocco.” Angelina pointed to his statue on the altar. “I was praying to him,