New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [302]
His mother let out a cry, and clasped her breast. “Now my youngest son wants to desert his family?” she screamed. “Has he no love for his own mother?”
“No, no, signora.” The schoolmaster was soothing. “He is a little boy.”
But his mother had turned her face away from Salvatore.
“Look!” cried Anna.
It was Paolo, with Giuseppe and their father.
“We waited for him,” Giovanni Caruso explained to his wife.
Paolo was looking pleased with himself. “I had three doctors,” he said proudly. “They made me breathe in, and cough, and they looked down my throat. And two of them listened to my chest and another to my back.”
“You are safe, then?” cried his mother. “They have not taken you away?” She clasped him to her bosom, held him close, then released him and crossed herself. “Where is Luigi?” she asked.
Giovanni Caruso shrugged. “I don’t know. He got separated from us.”
Salvatore knew what had happened. The doctors from the madhouse were questioning Uncle Luigi. But he didn’t say anything.
The family joined the line in front of the desks. It took a long time before they reached the head of the line, and there was still no sign of Uncle Luigi, but finally they were approaching the big desks where the officials were waiting, some seated, others standing close behind.
“The men behind are the interpreters,” his father whispered. “They can speak all the languages of the world.”
When they reached the desk, the man addressed Giovanni Caruso in Neapolitan, which anyone from the Mezzogiorno could understand.
Checking their names against the manifest, he smiled. “Caruso. At least the ship’s purser could get your name right. Sometimes they mangle them terribly.” He grinned. “We have to follow what’s on the ship’s manifest, you know. Are you all here?”
“Except my brother-in-law. I don’t know where he is.”
“He’s not named Caruso?”
“No.”
“I’m only interested in Caruso.” The man asked a few questions, and seemed satisfied with the answers. Had they paid for their own passage? Yes. “And have you a job in America?”
“No,” Salvatore heard his father answer firmly.
Salvatore knew about this. Giovanni Caruso had warned his whole family. Although their Uncle Francesco had found work for him, none of them must say that he had a job, or the men at Ellis Island would send him back. There were two reasons for this strange rule, he explained. The first was that the United States wanted men who were anxious to take any job they could find. The second was to discourage an illicit trade. For there were padroni who promised jobs, paid people’s passage, and even traveled with the immigrants on the ship—though the padrone was in first or second class, of course. Foolish people trusted the padrone because he was a fellow Italian. He’d be waiting for them in the park near the docks, and take them to lodgings. And before long the new arrivals were in his power, trapped like slaves, and fleeced of all they had.
Satisfied with his inquiries, the man at the desk was waving them through.
“Welcome to America, Signor Caruso.” He smiled. “Good luck.”
They passed through a turnstile, down a flight of stairs, and then into the baggage room. Here they were given a box lunch and a bag of fresh fruit. They found their suitcases and the big wooden trunk. Nothing had been stolen. Salvatore watched as his father and Giuseppe started to put the trunk and cases on a trolley. They were told that they could have them delivered free to any address in the city, but Concetta was so relieved that they hadn’t already been stolen that she wouldn’t let them out of her sight again.
She was still looking about anxiously for Uncle Luigi, but since Salvatore knew he wouldn’t be coming, he didn’t bother.
Then, suddenly, his mother started crying out.
“Luigi! Luigi! We’re here. Over here.” She was waving excitedly. And sure enough, at the far end of the room, Salvatore saw his uncle coming toward them. He was smiling.
“Uncle Luigi!” Salvatore started running toward him. His uncle was carrying his suitcase. He scooped Salvatore up in