The Patron Saint of Ugly Page 11

  I hold-a my breath and wonder if I should run away, but it’s such an odd sight I can no peel my eyes from it. When it reach-a the shore it pulls itself up and I am amazed at the sight of a man climbing from-a the surf! And this man is as beautiful as Michelangelo’s David. He’s bare-chested and the muscles in his arms make-a my heart go thumpety-thump. His wet hair hangs down his neck, his pants clinging to his-a thighs. I feel a little guilty like I’m-a cheating on Angelo, who always was a small boy. But the man walks directly to me, his mouth opening, and out spills, “Diamante! Diamante!”

  Then I know who it is. Angelo! Who grew five inches taller since the last harvest season and lay in his muscles that make-a my breath shallow.

  I stand up as he gets to me and says, “Your hair has-a gotten so long!” He reach for my curls and I jump into his vineyard eyes. We are like magnets pulling together, but we resist the embrace since the fishmongers are watching. Instead we walk up-a the hill, his damp arm grazing mine, and I love him more than ever, but now also with a longing that is no longer so innocent. So, unlike the version I hear Garney tell-a you, Padre, that is the truth about the day I see a man rising from-a the sea. I no get the knocked up behind a dry-docked fishing boat!

  Anyway, that night, even before the men begin to pick-a the grapes, Angelo and I make a picnic beside La Vergine. After we eat, Angelo pulls from his pocket a leather pouch stuffed with more lire than I had ever seen in-a my life. I was-a thinking it’s a good thing Dominick didn’t find that when he stole his brother’s suitcase. Angelo had-a been saving all these years not only from his job as a grape picker but his job as a stonemason, since he’d begun to get paid for that too. He said this was our nest-a egg, and when he turned eighteen he wanted to start his new life with a-me.

  “You mean you wanna marry me?”

  Angelo reach over and pluck a Pergusa blossom to tuck into my hair. He lean in close to smell the red petals, then take-a my hand into his. “Yes. And we begin to build a big, big famiglia.”

  “Oh, Angelo. Yes-yes-yes! I hope to birth to you many, many sons.”

  “Daughters!” Angelo said, his eyes smiling so bright. “I want nothing but daughters so I can adore them all!”

  I almost cry from the happiness, and I look up to heaven and wonder what I do to deserve such a man.

  “I’ll ask your father’s permesso in the morning.”

  For the first time Angelo take my face in-a his hands and he kissed my mouth, his lips as plump and sweet as the Orgoglio della Sicilia grapes he had been eating for years. My in-a-sides go all wiggly and I nearly swoon from that kiss that is so long and a-deep, until I hear a rustling in the bushes. Angelo and I both look up just in time to see a figure running away, one hand holding on to his newsie cap.

  The next morning Angelo no have-a time to ask my father’s permesso, because during the night someone had torn down a part of our wall stone-a by stone so that every single goat got out and ran to Ciaffagliones’ vineyard, where they ate more than half of-a the harvest. The goats’ bellies were swollen, but they were still yanking down grape clusters as fast as they could, dashing and darting as we tried to herd-a them back home. It took several hours to round them up and mend-a the fence.

  Afterward everyone gathered by the water pump between our house and the Ciaffagliones’ so we could-a wash off the sweat and goat stink: my father and mother, Angelo and me, all the other male relatives. Except Dominick and Signore Ciaffaglione, who had-a gone missing a few hours before.

  Soon out of the front door of the big house comes Signore and Dominick. I hold-a my breath because I know my father has to figure a way to pay Ciaffaglione for the damage. My father take-a the deep breath and walk over, Angelo and I following close behind.

  Before Signore has the chance to speak, my father remove-a his hat. “Of course I will pay restitution-a, sir.”

  A little smoke shoot from Ciaffaglione’s mouth. “You bet-a you will. But just how do you propose to do it?”

  My father stares at the ground because there really is-a no way.

  Signore looked my father up and down. “That’s what-a I thought. I’m going to have to take all of your goats and put you and your famiglia out, since I could rent-a this property for much more than-a you’re paying now.”

  “No!” Mamma cry, though she speech very little in public because of her missing a-teeth.

  “But Signore,” my father pleaded, “we have no place to go.”

  “That’s not-a my concern. But I am not heartless. Is there no one who has-a the money to pay for this a-loss?”

  My father shuffle his a-feet because there was no one for sure.

  Dominick looked at me funny and nudged Signore in-a the ribs. Signore brushed him off. “Be patient.”

  There was this spooky silence without even the sound of a bird until my mother starts-a to cry as she, like me, wonders where we will go.

  And then Angelo opens his mouth. “I’ll pay, Uncle.”

  “You?” Signore said as everyone swivel around to see Angelo pull our nest-a egg from his pocket and hold it out.

  I wanted to cry at his kindness, but also for our future going up in a-smoke.

  Dominick rushed forward and grab-a the pouch from the little brother who is now taller than him and raced back to hand Angelo’s hard-earned money to their uncle.

  Signore opened the pouch to poke his finger through the coins. Drool spilled from his mouth, but again Dominick jab his uncle in-a the ribs. “I no forget,” Signore says. He rifles through the bag and begin to tsk-tsk. He look at-a my father. “This will cover some of-a the loss, but not all. I’m-a still going to have to kick you out of the house and put in new renters who can pay much-much more.”

  Again Mamma screech, “No!”

  Father put his arm around Mamma’s shoulder. “Signore Ciaffaglione. Is there nothing we can-a do?”

  Signore look at-a me. “Yes. The slate, she be wiped clean if your daughter marries my nephew.”

  For a second I’m-a confuse and then happy, since I think he means Angelo, but then Angelo yells, “No!” and I understand which-a nephew Signore mean.

  I look at Dominick, who can’t even look-a me in the eye.

  Mamma, she collapses all the way to the ground. “You no take-a my daughter!”

  My father also falls to his knees in a-beseech. “Signore. Please. Not-a my only child.”

  Signore flaps his-a hand as if they are squabbling over a pound of a-cheese. “It make a-no difference to me. Either your daughter or your house.”

  Mamma’s head, she flops down, but my father looks at me with such-a love, my heart nearly splits in two. He opens his-a mouth and I know he’s-a gonna say, Take-a the house. But really, where they gonna go when they no have-a the money or strength to start over?

  Before he can-a speech I say, “I’ll do it.”

  Angelo shrieks, “No!” and falls to his knees, holding my hands in his. “Don’t do this-a thing!”

  I look into his hazel irises with the vineyard inside. “I have to, Angelo.”

  Now his head flops down because he knows he would do the same thing for his mamma if he was in-a my shoes.

  Then Signore, that son-ama-beetch, reach in-a the pouch and pull out several coins to plunk in Dominick’s mean hand. “That should-a pay your way to America, and your new wife’s too.”

  Mamma and Angelo melt into puddles on the ground.

  Two days later I’m-a standing before Padre Ponzo facing Dominick, who I hardly recognize because he’s-a scrubbed so clean and wearing a new suit, but no cap. As Padre make us repeat the wedding vows I confess that in-a my head I swap Dominick’s name for Angelo’s. I even close my eyes and pretend it’s Angelo sealing my lips with a kiss, looping his arm-a through mine to walk out of-a the church.

  But on the way to the boat I remember whose arm is-a claiming me and I start to cry when we walk up the gang-a-plank onto the boat that will bring me and Dominick to America. It was dusk when-a we set sail; the street lam
ps’ glow bounce off the famiglie on the dock who wave-a bye-bye from the shore to their kin they will never see again, and I see my parents and my Angelo, who is crying a waterfall. Then I’m a-weeping too, the tears filming my eyes so I no see so good, the street lamps going fuzzy and I hear them crackling even from the boat until they dim and fizzle out one-a by one.

  For two weeks in the steerage I chant Angelo’s name over and over like a rosary so Dominick no try to sleep with-a me. He let me have our only blanket and every day after he went up on deck he’d come back with some gift: a hard-boiled egg, a bar of-a soap, a satin ribbon. But then came the night when he got under the blanket with-a me and I know what he want. He even wrap his arm around me and make-a confess I never expected to hear. “Diamante. I have been in-a love with you since the first time I see your red-a hair.” He run his fingers over my head and pretend not to see me wince. “This is the only way I know how to make-a you my wife. I promise to give you a good life and be a good-a husband.”

  Then he reach to tug up-a my nightgown, but I can’t do it, and I can’t do it, because all I see is his brother’s face. “Angelo! Oh, Angelo!”

  That’s when Dominick clamped his hand over my mouth and chanted his own rosary into my ear. “It’s Dominick. Dominick-Dominick-Dominick-Dominick!” he say over and over as he takes from me that thing I was saving for Angelo.

  Later that night I stand on the ship’s deck and consider the choice-a before me: jump into the ocean and let it swallow me or make a life with Dominick until the day my real husband and I could be reunited. I looked at the waves for an answer and suddenly a school of dolphins rise from the water and swim right below me beside-a the boat. They chirp and whistle but I no understand why they are so happy when I am-a so, so sad. As I watch them breach over and over I see something bright in the middle of-a the pod, a giant silver fishtail glinting in the moonlight, the Pining Nereid swimming with the dolphins offering me safe-a passage across the Atlantic. I no see her arms or a-head because of the blackness, but in-a my heart I’m sure it is the creature who turned half into a fish to survive. Then I know what I have to do: turn into a dutiful wife so I can-a survive this marriage. From that moment on, for the rest of the voyage and then when we land in New York, whenever Dominick wanna sleep with-a me, I close my eyes and pretend it’s Angelo’s hand on the small of-a my back. It’s Angelo’s lips on that spot on my neck that make-a me crazy. It’s Angelo’s lunch I fix and laundry I scrub, and eventually my secret life is not-a so bad, since Dominick thinks I’m doing all of this-a for him. But in-a my head I am hiding inside the shell of a dutiful wife, and it is Angelo wearing his brother’s a-skin.

  Over the years, with all that pretending, I forget about my trouble with the electric back in Sicilia until Garney is-a born and then it all comes back and the wiring in-a my house goes kaboom. It drive Dominick crazy since he cannot find-a the source. He rewire mostly the whole house but still can no find-a the prob. Good for me we already had the piped-in gas. After Garney move away from Sweetwater, a dozen years ago, my electric return, and I think that is-a the end of that, but I was-a wrong. Maybe she no tell-a you yet about why she left Sweetwater. I was-a so sad because I know our separation is all-a my fault. My heart hurt so much since from the minute I hold her in-a my arms when she was a bambina, we had a bond that I didn’t have with her brother, though he was our male heir and a beautiful one at-a that. But with her, there was that humming in-a our heads. Plus there was something about the way Garney look at a-me that had nothing to do with Saint Garnet or miracoli. Whenever I hold her it felt like I was hugging myself, or the sister I always wanted. Impossible, I know, but maybe that was a miracolo too.

  And here is one-a more thing I must speech about. I hear Garney tell-a you the big fib. She say she no longer make miracolo once she get to school, but that is-a no true. I don’t know why she lie about this, because many Sundays when I go to Saint Brigida, when Mass-a end, before I even shuffle out, some nonna or mamma would-a pull me aside.

  “Nonna Ferrari. Little Carlo is home with the measles. Here’s his teddy bear for Garnet to pray over.” Or “Baby Linda has the mumps. Here’s her favorite blankie.” Sometimes they brought the actual child. “Nonna, Carmella has a wart on her finger. Look! Look! Please ask Garnet to pray over a-her.”

  Who could-a refuse such-a pleading? I would go find Garney and tug her behind the statue of Saint Brigida (the real one). She would take the stuffed toy or the favorite blanket or the child and hold it in her hands. She burn so hot with a-fever when she perform the miracolo that it runs up-a my arm too. The healing no happen right then. It take a few hours, maybe a day.

  Okay, so to confess all of-a the truth, not everyone believe in her. We get the snub from some famiglie who think she make it all up, but who need-a them anyway? Garney no make-a this up. I have a-proof from parents of the children she heal who send me letters and thank-you cards with pineapple upside-down cakes or no-bake cookies. Some send me the pictures to show me the healing, which I send to you now. Look on the back and you see where I write the name of the healed and the date. Sometimes I write-a the ailment, like a-scabies or heat rash, all now gone. Listen as I read this-a one from Mrs. O’Greenie down in the village. It was not easy for her to cross the Saint Brigida aisle and ask for Garney’s help, so you know I no make-a the fib.

  Dear Nonna Ferrari: Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph bless your family for the healing your granddaughter has brought to our Dickey. Since she prayed over his diapers and ointment his rash has completely disappeared. May your home always be too small to hold all your friends. God is good, but never dance in a small boat.

  I no understand the small-boat part, but I think it’s a-sound advice. Anyway, why Garney resist her gift I do not know. She could a-heal so many more people if she wanted. She even heal people when she don’t even know about it. I tell-a you the truth because I saw it one time with my own-a eyeballs. It was when she was wearing that pillowcase that embarrass her father to no end. I make-a the speech to him, but he no want to hear that his daughter was a santa, something I never understood.

  There was a little girl who just move-a to Sweetwater and none of the other kids liked her. Her name was Potty, but I think that was a bad name the children called her because she make-a the pee-pee down her leg all the time. Not only did she always smell like the pee, but she pick-a the boogidies. Every time I see her she has a finger rammed up her nose digging for the boogidies. One day she ram the finger in too far I guess and get a bloody nose that drip and drip for months. Her parents were a-poor so they no take her to the doctor, and from then on that kid always had a bloody handkerchief stuck up her nose like a plug. It was a Friday morning when Garney and I walk down the hill to the village for the sausage casings. Little girls follow her like chicks after the mama duck asking her to touch-a the stuffed bunny or torn paper doll. Except for Potty, who leap from bush to bush and squeeze skinny-skinny behind the telephone poles so none of the kids see her and start pelting her with rocks, even Garney, I hate to say, but I saw her do this a few times, and yell, “Snotty Potty! Snotty Potty, go home!”

  We reach the bottom of the hill and several village kids surround Garney too, begging for a healing. They all stop and then I see Snotty Potty behind the corner mailbox. She tiptoe over so that nobody see her, and I no make-a the fuss because I think she need the healing more than these toys do, especially since the handkerchief that plug her nose hole had fallen out and blood trickles down her lip. She sees me and starts to run away, but I nod for her to come forward. I even shield-a her with my body as she crawl up behind the crowd and reach her hand between the kids and touch Garney’s veil. The minute she stroke it I feel-a the spark and when I look down at Snotty Potty, her nose no bleed-a no more! She look at me and grin and I see her bad teeth, but that no matter because she is one happy little girl who skip away shouting “Wheeeee!” I scoop up Snotty Potty’s handkerchief and when I open it, the blood smears look just like-a Mount Etna. I fold it up and tuc
k it in-a my purse as-a proof. Garney never knew a thing and I hold that secret to my chest until now.

  You see? There is too much God working through my granddaughter, my granddaughter, which is why Walleye and me take matters into our own-a hands. We collect Garney’s holy relics—especially her toothbrush, so we can pluck out every bristle—and dole them out to the pilgrims outside. But no tell-a Garney. It’s-a no right for her to keep her holy art to herself.

  I will say the rosary for my penance today, Padre, and make a real confess at Saint Brigida’s next First Friday. I promise, and you rest a-for sure I would never lie to a archbishop.

  Okay, so. Amen.

  (Betty! Come and turn off this-a machine [you green-hearted jettatura who no deserve the last Mallo Cup].)

  Make-a that two rosaries, Padre. In-a Latin.

  TAPE EIGHT

  Doll versus Doll

  Padre:

  It’s Wednesday afternoon and I’m in the library unpacking the newest World Book encyclopedias—a smorgasbord of illustrated knowledge. Nicky would have flipped out over the pictures of the recently unearthed terra-cotta army in Xi’an. I think he wished he could have been protected by a bevy of bodyguards too.

  You already know about the ambivalence roiling around Sweetwater regarding me—sainted or stained, especially since I was out of the miracle business—but Nicky also elicited varied sentiments. Hill parents adored him for his beauty, the epitome of everything their russet-tinted offspring were not. Schoolgirls adored him for the same reasons. They hid gifts in his desk: Woody Woodpecker key chains and Pluto (the dog) erasers, candy cigarettes and licorice pipes. The boys, however, despised him. In addition to siphoning away the love of their secret crushes, Nicky was a delicately boned, pink-cheeked sweet pea. Plus he had me for a little sister.