Elizabeth Street Part 9

"Did he sign anything?"

"No. But I still don't understand why you say I should go to a lawyer."

"Because I think this company, or the construction company, made mistakes that led to your husband's death. They're responsible, but because they are so powerful, there has been no further investigation."

"But what can I do? I speak no English!"

"These companies count on you doing nothing! Without a family crying injustice, it's easy to divert a reporter."

"What do you think I should do?"

"Get a lawyer and sue them for the death of your husband."

Giovanna was silent.

"They are using Italians like donkeys to build New York. If they lose a few it doesn't matter. They can always get a new a.s.s."

The harshness of Lucrezia's words set her pacing-stress and New York City's confined s.p.a.ces had turned Giovanna's pacing into a habit. It was hard enough when Lucrezia spoke of Nunzio's accident in personal terms; making it political overwhelmed her completely. But what was she hoping to accomplish with all her questions anyway? She wanted justice. But what would justice be?

Her thoughts did not go much further. A woman was at the door announcing that her sister had gone into labor.

Lucrezia gathered up her things. "Come with me, Giovanna."

Giovanna was happy to go along because she didn't want to be alone. However, when they arrived at the woman's apartment she could tell something was not right. The laboring woman was moaning that the baby shouldn't be born. Seeing Giovanna's concern, the woman's sister explained that her brother-in-law had been killed building the Manhattan Bridge two months after his wife conceived their sixth child. Giovanna's head snapped up and looked at Lucrezia, who looked away, unable to feign innocence.

When the baby was delivered, there were no tears of joy from the mother, only laments and sobs as the mother wailed to her newborn, "How will I feed you?" Looking at the midwives she cried, "His poor brother, only eleven, works the job and returns home, his little body broken, and there is no food on the table."

Lucrezia and Giovanna said nothing to each other for the rest of the evening.

"Signore DeCegli, this is Giovanna Pontillo," Lucrezia said as they both sat down. They had walked up five flights in a Mott Street tenement to Signore DeCegli's office. They took their seats amid the piles of papers threatening to submerge his desk and file cabinets. A telephone sat on his desk. Giovanna hoped it would ring; she was fascinated by telephones and hadn't used one yet.

"Signora Pontillo, I reviewed the newspaper articles and death certificate that Signora LaManna brought to me."

The lawyer's Italian was perfect. So perfect that Giovanna sat up straighter and took her mind off the telephone. He was looking right at her, and she realized that this man was handsome. It was something she hadn't noticed about a man in a long while.

"I think there is no doubt that you have a case against the construction company. And although I am quite sure we could not win a case against Brooklyn Union Gas, it would be to our advantage to sue them as well."

Giovanna looked at Lucrezia, who motioned with her eyes to ask.

"What do you mean, signore?"

"What I mean, signora, is that I believe in all probability that negligence led to your husband's death, meaning that we can sue the company that is responsible."

"Signore, I have little to pay you."

"You do not have to pay me anything before the case is settled. I believe you will win your case and you will be compensated. My fee will come from your settlement."

Seeing Giovanna's puzzled look, Lucrezia stepped in. "Signore, we need to start from the beginning."

More than an hour later, when Signore DeCegli finished explaining the American legal system and Giovanna's options, he began asking questions of his own. Changing his tone, he said, "Tell me about Nunzio."

"He was my husband," murmured Giovanna, voice cracking, as if that said it all.

"Well, did he read and write?"

"Yes," answered Giovanna, indignant. "He was a maestro. An engineer."

"That will help. My guess is that if your husband had questions about the safety of this project, others did too. After we file, I intend to subpoena the supervisor and other workers."

"But they will say what the company wants them to say."

"Possibly, but generally I've found that Americans take truth in the courts seriously."

"What happens now, signore?"

"You wait while I prepare the case. It may take months. If I need anything I'll contact you, but don't be surprised if you don't hear from me for a while."

Signore DeCegli walked them downstairs. When the door closed, Lucrezia quipped, "It's a shame he was just married."

"Lucrezia, stop it. I told you I'm not interested."

Lucrezia let it go, but she was certain that she saw a flicker of disappointment in her friend's face.

FOURTEEN.

"Wake up, Zia! It's Sunday! Can we go to the cemetery and stop for nuts? Please, Zia?"

Startled, Giovanna sat up groggily. But before she could answer, Teresa cut in. "No trips today. We're having company."

The children groaned and Giovanna, still sleepy, asked, "Who? The DiFrancos?"

Teresa was already ensconced in the kitchen. "No. Children, get dressed; I need your help. Giovanna, you will be here for dinner?" It was both a question and a command.

Giovanna thought Teresa was acting strange but decided to ignore it. "I will be here. Do you need help?"

"No, no. Concetta will help me. Don't you have to visit Signora Russo? She told me you were visiting her today."

"I do." It amazed Giovanna how her sister-in-law seemed to know all the business of the neighborhood. Teresa's body, even in the rare months that she was not pregnant, had become rotund. It was easy to envision Teresa as a b.u.mblebee flitting in and out of the chambers of the hive that was Little Italy.

"Be back by three."

Usually when Teresa was out of sorts, Giovanna looked to Lorenzo for guidance, but Lorenzo had already left to paint bits of Italy in tenement foyers. Teresa busied herself with making the children's breakfast. After espresso, bread, and cheese, Giovanna left to escape the frenzy and tension.

Her quick exit brought her to an earlier ma.s.s than usual. Only old women, all widows, knelt in the pews. Giovanna wondered if they waited for the sun to rise and then hurried to ma.s.s because they had nothing else to anchor their lives. Even though she, too, was alone and dressed in black, she felt like an interloper and was threatened by the women. Nervous, she went to the altar to light a candle, but for the first time she didn't know for what she prayed.

It was too early to call on Signora Russo, and she avoided Lucrezia's house on weekends, when she was more likely to run into her husband, so she walked. Giovanna had grown accustomed to New York, but this morning the streets seemed extremely foreign and uninviting. She yearned for the narrow alleys of the Chia.n.a.lea and her terrace, where she could sip her espresso and listen to the church bells before going to ma.s.s. Having walked all the way to Chinatown, she ended up on the herbalist's street. Giovanna thought she saw the proprietor inside and took a closer look through the locked door. The door swung open.

"Quick, quick," the proprietor motioned.

Giovanna understood that he didn't want to get caught selling on a Sunday. "No, no, I go," she answered.

"No, no, show you," replied the proprietor, waving her to the back of the store.

A wooden crate covered in Chinese characters was half unpacked.

"Good!" he exclaimed, taking a paper package from the crate. He carefully unfolded the paper to reveal what looked like a sea urchin.

He gripped one of the urchin's spines. "Good," he said, and then mimed pain.

Giovanna tried not to laugh when he contorted his face and moaned. He was very dramatic. Swallowing her smile, she shrugged her shoulders to indicate "How?" She half expected him to puncture her skin with it; she had learned about how the Chinese stuck needles into people. Instead, he went to the counter and ground the spine into a rough powder, and then added glycerin. Taking a small spoon, he showed her the proper amount and pointed to his mouth. Giovanna put a tiny bit on her finger and touched it to her tongue. At once she could tell that it had the power and qualities of an opiate.

"Good? Good?" the proprietor asked.

"S. Yes."

Giovanna doubted she would use it without knowing more, but in return for the kindness, she opened her purse to get a coin to purchase one of the exotic crustaceans.

"No. No. Sunday." Smiling, he waved her money away and rewrapped the urchin, putting it in her hand.

With her purse back in her bodice, and a strange Chinese sea urchin in her skirt pocket, Giovanna walked back up Mott Street, this time feeling more at home.

Her visit took longer than expected. Signora Russo was in her eighth month, and Giovanna was worried that this big baby, who was breech, was not going to turn. She decided to try performing a version-an external method to turn the baby. Taking out her stethoscope, a gift from Lucrezia, she had Signora Russo lie on her back and bend her knees. The hardest part of this procedure for Giovanna was being chatty, keeping the mother relaxed and distracted. With one hand on the baby's head and another on its culo, Giovanna gently turned the baby to the right. When there was no movement, she tried twisting the body to the left, and this time the baby turned a little. Waiting, chatting, and checking the baby's heartbeat between each movement, Giovanna slowly turned the baby to a transverse position. Signora Russo was starting to get nervous and feel pain, so Giovanna let her rest, holding the baby's head and culo in its new position for fear it would gravitate back to breech. "Even for babies, change must come slowly," she explained.

The woman's mother soon entered the apartment and provided the distraction Giovanna needed to continue. Twenty minutes later, the baby was in position.

"Signora, please stay and have supper with us," invited the mother, who was preparing their Sunday meal. The woman's kindness reminded Giovanna that she needed to head home.

"No, thank you, I must go. Signora, stay on your feet for the next hour. Go for a walk, let the baby settle, and send for me if you feel anything out of the ordinary."

Teresa knew it was Giovanna coming up the stairs because no one else took the stairs in twos. She always wondered how Giovanna managed to do that in a long skirt. It seemed hard enough to get up the steep stairs without tripping on your hem.

Giovanna burst through the door, making apologies. "I'm sorry, my visit went longer than I thought." Her voice trailed off at the end of her sentence because she found herself face to face with a row of strangers. Almost at attention, there in front of her stood a man nervously holding his hat in his hand, with three children in their Sunday best lined up next to him.

"Buon giorno," mouthed Giovanna, but she was looking at Lorenzo for an explanation.

"Giovanna," said Lorenzo with more than usual flourish, "this is our friend Rocco Siena, from Scilla."

"Oh, piacere piacere," said Giovanna, thinking the man's recent arrival to America explained this awkward formality. More relaxed, she added, "Welcome to America."

Two of the children giggled.

"Quiet! No, no, signora, we have been here a long time," interjected the stranger. "In fact, all my children were born in New York. I will introduce them." As if to make his point, he said all his children's names in English. "This is Clement, he's twelve, Frances is eight, and little Mary is four."

All the children gave her a big grin when their names were said.

"Well, let's sit," said Teresa. "You children can play in the hall or on the stoop. But don't go far, we'll eat soon."

Giovanna couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable her brother and sister-in-law were with their own friend.

"Signore Siena, I don't know any Sienas in Scilla," commented Giovanna, attempting to make conversation.

"S, signora, there are not many Sienas in Scilla. My wife, bless her soul, had much family in Scilla. She was a Bellantoni."

"Oh, of course, the Bellantonis," replied Giovanna.

Lorenzo cut in, "His wife was Angelina, daughter of Vincenzo and Mattia."

"Yes. Mamma knew them. They lived in San Giorgio, yes?"

"S," answered Rocco this time, "so did the Sienas. But we were sailors and often away." After an awkward pause, he said, "Your brother tells me you are a widow."

His question raised her worst suspicions, and she answered indignantly, "Yes, I was married to Nunzio Pontillo."

Lorenzo immediately started in on the sales pitch. "Giovanna, Rocco was given a medal by King Victor Emmanuel!"

Her reaction was to shoot Lorenzo a stony stare.

"He saved the king from drowning when their ship went down! Show her the medal, Rocco!" exhorted Lorenzo.

Giovanna politely looked at the medal only because the man was so embarra.s.sed at being forced to produce it. A bronze disc nearly filled the man's palm, which was shaking slightly.

"Why were you on the king's ship?"

"I was a merchant mariner..."

Again, Lorenzo cut in enthusiastically. "The king wanted him to be in his Roman guard."

"And why didn't you?" questioned Giovanna skeptically.