The Queen of the Big Time Page 8

  On Sunday there will be a solemn procession that begins with a rosary and the service of the Blessed Sacrament. This year, for the first time, there will be a queen, a lucky girl chosen from all the girls in Roseto, who will crown the statue of the Blessed Mother before the statue is carried down the street, followed by the priest and the people as they say the rosary.

  “We’ll see, honey. It depends how Papa is feeling,” Mama tells her.

  “Mama, I think for certain the girls will be attending the Big Time,” Alessandro says with a grin.

  “Really?” Roma’s eyes widen.

  “Someone has to help me in my stand.”

  “You have a stand?” Dianna is thrilled.

  “Well, I’m not just a farmer.” Alessandro laughs. “Remember, I sell nuts and candy, and everyone loves torrone, yes?”

  The girls giggle. “Yes!” Torrone is a great delicacy, a white nougat candy made with sugar and nuts. At the carnival, it is sold by weight; the customer asks for a hunk and it is cut off a slab the size of a boulder.

  “His family shipped the candy over from Italy. My living room is filled with it. We’ve got torrone, and chickpeas on strings, and red, white, and green ribbon candy,” Assunta says.

  “Like the Italian flag!” Elena laughs.

  “Wait until you see the stuff! If we sell it all we’ll make a good profit. Alessandro wants us all to work in the stand.” Assunta adds, “I hope you all will help.”

  “Absolutely,” I promise her. After a summer working on the farm, I would love to go to town. There hasn’t been any time. I’ve wanted to catch up with Chettie, though I’ve heard her family is doing all right. It turns out that Chettie’s relatives in Philadelphia sent help, so at least they can stay in the house on Dewey Street. I am looking forward to September and getting back to school. I’ve missed Chettie terribly this summer.

  “What are you thinking about?” Elena asks as we make the turn onto Easton Road to pick Papa up at the hospital.

  “How the summer is almost gone.”

  “It’s almost time for you to go back to school.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “I’ll miss you. When you go to school, it seems like you don’t have much time for me. You have all your friends there,” Elena says.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel left out.” I wish I could explain to Elena what it is like to be with people who aren’t family. Life on the farm is so claustrophobic sometimes. It takes so long for news to reach us; and when I’m in town, there is an energy that crackles under the surface of everything, fueling my ambition. From the hum of the sewing machines when I visited Assunta at the factory, to the bells on the delivery trucks, to the shops busy with patrons, right down to the hometown newspaper, Stella di Roseto, there’s motion, and excitement, and a sense of possibility. “Maybe you can stay with Assunta once in a while,” I say. “We both will! And we can do things in town.”

  Elena shakes her head sadly. “Mama needs me. And now, with Papa, she needs me even more.”

  Alessandro parks the car close to the hospital entrance. One by one he helps us out of the old jalopy, extending his hand until all of the Castelluca girls, including his wife, are standing on the sidewalk. For one awkward moment, we all look to Mama. We haven’t seen Papa in a month; only Alessandro and Mama have come by regularly, and although Mama has given us detailed reports on Papa’s progress, we are afraid he won’t be the same. We follow Mama into the hospital. She goes right up to the nurse’s station. Miss Anderson, the same nurse who looked down on us a few weeks ago, is behind the desk. What luck that she will see us all again in our finest clothes.

  “Miss Anderson?” Mama says to her.

  The nurse turns and surveys us. This time she looks at us with approval. “Good afternoon.”

  “We’ve come to collect Mr. Castelluca.”

  “He’s all ready to go,” she tells us with a smile. We follow her through the doors to Papa’s room. The little ones enter first, followed by Elena and me, then Assunta, Alessandro, and finally Mama. Roma and Dianna run to Papa, who, dressed in a good shirt and trousers, stands up to greet them. He is shaky, but he finds his footing. He is much thinner, and his hair is now mostly white. The accident must have been a worse trauma than we knew. Papa has a crutch in his right arm. His leg is in a brace from ankle to thigh. Ribbons of leather buckled to a steel rod hold Papa’s leg in place. We gather around him, hugging and kissing him.

  Papa looks at Alessandro. “This is why it’s best to have daughters.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Some Rosetans are superstitious, so if the Big Time celebration has good weather, this portends a prosperous year to all those who pray to the Blessed Lady. The opening night of the festivities is balmy, with a full moon so close, you’d swear you could touch it from the top of the Ferris wheel. The night sky is a clear, deep blue, a velvety backdrop for the twinkling lights that line the booths down either side of Garibaldi Avenue. There is much to do: games, rides, trinkets for sale, and Italian delicacies to sample like pizza fritta, puffs of hot dough doused in sugar.

  The Bersaglieri Band of New York City, in their red plumed hats, march up the steps of the church and into formation. As they begin to play, the crowd at their feet grows. People seem to pour out onto the church plaza from everywhere—from the side streets, the parking lots, and off the trolley.

  “We should do well tonight,” I tell Alessandro. I hope he makes lots and lots of money and that there’s not a crumb of torrone left.

  “I hope so.” He smiles.

  There is no way to thank Alessandro for his help to our family. I doubt Papa will ever be able to do the work he once did. Alessandro has taken over all of Papa’s chores, including the most difficult job, plowing the field to collect the hay for the winter. Papa has always done the work with the horses and an old-fashioned plow, and used to be able to break an acre a day during harvesttime. Alessandro figured he could triple that with modern equipment, and went to the bank to borrow money to buy a tractor. Alessandro got the loan and bought a used Allis Chalmers tractor from 1918 from a farmer in nearby Flicksville.

  We’re happy to be able to reciprocate in a small way for all Alessandro has done by helping him out in his booth. Assunta made us white cotton pinafores with an embroidered P on them, so everyone would know that we were working for Pagano’s Importing: Dried Fruit, Nuts & Candy Inc.

  “Do you think there’s too much on the sign?” Alessandro asks as he hacks off a slice of torrone for a customer.

  I look up at the red, white, and green sign that says PAGANO’S in swirly gold letters. “Nope. I think it looks very professional.” Our booth has the best spot on Garibaldi. We’re right across from the church steps at the top of the hill. No one will miss us.

  The fire company sells delectable sausage and pepper sandwiches next door to us. We watch as the men work tirelessly over the open grills, basting the peppers and onions in olive oil, turning the sausage until it grills to a crispy brown, then taking a sheet of waxed paper, slicing a crusty roll open, filling it with the delicious mixture, and handing off the finished product to the customer. People come from miles around for the sausage and pepper sandwiches, and if the line outside their booth is any indication, they will run out of sausage before they run out of customers.

  “There’s the queen.” Elena points to a pretty girl who walks through the crowd in a simple white linen chemise.

  “That’s Michelina de Franco,” I tell her. “She graduated from Columbus School in June.” Surely she was the prettiest girl in school, with her blond bob and soft blue eyes. The boys called her Venus de Milo because she’s a classic beauty. I think she looks a lot like the screen star Mae Murray, with her porcelain skin and Cupid’s-bow mouth. Michelina is also graceful and moves through the crowd with ease. She deserves to be the first queen of the Roseto Big Time.

  “You know how she won, don’t you?” Assunta says quietly.

  “She’s the most bea
utiful girl in Roseto?”

  “No. She sold the most tickets. That’s how you win. You go door-to-door and raise money for the church and whoever sells the most tickets is the queen.”

  “Hmm,” I think aloud. “Industriousness is more important than sheer beauty. That’s my kind of contest.”

  “I don’t know what’s interesting about it. It’s a racket. A greedy parish priest looking to stuff the coffers shouldn’t determine who’s queen,” Assunta huffs.

  Assunta is jealous of everybody. Michelina because she’s lovely, Father Impeciato because he’s powerful, and probably the Columbia Fire Company of the sausage and pepper stand because they have the longest line of customers. She’ll never be happy. Alessandro looks at me and winks. He knows. “Why don’t you girls take a break and go take a ride on the Ferris wheel?”

  “We don’t have tickets,” Roma says sadly.

  Alessandro fishes four yellow tickets out of his shirt pocket. “Now you do. You’ve been working hard all afternoon. Go.”

  “Thank you!” Elena says, gathering up Roma and Dianna. She lifts the plank across the side of the stand and we file out. Assunta shoots her husband a dirty look, but before she can call us back to work, we are a part of the crowd, moving toward the line at the Ferris wheel.

  “Assunta is in a nasty mood,” I say.

  “She has good reason,” Elena replies.

  “Don’t make excuses for her. Since the day she got married, she’s been hiding her true personality. It’s as though she put a lid on a boiling pot of water and sat on it; now, after a few months of hiding it, the steam is about to blow.”

  “She’s going to have a baby,” Elena says quietly.

  “She is?” I am ashamed of my fresh mouth.

  “I heard her tell Mama.” Elena motions for me to lower my voice so the little ones won’t hear what we’re talking about.

  “Why hasn’t she told us?”

  “She’s having a lot of pain and isn’t sure the baby will grow.”

  “Why is she working? She’s been on her feet all day in the stand in the hot sun. That can’t be good for her.”

  “They need the money,” Elena says as she steers us through the crowd. “She wants to keep the house on Dewey Street, and they have a mortgage, and since Alessandro spent the summer helping us on the farm, they are behind.”

  “Why didn’t she tell us so we could help?”

  “When has Assunta ever asked anyone for help?”

  Elena holds Dianna’s hand and Dianna holds Roma’s as they get in the line to take a ride on the Ferris wheel. I follow them, looking around for Chettie. She hadn’t made it to the candy stand, but maybe I’ll run into her. I know she loves the rides.

  The line for the Ferris wheel moves quickly. The carney who runs it pulls the large lever crank and stops the ride, depositing a couple out onto the ramp. He motions to Roma and Dianna, who run up the ramp and sit down in the swinging seat.

  “This one’s too short without an adult.” He points at Roma.

  “I’ll go with them.” Elena goes up the ramp. She puts Roma in the middle and then sits down with her arms around her. I motion to them to go ahead without me: there’s no room for a fourth person in the seat. Dianna and Roma hold hands as the carney snaps the bar shut.

  “What about you?” Dianna shouts as the seat jerks up and over my head. I wave and smile at my sisters.

  “Are you gonna go alone?” the carney asks me.

  I climb up the ramp and sit alone in the seat. The carney goes to close the bar. I look at the line of ticket holders and see Renato Lanzara, smiling at me. I wave to him. “Wait a second,” I tell the carney. I can feel my cheeks flush a little as Renato comes up the ramp and joins me in the seat.

  “I can’t fly over Roseto alone,” I tell him. The carney snaps the bar shut across us and pulls the giant lever, the Ferris wheel jerks, and we move up. I pat my hair, which Elena braided neatly. Then I remember the pinafore over my blouse and skirt. Why am I always wearing something childish when I see Renato? Why can’t I be prepared for once?

  “Something wrong?” he asks.

  I look at him. He is crisp and neat in a white shirt and beige linen trousers. His suspenders are striped red, white, and green, an homage to the Italian celebration, I’m sure. He is tanned, bronzato, Mama calls it. “I always look so silly when I see you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This pinafore. It’s childish.”

  “I like it.”

  “You’re just being nice.”

  “No, really. I like it. What’s the P stand for?”

  “Pagano. My brother-in-law’s candy company. We’re next to the sausage and peppers.” When I say this, I realize I must smell like them too. This is horrible. Nothing that ever happens to me in real life is like I imagine it. If I’d known I would be meeting Renato for a Ferris wheel ride, I would have worn a simple linen chemise, just like Michelina de Franco, and borrowed some of Mama’s lavender cologne instead of smelling like Roseto’s favorite sandwich.

  “Sausage and pepper sandwiches are my favorite.”

  “It’s a good thing.” I smooth my pinafore over my skirt. The ride begins to whirl around. I get butterflies in my stomach, so I grip the safety bar.

  “Are you afraid?” Renato wants to know.

  “Well, I don’t have wings, so if something goes wrong …”

  Renato puts his arm around me; my insides begin to shake, and I know it’s not the ride, but the joy of being so close to him. As we whirl around, I can see my sisters’ feet overhead as we spin. I’m so glad they can’t see Renato and me. This isn’t a very good example for the little ones. I’m with a boy and haven’t asked Papa’s permission. But I don’t care: this is for me, and I don’t think in my whole life I have ever been this happy. Suddenly the Ferris wheel lurches to a stop. We’re suspended high in the air, the rooftops on Garibaldi Avenue look like stars below us in the moonlight as the hill descends into darkness. I’m a little afraid of the height, but more sad that the ride is half over.

  “Look, you can see my sister’s roof on Dewey Street from here.” I point.

  “How’s your father?” Renato asks. “He was so gracious to me when I came out for the hog killing.”

  “We’re lucky. He’s walking much better.” Thoughts of Papa remind me to take Renato’s hand from around my shoulder and place it on his lap. I really shouldn’t be so close to a man without permission.

  “The farm life is very hard. I don’t know if I could do it.”

  The way Renato says this sounds condescending, so I am glad I just took his arm away. There is a part of me that understands how he feels. I would never have chosen to be born into a family of farmers. I wish my papa were a barber or a brick mason or a grocer. But Papa loves the land and his animals and my mother and a life away from the noise of town. He was raised on a farm in Foggia, and the land is what he knows. How can I explain this to an educated man? So instead of trying, I caustically reassure him, “I’m sure you’ll never have to, so don’t worry about it.”

  Renato feels the chill of my comment. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “But you did, though I don’t hold it against you. See, I’m not a farmer either. I never liked the quiet and the chores as much as I should have. I did them, I still do them, but as soon as I could read and saw what life was like for other people in other places, I began to judge what I came from. And you know, that’s not good. Because I can’t help what I am or where I come from.”

  “You should never apologize for what you are.”

  “I’m not.” I look out beyond the sparkling lights of Roseto and off into the inky black beyond the Blue Mountains. As much as I’m intimidated by Renato and his life experience, I’m equally inspired by it, so I always tell him what’s on my mind. I never feel like I have anything to lose. “I have a question for you.” I turn to face him.

  The carney hollers up from the ground, “Folks, we’re stuck. Stay c
alm and don’t swing in the seats. We’ll get ’er cranked up shortly.”

  I take the news from the carney below as an omen. I’m meant to spend a few extra moments with Renato. “Why do you disappear?”

  “What do you mean?” he asks innocently.

  “It seems like I see you, and then months go by before I see you again. Do I do something to offend you?”

  “No. Not at all,” Renato says quickly.

  “What is it then?”

  “You’re too young for me, Nella.”

  “I’m fifteen now.”

  “I’m twenty-two. Now, you don’t seem fifteen—”

  “Well, you seem every day of twenty-two.”

  “—but you are fifteen. And it’s not right for me to court someone your age.”

  “Because we haven’t been properly introduced? Because you haven’t spoken with Papa and asked his permission?” I am so sorry that I pointed out these things to him. Not only am I too young, but I know he would never compromise my reputation.

  “It’s just the way it is,” he says simply.

  “You seem to pick up and go out of town for months on end.”

  “I went to Italy.”

  “No, I know that. I mean other times. The rest of the time.” I don’t want Renato to think that I’ve been monitoring his comings and goings, but I have. When I would come into town to help Assunta, I would ask around casually about Renato. He is a mystery man of sorts, no one seems to know what he does or where he goes. “Do you have a sweetheart?”

  “Some.”

  “More than one?”

  “I’m a young man.” He shrugs.

  “Not that young. My papa was married at twenty.”

  He laughs again. “Does it bother you that I see lots of girls?”

  “Why should it bother me?” I bury my hands in the pockets of my pinafore.