A Matter of Love in da Bronx (29 page)

--I read it quite well this last time. Have you been here before? Is there some reason she should come to expect something of you?

--Course, I knew this bar was here, but I've never entered it. I can't feature a thing, besides she hasn't spoken a word. I get interference from you, though. One subject has to do with meeting you tomorrow and another with your parents. Yes, I'll meet you tomorrow, any time, any place. All day if you want. Five minutes if that's all you can spare. Yes, I've got to see you. I'm sorry about going upstairs; if I really felt it would make the difference between never seeing you, I wouldn't hesitate. In the meantime, I feel I would be taking advantage of you...I know! I know! It's 1990 something, not A.D., and women share the responsibility in these things; but that can't change me, not what I feel inside; especially about something that's so fresh, and new, and wanted. I think, to capture this jewel, keep all your faculties thinking on line to preclude some egregious error that might cause me to lose you. Mary, I just found you. How can I not treasure you in every way? That you appeal to me in every way goes without saying. I would be satisfied with just our one kiss to give my life for yours. At this moment, I feel it would be easier to push you out of the way and fall before an eighteen-wheel truck than to precipitously abandon my world...which I would do, you understand, but in a time which allows me a position to put certain things in order.

--Sam, you didn't hear a thing I said. I know how you feel about me, we don't need words for that, first, because I feel the same way, but you must understand, I'm willing to go along as best we can, but my feeling is that if we don't make the break tonight, it will only get more difficult, more impossible, more neverhappening. So, working under diminished opportunities, if we're to meet, it won't be until...Monday?

--Monday? ...Hmmmm. Forget it. Let's go upstairs.

--I hope you don't really find that funny. I don't. Monday because I have no idea when I can get away from home. Imagine, my age and I'm checked in and out. Look, I help my mother do a job in the morning. Then in the afternoon are simple, stupid jobs that must be done: laundry, ironing, cooking, cleaning. I don't know what time I can get away...if at all. See? It's almost impossible already and we haven't left this place.

--I'll be in the shop. Call me in the shop. Even, just to talk. Steal a moment if we can meet, but I'll hang on the phone every minute.

--I'll think of nothing else. I must go.

--Must you?

--I have a premonition about going home...

--You never did say about our parents. What was going on? Do you know? I have my suspicions involving romantic interests. I'm not exactly sure, but if we exchange information, it might prove interesting for more than one reason.

--I'm sure. I must go. Do you have enough for the check?

He patted her hand.

They found the woman waiting at the end of the bar for them as they came out the door. Sam asked for their check. The woman stared into his eyes, and shook her head. She turned to Mary, searching her face hard. Back to Sam, she waved her forefinger, and then raised her chin, the long thin cigarette a baton leading her movements as her hand suddenly made a large circle around her head. Sam nodded, and smiled at her. So that was what she wanted, and it was worth all the drinks, and her service, and, if he wanted, the room upstairs, too. How she knew he had the gift would cause him to wonder always. He stared back into her chasm black eyes. He broadened his smile.

--Blue. It's blue. He chuckled.

--She snickered. Louder. She laughed, quick, short, the cigarette still stuck in the middle of her lips. In one apportamento, she threw the butt away, clapped her hands, and jumped upwards as her laughter cackled throughout the room. She stopped briefly, nodding her head, asking for confirmation. Sam blinked his eyes, and nodded emphatically several times. She reached over to pull Sam tight to the bar. She whispered in his ear. He clapped his hands loudly, laughed, and turned to lead Mary outside.

--You'll never believe. Somehow, she did know we were going to be there tonight, that's why she was dressed in all black. Smoking like crazy because she was nervous. Somehow, too, she knew I had the gift. I can read auras, you know, a glow some people have around their heads, usually, but sometime it can be around the whole body, or just a part of it, like the hands, or the legs. The color of the aura is the messenger. Some colors are better than others. You heard me tell her she had blue. She knew she carried an aura. She thought it had changed color. She wanted to know. Now she knows.

--How does she know you didn't lie? How does anyone except you know auras really exist?

--Because one doesn't make apocryphal statements about life and death. You have to believe me that auras do exist.

--And she told you all of that in her brief whisperings?

--No! I knew all immediately when she asked me to read her. What she whispered in my ear was more fascinating. I just don't know if I should tell you.

--You just try it, and I get on the bus alone!

What she said was marvelous. He convinced Mary that he would tell her when they got off the bus because it was the last thing he wanted her to hear before they parted. More special than that because of the immediacy was the way he searched out her hand, and held it on her lap; then continued to hold it when they got out of their seats, left the bus and walked the short distance to the Santini Moving and Storage building on Morris Park where she felt they would find a safe haven for a few precious moments before her short walk alone down the street to her home. Near invisible in their grotto, she put her hands around his waist; he held her close by her shoulders. --For certain I will go insane long before noontime waiting for you to call.

--How desperate I'll be to speak to you.

--The woman said not to be concerned: It was our destiny to make love to each other, but not to prevaricate too long and tempt fate.

--Talk about going crazy...

Their kiss was gentle, unhurried, full of grace and feeling. It was not sensual, demanding, heated. Rather it was deliberate. A searching for the ineluctable elegance and supreme enravishment that distinguished this as an enthralling moment imparadised as the first kiss between them as lovers.

There would be others, but different.

THE PREMONITION ENGULFED Mary Dolorosso the very instant she turned away from Sam to walk the short distance to her home. A
terremoto
was waiting for her. The earthquake was papa. The cause eluded her, there seemed to be so many. Because she was home late? Because Vito stopped by to ingratiate himself to explain why he wasn't bringing her home? No. Not for what she was feeling.

Gina.

Mary made the choice at the door, her back to the jamb, her head pushed against it, her eyes closed. Face them? Or not? She exhaled slowly. She was playing such a stupid game with herself! She damn right well would walk in as if she were in control to do otherwise. If she could only explain why she subjected herself to their frustrations. Perhaps because it was easier to deal with them than with her ownshortcomings. --Oh! Dear God in heaven above! Her only oasis of relief. She steeled herself for the barrage, opened the door, and exposed her own vulnerability. --Hello! Ma. Sorry you felt you had to wait up for me. Are you okay?

She thought she'd better wait up was the reply, but indications were ominous, like an ambulance parked on the sidelines at a spectacle.

Rocco rolled into the kitchen. Quietly, smoothly, swiftly. Two pulls on the wheels, and he effectively blocked the path to the front and bathroom doors. Sanctuaries now denied her.

--Papa, I'm sorry I'm home late...

--Come--index finger beckoning--come give me a kiss to show you love me...

--Papa, please...don't...

--Come...quietly, menacingly.

--Yes, Papa. As she drew closer she could smell the mixture of sour wine, whiskey, and overbrewed anger. Instinctively she tried to retrorocket out of reach. The smell of insanity overpowering.

Rocco had stoked his seething rage with envisioned rehearsals of what he was going to do to her when she came home for too long a time. His fist was too fast, powered with years of collected frustration. The knuckles dug in just below her cheekbone crushing flesh, arteries, eyebrow. And her sensibilities. Her eye exploded in. a frightening kaleidoscope of blasting rockets; the pain stripping the breath from her chest; the anxiety propelling her towards a grim blackness.

Unaware of the force with which he made contact, he misjudged how fast her head would snap back, his left hook missed by a foot, its force carrying him far over the side spilling him and the chair to the floor.

--
Dio mio! Auit'a me
! From Lilly.

--
Che ti po si n'e ammazzatto
! His wish for his daughter to be murdered.

But Mary didn't hear him, beginning to sink to the floor vaguely aware of the turmoil.

--Mary! Quickly! Help me! Your father's hurt himself! Mary! For god's sakes!

Aware only of the pounding explosions to her face, in her head, Mary staggered, then struggled with her mother to right the wheelchair and resituate her father. It depleted her reserve completely.

Anxious to complete what he had rehearsed for hours, Rocco shook off the indignity, and picked up in the script. --Why didn't you come home with Vito?

Silence. He knew the story. He was milking the moments to vomit out his spleen. She would not contribute to his madness.

Unaware he could still move so fast, she found her wrist welded to his hand. He yanked her violently, snapping her head. --Answer!
Puttana che sei!

--Vito told you!

--Vito nothing! Answer me! This time the jerk crashed her into the wall.

--Vito went crazy! He started a fight...

--Liar! A cook insults you, Vito protects you and you blame him! You went crazy, not him! And then you run off with him! How much did he pay you? Show me? A hundred dollars? Are your services worth a hundred dollars? Show me!

--Papa, let me go! You're hurting me!

--Tell me you didn't make the whore tonight!

--I didn't! I didn't!

A sharp pull brings her within range. Rocco's left hand this time finds its mark on her rib cage just below her armpit.

Oh! Good Lord! He's going to kill me! Don't scream! Lord! Don't scream it only infuriates him. Swallow your tongue! Anything! But don't make a sound. God! Does it hurt! He must've broken my ribs... --Ma, help me! Papa, please don't hit me any more! Please...! In defense she collapses to the floor at his feet, but he does not release her. I'm telling the truth!

--I'll give you a chance to tell the truth... A twist of the wrist wrenches the armbone in its socket.

The pain produces a muffled gasp.

--Try to lie about Gina I'll break your head! His fist crushes into her back just below her kidney.

--Papa! Please stop!

--Gina! Comes out like a tornado through his gritted teeth.

--What about Gina?

--Gina!

It would take a miracle to hold back the tears, and she knew when he saw them it would incite him to new acts of violence. She had asked a priest to help her find a way through such moments, and he replied that she should forgive him then and there because they were not the acts of her father, rather the outpouring of misery reaped by a strong, healthy man bound to a wheelchair. Fuck the misery he felt! She could get killed! In a burst of energy, she sprung to her feet, jerking her arm wildly to free herself, and jumped away out of his reach. Gingerly she crossed one hand to her face, the other to her ribs. --You're not my father! You're not even a human being anymore. It was your accident that put you in a wheelchair, why should I suffer for that?

--
Strunza!
Bitch of a whore! Gina! She's run away, and you helped her!

--I'm glad she's gone! What a happy day for her to be rid of you two!

--Ungrateful slut! Only my daughter knows how to have the shit roll from her mouth after what we've done for her! Gina will be back, and will kiss my feet. Wait and see. An empty belly and a chill up her ass will send her back, grateful for the comfort of this house! But you gave her money, right? You're too stupid to know any better! You gave her just enough to get her in trouble. How much did you give her!

Silence.

--How much
, puzzolenta, schifosa che non sei n'ient'altra!
How much did you give her!

--If I'm putrid and loathsome remember I'm your daughter!

Again she didn't realize how fast he could move. This time he pushed himself forward at the same time he grabbed the broom resting near the wall down by its head, and swung it swiftly. It caught her arm just below her shoulder snapping in two.

She forced herself not to cry out, but realized as she stared venomously back at him, that the blood in his eyes was about to vaporize, so close was he to going beyond the nimis. --I gave her money. I gave her my money.

--Of course it was your money. How much of your money did you give her? How much!

--Two-hundred-and-fifty dollars...

--Oh...!

She knew by his tone that he was restraining himself, which his internal pressure had gone up a dozen pounds or more. --And how did you come by this money, this piddling amount?

When she told him, she knew he'd believe her because she handed the same amount to him the previous year.

--You bitch! You betray your own father! Steal money that belongs to the family! I'll kill you!

There was no question in Mary's mind that he meant what he said. With the way blocked to the front door and bathroom, she knew she would have to retreat to her bedroom. It would be only temporary refuge before he broke the door down and was upon her. He punctuated his seriousness by thrusting the broken point of the broom at her. She jerked to one side, and watched as the wood buried itself in the wall. Now she screamed. Although trapped physically, she was also mired psychologically as the loyal and loving daughter who should accept the punishment dutifully or lose the love of father. That was no longer a consideration after he smashed through her bedroom door.