“We are not sentimental people,” Nino said. “Sometimes others don’t understand that for us the gesture of respect is love. But it is in . . . personal matters . . . that it makes trouble. Not in other things. It’s bad to jump into personal things before you have a clear direction.” He looked at her directly. His eyes were filled with pity. “You will jump into everything before you’re ready. Your trouble is, you’ll never find anything you don’t think you’re ready for! You’re full of curiosity, you’re full of desire. You want it all satisfied.” But the thought had turned him back toward his rage at her, and he tightened his grip on her hand. “Just remember—you may live differently, you may do this or that, what’s right doesn’t change. It’s always there. You,” he said sadly, “just make it harder to find.” He could see the tears in her eyes, and he knew the effort she was making not to let them fall. He hadn’t wanted to make her cry. He began rubbing the red marks he had made in her wrist. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, leaning toward her.
“What?” she murmured.
“I’ve always thought they should have buried Lucia alone. A child has to make its own way,” he said softly. “If the child finds the right way, it finds its own road back to where it belongs.”
His words cut through her. He’s releasing me, she thought, as his hands rubbed away the welts.
“I’ll tell you something else,” Nino said. “So there’s at least one other mistake you won’t make. Don’t look forward to my dying too much. Nothing will be different when I’m dead. Maybe you do know that. I’ve never been sure what you know. You’re deep. Ever since you were a child, you’ve been deep.” He caressed her cheek. “So maybe you know you won’t get out of this so easily. You won’t get out of this at all.” He looked at her kindly, but his interest had clearly flown elsewhere. “Listen, Gina. Be careful. There is no cure for what you’ve got.”
Seven
“Who grows fat, grows beautiful!” said Anna-Maria as she filled her plate. “The sfogliatelli are crispy, the cannoli are creamy. I can never pick which I’m in the mood for.” She licked her fingers and settled herself before the coffin. “He looks better now than he did when he was alive. God rest his soul,” she said. “He always loved the pastry. That’s why I brought it, Nino,” she went on, talking to him directly now. “I brought boxes and boxes. And coffee too, but not espresso. Who wants espresso, anyway!” she demanded of him. “It’s too bitter. Papa Giuseppe, he never would drink anything else and it ruined his kidneys. And look what it did to yours!”
“He enjoyed it, though,” Laura said. Why did Anna-Maria have to bring pastry to his funeral? She had looked through all the funeral parlors in the neighborhood for a really nice place, the kind the young ones wouldn’t be embarrassed to come to, and Anna-Maria had to go and make a feast out of the wake. She wasted money on a twenty-cup West Bend pot and all this coffee. Disgusted, Laura helped herself to a butterfly pastry.
What do you expect? Laura appealed to Nino. You never listened to Anna-Maria’s problems before. Now, she thought, noting how Anna-Maria was talking comfortably in Nino’s ear, you’ll have to pay for avoiding her! And to whom besides you could Anna-Maria have told what worried her most. You were the only one she trusted. Since she had cursed her husband and he had died of a heart attack, the vampires she had seen only in her apartment began to appear everywhere. They talked all night, screamed in her ear, tried to take her blood.
Parasites! Anna-Maria said. That’s what they are. Just useless, rotten parasites. When she forgot them, she was happy. She did crazy things, but they were happy things. Once she bought a huge birthday cake full of candles and brought it to the old lady next door. Together they had washed it down with beer. She would do generous things when the vampires stayed in their places. But they were always there, she complained to Nino, lurking in toilet bowls. “Maybe now,” she was asking him, “now that you are on the other side, Nino, you could tell them to stop bothering me. You are my brother-in-law, Nino,” she was reminding him. “You have to do right by me.”
“That’s right,” Laura said to her. “Tell him everything. He has time now.” Did his lips twist, Laura wondered, or was it just that every time Anna-Maria opened her mouth he would snarl and get away as quickly as he could? Even in a wheelchair, he could be at the other end of the block as soon as she began to pour out her story. “Pray,” he would tell her. “Pray for patience. Pazienza mia!” he would say, and be off. Who did you listen to, Nino, she thought. The neighbors—Malloy who is out of work—him you’d listen to, him you cared about. My own sister who’s crazy you didn’t have time for. What did you care about her troubles, married to a man forty years older than she? With a limp, no less, when she liked to dance. What did you ever do but think she painted her face too much and cleaned her house too little. It’s true, she admitted, but it’s no reason for not paying attention.
Laura’s eyes filled with tears. She turned to her niece Gloria. “You see your aunt?” she motioned to Anna-Maria. “She’s finally getting her chance. God took the wrong sister when he took your mother. She was a wonderful person, Aurelia. How could He have let her die of lung cancer when she never even smoked a cigarette?” Laura shook her head. There is no justice. “This one,” she pointed to Anna-Maria, “is just another patient for me. First him,” she said, pointing to Nino, “now her. God took the wrong sister,” she said again.
“She’ll hear you, Aunt Laura,” Gloria said. “Don’t talk so loud.”
“She will drive me crazy,” Laura said to Gloria. “Thirty years she lives in a rent-controlled apartment. Three rooms for a hundred and nine dollars a month. All of a sudden to get away from the vampires she packs her bag with her best clothes, pays her rent, puts her keys in the freezer, and leaves a note in the super’s mailbox that says, ‘Go into my apartment and take what you want. The keys are in the refrigerator.’ She leaves her television set, her radio, an expensive clock—things we could have used. She goes to Grand Central Station and gets on a train with no idea where she’s going. She gets off when she has to use the bathroom because she thinks the train toilets are dirty. Which,” Laura agreed, “they probably are. But where does she end up? New London, Connecticut. Does she know anyone in New London? No! She finds a hotel and I have to go all the way up there and bring her back when her money runs out. She doesn’t even have the sense to tell social security where to send her checks. Now she brings food in here and I’ll wind up cleaning up the mess.”
“It’s terrible, Aunt Laura,” Gloria agreed. “Maybe there’s somewhere she could go. An institution for people like that.”
“An institution!” Laura said indignantly. “I can’t send her to an institution. She’s my sister, even though she’s not much company.”
Anna-Maria had begun to greet Adela and Cousin Antonetta, who had come in.
“Look,” Laura said to Anna-Maria, “I’m the widow, not you.”
“You were always jealous of me,” Anna-Maria said, smoothing her sweater.
“Me? Jealous of you!” Laura said.
“Of my looks,” Anna-Maria said sweetly.
“You look . . .” Laura began, searching for a way to describe a fifty-eight-year-old woman in a miniskirt.
“Don’t say it,” Adela said. “This is a day of peace. And rest,” she said solemnly. “You’ll gain an indulgence for putting up with her,” she whispered to Laura.
“Eh,” Laura said. “Let’s forget it.” They stood over Nino.
“The flowers make a good showing,” Adela said. Huge wreaths ringed the coffin. “This one is from Brother Thomas himself. That one is from the Brothers together.”
“That’s mine,” Laura said, pointing to a heart of red roses. “And the chrysanthemums are from Tommy.”
“Tommy? Theresa’s boy? The one who’s a little . . .” Adela waved her arm.
“Yes,” Laura said. “He sent them.”
“You wouldn’t think someone who lives a strange life like that would rememb
er Nino.”
“When you come down to it,” Laura said, “he was always a good boy. He still sends money to his mother.”
“This is a nice place,” said Adela, looking around the room at the carpeting with a pattern of Spanish tiles and the dark Mediterranean furniture.
“I’m glad you like it,” Laura said. “Tillie took her father here, so I saw it then and thought it was the best one in the neighborhood.”
Adela shook her head. She turned a seasoned gaze on Nino, taking in the silky lining of the coffin.
“He looks very well,” Adela said.
“They did a good job,” Laura agreed.
“He’s not so chalky,” Adela noted. They had closed the lower half of the coffin, and it was not apparent that he had no legs.
“I bought that suit for him yesterday, in Robert Hall,” Laura said. “The salesman remembered him and found the right size. It fit perfectly on the shoulders. Blue is the best color for him. And I bought the white shirt and tie. Everything’s nice and new.”
“He looks wonderful,” Adela said, taking her hand. Laura had taken care of him for so long, she couldn’t stop.
“My deepest sympathy,” Vinnie said, taking Laura’s free hand. “What a way to go. To have suffered so much and to have put up with everything. That priest they sent for the last rites. When Nino’s heart failed, Laura called Our Lady of Perpetual Help to send a priest. They send over this kid to administer the last rites. He was worse than the one who came to Maria. When Nino gets better after they put the pacemaker in—not that they really put it in. He was too weak. So they attached it and let it hang outside. But then his kidneys were not so hot. So when they start to fail, Laura calls for the priest again. Then they fixed that by attaching a bag to his bladder that hangs outside the body. So the next time when the gangrene turned up in his stump, Laura calls the priest again and he says, ‘Look, wait a while and call me back when you’re sure. It’s a cold night.’ Cold night!” Vinnie said indignantly. “Some priest. What are they for, if not to make it easier to die? A priest for Bingo nights, that’s what he was. And for Nino, who would have crawled, if he had to, to help you out.” Vinnie shook his head. “Now there’s nobody left from the old neighborhood who remembers. He was a good friend. Appreciated everything you did for him. When he was fourteen and I was only nine, his brother Gabriel—the one he never spoke to—was fighting with him when I came into the house. Gabriel was mean, he had a mean temper. He picked up a kitchen knife. I was only a kid. I knew Gabriel wouldn’t cut a kid. I ran between them and said ‘Gabriel, what are you doing? Forget it! This is crazy.’ He pushed me away, but he throws the knife on the floor and walks out. Nino always thought I saved his life. Or maybe he was grateful that I took it on myself. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for me since then. Since I was nine.”
“They don’t make that kind of gratitude anymore,” Adela agreed. “Tell me,” she said to Laura. “What did they do with the pacemaker?”
“The pacemaker?”
“Yes. You paid eight hundred dollars for it. And he only used it for a month. What did they do with it when he died?”
They looked at Nino. He wasn’t wearing it underneath his new suit.
“What a terrible thing,” Laura said. “I never thought of what they did with it. They probably clean it up and sell it again,” she said haltingly. “I wouldn’t put it past them to do that.”
They stood silent in the face of it. “You know,” Laura said softly, “I had the fear when I visited Mama before Nino died that the graves were disappearing. She’s in an old part of the cemetery and I saw them digging new graves there. But they’ve been filled up in that section for years. So where could they have gotten the space for new graves? I think they wait to see who gets visitors. And the ones who don’t they remove the stones and sell the place again.” She shook her head. There was too much to look out for. Nothing was sure, not even after you were gone.
Adela edged closer to Laura. “I have something here I would like to give to Nino,” she said, rummaging in her bag. “It’s a letter for my sister, Cecilia. I want to send her my regards and to tell her I am taking care of the plants she left and I keep an eye on her son. She was always worried about how he eats, and I want her to know I have him for supper at least once or twice every week.”
Laura nodded. Adela tucked the letter deep in Nino’s coffin. Around them came the others, the ones who only came out for weddings and funerals, the ladies in black, oldest of the relatives, one of them over ninety, but still getting around. They gathered around Nino; some gave notes; others asked for favors.
Would he remember all this? Laura wondered. Even when he was asked to pick up a quart of milk he would forget. Would he give Adela’s regards to Cecilia and carry all the messages poured into his ear? Could he do Anna-Maria any good over there? He would have to, she concluded. It was his responsibility now.
Gina was standing back, half concealed by the chrysanthemum wreath. Her hair had grown much longer, Laura noticed. She had pulled it back and twisted it into a knot. Laura could see her watching the old ladies talking to Nino, munching pastry, tucking letters under his arm. It’s so much easier, Gina thought, if you could send a message like that. Then you could get across what you meant; if you put it in writing there would be no mistake about the meaning. The sight of the heavy custard pastries was somehow reassuring.
He does look better now than when he was alive, Gina saw. The thought of his life gripped her more painfully than his death. To sicken in pieces, one limb at a time, one function lost after another. Even his eyes were going. She could see him still in the last hospital he had gone to. Not a good hospital, just one nearby so it was easy to visit. If they help him anymore, Laura had said, he’ll die faster! How much help could he take? First the transplant, then the amputations, then the pacemaker, then the insertion of the tube and bag. It was too terrible, one trauma crowding another. As the year stretched deep into winter, there was less and less of him left. And yet he had been able to turn away from his decline, even as she turned from him.
Near the end he had ceased to speak English. He murmured in the dialect of his town. He seemed politely irritated if anyone came in, as if he had been interrupted in a conversation more interesting than any a visitor could offer. He had only once reached out to her. His long fingers had stretched toward her. The tips, she thought, were blackish. Maybe his hands would have gone next—the words crowded her mind. But he was bent on making a final point. “When I see you again,” he had repeated, “I don’t want to hear the same stupid remarks you always make. Do the right thing!”
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Go figure it out,” he said.
“It’s not the kind of thing you can figure out. Either you know or you don’t know.”
“If you don’t know,” Nino said, “don’t bother coming around. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a confused person.”
“If there’s one thing I can’t stand,” Gina said, “it’s a person who gives confusing advice.”
“You see,” Nino said, “we agree on everything.” He reached for her hand. “I don’t mind emotion, you know. I’m not afraid of feeling.”
It was so much easier to argue with him than not. I really failed you, Nino, Gina thought. I really blew it! You gave me one last chance to say . . . to say what? I love you. It would have been so unlike everything we had been to each other to say that. But the time, the place, everything cried out for something different. There is no way, Nino, she thought, no way I didn’t fail you by saying what I said. If I could send a note, she thought, maybe I wouldn’t say “I forgot to tell you I loved you.” But I could say something else. I still can’t think what. Maybe just apologize for making dumb jokes, for shutting you up. The idea of a letter, she thought wistfully, wasn’t bad.
“My deepest sympathy,” Angelo said to her.
She looked at him for a moment, coming back from her thoughts all too slowly. “What di
d you say?” she asked, smiling slightly at him.
“My deepest sympathy,” he repeated sheepishly. “When in Rome,” he began, letting the sentence trail off. “I’m sorry about Nino,” Angelo said. “Really sorry. He was one of a kind.”
Gina grinned at him. “Yes, he was.”
“They don’t make them like that anymore.”
“No,” she agreed, “they don’t.”
“It’s probably just as well,” he ventured. “I hear you’re on your own now.”
“Yes,” she said. “I was at an SRO hotel for a while, but now I’m moving to my own apartment. You have to come and see.”
“Where is it?”
“MacDougal Street. It has a tub in the kitchen, but a private bathroom and a fireplace. And it’s cheap.” The thought of the apartment cheered her. She was full of plans for it. After months at the Bristol, she had come to hate the long corridors, the dingy kitchen, the moldy refrigerator, the stove that seemed constantly visited by mice.
“Aren’t you moving back with Laura now that she’s alone?” Angelo asked.
“Maybe I’ll stay with her for a while.”
“It agrees with you to be on your own?” Angelo asked.
“It does.” Gina said. “Sometimes I wake up in the morning and look around and I feel . . . blessed . . . just to be there, just to be away.”
“You must be in love,” Angelo offered.
Gina looked at him. He knows about Alex, she thought, but he isn’t going to say. Neither am I. Alex had been willing to come, but she had told him not to. He had been so loving. He had woken up early with her that morning and brewed a huge pot of tea against the chill of his room. She could feel him still, feel the wash of tenderness he poured with his arms, his kiss, his thighs winding around her. Sometimes he could be perfect. And then others he seemed to generate the most intense restlessness in her. Once you move out, she had realized, you keep moving out. It’s not something you want to stop. Maybe that’s what Nino meant by a disease: the moving disease. The way the world looks to you is how you know you’ve got it. To me, Gina thought, it looks like a train I absolutely must get on.
The Right Thing to Do Page 19