The Shoemaker's Wife(50)

“Va, va!” Carla said to the boy. But Ciro reached into his pocket and handed the boy a coin. He held the coin high and twirled down the sidewalk, joining his friends, who charged back toward Ciro. Remo pulled him into the house before Ciro had a chance to empty his pockets.

The poor of Little Italy were different from those Ciro knew. On the mountain, they wore clothes made of sturdy fabric. Boiled wool was their velvet; buttons and trim were extravagant extras added to clothing worn on feast days, at weddings, and for burial. The New York Italians used the same fabrics to make their clothing, but they accessorized with jaunty hats, gold belt buckles, and shiny buttons. The women wore lipstick and rouge, and gold rings on every finger. They spoke loudly and expressed themselves with theatrical gestures.

In the Italian Alps, this particular kind of presentation was considered ill mannered. In Ciro’s village, when the vendors rolled their carts out on to the colonnade to sell their wares, there was modest stock to choose from, and little room for negotiation of the price. Here, the carts were loaded full, and customers haggled. Ciro came from a place where people were grateful to be able to purchase any small thing. Here, everyone acted entitled to a better deal. Ciro had entered the circus; the show was Italian, but the tent was American.

Back on the mountain, Enza siphoned homemade burgundy wine from a barrel into bottles lined up on a bench in the garden. She closed her eyes and held the bottles up to her nose, distinguishing the scent of the woodsy barrel from the potential bitterness of the grapes. She had begun to cork the bottles when she saw her father and Signor Arduini entering the house.

Enza quickly untied her apron, splattered with clouds of purple, and smoothed her hair. She slipped into the house through the back door. As Marco took the landlord’s hat and pulled out his chair, Enza removed two small glasses from the shelf, poured brandy into the glasses, and placed them before the padrone and her father.

“I always say the Ravanelli children have the best manners on the mountain.” Signor Arduini smiled. Enza looked at him, thinking that if she weren’t so scared of him, and so anxious about the power he wielded over her family, she might actually like him.

“Thank you,” said Marco.

Enza opened a tin, placing several sweet anginetti cookies on a plate. She served the men, placing two linen napkins on the table.

“I wish my daughter had Signorina’s grace,” Arduini said.

“Maria is a lovely young woman,” Marco reassured him.

“Lovely and spoiled.” Arduini sighed. “But thank you.”

Enza knew all about the pampered Maria Arduini. She had made her several gowns when she took on odd jobs in the dress shop in town. When Maria couldn’t decide upon a fabric, she would have three gowns made instead of one.

“We’re always happy to see you. What brings you here today?” Marco asked.

“I’ve been meaning to come down the mountain and talk to you about the house.”

“We would like to come to terms on the sale,” Marco began.

“I had hoped to sell it to you,” Signor Arduini said.

Marco continued, “We hope to give you a down payment by the end of summer.”

Enza placed her hand on her father’s arm. “Signor Arduini, you said you had hoped to sell it to us. Is that still your plan?”

“I’m afraid it’s no longer possible.”

There was a long silence. Signor Arduini sipped the brandy.

“Signor Arduini, we had an agreement,” Marco said.

“We would like to make an offer to you for the stable,” Signor Arduini said, placing his glass on the table. “You know that it isn’t worth much, but I’m sure we can negotiate a fair price.”

“Let me understand you, Signore. You have reneged on your offer to sell us the house, but you would like to buy my stable, which has been in my family for a hundred years?” Marco asked softly.

“It’s a small stable.” Arduini shrugged.

Infuriated, Enza blurted, “We will never sell the stable!”

Signore Arduini looked at Marco. “Does your daughter speak for you?”

“My father has worked hard to pay a high rent to you for many years in exchange for the opportunity to buy our house outright. You promised him that you would sell as soon as we had a reasonable down payment.”

“Enza.” Marco put his hand on Enza’s.

“My son wants the house,” Arduini said.

Enza was unable to contain her anger. “Your son squanders every lira you give him. He drinks his allowance at the tavern in Azzone.”

“He can raise his son as he pleases. And this is his house, Enza. He can do with it whatever he wants,” Marco said.

Since Stella died, her father’s ambition had all but left him. This current turn of events didn’t seem to surprise him so much as reinforce his sense of helplessness in the inevitable downward spiral of bad luck.

“Signore, you are backing out of a promise. That makes you a liar.” Enza seethed.

“I have been kind to this family for many years, and this is how you thank me. You allow your daughter to say whatever she likes against me. You have until the end of the month to move out.”

“Just a moment ago I had the best manners on the mountain.” Enza’s voice broke.

Arduini stood and placed his hat on his head, a sign of disrespect while he was still inside their home. He left the house without closing the door behind him.