The Shoemaker's Wife(76)

Enza remembered that it was important to know when to leave a party; it was as gracious as arriving on time. Enza seized the right moment to depart, before it got awkward, before the lines were drawn among the guests and decisions were made: who left with whom. There wasn’t much to clean up on the roof, the glasses cluttered the tray, and the cookies had been eaten. It was time to go.

“I’ll walk you ladies out,” Ciro said, following Enza and Laura down the stairs, through the dark apartment and through the shop. As they reached the door, Enza turned and asked Ciro, “Where do you stay?”

“I’ll show you.”

“I’ll wait here.” Laura innocently searched through her purse for her gloves.

Ciro took Enza by the hand to the back of the store. He pulled back the curtain and showed her his cot, sink, mirror, and chair, his neat and clean corner of the world.

“It’s immaculate. The nuns would be proud of you,” Enza said.

“You haven’t seen the best part,” he said, pushing the drapery aside and opening the door to the garden. Enza followed him outside.

An accordion played in the distance, underscoring peals of laughter and the low drone of scattered conversation from the porches and yards close by. The cool night air had the scent of buttery caramel and cigar smoke. Rolling gray clouds from the last of the fireworks hung over the jagged rooftops of Little Italy as the moon, full and blue, pushed through the haze to illuminate the garden.

“You have a tree!” Enza exclaimed.

“How many trees did we have on the mountain?” Ciro asked. He put his hands in his pockets and stood back from her, observing her delight.

“A million.”

“More,” Ciro remembered. “And here, all I have is this one tree, and it’s more precious to me than all the forests below Pizzo Camino. Who would have thought that one tree could bring me so much joy? I’m almost ashamed.”

“I understand. Any small thing that reminds me of home is a treasure. Sometimes it’s small—a bowl of soup that makes me think of my mother—or it’s a color. I saw a blue parasol in the crowd this afternoon that reminded me of the lake by the waterwheel in Schilpario. It’s the kind of thing that catches you unaware and fills you with a deep longing for everything you once knew. Don’t apologize for loving this tree. If I had a tree, I’d feel the same.”

Ciro wished he had more time to talk with her.

“We should go,” Enza said, as she went through the door and back into the shop.

Ciro walked Laura and Enza out onto Mulberry Street, strewn with bits of confetti, twists of crepe paper, and pieces of ribbon. A few stragglers had found their way down to the corner of Grand Street, where a street band played into the night. Laura walked ahead, just far enough to allow Enza some privacy.

“I should say good-bye,” Enza said, even though she didn’t want to. “And you should get back to your girlfriend.”

“She’s just an old friend, I’ve known her since I came to Mulberry Street,” Ciro said. “We just have fun, Enza. We laugh. We have a good time. It’s nothing serious.”

“It’s not a romance?”

“It can’t be,” he said honestly. “She’s been betrothed since she was twelve years old.”

“Did someone remember to tell her that?” Enza laughed.

For a moment, Enza had to think about what he was saying. Fun was so low on Enza’s list of priorities, she’d practically forgotten it existed.

“You should be having fun, of course,” she said. “You work hard, it makes sense. Don’t pay any attention to me. I’m too serious. I wear my responsibilities like an old saddle on an old horse.”

Ciro took her hand. “Don’t make excuses for the way you are. You’re working to take care of your family, and there’s no higher purpose than that.”

“Sometimes I’d like to be young too.” Enza spoke without thinking. She was surprised to realize that she felt this way. She never thought about what she wanted, only what was best for those she loved. And as far as her own heart was concerned, she hoped she would do the choosing.

Enza saw how it went with the girls at the mill. Some young women had been betrothed by their parents to young men who were chosen for them, making a match that served both families, pooling their meager assets to benefit both. Others chose for themselves, lucky enough to properly court and fall in love. Still others were forced to marry quickly, when they had not followed the rules of the church. When the banns of marriage went unannounced, the bride and groom were relegated to a private ceremony, deprived of a high mass and reception, taking their vows quietly behind the doors of the sacristy, hidden away in a shame that lasted a lifetime. Maybe this was why it was so hard for Enza to be young. It wasn’t just the money that had to be earned, and the house in Schilpario that needed building, there was danger in youth.

Ciro took her hands. “I don’t want you to be like them.”

“Who?”

“The girls on Mulberry Street. They just want to get married because it’s time. I want more.”

“And what is more to you, Ciro?”

“Someone I can talk to.”

“And when did you decide that was important?”

“I think just now.” He laughed. After a moment, he took her face in his hands. “You’re different, Enza.”