From Sand and Ash(5)

“That he is God?”

Eva wrinkled her forehead. “No. I don’t think so. Jesus is not what we call him.”

“You don’t go to Mass?”

“No. We go to temple. But not very often,” she admitted. “My babbo says you don’t have to go to a synagogue to talk to God.”

“I went to a Catholic school and Mass every Sunday. Mamma and I always went to Mass.” Angelo hadn’t lost the shocked expression on his face. “I don’t know if I can be your brother, Eva.”

“Why?” she squeaked, perplexed.

“Because we aren’t the same religion.”

“Jews and Catholics can’t be brothers and sisters?”

Angelo was quiet, contemplative. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally.

“I think they can,” she said firmly. “Babbo and Uncle Augusto are brothers, and they don’t agree on very much.”

“Well, then. We will agree on everything else,” Angelo said gravely. “To make up for it.”

Eva nodded, just as solemnly. “Everything else.”



“Why are you always arguing with me?” Angelo sighed, throwing his hands in the air.

“I’m not always arguing with you!” Eva argued.

Angelo just rolled his eyes and tried to shake his persistent shadow. She followed him everywhere, and he usually didn’t mind, but he’d spent the morning teaching her to play baseball—nobody in Italy played baseball—and now his leg was bothering him. He wanted Eva to go away so he could attend to it.

“So, what exactly is wrong with your leg?” Eva asked, noticing his discomfort. She’d already taught Angelo the basics of soccer, and though Angelo couldn’t run very well, he could protect and defend. He was a superb goalie. Still, as much time as they’d spent playing together, he hadn’t ever talked about his leg, and she’d been surprisingly patient, waiting for him to reveal the secret. She was tired of waiting.

“There’s nothing wrong with it . . . exactly. It just isn’t all there.”

Eva sucked in her breath in horror. A missing leg was so much worse than she had imagined.

“Can I see?” she begged.

“Why?” Angelo shifted uncomfortably.

“Because I’ve never seen a missing leg.”

“Well, that’s the problem. You can’t see what isn’t there.”

Eva sighed in exasperation. “I want to see the part that is there.”

“I would have to take off my trousers,” he challenged, trying to shock her.

“So?” she said saucily, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t care about your smelly underwear.”

When he raised his eyebrows in surprise, she pressed sweetly, “Please, Angelo? No one shows me anything interesting. Everyone treats me like a baby.”

Everyone did treat Eva like a tiny princess. She was doted on, and Angelo had noticed that she didn’t especially enjoy it.

“All right. But you have to show me something too.”

“Like what?” She lowered her brows doubtfully. “My legs are just normal. My whole body is normal. What do you want me to show you?”

Angelo seemed to ponder that for a moment. Eva was sure he was going to ask to see her girl parts. Nonno would paddle them, and Nonna would cross herself and get out her black beads and start praying if they were caught, but Eva was curious too and wouldn’t mind having her questions about boy parts answered.

“I want you to show me that book you write in. And I want you to read it to me,” Angelo said.

Eva was surprised, but it was probably safer than show-and-tell, and she only had to think about it for five seconds.

“All right.” Her hand shot out to take his in a brisk handshake. From Angelo’s glower, she knew he was worried about the deal he’d made. Her willingness to shake probably had him thinking he was getting the raw end of it. He probably thought she wrote about him. She did. But she didn’t care if he knew about it.

Still, he shook her hand and began to pull up his right pant leg. All the other Florentine boys wore short pants almost year-round, but not Angelo. Angelo looked like a little man in his trousers and ugly black boots.

“I thought you had to take off your trousers!” Eva huffed, not liking that she’d already been lied to.

“I just wanted to see what you’d say. You aren’t a lady, that’s for sure.”

“I am too! I’m just not a silly lady who makes a fuss about a boy’s baggy underwear.”

He stretched his leg out, the adjustable steel columns strapped to his knee and upper leg on one end and attached to a black boot on the other.

Eva touched the adjustable braces with an outstretched hand, fascinated.

“It helps me walk. My papà made it for me.” His face changed at the mention of his father, the way it always did. Angelo’s father was a blacksmith, and he had promised to train Angelo to make things out of metal too. Angelo didn’t need two legs to build things with his hands. But that had been before his mother died. His father was in America, Angelo was in Italy, and nobody would be teaching Angelo to work metal.

“Can you take it off?” Eva really wanted to see him in all his legless glory. Angelo unbuckled the straps and moaned a little, as if it were a relief to loosen them.