The Witch of Little Italy (14 page)

*   *   *

Georgie was the one who made everything all right. He thought they should take her to Playland. Mimi arranged to have the cottage at Far Rockaway cleaned up and they all went, took the little boy, Anthony, who lived upstairs with them, too. They went for a week to the beaches of Far Rockaway. It put the stamp of childhood squarely on Babygirl’s forehead. It began to heal her. But wounds can be reopened. And get infected, too.

*   *   *

“Oh, I remember, Mimi…” Elly said softly, raising her head out of Mimi’s lap. “I remember you bringing me here. And I remember why.”

“She was sick, Elly,” said Mimi.

“I know. I think I knew it then. When I was little, I think I knew she never meant it. Drugs, right? I think it was drugs.”

“Yes. Sinful.”

“No, Mimi. Not sinful. Weak.”

“Are you troubled by all this, Elly?”

“No. I’m more troubled that she never told me.”

“It’s hard to tell people you’ve hurt them.”

Elly looked around her at all the boxes and up to the rafters. She felt her baby move deep within her.
Mothers and daughters … How we dance around each other …
she thought. Then she changed the subject.

“I also remembered a bit of that summer! The cottage. The beach! How wonderful! Is it still there?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. We couldn’t give up Mama’s cottage. But Far Rockaway is a different place now. Damn urban renewal projects. Barren and blah. That’s what it’s like now.”

“How about Playland? Is that still there? Oh Mimi, I’d love to go.”

“No, sweet. They tore down Playland.”

Elly put her head back in Mimi’s lap and started to cry again. “How do you tear down something called Playland? It’s … it’s … it’s a sin!”

“It’s true. A sin it is. Tell me dear heart, do you remember anything else? The rest of that summer, what Itsy said?”

“No … well … bits and pieces. Uncle George. Playing with Liz and Anthony. You remember Liz, right Mimi?”

“Oh yes, Liz! Of course,” said Mimi, stroking Elly’s hair. “How could I forget about her?”

“Yes, it’s been nice getting to know her again.”

Mimi shot a worried look at Elly. “Love, did you remember anything else?

“No, I don’t think so. But I have the strangest notion that all of my memories are tied to what Itsy said to me that day.”

“Always follow your notions, honey. That’s instinct and listening to instinct is what keeps us Amores different from all the other yahoos in the world.”

Elly sat up, laughing. “Mimi? Did you just say
yahoos
?”

Mimi smiled and swatted Elly with a maternity top. “Let’s go back downstairs, out of this old attic, and have some lunch. Then the garden, okay? There’s a lot of work to be done there.”

“Why can’t Anthony do it?”

“Elly. Rule number one about a true garden. Men can’t do anything but weed it. Nothing will work right if they get involved.”

She laughed as the two made their way back downstairs with armfuls of maternity clothes, and as they did, Elly felt disarmed by déjà’vu, again. Not the same as her ever unfolding memories. This was different. Scary.

“Mimi, is there another way into this attic?”

Mimi looked over her shoulder at her granddaughter. “No. Why? Do you remember something else?”

“No. Just a notion.”

“Well, take notice, Elly. Take notice of those instincts. Something’s trying to come true.”

“Well, why can’t it just come on then? These memories?
All
of them?” asked Elly later, as they gardened side by side.

“There’s only one reason,” said Mimi, not looking up from her task.

“And what’s that?”

“You. You are standing in your own way. And that means whatever it is scares you. It won’t forever … but take your time. Nothing good was ever rushed.”

“I’d rather hurry all this up, Mimi.”

“Rushing through pain tears us. Do you want to break or heal?”

Elly didn’t want to think about breaking. She pulled at the weeds and pushed the dimmer memories away.
Not yet, not yet
 … she thought.

But it was no use. They shimmered there anyway.

14

Itsy

“Let’s go to Playland? What do you think? Are you bored of the beach, my lovelies?” asked Mama.

Bunny came out of the bedroom. George and I ran in from the porch. Fee and Mimi slammed the screen door giggling and dropping clothespins from clutched aprons.

“Oh yes!” shrieked George.

Playland was a treat for many reasons. Spending money, sugar, death-defying rides. All things Mama didn’t like, but she had a gleam in her eyes that day and we understood. Papa was supposed to come that morning with the boys. It was already afternoon and they still weren’t in sight … so Playland for us was
his
punishment. We could read her mind:
Oh, so you think you can keep me waiting? You think you can worry me? Well, let’s see how you like it, Mr. Amore. Hope you come home and think we’ve been carried off by gypsies. And later, when I get my hands on you, you’ll be eating scones. Yes, those scones you like … the ones that make you dizzy.

As we made our way down the street toward the beach and boardwalk, I looked back for a moment at our summer place. All the cottages looked the same from far away. The street faced the beach and we all had the same view. The neighborhoods segregated themselves. Mama’s block was Irish, and we all called our cottage “Mamma’s House.” Summer belonged to her and her ways. The family of her childhood was gone but the house was still there. It was small but lovely: one large, long room with two bedrooms and a pull-down staircase for storage. Mama left the staircase down on rainy days so we’d have room to play and stay out of her hair.

Her hair.

How could she ever know how much I wanted to be inside her hair? Thick and black but not like our wild Italian locks. Shiny and dense. Straight like silk, her hair. And my Mama had gypsy eyes that glowed green like the phosphorus sea. Like the vistas her ancestors saw. A reflection of lives lived long ago.

*   *   *

Right past the entrance to Playland was the line of tents that housed the freak shows: the baby in a jar, the miniature horse, the Siamese twins, and the fortune-teller.

As we passed her tent she emerged from the multicolored fabric.

“Mrs. Amore, how nice to see you again.”

Mama went stiff for a moment, and then softened, her body floating toward the jingle-jangle woman. “Willow! Well, I never! How have you been?”

Mama turned to Bunny. “My word! A childhood friend and a fortune-teller, too. Watch the children, Bunny, okay?” And then she was gone, swallowed up into the folds of the tent.

George jumped up and down. “I want a candy apple! I want to go on the cyclone! I want to see the fun house!”

Bunny rummaged in her apron pocket and pulled out some shiny silver dimes. “Itsy, take him away, would you? I can’t hear him for one more second without going batty.”

I didn’t need coaxing. I took the money and my brother’s hand.

“One, two, three …
you and me
!!!!!!!!” we screamed, and ran from my older sisters free as birds and full of carnival air. It was our own sacred cry. We shared it with Henry, though. I remember wishing he’d been there, too.

But, even without Henry, we had a grand time that afternoon. Just Georgie and me. We ducked through crowds of people—no longer on the outside, like usual, but
inside
the thronging breathing beast of the crowd.

They found us on the end of the boardwalk pier, our mouths sticky with all sorts of pink and red confections, our hearts still racing from the twists and dips of lightning fast rides.

I could tell something was wrong as soon as I saw Mama. She didn’t hold her arms out to George for a hug. She stood apart from my sisters and looked past us, out over the ocean into the setting sun.

“Come, children,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “Come, let’s go back to the cottage and cuddle up, okay?”

Even George knew not to fuss. We followed behind her like ducklings. And I listened to the whispers of my sisters.

“Who was that woman?” asked Fee.

“Willow Bliss. From Fairview. One of Mama’s best friends!” said Bunny.

“What did she tell her, Bunny?” asked Mimi.

“I think it was bad news. Something about terrible things happening to us.”

By the time we got home, George, scared by the smatterings of conversation we heard on the beach, started to cry.

“Love, love … darling boy! What is it?” cooed Mama as she rocked him back and forth.

“The girls said we are all going to
die
!”

Mama patted the sofa cushions and we sat all around her as the night crawled up the sky and cast shadows on the whitewashed floors of the beach cottage.

“My babies. It is true. My friend Willow saw a very sad day for our family. But to be honest, it’s something I’ve seen from the start. Or…” She took down her hair and sat back into the cushions. “Or at least something I’ve tried
not
to see.”

“What is it Mama?” asked Mimi.

“1945. 1945 will be a very bad year for us. I don’t know when or how or why. But there will be a war. A war that will take your brothers.” Mama turned to face the picture window. She traced her fingers down a pane of glass.

“They know they’ll die in a war, already,” said George. “They talk about it and talk about it. It’s all they ever say.”

“I know they know,” said Mama, still looking out the window, hoping to see their tall figures walking up the street. “I’ve just spent too much time trying to deny it. And now I’ve learned that other things may happen.”

“What other things, Mama? You’re scaring us,” said Bunny.

Mama looked at Bunny. “Oh dear. You’re right. Look at me scaring all my ducks. All you need to know is that futures have a way of working themselves out. Some fates can change. Tragedy happens every day.” She stood up. “No more of this right now. We’ll speak of it some other time … or maybe you’ll just hear the echo of it in your own hearts … but for now? Now, I need to make Papa his favorite scones so he can have a full belly when he comes later tonight.”

At this, we all laughed. Papa would eat those scones and be sick for a whole day. Silly Papa.

I remember I slept alone on the screened-in back porch that night. I didn’t want to be near my brother or my sisters. I didn’t want to hear their thoughts or worries. I wanted to go to sleep listening to the surf against the beach. It worked, lulling me into a soft sleep, and then Mama woke me.

“Itsy?” she asked, sweeping her fingers across my forehead. “Wake up, honey, I need you.”

She needed me. And she sat with me that night, just the two of us with the moonlight pouring in. She told me the things she needed to say.

“It’s your job, Itsy. You are my very special girl. I know you don’t feel like it. I know you feel like your voice is so little it’s lost among the rest, but it’s not. Mama’s going to need you. And you have to swear a solemn vow. Swear to me you will take care of George and Mimi and Fee. Do you swear it, Itsy?”

“But Mama? What about you and Papa and Bunny and the boys?”

“Well, if all goes the way Willow Bliss assures me it will, you won’t have to worry about all the rest of us, dearheart.”

“Well, I don’t like it. But I swear. I swear to you the solemn vow.”

And I kept them safe for as long as I could. Mama. I kept them safe. Didn’t I?

15

Elly

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Elly …
Babygirl … Eleanor …
Happy Birthday to
you!
” The aunts and Mimi walked toward the table; their wrinkled, singing mouths illuminated by the candles on the Italian cream cake. Anthony was sitting next to Elly clapping as he gave her a kiss. “Make a wish…” he whispered into her ear as the cake was placed in front of her. Elly felt her whole body ache for him. Liz was standing in the shadows, smiling. “Happy Birthday!” she said.

“How does it feel to be twenty-three?” asked Mimi, “It’s a good number, you know. Two and three make five. Five like the leaves on a rose bush. Very lucky!”

“I feel very young and very old all at the same time, Mimi.”

“Mimi, do you mind if I show Elly her present before we have cake?” asked Anthony.

“Of course not, dear. I still have to perk the coffee; it’ll take a while.
Someone forgot,
” she yelled loud enough for Fee to hear.

“So what if I only care about the cake?” asked Fee.

“Thank you so much for the delicious dinner,” said Elly.

Mimi had prepared Elly’s favorite pasta. Bucatini amatriciana. Long, hollow spaghetti with tomato sauce made with pancetta and red onions.

“You are very welcome, birthday girl. Now go see what our Anthony has done for you!”

“Close your eyes, Elly,” said Anthony. She did as she was told and she let him lead her out of the apartment and up the stairs.

She heard the door creak open, and she smelled the fresh air smell that only comes after you’ve opened something that’s been closed for a long time. Air and dust and bleach. The thankful gift of plaster walls and dusty windowpanes newly awakened.

Colors danced behind her eyelids. “Can I open my eyes now?” asked Elly.

“Please do. Happy Birthday, Elly.”

It was Uncle George’s apartment, only it wasn’t. The space was huge and sparsely furnished. Elly remembered it immediately, the way it was before, and marveled at Anthony’s job. George had been a hoarder of sorts. Holding onto everything, his apartment floor to ceiling boxes and bags, baseball cards and soda cans. But now there was a tidy space, with a beautiful worn Persian carpet, a wingback chair and an easel. An easel with all her supplies from school. It looked like there were new things, too. Fresh canvases and brushes. Unsqueezed tubes of acrylic paint. And the work,
her work,
she’d brought home hastily in Georgie’s trunk. It was all hanging on the walls.

“Oh…” escaped from her mouth as she turned around, looped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. He picked her up, kicked the door shut with his foot and brought her into the bedroom. Elly felt weightless, safe.