Free Gangster by Lorenzo Carcaterra Page A

of an open barrel. Wait here, he said to Josephina, giving her the tomatoes and onions to hold. She stood and smiled, watching as the vendor handed Angelo a paper bag filled with roasted chestnuts. He paid the vendor, walked back and handed her the bag. I know you like them, he said.
        Josephina took the bag from Angelo and nodded, touched by the gesture of a boy she had grown to love. I used to roast them for my husband, she said, staring straight ahead. We would eat them in the evening along with one or two glasses of wine. It was our time together. I always liked the way it made the house smell. Now, when I walk past one of those carts, the smell of the roast reminds me of my husband and those nights.
        I did not buy them to make you sad, Angelo said.
        I am not sad, my little one, Josephina said. Those are my happy memories and they help me to forget that I live in such a place.
        Papa always says that our life here will soon get better, Angelo said. For him and for all of us.
        It will get better for some, Josephina said. But your papa will not be one of them. He is a dreamer who does not know how to bring his dreams to life.
        He is mad with me since I began my work for Angus, Angelo said. He says the money I get from him is blood money.
        Josephina stopped and turned to face Angelo. All money is blood money, she said. Remember that like you remember your name.
        I want to give him the money to help pay the bills, Angelo said. But he won't take it.
        He will never take it, Josephina said. He has his code and, in time, you will have yours.
        But I want to help, Angelo said.
        The best way to do that is to help yourself, Josephina said. Learn all you can about this world and go out and find your place in it.
        Why? Angelo shrugged. They hate us in this world.
        Time will change all that, Josephina said. Some day soon, the door will open for the few who are ready. Make sure you are one of them.
        And I will take you with me, Angelo said, resting his head against the old woman's large arm.
        That would make me very happy, little one, Josephina said with a wry smile, pausing at the base of the tenement stoop. But the future arrives without invitation and we never know what burdens or pleasures it brings.
        Pudge is coming for supper, Angelo said, helping Josephina walk up the steps. Is that okay?
        Only if he comes with an empty stomach, Josephina said. Tomato and onion salad, fresh bread, lots of wine and, thanks to you, roasted chestnuts. He must be ready to eat nothing less than a feast.
        Pudge loves to eat, Angelo said. Ida said the only time he doesn't have food in his mouth is when he sleeps.
        Then tonight, your friend Pudge will be a very happy young man, Josephina said.
       
         *     *     *
       
    IN THE LATE fall of 1914, poor living conditions and old age caught up to Josephina. She was felled by a string of illnesses--a monthlong battle with the flu damaged her lungs, a kidney infection left her weak and vulnerable and the shooting pain in her lower back could no longer be attributed to excess weight. For the first time in her life, Josephina was bedridden and dependent on others.
        The medication she was given made her drowsy and, at times, delirious. As Angelo watched a parade of doctors march in and out of the apartment, he kept a steady vigil. He tried to cheer the old woman by repeating the bawdy jokes of southern Italy she had so often told him. He held her hand when the pain grew strong and watched silently as she struggled to regain her breath. To help ease her through the day, Angelo would ask her about her life in Italy and only then, as the memories slowly began to take root, would he see the color return to her face.
        Do you miss it? Angelo asked.
        It is my home, Josephina said. America will never be that for me. It is just a place to live. Nothing