Free Enchantments by Linda Ferri Page A

and faster. It worked. We spilled out of the car and ran headlong toward the dunes. They were so high that as I watched my brothers scramble farther and farther up they became smaller and smaller, and when they reached the crest they were as small as shriveled trees on a gigantic mountain and I was afraid that a gust of wind would blow them away. I yelled with relief when I saw them come tumbling down to me in billows of sand.
    We rented a bungalow by the sea, and for the first time Clara and I were separated, each of us sharing a bedroom with a brother, she with Carlo and I with Pietro. That evening, as we layin our beds, Pietro taught me the game of composing the ideal menu. I always put in lobster, which I'd discovered on Cape Cod. We ate them at rough wooden tables with long plastic bibs tied around our necks. I would say, “I want another,” and Mama would say no and Papa would say yes. She thought it would make me sick, but Papa was happy that I liked something that much.
    The people we met were certainly nicer than in France, where, whatever you asked them, they answered with an irritated shrug or a puff of disdain. But in contrast to Italians, each nice in his own way, the Americans had a ready-made niceness—set formulas that were always telling you to do something. The gas station attendant said, “Have a nice day.” The waiter said, “Enjoy your meal.” The bellboy said, “Watch your step” as he showed us into our hotel room.
    One time when Papa was in a terrible mood because we had a flat tire and it was getting dark, Mama laughed and said, “Don't worry! Be happy!” and he started laughing too.
    After Cape Cod we went to see Niagara Falls, but I found it depressing. The incessant roaring in the middle of all that mist upset me, and at the museum they showed us a barrel in which an old woman had thrown herself over thefalls and died. That evening, however, we slept in a motel, all of us in the same room, and we took turns telling jokes in the dark, and when I closed my eyes I hoped it was forever, now that I was there, once more happy and safe.

For a long time, every afternoon around three, there was a quarter of an hour of traffic in our building between the first floor and the fifth. Clara and I, along with Anna and Gabriella, loaded the elevator with dresses, purses, scarves, hats, umbrellas, a rocking chair, a trunk—and then a teapot, teacups, and books—and we kept it going up and down, up and down, while the residents of the other floors looked at us sternly. It would have been useless to explain what on earth we were up to or how important it was, because they wouldn't have understood in the least. At that very moment they were no longer Monsieur Gramont or Madame Desmoulins with children and grandchildren of their own, but citizens of the building—co-owners whose right tothe undisturbed and prompt use of the elevator (clearly posted in the regulations) was being intolerably violated. So, pretending not to hear the pounding on the elevator doors and avoiding the icy looks of those who'd given up and were using the stairs, we lowered our heads and carried on with our work.
    Depending on whether it was a Monday or one of the other weekdays, we were moving the stage setting of our favorite game, Little Women, either from our friends’ apartment to ours or from ours to theirs. Since certain indispensable elements belonged either to them or to us—too bad for the neighbors. It was a case of absolute necessity.
    The first time we played Little Women we had to assign the parts, and I was in a panic because I knew exactly which part I wanted but was not at all sure of getting.
    Anna, the eldest, will be Margaret, called Meg, the oldest March sister. Sensible and poised, she'll wear the long, blue, somewhat severe dress that belonged to Anna's grandmother, and she'll wear her hair in a long braid. So far, so good, we all agree. But now my anxiety has increased because if we keep on assigning the