Chapter 10
Kenny felt as if he’d been doused by a bucket of ice-cold water when he walked into the first-floor apartment with what appeared to be wall-to-wall people.
There had to be at least twenty people standing around in small groups talking, laughing, smoking, and drinking.
There was even a priest, who was engaged in conversation with an elderly man.
First of all, he’d never seen so many people crowded into one living space, and second, all conversation had ceased, and everyone was looking at him as if he had two heads and six eyes.
They weren’t only staring at him, but also Ray, and he wanted to ask them what was their problem.
There was no doubt they’d seen Blacks and Puerto Ricans before.
After all, they were in East Harlem, better known as El Barrio.
A tall man sporting a light-brown crew cut and brilliant blue eyes in a deeply tanned face broke away from the others and approached him, Ray, and Frankie.
“You’re here!” he said in a loud voice that appeared to be amplified in the hushed silence. He hugged Frankie, then kissed him on both cheeks.
A slight flush suffused Frankie’s face. “Uncle, these are my friends I was telling you about. Kenny and Ray, this is my uncle and godfather. I was named after him, but everyone calls him Frankie Delano.”
The older Francis rested an arm over his nephew’s shoulder.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. My nephew can’t stop talking about his good friends, so I was finally able to convince him to invite you to my home.
Welcome.” He smiled, exhibiting a mouth filled with large, white teeth.
“There are too many folks to introduce you to, but I want you to feel comfortable while you’re here.
Frankie, take your friends into the kitchen, where your Nonna will give them something to eat to tide them over before we sit down for the evening meal. ”
Conversations started up again when Kenny and Ray followed Frankie down a hall and into an enormous kitchen, where three women were busy filling platters with sliced meats, olives, cheese, peppers, and other foods he couldn’t recognize.
An elderly woman wearing a net over her snow-white hair stopped stirring a large pot on the stove with a wooden spoon. Picking up another spoon, she scooped up a small portion of red sauce and blew on it until it was cool enough to taste. Smiling, she said, “è pronto.”
“How long has it been cooking for it to be ready, Nonna?” Frankie asked his grandmother, speaking English.
Gianna D’Allesandro turned when she recognized her grandson’s voice.
The bright blue eyes she’d passed down to her sons and grandson widened when she saw him standing at the entrance to the kitchen.
“It’s so good to see you,” she said in her heavily accented English.
She wiped her hands on a towel, then kissed Frankie on both cheeks when he approached her. “I see you came with your amici.”
Frankie beckoned Ray and Kenny closer. “Yes, Nonna. These are my good friends, Kenny and Ray. This beautiful lady and the best cook in the world is my grandmother.”
Gianna waved a hand. “You too much like your uncle. They say things they think you want to hear.” She peered closely at Kenny.
“My, my! You are a beautiful Colored boy. Your mama must be happy that she has such a pretty boy.” Her eyes shifted to Ray.
“And you, so handsome. You must have a lot of girlfriends.”
Ray quickly shook his head. “No. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Gianna grunted. “You’re going to be a young man soon, so you should have a girlfriend. If you want, I will find you somebody.”
Frankie shook his head. “Nonna, this is not the old country, where families arrange marriages for their children before they become adults. Here in America, we wait—”
“You wait until you are too old to take a husband or wife,” she said, interrupting him. She threw up both hands. “What’s with men waiting until they are thirty before they marry. And some wait until they are forty.” She shook her head. “Così triste.”
“It’s not sad, Nonna,” said a woman cutting cheese into little cubes, “because men want to establish a career before they marry and start a family. It’s the same with women. My girls say they want to finish college before they decide if they want to marry.”
“Your girls act like men. Wearing pants all the time. Lesbiche!” Gianna spat out, angrily.
“My daughters are not lesbians!”
Frankie ushered Kenny and Ray out of the kitchen and into the living room before his grandmother and cousin began arguing.
Whenever they got together, it was as if Nonna and her niece were unable to remain in the same room without exchanging words.
His parents and sisters had arrived, and he noticed the girls were subdued, almost withdrawn.
It was obvious his father’s threat to take them out of public school and enroll them in a parochial school had tempered their sometimes out-of-control behavior.
Knowing Giovanni D’Allesandro as well as he did, Frankie knew that the threat wasn’t an idle one.
Come September, his three sisters would go to school wearing the same uniform.
His family would be paying Catholic school tuition and have another baby on the way, so Frankie knew economically things would get even tighter at home, and he decided rather than hang out with Kenny and Ray over the summer vacation, he would help his father in the store.
That way, Gio wouldn’t have to close for a few hours daily to make deliveries to loyal customers who refused to buy from the local supermarkets.
“Did you and your friends get something to eat?” his uncle asked.
“No, because Nonna and Patricia were arguing with each other.”
“Go into Nonna’s sewing room, and I’ll bring you a plate.”
“How big is this place?” Ray asked Frankie, as he led him and Kenny through a wide hallway, past a sitting room with love seats and armchairs, and finally into a small room with a trio of floor-to-ceiling windows.
A round table with four pullup chairs was positioned in a corner opposite a built-in shelf with bolts of fabric and plastic bins with spools of thread.
Frankie met Ray’s eyes when he sat across from him.
“There are three floors with two apartments on each one. Each apartment has three bedrooms, but there is also one with five bedrooms. My grandparents raised my father and uncle and aunts on the first floor, while renting out the other apartment to my grandfather’s brother and his family.
Various relatives rent apartments on the second and third floors.
Some of the old folks have passed away, but their children and grandchildren still live here. ”
“Why doesn’t your father live here?” Kenny asked Frankie.
Frankie averted his eyes as he stared out the window. “My grandfather didn’t approve of my father marrying my mother, because she’s Irish.”
“You’re kidding?” Kenny and Ray chorused at the same time.
Frankie shook his head. “No, I’m not. My grandfather clung to the old ways, where you marry your own kind.
Italians marry Italians, and Colored people marry Coloreds.
It didn’t matter that my mother was Catholic.
She just wasn’t Italian. Poppa defied him and married the woman he loved.
My grandfather refused to attend the wedding and threatened to disown anyone in the family who did. ”
“Did they?” Ray asked.
Frankie shook his head again. “No one was willing to challenge him, so only my mother’s family witnessed the wedding. Even after my grandfather passed away, Poppa refused to move back.”
“Does your godfather live here with his family?” Kenny asked.
“Uncle Frank never married. I’d heard rumors that he was in love with a Black girl who lived in Harlem, but it ended when her family discovered they were sneaking around seeing each other. That’s when her father sent her South to live with relatives.”
Ray grunted. “Italians aren’t the only ones who are racist and bigoted. That’s why I intend to marry a Puerto Rican girl.”
“It’s the same with me,” Kenny said. “If I do marry, it will be to a Black woman.” He paused. “What about you, Frankie? Do you want to marry an Italian girl?”
“Probably, because I don’t want to repeat what my parents had to go through.”
“What if she’s Irish like your mother?” Ray questioned.
“It wouldn’t matter, because I refuse to deny that I’m half Irish.”
Frankie’s uncle walked into the room, carrying a tray with small plates and three glasses of lemonade. “I tell anyone that I’m proud of my half Irish nephew, because once he becomes an accountant, he’s going to help keep the taxman from snooping into my businesses every couple of years.”
Kenny lowered his eyes. It was obvious Frankie’s uncle had overheard them talking about who they wanted to marry.
Even though he was attracted to girls, he hadn’t done anything to let any of them know that he liked them.
There was one girl in particular in his English class that he thought was the most beautiful girl in the school.
Hemlines were now above the knee, and he’d found himself staring at her long, shapely legs when he should’ve been staring at what had been written on the blackboard.
However, he’d found it hard to concentrate on his schoolwork when girls he’d known in grade school who had been flat-chested now had breasts, some proudly displayed whenever they wore tight sweaters.