Death 5 Rape （Marriage） #16
He walked her to his car and opened the door to the passenger side. His face was still bright red as he got into the driver’s seat. Was he mad? Embarrassed?
They drove back to Bedford Street in silence. He got out of the car to let her out, and then escorted her up the steps. Assunta scurried to meet Stella in the foyer. “What’s the matter? Weren’t you supposed to go to the movies?”
“Stella’s not feeling well,” Carmelo said. He didn’t step into the house, just stood on the doormat.
“Not feeling well? Stella, are you all right?” Her mother was shaking her shoulder.
“I’ll be fine, Ma.” Stella fought back waves of mortification and anger. Was that all he was going to say? Was this over? “It’s just an upset stomach. I’m going to bed.”
Carmelo tipped his fedora as he bowed to Assunta, then to Stella. “Thank you for a lovely evening.” His voice was flat, affectless. “I hope you feel better soon.” He pushed his hat down over his ears and walked back to his car.
Assunta was wild eyed. She was probably trying to imagine what terrible thing had happened on the date. “What’s the matter, Stella?”
Stella didn’t answer. She pushed past her mother and went to the bathroom, where she vomited her hamburger into the toilet.
AFTER HER RUINED DATE WITH CARMELO MAGLIERI, Stella lived through the nightmare four more times in as many days. She’d become so afraid of having it that she couldn’t fall asleep, despite her exhaustion. Then, for some reason, it stopped.
CARMELO NO LONGER STAYED FOR DINNER. When he dropped Tony off after work, he rarely even came into the house to say hello. She had successfully ended the courtship.
Tina and Assunta both harassed her and Tony gave her a black eye she wore proudly for a week.
But the damage was done, and Carmelo didn’t want her anymore.
She was safe, until her father latched onto another suitor.
What with the stiff competition among the East Side Italian girls for the returning soldiers, Stella wasn’t worried.
Carmelo had been her most dangerous brush with marriage, she was sure; it would be much easier from here.
* * *
NOW THAT THEY WERE CITIZENS, Stella and Tina went to work at the Silex factory, on a coffeepot assembly line.
The day they went in for their interview, Assunta came along with them.
She brought a tray of ravioli to bribe the foreman.
Whether or not the ravioli were a factor, the Fortuna girls got the job.
CARMELO MAGLIERI brOKE HIS MORATORIUM to visit Bedford Street one night in August. He sat at the kitchen table to chat with Assunta as she cooked, acting as if weeks hadn’t passed since he’d last sat there.
Stella had been keeping her mother company, sorting and tailing long beans, and when Carmelo sat down across from her he nodded polite greeting.
His expression was serious today, none of his cherub smiles.
The top buttons of his tan shirt were open, a gold cross on a chain hanging in an array of chest hair at which Stella had trouble not staring.
Carmelo accepted a glass of wine from Assunta, who was so overjoyed to see him she stumbled over things to say. Stella loved her mother for her affectionate heart, even if she was a traitor.
“I have some news, Za ’Ssunta,” Carmelo said, but he was looking at Stella. “Zi Tony and I already spoke about it, but I wanted to tell you in person.”
Carmelo’s older brother, Gio, had bought a grocery store in Chicago from a paesan. Apparently Carmelo had been sending home so much money that Gio had been able to take care of their parents throughout the war with enough left over to buy a grocery store.
“He says since it’s my money, he bought the store in my name,” Carmelo explained. How did he manage to look humble?
Gio was in Chicago already. He’d run the store until Carmelo got there. Then they would run it together. Carmelo had brought his brother’s letter, and Assunta was turning it over, studying the writing as if she could read it. “How nice, a store. But you’re going away, Carmelo?”
He shrugged. “A store is a great thing. Hard work, but if you’re a smart businessman you can make good money. The factory work here is good, but all the men are going to come home from the war and want their jobs back.”
Tina, who’d been working in the garden, came into the kitchen, her hair sweat-frizzed around her pink face. She gave Carmelo an excited wet kiss on the cheek and he had to tell the whole thing all over again. Stella listened to her mother and sister’s alternating sorrowful and ecstatic disruptions.
“But I came to talk to you, Stella,” Carmelo said, taking the letter back and pointing it at her like a threat. Assunta and Tina immediately fell silent.
He was staring at her. Stella stared back.
“Listen, Stella.” When he said her name a second time, her heart shuddered.
“All you have to do right now is say the word ‘maybe.’ Maybe someday you will marry me. Just say maybe and I’ll tear the letter up right here in front of you and I’ll stay on Front Street.
Maybe, just say maybe, Carmelo. Maybe someday. ”
She met his gaze steadily. “Never.” She was intensely grateful that her father had not joined them in the kitchen for this conversation.
“Stella!” Tina squeaked.
“Never?” Carmelo asked her.
“Never.”
She was startled by a fast, hard blow to the back of her head. She reached through the ringing to touch the source of the pain and her fingers came back wet—slicked in olive oil. It took her a moment to realize her mother had hit her with the thick wooden spoon she’d been using to sauté the garlic.
“Stupida brutta,” Assunta said. “What is wrong with you? What kind of game are you playing?” She looked both angry and hurt. It was as though Stella had rejected Assunta’s own son. “How many more times do you think he’s going to ask you before he gets tired and finds someone else?”
Stella rubbed her scalp. “Mamma, how can you take his side over mine?” Seeing the way Assunta was gripping the spoon, she braced herself for another blow.
“I would have given you anything you wanted, Stella,” Carmelo interrupted. “I would have given you the world. All I wanted was to make you happy.”
The ripple of thought-pictures—his hands on her flesh, swelling pregnant belly. “You could never make me happy,” she said, her mouth dry.
His face had hardened. “What is it you think you want in life, exactly? What do you think I could never give you?”
Stella was at a loss for words. How had she ever been unclear about what she wanted? How many times had she already told him—told them all? “I want to be left alone,” she said finally.
The kitchen was silent for a moment. Carmelo shook his head. “You are a cold woman, Stella.”
As if he had put a curse on her, she felt a chill ripple up her arms and torso. “Maybe so,” she said. “But that’s no business of yours.”
“You think you’re ever going to find someone who would love you more than I would have loved you?” He was staring at her so intensely she had to avert her eyes. “You are a fool.”
After a throbbing moment of silence, Carmelo stood and bowed his little bow to Assunta and Tina. “I tried, Za ’Ssunta,” he said. “I would have liked to have been your son-in-law. But I think I had better go home now.”
Assunta and Tina tried to convince him to stay for dinner, but it was a hollow effort. Carmelo gave Assunta and Tina each a solemn kiss and wished them health. “Stella,” he said to her, nodding his saline good-bye.
Carminantonio Maglieri had left their lives.
ROCCO CARAMANICO DID, IN FACT, survive the war.
He was gone for almost four years, like many men who were shipped to the Pacific theater, doing things unknown and wholly misunderstood by their families.
Rocco kept a framed photo of his Engineers Chemical Corps unit hanging in his hallway for the rest of his life, but what had happened in New Guinea was anyone’s guess.
Had he shot a gun? Had he killed a Jap? Had he seen atrocities, been exposed to hazardous chemicals, watched his friends die?
Had he been in any combat at all, had he ever felt any danger?
He came back with no exterior scarring, no shrapnel spatter or purple hearts.
What had he been doing all that time? Well, that is the mystery of war.
The only thing Rocco made clear was that he would never eat chicken again.
Otherwise, he never told anyone anything more than had been in his sterile, correct letters to Tina.
ROCCO AND TINA BOTH KEPT their promises.
Rocco returned to Hartford in January 1946, once his unit had been deactivated and he’d been released from a lengthy quarantine.
He arrived on a Saturday and the next afternoon, when everyone was back from church, he telephoned Tony and requested permission to visit that evening.
He arrived with his sister at six o’clock. Barbara brought a plate stacked high with mustazzoli. Rocco carried a dozen red roses. Stella, who answered the door, was grudgingly impressed.
The Fortunas gathered around the coffee table, on which Assunta arranged Barbara’s cookie platter and small glasses for wine.
Stella could see Rocco was much thinner than he’d been when he left—perhaps thirty pounds thinner.
He wore a black suit that must have predated the war, because it was too big on him, but otherwise he was immaculate.