Sofia's Tune (18 page)

Chapter 20

After Antonio and his dog returned home and finished breakfast, Antonio realized Lu was staring at him.

“I know. I should go look for Uncle.”

As he completed shaving, he realized he had hardly considered the suggestion the author he’d met had made, although he had kept the name and address, just in case. A benefactor was a long shot, though. Antonio wasn’t good at imposing himself. If the man had come to him it would be different.

He turned to his Bible before heading out the door and read in Psalm 10: “Thou art the helper of the fatherless.” He shut the book. He wasn’t sure what help he had. He didn’t seem to have any, truly. He knew what his gift was, but for some reason God was not guiding the way. He thought a moment. He would do what he could not only for himself, but also for Sofia. And his uncle. Even if he received no help in his endeavors, he could still serve others.

He found Nicco eating scrambled eggs with five other men and two boys. He waited at the door while they finished.

“
Saluti, Signor
Baggio,” the cook called to Uncle as he headed out the door with Antonio. “Stay out of trouble!”

Nicco lifted an arm, either to say farewell or mind your own business. Antonio opened the door to allow him to exit.

“Tony, my boy. What brings you to St. Anthony’s mission? God bless ‘em.”

“Antonio,” he whispered. “Call me Antonio.”

They paused outside Antonio’s building. “You better come inside. I think Papà had a coat you might want for winter.”

The man didn’t argue and followed Antonio up the stairs to his apartment. When Antonio opened the door, Luigi yelped at Nicco as usual.

“Crazy mutt.” Nicco nudged Lu away with his shoe and then slouched on Antonio’s bed, reaching for the accordion case and placing it onto his lap. “Your papà, he did not want you to know his business, Antonio. He did not want me to know, for that matter. So I only know a little bit, but what I know, I tell you.”

“I would hope so, Nicco. I am not the neighborhood gossip. I’m his only son. Now, what is it?” He sat on the piano bench and Luigi leaned against his leg.

“I only know he visited a lawyer, the day he was shot.”

“What lawyer? What’s his name?”

“Now, son, do not go looking. It is not safe.”

“You let me worry about that. What haven’t you told me?”

Nicco’s eyes filled with tears. “I do not know. If I did, I would tell you. Your papà, when he give me the accordion, he say, ‘Keep this until Antonio comes home from organ practicing. Give it to him.’ Then he mumbled something he thought I did not hear. Something about the Union and that high priced lawyer better be worth the dough.”

“Cooper Union?”

“I suppose so, since that is where he died. I did not know what he meant at the time. I tell you the truth when I say I just remembered about the lawyer, Antonio. I forgot before.” He rubbed his eyes. “I forget a lot.”

“Anything else? Think hard.”

“No.”

Luigi sat and perked up his ears.

Antonio almost felt sorry for the man. Hard drink had a grip on him nothing on earth seemed to be able to break. “It’s okay, Uncle, but if you remember something later, you must tell me.” More clues. Nothing adding up.

When Nicco Baggio was sober and smiling he almost looked like a regular fellow. Hoping to encourage this state of being, Antonio invited him to go out with him. “I’ll give you one of Papà’s coats, a shirt, too, and you can use my razor in the washroom down the hall.”

“Where are we going?” He seemed delighted. Perhaps there was hope for the man.

“Want to come to Longacre Square with me? I’m looking for work.”

“Fine, fine.” He scurried out to the hall washroom with a pan of warmed water.

***

It was early evening when Nicco and Antonio arrived at Healy’s Cafe where Antonio had earlier met the writer. No sign of him now, however.

“Are you sure you can afford to feed us here, Antonio? You, out of work?”

“I am not entirely unemployed, Uncle.” He would have to pay his bill this time but going to new places, like that Italian eatery he had been to in Sofia’s neighborhood, could be unsettling. You never knew if you’d like the food. He preferred to return to restaurants he’d already visited.

“I remember you,” the barman said, setting two glasses in front of them. “Nice to see repeat customers. What can I get you?”

Antonio noticed Nicco staring at the glass bottles filled with golden liquid lining the shelf behind the man. “Uh, mind if we take a booth?”

“Not at all. We do have a dining room in the rear, though, if you’d prefer it.”

Antonio pointed to the booth where Mr. Porter had said he’d written stories. “We will sit over here.”

The barman checked his pocket watch. “It’s available until about nine o’clock. That’s when he comes in.”

“I understand.” They sat and looked at the paper bill of fare a waiter brought them. There were only a few choices, but the prices would not send him to the poorhouse. Not this once. He had been paid well at the Roman Athenaeum. The entire menu was a la carte. Both of them were famished, having not had anything since breakfast and then spending hours searching for piano engagements. Antonio decided to order two pork chops, the vegetable d’jour, and bread.

“Mighty nice of you to bring me here,” Nicco said, still eyeing the bar.

“We will not be drinking. Just coffee.”

Nicco looked down at his hands. “Of course. Coffee’s fine.” He was perspiring.

“Here.” Antonio handed him his handkerchief. “It is hard for you, isn’t it?”

Nicco lifted his head with an expression that was a mixture of grimace and grin. “I am fine. Do not worry about me.”

Antonio chose to redirect the conversation. “Looking for work took much longer than I expected.”

“
Sì
. Well, my boy, you did find work.” Nicco lifted himself from the seat to lean over and pat Antonio on the arm.

“I did.” With Mac again. He prayed it would last awhile.

“I just hope those fellas don’t come around when you’re there. God himself only knows what they want.” He chopped at the air with his hands. “Are you sure you have to go over there?”

“I will be fine, Uncle.”

“When we first come over, many years ago, we worked in that neighborhood, me and your father. Of course, there were not so many Southern Italians then. It was not bad. I was younger. More vigorous.”

“And then the drinking?”

Nicco gazed at the corner of the ceiling behind Antonio. You do not lock eyes with a man when you are feeling guilty.

“Uncle, if you just try to be more diligent. I mean, God will help you if you try to help yourself. Stay out of the saloons. Give up begging and rag-picking for beer money. You know I will help you however I am able.”

A lone tear rolled down Nicco’s cheek. He ignored it. “I will tell you, although it is my shame. You are my only family. You should know, now that my brother is gone.” He held a hand to his heart. “I could not keep working. I was not well. But I owed the
padrone
still. The reason times were very hard then, the reason your father never took a day off? He repaid my debt. It took a long time, but he did it. He paid it free and clear. There is a receipt at the bank. Those Benevento men know it, too. They had the same arrangement. We saw them at the bank those many years ago. I remember it because I went with your father, so that he could vouch that he was doing this in my stead and it was paid off. Afterward, we drank ale with those others. At an Irish pub, I think it was, McSorley’s.

“Truly? Why there?”

“I don’t recall now, but I tell you the truth, I have not been there since.” He chuckled. “I remember your father was miffed with me, but it was only one pint. I confess, Antonio. Only one.”

“I see. Well, my father was a good man to pay off your debt.”

“He was, God bless ‘em. And this is how I repay him now? I am a miserable gutter rat.” He mumbled under his breath. “Hobo. Bum. Drunkard. What people say is true.”

“No.” Antonio reached for his uncle’s arm, but the man pulled away. He thought about how he had enjoyed what people said about him—talented, gifted, blessed. Words float over people’s heads sink into their minds and remain, good or bad.

Nicco wagged his head. “But…our companions that day were Benevento men. And those who asked after you at the theater? They are, too. Some things I forget, but this I remember.” He sucked in a sob. “I would pay Ernesto back today if I could. But I can’t.” His eyes brightened. “But I can get sober, Antonio. For you, Antonio.”

“I would like that very much.”

The waiter brought their meals. Thick pork chops smothered in gravy, creamed peas, and generous slices of bread smeared with butter and garlic. They ate in celebration. It was a new start.

Chapter 21

“She is gone, Sofia.”

“Gone? Where?”

Carla Russo stepped out into the hall to talk to her. Apparently her husband was at home but Sofia didn’t care. How could the healer leave her mother?

“Your father took her to Bellevue for an evaluation. I think it is for the best. She is so bad.”

“No.” Sofia grabbed the woman’s arms, shaking her before she realized what she was doing. The fear in the woman’s eyes made Sofia release her. She drew in a deep breath to calm herself. “
Signora
, please. I tried to take her there myself. They would not help. They just wanted to cart her off to a terrible place. You must tell me. When did they leave? I must go right over there.”

“No, child. You know
tua
famiglia
has no money. If you can’t pay and you are that bad, they send you to an asylum. But we light a candle. Together. Let’s go.” She turned and looked at the closed door to her apartment and then led Sofia down the stairs.

Sofia was happy to not be alone as she struggled to find options. Hopefully, Carla Russo accompanying her would not come at a cost to the woman’s safety.

As they made their way to the church, Sofia considered how she should pray. Prayer might bring clarity to her thoughts. There had to be something she could do. God would hear her, but would he answer? Her mother was gone. Gone. People rarely come back from places like Ward's Island. As desperately as she’d tried to hold on to her mother, she hadn’t been able to.

When they knelt together at the altar, all Sofia could do, even while clutching her rosary, was to reel at God.
You’ve taken my twin. You have the half of me that I will never get back. Must you take Mamma, too?

She sensed a presence at her side, opposite of where Carla Russo knelt beside her. Another parishioner had joined them. Sofia felt comforted when people were around her. A complete circle always felt the most secure. Prayers said around her made her feel as though God would be more disposed to answer.

A sense of peace, the feeling she usually had when she came to the chapel, radiated from her and even the fingertips of her usually cold right hand warmed. She ended her prayer and crossed herself. Not wanting to disturb the person next to her, she waited a moment to allow whomever it was to leave the altar before her.

Carla Russo touched her arm. “Are you ready? Shall we go?”

Sofia opened her eyes and nodded to her. She turned to her right. No one was there. She glanced behind her and saw no one leaving the railing.

Sofia and the healer parted ways outside the church. “Just remember,”
Signora
Russo told her, “you cannot help what has happened. God will provide.”

Sofia said she understood, but she didn’t. There might have been something she could have done when her sister died, something to prevent her from running after the wagons. And now there might be something she could do. For Mamma.

Sofia rode the Third Avenue el to Bellevue, hoping either Mamma was still there or they could tell her where she was taken. When she at last was directed to the ward where Mamma was being seen, she spotted her father sitting in a metal chair in an area designated for waiting family members. She rushed to him. “Papà, what has happened to Mamma?”

He lifted his head, smiled briefly, and then resumed staring at the tiles on the floor. “There is not enough room for her here, Sofia. There is too much consumption, too many insane patients. They say they are building more hospitals, but how does that help us? Those with consumption stay. The others, like your mamma, must leave.”

“Do not let them send her to Ward’s Island, Papà. We will take care of her at home. The healer and me.”

“No.” He stood and straightened his coat. “What must be, must be. She will be sent to the state hospital ward. I have been waiting for the papers to be prepared.”

“Papà, no. You do not know what it will be like there for her.”

His face reddened, his posture stiffened. “You are the one who does not understand, Sofia. Your mamma, she is not as she was. We must accept this. The doctors will help her. In America, they have arrangements for people who cannot pay. We cannot care for her any longer at home.”

Sofia’s chest ached. Her head swam with worry. “Accept this? I will not. I can’t, Papà. They will not help her!”

He put a hand on her back and they walked to the stairs. “Go home now. Our home. You do not need the boarding house anymore.”

“I won’t go there.” She forced the words through clenched teeth. “I will not so long as Mamma is not there. Where is she now? I want to see her.”

“They have taken her to a ferry to go to the asylum. It is on an island in the river. I am waiting for the clerk, but your mother is on her way there.”

Sofia pulled on his arm. “Papà, no. Please don’t send her there. Nellie Bly put it in the newspapers. It is a terrible place. Everyone says so.”

He whispered into her hair the way he had done when she was a small girl and upset over losing a coin or having a friend move away from the village. “Your mamma is in a terrible state. So terrible. God will send an angel to watch over her,
mi figlia
. Go on, now.”

***

As they left the saloon, Antonio and Nicco strolled down the street in good humor. Men do not need alcohol to enjoy themselves. He hoped he had proven this to his uncle. When Antonio noticed a directional sign across the street illuminated by a street lamp, he realized they were not too far from the address the writer had given him, near Washington Square. Thinking he might as well stroll by just to see if someone wealthy enough to be a possible benefactor might live there, he steered his uncle down 5th Avenue. As they approached some red brick houses, music floated on the air, piano music worthy of Carnegie Hall.“What’s that?” Nicco looked around, not understanding what had halted Antonio in his steps.

“Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata.’”

A crowd began to form around them. Antonio closed his eyes to listen to the master.

“You can play like that,” Nicco said, shoving him with his elbow.

“I do not think so, Uncle.”

“Sure. I’ve heard you play that exact thing.”

“But not like that. Do you not hear the beauty?”

Nicco grumbled and shuffled his feet.

“Will you stop that?” Antonio held on to his arm. “Close your eyes. Concentrate only on the music.” Antonio did just that. The artistry he heard was breathtaking. The sound made him feel weightless. It stirred him. Then the music stopped suddenly before morphing into Chopin. This was a practice rather than a performance but the only clue had been the change of pieces. The playing was flawless, smooth, and mesmerizing.

“Move along,” someone shouted from behind. A policeman came marching up to the crowd from the direction of Washington Park, blowing his whistle and shattering the magic, the dream, into shards of words and shouts. There should be a law against that.

Antonio glanced up at the windows. Most were shuttered so he was able to spot the musician easily. A man with a mad mop of red hair leaned out the window and shouted to the bystanders below. “Thank you for attending my practice. Do come again!” Then he disappeared back into the room.

Paderewski seemed amiable enough, but Antonio would not bother him simply because a writer who had had too much to drink had told him to.

As they walked home, Antonio encasing Nicco’s arm in his, he felt his uncle tremble from withdrawal. Staying off the sauce would not be easy. He almost pitied him. “You are doing fine, Uncle.”

The man’s words slurred just a bit even though he’d had nothing to drink. “I…Tony, you hear the master…you hear that fellow’s playing in your mind when you perform and all will work out fine.”

If only that were possible.

As they neared the mission, Nicco broke free. “I will stay here.”

“But, Nicco, you are fine with me. You do not need to. I can make up a bed for you.”

Nicco shook his head and plodded up the cement steps, leaving Antonio alone on the sidewalk. Nicco turned before he opened the door to the mission. “Hurry along and take care of that mutt of yours.”