The Witch of Little Italy (12 page)

It all went swell until 1945. How can a family lose itself in one day? It just happens, that’s how. It isn’t God, or destiny, or bad luck. Some crap just happens to you and you have to figure it all out on the other side. We fell into the deep end. The boys died in the war. Boom, boom, and boom. Mama died when she heard the news. And then Papa, Zelda Grace, and Bunny.

We’d all spread out by then. Our own version of urban sprawl. Bunny, married with her daughter, sweet Zelda Grace, was living on the second floor in apartment 2A. George was safe across the hall from her in 2B, pretending to be a grown-up man. Mimi lived downstairs in 1B with Alfred, and Fee still lived in our old apartment, 1A, with Mama and Papa. Me, well, I was living out at the Far Rockaway house. As I’d promised Mama. And Henry was living out in his family’s cottage, too. It was the only way we could keep our secret safe.

For a few years we all felt we might be able to survive 1945. That perhaps, Mama and her fortune-teller friend were wrong. But then the phone rang, the damn phone. I should have never got on the train. Just let them deal with it. But I didn’t. The call of my sisters is powerful. And then, when it was over, I had to come back from my broken-down palace by the sea and move in with Fat Face Fee. Because we needed to stay close. It seemed that the world had an agenda of killing Amores. It seemed saner to stay close, so close we stayed. And insane.

11

Elly

The quiet, magic life of the Amore sisters proved so pleasant that Elly began to go to church every Sunday without discussion. It wasn’t that she had some profound religious epiphany. It was simply the quiet joy it gave her grandmother, and soon Elly began to look forward to it. She liked resting her head against her grandmother’s shoulder like a child and taking in the soft scent of her. Garlic and Shalimar. She liked the forty-five minutes of peace where she could forget her fears. She liked the community and the priest. She liked the strong dark coffee in the church hall after the Mass. She liked the constancy of ritual. She liked sitting so close to Anthony. Sacred and profane. His thigh against her leg made her woozy.

And then there would be Sunday dinner. Half prepared the night before, she cooked with them and learned the ways of the women in her family. After church they put the sauce on the flame, fried meatballs, made simple greens and an exceptionally large salad full of pickled things. Put chicken thighs into the oven with potatoes and onions and peas. Ran to the corner store for one last loaf of bread. And then they sat down, usually around two, and usually with the priest, young Father Carter, or members of the parish.

Elly didn’t have time to miss Carmen, or fear Cooper. She spent her days synching with Mimi, falling into the rhythm of their ways, like waves and tides, in and out, vast and corralled in by the ever-present horizon line of the day’s end.

The mornings were all about magical teas and tinctures and taking inventory of all the tins full of dried herbs in Mimi’s kitchen. Slowly, Mimi began to whisper the Amore secrets into Elly’s open mind. She learned about protection jars and love spells. She learned of darker things that Mama, Margaret Green, warned them against, but taught them anyway—just in case. Elly looked forward to each new day like a kindergarten student. She saw life from these different angels that constantly amazed her.

The evenings sounded like teacups. Mimi ended her day with a cup of tea and an almond cookie, not homemade, a treat from a package. She’d walk past Elly who liked to curl up on the couch and pick through the cigar box full of old Polaroid pictures Anthony gave her, and kiss her goodnight. Elly stayed up later, straining to remember … looking at half-faded photos taken of hands and feet and the long stretch of beaches on Far Rockaway.

“A good day. Today we worked hard,” she’d say, and then she’d turn the corner to walk down the hallway to her bedroom, the teacup rattling against the saucer. It usually took a while for the laughing to start. But Elly was learning patience and she was bent on finding out what was behind this mysterious joy. So the laughter would start, and Elly made chase, running through the halls and listening to the walls of 170th Street while the other residents slept.

And it was one of these lovely preoccupied Sundays that Cooper decided to finally make his big debut.

The Amore sisters saw it coming. The night before they all awoke from the same dream and gathered quietly at Mimi’s kitchen table to look deep into a bowl of water.

He’s coming?
wrote Itsy.

“He’s coming,” said Mimi.

To harm her?
wrote Itsy.

“To harm her!” Fee yelled.

“Shhhhh!” said Mimi. “You’ll wake her!”

“Sorry,” said Fee putting her finger in her ear, trying to clear out a wax that could not come undone.

Itsy scribbled:
We must prepare.

And so, the Amore sisters made an extra pot of sauce.

*   *   *

“Get ready. Be brave. Don’t ask questions,” ordered Mimi when they got home from church.

“What?” asked Elly. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Just stay calm and be yourself.”

“Who else would I be?” asked Elly.

Itsy scribbled and handed Elly a note,
That slouchy, wimpy little girl that showed up here on Christmas Eve, that’s who.

“Nice,” said Elly. “She hates me. I swear it!”

“She does not. And don’t swear. Hush! He’s here!” said Fee.

The doorbell rang.

“He’s here,” said Mimi.

“I already said that,” said Fee, and Mimi shoved her as she went for the door.

Mimi went into the hall and threw open the doors to the building. “You must be Baker!”

“Cooper,” he said pushing the door open, pinning Mimi behind it. He stood in the hallway looking from side to side, not knowing what apartment door to approach first.

Elly stared at him from the safety of Mimi’s apartment. How could he be here? In this other life she’d painted for herself? He wasn’t even real to her anymore. But here he was, anyway.

Anthony stood at the top of the stairs. He walked down in a controlled burn. “Hey man, good to see you again. Sorry about the scuffle at Elly’s room. She can make a guy
crazy,
you know?” He chuckled, nodding his head toward Elly at the same time he held out his hand to Cooper for a shake.

He’s in on whatever this is …
Elly thought.

Cooper shook Anthony’s hand out of etiquette more than anything else. Elly could tell by the way he licked his lips that Cooper was caught off guard by these strangers. He was nervous. Not a common state for Cooper Bakersmith.

“You must be Elly’s young man! How handsome you are!” yelled Fee.

“Yes, well…”

Mimi, freed from behind the front door, came at him from the rear. “We were just sitting down to eat. Come, be pleasant. You catch more flies with sugar, honey. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

Did she actually say that?
Elly wondered. These people were so brave.

Surrounded, Cooper was backed into Mimi’s apartment. Anthony was behind him talking.

“I’m sorry we got off to a bad start. Elly’s got nothing but nice things to say about you. Don’t you, Elly?”

“Eleanor?” His eyes found her and she watched him try to drink her in. Her hair pulled up, her clothes and growing tummy. She knew he hadn’t planned on any of this. He was just going to get her. Collect what was his and take her back to New Haven so he could make sure she got rid of the kid.

“Why not sit and have dinner with us, Cooper? Then I’ll get my things and come back with you, okay?”

Elly could feel the pride coming off her grandmother and great aunts. She didn’t know what she was doing, but whatever it was … it was the right thing to do.

They ushered him from Mimi’s pretty living room and Elly touched his arm. She felt his surprise by the beauty of this place, that he was expecting matching drapes and wall-to-wall carpets. His class lines were getting blurred.
Serves you right, you uptight Anglo,
she thought.

They sat him at the long dining table. Itsy was scribbling. She tore the paper off the pad and pushed it toward Cooper. Anthony stood over his shoulder and read it aloud.

You must eat with us. It’s only fair. Give and take. That’s how it works. You lose something you have to get something in return. Loss has consequences until it’s found.

“This is all too crazy,” said Cooper. “I’ll eat, but then she’s coming with me.”

Anthony sat down and Fee and Mimi placed bowls of pasta on the table.

“Mimi makes it fresh. Nothin’ like it in the whole world. Have you ever had fresh pasta?” asked Anthony, tucking a fabric napkin into his collar.

Cooper seemed fascinated by the napkin.

“It’s antique, you know,” said Elly. “Handmade.”

“Yes, of course. I’ve
lived
in Italy,” said Cooper, ignoring Elly’s remarks.

“Good, then you’ll want some more sauce,” said Mimi, ladling more over his meal. It smelled so tempting, that extra ladle. Acidic and hearty. Like hot summer days in Tuscany. Elly motioned for more, too, but Anthony mouthed the word “no.”

It took exactly three bites. Cooper’s head landed face-first in his bowl of pasta.

“That was fast,” said Mimi. “How much pine did you put in the sauce, Itsy?”

Itsy shrugged.

Elly watched in disbelief as Anthony clapped his hands together, rubbed them for a few seconds, then lugged Cooper over his shoulders and walked out of the apartment. The old women followed and Fee grabbed Cooper’s keys off the dining room table saying, “Only an Anglo would place dirty keys on a dinner table,” as she threw them to Anthony who caught them in midair.

“What the hell was that all about?” she said, following the trio of old women into Mimi’s apartment.

“What did you do to him? Where are they going?”

“Anthony’s taking him back to school. He’ll wake up tomorrow and his purpose for this visit will be forgotten,” said Mimi.

“How?”

Fee put her hands on Elly’s shoulders and eased her onto the couch. “Oh, a few herbs, some hypnotism. Nothing really harmful.”

“It’s not right. You can’t just do that to people.”

“And what about what he did to you? Hmmmm?” asked Mimi.

Itsy scribbled:
And what about what he was going to do to you?

“What was he going to do?”

Itsy put pen to paper again, but Mimi put her hand gently over her sister’s. “She doesn’t need to know that, Itsy.”

“Why can’t I remember anything?” Elly asked them. “Is that what you did to me? Did you put some kind of spell on me making me forget everything? It can’t be a coincidence that my memories start the minute I left this building.”

“Look at me,” said Mimi, turning Elly around to face her and looking into her eyes. “Look at all of us and know this to be true. We never did anything but care for you. No spells, no concoctions. If you can’t remember, and that bothers you, try harder. It’s starting already, I can tell.”

Elly looked at Aunt Itsy. And Itsy averted the stare. Her hands stayed still at her side. Itsy wasn’t saying anything.

“What did you say to me, Itsy? That day when you broke your silence?”

Itsy shrugged and shuffled back into her own apartment.

Elly walked to the front window and watched as Anthony drove Cooper away in Cooper’s car. “I hope you witches told Anthony where Cooper parks his car. I’d hate for him to be suspicious when he comes to.”

Mimi drew Elly away from the window by the hand. “Oh, no worries. We try not to let those little details get in the way,” said Mimi.

“Of course you don’t,” said Elly.

Spring

12

Itsy

I miss Mama’s garden. Sure, we keep it up. We do the same things the same way. But it’s never the same without her. The gardener is just as much a part of the garden as the soil.

I can still see Mama in her garden. A small square space, but plenty of room for the Eden she created. In the rough, rawness of early spring she’d be there working the ground, the bottom of her skirts and cuffs of her sweaters muddied as if she’d risen from a shallow grave.

We all helped, not because she asked us to, but because she was silent and joyful as she worked. At peace. A peace we rarely felt emanate from her. That peace drew us in like moths to a flame.

As we worked, we asked her questions. She’d sit back on her heels and answer every one. I marvel now, when I look back, at how she always had the time for that. There was never a question too small or too big. And in my memory—clouded now and certainly gilded—she never said, “I don’t know.” Even though she taught us there was power in that sentiment.

“Are you magic, Mama?” we’d ask her. We already knew she could do things other mothers couldn’t, and we already had an appreciation for the genetic abilities we seemed to inherit from her.

“
Magic
is a funny term,” she’d say. “There is nothing supernatural about the earth. As long as you know what does what.”

“What do you mean?” we’d ask her.

“There are plants that heal, hurt, manipulate. There are ideas to plant in people’s minds. There is power in everyone … most people don’t use it,” she’d answer.

“Is Papa magic?” we’d ask.

She laughed at that. “Well, he’s magic for
me
. But he doesn’t know half of what he is capable of.”

One time, George (who was never afraid to ask anything, his inhibitions lost in those days he waited to be born), asked the question we all wanted to ask: “How do we see the things we do? Are we witches?”

I remember Mama was pruning a rose bush. Cutting it all back and explaining that this was the only way to propagate. That if you do the
opposite
of what seems to be the right thing; mostly you get what you want. If you want more roses? Cut back the bush.

Anyway, she pulled away from her task, her hair getting caught on sharp thorns and she put her arms out to him. We must have been eleven or so.

“Come here, my Georgie!” she called to him and he ran to her, their smiles meeting each other and their breath becoming one. She rocked him and called us all from our different corners of the yard to come to her.