“Thank you, sir,” Rocco said again. God, he was so stiff.
Now was Barbara’s turn. “About the matter of the dowry,” she said, and that was all she had to say. She’d hit Tony’s switch.
“Dowry?” he roared. “Dowry?Is that what this is about? You think I’m going topayyou to take away my Tina, the backbone of my house?Payyou, from the scraps I’ve saved slaving away for the last twenty-five years?” He shook his head, blowing like a bull. His hair had expanded into a halo of rage. Stella felt the natural gut terror at her father’s anger—fists could very well fly—but she also recognized this as a performance. “I think you have the wrong end of the stick there,signora. How aboutyoutellmehow your brother is going to provide formydaughter?”
Barbara was tough; she’d been screamed at by men before. “Scusa,Zio, but you know very well it is the bride’s responsibility to provide a trousseau. Otherwise what are she and her husband supposed to start their lives with?”
“My daughter has an excellent trousseau, don’t you worry.” Stella could hear him fuming so hard he was gasping for breath. “Not that that’s any of your brother’s business, if you’re asking me for money here. Where I come from, a man proposing marriage to a woman has a home to take her to live in. Does your brother have a house for my daughter to live in?” And to Rocco, “Well? Do you have a house?”
A hesitation. “Not yet, sir.”
Barbara said bravely, “It is custom for the bride’s father to help a groom buy—”
“Custom!” Tony was roaring again. “Customwhere I come from is for a man to be aman. It seems to me in your family men count on their women to take care of them.”
Stella had leaned forward, dangerously out of the shadows, to see the expressions on the siblings’ faces. Barbara had crossed her arms and her legs tightly. Rocco was still sitting in an attitude of military attention. His mouth was a dark yellow line.
Barbara’s voice was even, but angry. “Customis that amansupports his daughters when it is time for them to wed.”
Tony was silent for a moment. “It sounds to me like you’re not ready to make a serious offer here.”
Stella felt her heart pounding at the suspense. Was Tony backpedaling on his permission? Would he really give Tina nothing for her new house? Or was this just bluster? Stella tried to imagine how her sister, listening in the kitchen, must be feeling.
“If—” Barbara began, but Rocco lifted a hand and she fell silent. He’d sat so still for so long his movement surprised Stella.
“I am quite serious,” Rocco said. Stella realized he was radiating anger, as well. What kind of person did he become, she wondered, if things didn’t go his way? “I will buy your daughter a house. I have all of my combat pay saved. In another two or three years I will have enough.”
“What kind of house?” Tony asked. He gestured broadly, taking in his own castle. “My daughter’s children will grow up better than this, if their father is a retired American soldier. It will need to have at least three bedrooms.”
Rocco blinked. Stella waited, too tense even to take a breath. “I will promise her a house with at least two bedrooms.” Rocco was negotiating, Stella realized. It was just like buying a donkey at the animal fair.
This seemed to satisfy Tony. “All right,” he said. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, poured them all refills. “Well, in that case—”
Rocco raised a hand again, this time silencing his future father-in-law. “And,” he said. “And you will buy all of the furniture. All of it.” He ticked off items on his fingers. “Two beds, one for each bedroom. Two dressers for clothes. A sofa for the living room, and a coffee table. A kitchen table, a dining room set.” Tony had been laughing scornfully through the list. Rocco, waiting for a response, added, “And a refrigerator.”
At this Tony stopped laughing. “A refrigerator? In the house?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea how much a refrigerator costs?”
“Soon every house will have one,” Rocco said. “Your daughter will need one to run her kitchen.”
There was silence for what felt to Stella like a long time. Finally Tony said, “Once you have bought the house, I will buy two beds and one sofa. I will buy your dining room set, but how my daughter furnishes her kitchen is her business, so you will buy your own refrigerator. That is my whole wedding gift to you, two beds, one sofa, and the dining room set.”
Rocco said, “All right, Tina will pick out her own kitchen things and I will buy them for her when we move in. And I will not ask you for a coffee table. But you will provide the dressers, one for each bedroom.” Stella felt a wash of relief; they were reaching a denouement. But then Rocco added, “And you will buy two lamps for each room in the house. Good lamps.” Stella heard a thread of vitriol. “And you will buy the lightbulbs to put in the lamps.”
He was making a joke, she thought. It must be a joke.
Tony laughed again, this time with what sounded like genuine joy. “No, boy, you can buy your own lightbulbs.” Still chuckling, he extended his hand. “I think we are done here. You may go speak to her now if you’d like.”
Rocco stood, ignoring the offered handshake. “You will buy the lightbulbs, or you can keep your daughter.”
There was a moment of shocked silence. Barbara’s eyes were wide;she liked Tina, Stella knew, and probably wasn’t sure if she should say something or let her brother fight his own battle.
“That’s it, Signor Fortuna,” Rocco said. “I am done here. If you think your daughter can do better, then I wish you both the best.” He wiped his hands on his pants; perhaps they were sweating. “I know plenty of good girls who would be happy for any husband right now, never mind a U.S. Army combat vet with a good service record. I don’t need to settle.”
A nervous thrill ran through Stella, a thrill at the viciousness of it. Was this really the man Tina wanted to marry? Would he really have exchanged her for eight or ten lightbulbs? Even after four years of letters and care packages? Or was this bluster, too?
