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“Oh, Maria,” he thought to himself. “Oh, sweet Maria. So innocent. So very much my own. Your brother isn't even a man.”
He stumbled further until he fell on his own bunk, wanting to die. His dreams of having the fulfillment of a man had just been shattered. Disillusionment swept over him. Would it always be this way for him? Tears wet his cheeks as he pulled his knees up to his chest, shivering in the chill of the night.
He placed the gun he had taken from Grace next to his cheek, feeling its utter coldness. Maybe .. . maybe he should just go and shoot himself just like he was a horse that was no longer of any use to anyone. Maybe in time … that's just what… he would have to do … to himself….
Chapter Six
Those of the immigrants who were healthy and strong enough crowded against the ship's railing, watching . .. waiting. They had been told that in only a matter of minutes they would get their first view of “America's golden door.” All were quiet. Even the children were no longer crying. The air held a spirit of cautious hope. The water now splashed in only mild sprays of bubbly effervescence against the ship's bow, as the ship's boilers ceased to be fed coal by the work-weary crewmen, who had mainly seen only the dark dungeon of the mechanical works of the ship since leaving the Italian shore.
Maria snuggled more closely to Alberto. “I'm so excited,” she whispered, reaching up, checking to see if her hair was completely hidden beneath her billed hat. She once again would be playing the role of a boy until she reached her Papa's home. Alberto had warned her of the many strange men that they might have to encounter, and knowing only one American, this Michael whom Maria had taken a quick fancy to, and the way he had so reacted to Maria's beauty, Alberto had thought to expect the same from all American men. Alberto wanted no man to take advantage of his sister's sweet innocence. No man.
Alberto leaned down into Maria's face. “The gun, Maria,” he whispered, glancing quickly around him, making sure no one saw or heard. “Is it well hidden?”
Sighing, Maria fluttered her thick lashes nervously. “Yes. It is still well hidden,” she whispered. “But I still don't understand why you want to keep it. Surely whoever lost it would have much more need of it than you or I. Why didn't you leave it just where you found it? Guns are ugly, dangerous things.”
Alberto was glad that Maria had believed his story when she had discovered the gun hidden beneath the blankets of his bunk. At that moment, the only thing he could have said was that he had found it. He couldn't have revealed to her that in truth he had taken it from a ship's whore and had even used the butt of it to bust the skull of a rapist-thief partially open.
He looked all around him, studying the faces of the crowd. He hadn't seen Sam or Grace since that night, the night that Alberto had discovered that he was lacking in the knowledge of how to act as a true man … sexually. He didn't understand it. For even now he could feel his manhood come to life with just the remembrance of how soft Grace's body had been. But when the time would come actually to be with a woman, would Alberto's body fail him again? His heart ached, thinking of that possibility.
He flinched when Maria's elbow nudged into his -side. His face reddened as he saw the questioning in her eyes.
“Alberto, did you hear me?” she whined, still worrying about his state of mind. He was still behaving strangely. Even more so after his night of playing that card game once again. She at first had worried that he might have lost all their money. But when he had shown her that he had even won a few lire, she had been a bit proud of him. So she knew that it hadn't been the money that had caused his loss of spirit. Would she ever find out? Were she and Alberto truly drifting apart? She had never thought that possible. They had always seemed as one. Ever since birth.
“Oh, the gun,” he stammered, thrusting his hands inside his front breeches pockets. “I felt that it became mine the minute I found it. I felt that we might need it once we arrive in America.”
“But America is a land of opportunity. Not a land to fear,” she argued.
“Remember what Papa has said about that Nathan Hawkins,” Alberto grumbled. “He's an American, and it sounds as though he's one to not trust.”
“Yes, I guess you're right,” Maria murmured. “But, Alberto, why must I carry the gun? It's so cold and hard against my belly. And that rope you have tied the gun to my belly with is itching my skin so.”
Alberto hung his head. “In case we have to be checked to enter America and they discover you are a woman, they won't go so far as to have you remove your breeches and shirt,” he mumbled. “With a man, they may have no qualms about it. Please understand.”
Maria twisted her body, trying to stand so that the gun wouldn't irritate her so severely. “Oh, all right,” she said, then stood on her tiptoes and let out a loud gasp. “Alberto. Look. See,” she said, suddenly panting.
Through a low-hanging haze, the New York harbor slowly began to take shape. Alberto removed his hat from his head and squeezed it between his hands, eyes wide, first not
icing the 152-foot-high Statue of Liberty.
“My God,” he shouted, now aware of all the other cries and shouts of glee surfacing from all the rest of the immigrants who crowded around him and Maria.
Maria's heart seemed to lunge, now remembering how Michael had so carefully described it to her that second time during their last moments together, after they had made love to one another, over and over again. “And did you know that a person can stand in the torch at the very end of the arm of the Lady of Liberty?” she blurted.
Alberto eyed her darkly. “And how do you know that, Maria?”
She cast her eyes downward, feeling a blush rising. “I read about it in a book, Alberto,” she said quietly. “That's how I know.”
Alberto seemed to have not heard. Something else had caught his quick attention. “Maria! Would you look at those mountains!” he exclaimed, pointing, as the ship moved on past the Statue of Liberty, closer to the piers.
Maria stood on tiptoe again, craning her neck. “What mountains?” she asked. “I see no mountains.”
Alberto's voice grew impatient. “Those tall ones. Over there. Coming closer. Look at them. They're so strange. And why don't they have snow on them?”
The haze suddenly lifted, revealing the immenseness of New York's buildings. A smile erupted on Maria's face, which grew into a laugh of mirth. She had realized that her brother had been lax about reading and studying, even though their Papa had so eagerly urged them to do this, but she just hadn't realized Alberto was this slow in the ways of the mind. Her smile and laugh faded away. Perhaps this wasn't the result of a lack of book learning, but from that blow to Alberto's head. She reached for his hand and held it in hers. “Alberto, those aren't mountains,” she said. “Those are buildings.”
He jerked his hand free, scowling. “Damn it, Maria,” he argued. “Don't you think I can see that? It was the fog. It had hidden the truth from my eyes. I'm no damn idiot. Please don't treat me like one.”
It was Maria's turn to scold. “And you, Alberto,” she demanded. “Do not spoil this, my first arrival to America, by throwing filthy words into my face. You know how long you and I have waited for this day. Please be a bit more pleasant.”
