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"You can tell them one thing, though."
"And what is that?"
"The real reason I can't go to school."
"I thought you'd be too ashamed."
"It'll be worse if they make me go."
She stared at him. He was ashamed—really ashamed—of not being able to read or write even his own name. She wanted to say, I'll teach you, but that might make matters worse.
"Mr. Marchesi come by to tell Mrs. Gerbati I was supposed to be in school, not working. Part of the deal was that the people here would send all the kids to school, not make them work."
"Nobody's making you work, are they?"
"No. I kinda like it. It's not near as hard as the mill. And all the guys are friendly to me. Even the old man ain't too bad."
"Okay," she said finally. "I'll tell them, but I may have to tell the truth."
He reddened, but he nodded. "Whatever you have to do. I can't go to no school."
Rosa went to Mr. Gerbati, who had fetched his afternoon newspaper from the market around the corner and was reading in the sitting room while his wife finished putting supper on the table. "Sal asked me to talk to you, Mr. Gerbati," she began.
He folded the paper on his lap and looked at her over his little metal-rimmed glasses. "He can't talk for himself?"
"He's too ashamed."
"So?"
She took a deep breath. "Sal can't go to school, Mr. Gerbati. He—he's never been, so he would have to start with the little ones. He's too ashamed to be in the first grade with six- and seven-year-olds."
Mr. Gerbati was waiting for her to go on.
"I know it seems strange ... me going to school and my brother not. But—but he was, well, when he was six, he was very sick, and when he got well again, he refused to go. You may have noticed that he's very stubborn." Mr. Gerbati gave a faint smile. "So finally Papa paid the man for the papers, and Sal went to work in the mill. He was as big as some of the older boys, and nobody asks questions at the mill anyway. Besides, we needed the money. Then Papa was killed, and we needed it even worse."
"So, if he's worker, why is he here with children?"
"I—I wouldn't come alone. I was too scared. There was no work with the strike going, and," she put on her saddest face, "he was hungry, too."
Mr. Gerbati ran his finger along the crease of his paper. "When Mr. Broggi go to Lawrence, he promise all the children go to school. Mr. Marchesi tell Mrs. Gerbati today, all the committee know Sal no go to school."
"I know. But you could explain to Mr. Marchesi and Mr. Broggi. Mamma would understand. She won't expect Sal to be in school, only that he behave himself and help you any way he can. We're both so grateful to you and Mrs. Gerbati...."
"Tell your brother next time he speak for himself, si? Not send little sister." He turned back to his paper.
At supper neither of the Gerbatis mentioned the return of the Colonni brothers to Lawrence, nor the visit Mr. Marchesi had paid to check on their charges. But after the old man had finished the last of his wine and his coffee, into which Rosa noticed he poured a bit of grappa from a jug on the counter, he pushed back his chair and addressed Sal. "Your sister say you like work in the shed better than school, yes?"
"Yessir," Sal murmured to his empty plate.
"You work hard, you behave good, I fix with committee, okay?"
"Thank you, sir," Sal said without lifting his head. "Grazie."
"But after work, you gotta study, si? Rosa, she smart girl, she teach you. And I don't want no monkey business, neither. You study good. You go home after strike and you no dumb kid, okay?"
"Yessir."
"Begin tonight. I tell Mr. Broggi and Mr. Marchesi you study at Gerbatis' house, okay?"
