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Mrs. Gerbati was looking a bit shocked, but Sal was thoroughly enjoying this bit of news.
"And, of course, everyone sends you their love."
He actually blushed when she said that. Probably it was the first time anyone anywhere had ever sent him love. It was too bad it was just another of her lies.
Tumulto and Treachery
Saturday came. It was the day Anna and Ricci would be going to Philadelphia and leaving Mamma behind with only the Jarusalises for comfort. Rosa went with Mrs. Gerbati to confession where Rosa admitted to telling a number of vague untruths. She didn't venture to be too specific. The priest didn't press her, but gave her the usual Hail Marys and Our Fathers to recite, and they were back, preparing for supper, when the telephone rang. There was a large contraption of wood and metal and wires attached to the wall in the front hall, which Mrs. Gerbati had proudly pointed out to be a telephone. Rosa had never seen anyone using it, and it took her a minute to realize that the ringing noise she heard was inside, rather than outside, the house.
"Ah, il telefono" Mrs. Gerbati exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron and hurrying into the hall to pick it up. Rosa couldn't help it—she followed Mrs. Gerbati right out the kitchen door. She'd never known anyone actually to talk on a telephone, and she was curious to see how it worked.
"'Ello, 'ello?" Mrs. Gerbati had pulled part of the instrument from the wall and cupped it over her right ear. She was standing on tiptoe, yelling into a sort of raised ring on the front. "Si, si." And from then on she was mostly yelling Si or breathing a hushed No into the instrument. The only thing Rosa was sure of was that the news from the other end was not good. She could read that much from the growing expression of alarm on Mrs. Gerbati's face.
As soon as Mrs. Gerbati replaced the earpiece, Rosa called out to her, "What is it? What's the matter?"
Mrs. Gerbati took her by the hand and led her back into the warm kitchen. "Sit, Rosina."
Rosa obeyed. Mrs. Gerbati sat in the chair beside her, still holding her hand and shaking her head. Suddenly, as though something had just occurred to her, she raised her head and looked about. "Where is Salvatore?"
"I don't know. He said he was going out for a walk after he had his snack. I think he likes to wander around town. He'll be back soon, but you don't need to wait for him...."
"Better we wait for him." She let go of Rosa's hand and patted her knee. "And Mr. Gerbati, too, yes?" Mr. Gerbati had gone to the Labor Hall. He might not even come home for supper.
"Is it about Mamma?"
"Don't worry, bambina. Is all right, all good. You see."
Rosa didn't see anything at all except that nothing was good. Something terrible had happened to Mamma, that was it. Something so terrible that the news had to come by telephone, not telegram or letter. News so terrible that Mrs. Gerbati didn't even dare to tell her. Rosa was shaking all over, despite her warm clothes, despite the warm kitchen. Couldn't Mrs. Gerbati see what she was doing to her? Torturing her with silence? But Mrs. Gerbati had gotten up and gone to the kitchen counter. She took the leftover polenta from the night before, now congealed, and sliced it with a piece of string. She put the neat slices into a cast-iron pan sizzling with olive oil and began to fry them, concentrating on the task as if her life depended on it. If Rosa had thought it would do any good, she would have thrown herself at the old woman's feet and begged her to tell, but she knew Mrs. Gerbati was determined to make her husband the teller of bad news—news so terrible that she could not bring herself to break it.
Finally, Sal came back and, minutes later, Mr. Gerbati. It might as well have been days, as far as Rosa was concerned, for by the time the old man opened the door, Rosa had mentally gone to the DeCesare funeral parlor and seen the bodies of her loved ones laid out like Annie Lopizzo, and then followed the hearse that carried her entire family to paupers' graves in the Lawrence cemetery. Or would the union pay for a proper burial? They ought to. They were at fault. If it hadn't been for the union, she would still have a family.
"Some coffee and bread?" Mrs. Gerbati asked a bit too chirpily as her husband and Sal entered the kitchen. "To comfort the belly after your cold walk?" Both Sal and Mr. Gerbati sat down at the table while she served them. "And you, Rosa?"
Rosa shook her head, unable to speak. She was numb with terrified anticipation. Mrs. Gerbati was sending silent signals to Mr. Gerbati across Sal's head, but the boy seemed to notice nothing but his food. Finally, Mr. Gerbati cleared his throat.
"I hear at the Labor Hall some news," he began. Rosa looked up quickly. Sal kept munching away on his bread. "There was a—a tumulto at the station...."
"What station?" Rosa blurted out.
"In Lawrence. The parents was taking their children to the train."
"To go to Philadelphia?" Rosa could not help herself. She had to know. Why couldn't he go ahead and tell her if Mamma and Anna and Ricci were dead or alive? They must be dead—why else all the delay?
He nodded. "To Philadelphia," he sai
d. "The police—"
"Mamma's dead."
Both Mr. and Mrs.Gerbati started in alarm. "No! No!" They chorused.
"Povera bambina!" Mrs. Gerbati came from the stove and put her arms around Rosa, crushing the girl's face to her wide bosom. "No, no, don't I tell you no worry? Is all right? You tell Rosa is all right," she commanded her husband.
"The police attack the people," Mr. Gerbati continued. "No dead, but some beat with police stick. We don't know 'bout your mamma and sister"—he glanced at Sal, who was still chewing his food—"if hurt or not. We only know Mamma and sister in jail and baby boy took away to somewhere we don't know."
Rosa let out a cry, which prompted Mrs. Gerbati to hug her closer.
"Mr. Broggi, he in touch with union committee in Lawrence. He get more news, he telephone, okay?"
