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"Is okay, Mrs. Gerbati. No one here starve today."
"We just had cake," Rosa said. "We'll be fine."
Mrs. Gerbati sighed. "I don't like no one go hungry in my house. Everyone eat extra big supper, okay? Now go, go quick, so Rosa and me can fix everything before your poor bellies start to cry," she said, shooing her husband and Jake out of the kitchen.
Mr. Gerbati went toward his chair but didn't sit down. "You have good trip?"
He must mean with Duncan. "Oh, yeah, swell."
"You see Mr. Bobbie Burns?"
"Yeah. Yessir."
"You see Mr. Corti's work?"
"It's very good."
"Good? Is meraviglioso! Magnificent!" Mr. Gerbati went back and carefully shut the kitchen door. "Sit, Salvatore."
Now it was coming. The time with Duncan had been a tease after all. But he sat as he had been told to. Mr. Gerbati sat down in his usual chair, took his pipe from his pocket, stuffed it with tobacco, and studied the bowl while he made several attempts to light the contents. Finally, satisfied, he took three or four puffs.
Jake, watching the extended scene, was turning to stone on the nearby chair. Hell's bells, why didn't the man get on with it?
"You like Mr. Duncan, no?"
"Yeah, sure. Everyone does."
"He Scot." Mr. Gerbati took another puff. "Like you, maybe?"
"What?"
Mr. Gerbati leaned forward. "You no Salvatore Serutti. You no Italian. I don't know who you are—I don't know how come you in my house, in my shed."
What was Jake supposed to say? He opened his mouth, hoping maybe that something would come out of it that made sense to the man, but nothing did.
"Don't trouble make lie to me. Tell me why you come. You know I don't want no boy, but I let you come, yes? Mrs. Gerbati, isn't she good to you? Don't she feed you like her own child?"
Jake studied the toes of his new boots. Already they were scuffed.
"And today. We try to give you what you need—food, warm clothes—but not enough for you, no?" He shook his head. The hair was thick and white like the snow on his son's grave. "I don't know who you are," he said sorrowfully. "I don't know." He put his pipe back into his mouth and studied the smoke curling above it.
"I didn't mean to come." Jake's voice was so small and unlike itself that he almost didn't recognize it. "I'll leave whenever you say. Only please..."
Mr. Gerbati took out his pipe and leaned forward, listening.
"Please don't call the police."
"What business I got with police? I live in North End. I don't know what you mean. Who do I call? The priest? The mayor?" He sat back. "I don't even call Mrs. Gerbati. I talk to you. I say, Who are you, boy? Why you lie and make little Rosa lie for you, huh? Is not good, making nice girl like Rosa speak for you, lie for you. Where your shame, boy?"
"I need money."
"So you break my safe? You steal from me and my men? Why don't you ask me, like a man?"
Jake kept his eyes on his boots, his voice hardly above a whisper. "I was scared."
"Dio mio. Is that excuse?"
"No, sir."
