CHAPTER 25

AIUTA MI! AIUTA mi!” Screaming for help against the ghosts of her three dead sons, Teresina Coccalitti ran along the edge of the sidewalk, her body tilted strangely, her black clothes flapping in the morning breeze. When she reached the corner she turned and ran back again, crying out, “Aiuto! Aiuto!” but on that first familiar cry for help, windows had slammed shut above Tenth Avenue.

Now the woman stood in the gutter, legs apart. She raised her head to the sky and accused them all. She spoke in the vulgar Italian of her native village, and on that thin hawk’s face all native cunning, greed and vicious slyness had been eaten away by suffering. “Oh, I know you all,” she shouted up to the closed windows. “You wanted to fuck me, you whores and daughters of whores. You wanted to put it up my ass, every one of you, but I was too clever.” She tore at her face with claw-like nails until it was a mass of bloody strips. Then she raised her arms to the sky and screamed, “Only God. Only God.” She started running along the curb, her black hat bobbing up and down, as her only remaining son came around the corner of 31st Street to catch her and drag her home.

It had happened many times before. At first Lucia Santa used to rush into the street to help her old friend, but now she watched from her window like everyone else. Who would have thought that fate would dare to strike such a blow against Teresina Coccalitti? Kill three of her sons in one year of war, and she such a cunning sly person, always secretive and capable of any treachery for her own advantage. Did nothing help then? Was there no escape for anyone? For if evil cannot prevail against fate, what hope is there for the good?