Nonno\u2019s heart failed in \u201985. My brother and I were in high school at the time. It was the same year Giuliani, wielding a blade called RICO, severed the heads of New York\u2019s Hydra\u2014heads that didn\u2019t grow back. That year marked the beginning of the end for the Families.<\/p>\n
Two ceremonies were given for Nonno, known by most as Officer Gaetano Roselli. The first was a police affair, one of those garish, patriotic joints: white gloves, synchronous gunshots, that type of shit. My grandmother held a smaller service the following afternoon.<\/p>\n
Ma tried to forbid Roman and me from attending the wake. She cited our recent school suspensions. She didn\u2019t mention how Nonno might\u2019ve felt the sharp edge of Giuliani\u2019s crusade, had death not spared him the shame. The neighborhood fellas had respected my grandfather. They\u2019d lined his pockets with their respect. He\u2019d always seemed to be looking in the right direction.<\/p>\n
Nonna stood by the stove, stirring Bolognese. There was a suppleness to her stooped body, an ability to bend without breaking. She lifted the wooden spoon to her lips. The sweet-smelling steam curled her hair at the temples. She uncorked a bottle of chianti and added a bit to the sauce, which would simmer over low heat until after the service.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened to boys will be boys?\u201d she said, turning to Ma. \u201cThey all have the curse. Blame il malocchio.\u201d<\/p>\n
When I was five and Roman was three, \u201cthe curse,\u201d as my grandmother put it, landed my father in prison. He\u2019d almost killed a guy with a golf club over a fifty-dollar poker debt. Ma never let us visit. Our father became a choice: you have a collect call from an inmate at USP Otisville; do you accept these charges?<\/p>\n
Thing about our school trouble, stomping some Irish kid was one fuck-up on a quickly growing list. This pale stronzo had tried holding Maria\u2019s hand. Maria, who looked like a dancer plucked from the Radio City stage, was Roman\u2019s girl. Was into my brother for his weird intelligence. What could we do? Insults begot answers in our neighborhood.<\/p>\n
Ma recognized the emerging similarities to her marito. Said visions of Roman and me in cages, or worse, kept her awake at night.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re going,\u201d I said. \u201cHe\u2019s our grandfather, for Christ\u2019s sake.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
After Nonna put on her veil, Roman and I offered our elbows. We escorted her out to the hallway. Behind us, Ma locked the apartment door and slid a key beneath the mat, which, in faded script, read Benvenuto. A neighbor would be by to stir the gravy.<\/p>\n
We helped Nonna down the brick staircase. Nonno\u2019s Town Car\u2014midnight blue, brown leather interior\u2014was parked on the street. Roman opened the rear door and held Nonna\u2019s hand as she settled herself in the back. I\u2019d never seen her ride up front. Ma drove away without saying goodbye.<\/p>\n
I lit a cigarette and passed it to Roman, then lit one for myself.<\/p>\n
\u201cStrange,\u201d Roman said, smoke trailing the word.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMa driving Nonno\u2019s Lincoln.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
An hour later, wearing our best suits and freshly polished shoes, Roman and I strolled down Mott Street. We entered Arthur\u2019s Funeral Parlor. The place smelled of roses. Ma watched us from the corner, our hereditary anger coiled near the top of her throat. Nonna sat next to her in a straight-back chair. A rosary dangled from Nonna\u2019s spotted hands. People I didn\u2019t recognize\u2014distant cousins, my grandparents\u2019 friends\u2014leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.<\/p>\n
In the center of the room, a man was telling a story. He had a surprisingly high voice. It climbed above the rippling hum of Italians trying to control their volume.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnthony,\u201d Roman said, tapping my arm. \u201cMa\u2019s pissed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSta\u2019zitt\u2019\u2014you know who that is?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow should I know?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s Thomas Pitera, fool. He\u2019s connected.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pitera had jet-black hair and icy blue eyes that were too gentle for his face. His suit didn\u2019t fit right; it bunched at the shoulders. His nickname was Tommy Karate, on account of his obsession with hand-to-hand combat. In several years the public would learn just how much he enjoyed using his hands on others.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnyway,\u201d Pitera said, \u201cGaetano spots this broad on the jury at Sammy\u2019s trial. Can\u2019t figure how he knows her. It\u2019s buggin him, I guess, so he asks Signora Roselli to come to the courthouse and have a look. Signora recognizes this juror right away. Apparently, she was one of Sammy\u2019s goomars, lived down the block. Signora used to play canasta with some ladies over there. Not only in the same building\u2014on the same floor.\u201d<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t believe Pitera, a capo, knew my grandparents by name. He represented a host of other men. Approached jobs for the Bonannos with something like passion. You yielded the sidewalk to guys like him, avoided stepping on their shadows.<\/p>\n
\u201cOutside the courtroom,\u201d he continued, \u201cDuring a recess or whatever, Signora tells Gaetano that the juror is Sammy\u2019s girlfriend. Only, she tells him in front of two, tree other badges. Gaetano has to tell the judge now, see? The judge requests a new jury. Sammy\u2019s eventually found guilty. They\u2019re takin him away, and as he walks by Gaetano, he points at him and says, \u2018Aye, I want this guy arrested for tamperin with my jury.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
Pitera paused. He turned from his audience to Nonna. \u201cI\u2019ve taken enough of your time, Signora. Mi dispiace per la morta di tuo marito. Gaetano was a good man.\u201d<\/p>\n
Nonna refused to meet his gaze. With a smile, he pressed his palms together and bowed. But Nonna just stared at her rosary, her mouth tight as a fist.<\/p>\n
On his way out, Pitera sauntered past Roman and me. \u201cScuse me, gents,\u201d he said, patting my shoulder. Then he was gone.<\/p>\n
I realize now that Ma hadn\u2019t been glaring at us\u2014she\u2019d fixed her eye on Tommy Karate. She ran over to Roman and me and cuffed our wrists and dragged us into the viewing room. The ceiling swayed in a lake of low candlelight.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can hardly even look at you two,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
I scoffed. \u201cWhat we do now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not supposed to be here. The types of men your grandfather knew, they didn\u2019t respect him like you think. Was a true story that animal told. But he left out what happened next.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened?\u201d Roman asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was little. I remember wondering why this man was in our kitchen. Nonno left to get something. Money, a phone number, who knows. I can still see how Tommy Karate\u2019s eyes changed. Was like he took off a mask. He grabbed Nonna between her legs and pushed her against the counter. He said things I won\u2019t repeat. I saw it all. And my father, who\u2019d come back, he saw it too. Pretended he didn\u2019t.\u201d Ma clutched our chins with her firm fingers. \u201cYour father\u2019s weak,\u201d she said. \u201cMine was no different. I\u2019m looking at you and trying to find a difference. Trying real hard.\u201d<\/p>\n
She was pretty worked up. I thought she\u2019d cry. She didn\u2019t, though. I hugged her anyway and was relieved that she hugged me back. When we finally let go, I found Roman staring at the open coffin.<\/p>\n
Death had withered Nonno. Swathed in the husk of his uniform, he resembled a paper doll. His cosmetically preserved skin appeared purple in the dim light. Someone had placed two silver coins over his eyes.<\/p>\n
As a Catholic, I was meant to believe in Heaven\u2019s grace and Hell\u2019s fire. What I believed wasn\u2019t changing the world. And yet, as we stood there, I couldn\u2019t shake this odd feeling, like I was crossing from one phase of my life to the next. I knew what Ma had meant by comparing Roman and me to our un-sainted patriarchs. To show her I understood, I said nothing.<\/p>\n
\u201cCiao,\u201d said Nonna, walking into the room. \u201cHai fame?\u201d<\/p>\n
Yes, we were hungry. I glanced at my grandfather one last time. Then I draped my arm over Roman\u2019s shoulders, and we followed the Roselli women through the doorway.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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