The King of Mulberry Street Read Online Free Page A

that shawl she pulled out a little fold of cloth. It had a string tied around it. Another surprise? With her thumb, she tucked it inside my right shoe, under the arch of my foot. It was so small, it fit easily. “Your job is to survive.”
    “Wha—?” I opened my mouth, but she put a finger over my lips.
    “First of all, simply survive.” She stopped and swallowed and for a moment I thought maybe she was sick. “Watch, like you always do, watch and learn and do whatever you have to do to fit in. Talk as little as possible—just watch and use your head.” Her eyes didn't blink for so long, they turned glassy. “Nothing can stop you,
tesoro mio
. Remember, you're special, a gift from the Most Powerful One. As soonas you can, get an education. Be your own boss.” Then she said, “Open your mouth.” I opened my mouth and she spat in it. “That's for long life.” She stood up. “Don't undress with anyone around. Ever. Swear to me.”
    “What?”
    “Swear, Beniamino.”
    I swallowed her saliva. “I swear, Mamma.”
    We held hands and walked the plank onto the ship. I looked beyond to the two mounds of Vesuvio, red in the rising sun.
    A man stopped us.
    “We've come to see Pier Giorgio,” said Mamma.
    “He went to visit his family in Calabria.”
    “Then we'll wait for him.”
    “He's not coming on this trip,” said the man.
    Mamma sucked in air. “That can't be.” She pulled me in front of her and pressed her hands down on my shoulders so hard, I thought I'd fall. “I paid,” she said. “I paid Pier Giorgio.”
    “For what?”
    “Passage to America.”
    America. I reached up and put my hand on hers. That was why she had said those crazy words about survival; she was afraid of the journey. But it was worth it; we'd find our fortune in America, like Tonino. We'd send money home, enough for everyone to come and join us.
    I would have whispered encouragement, but the man was arguing with her. “This is a cargo ship,” he said for a second time. “No passengers.”
    “That can't be,” said Mamma. “It's all arranged.”
    The man sighed. “How much have you got?”
    “I gave it all to Pier Giorgio. My son's passage is paid.”
    “Go to another ship. Give him to a
padrone
—an agent— who will pay his fare in exchange for work once the ship lands.”
    “My son will never be anyone's slave.”
    “Then he's not going to America.”
    I looked up at Mamma to ask her what was going on. But she put a hand over my mouth and stared at the man. “Yes, he is.” She took off her shawl. The cloth of her dress seemed thin and shabby, like gauze. In an instant my strong mamma changed into someone small and weak. I wanted to cover her up.
    The man rubbed his dirt-caked neck, leaving a clean streak of olive flesh. Then he took us down a ladder. We stepped off at the first inside deck, but the ladder kept going down. “Go hide in the dark, boy, past those barrels and boxes. Don't make a peep till you feel the sea moving under you. Even then wait a full hour before you come up. Promise.”
    I looked at Mamma. She nodded. “I promise.” I took Mamma's hand, to lead her to the right spot, but he slapped my hand away.
    “Your mother has to hide in a different spot, for safety. Hurry up now. Go.”
    My eyes stung. I blinked hard. This was nothing, nothing at all, compared to being in the grotto under the convent with the body and the rats. This was simple.
    I felt my way into the dark. When I looked back, Mamma and the man no longer stood in the circle of light that came in above the ladder. I went farther. Finally, I sat. But the floorboards were wet. They smelled of vinegar. So
    I climbed onto a barrel lid. Other smells came at me— machine oils and salted foods and wine and olive oil. And, strangest of all, hay.
    Soon men climbed up and down the ladder, disappearing below or above, mercifully not stopping on this deck.
    My skin prickled, but I didn't rub my arms. My bottom went numb from not changing