Chapters (38)
- Cover
- ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
- Storming Heaven
- DENISE GIARDINA
- Copyright
- Dedication
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Contents
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Part Two
- Nine
- Part Three
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Part Four
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- AFTERWORD
Four
ROSA ANGELELLI
YES, I KILL THAT BUTTERFLY. BUT I SAVE ALL THOSE OTHERS. I let them go. I throw them into the air and they fly away.
Mama, why do I ever leave Sicily? You hold me on your lap and pat my cheek. You feed me oranges.
The butterflies live in our trees, purple and gold. I chase them and have one in my hands. The legs are strong, they pluck at my flesh and I am afraid they will hurt me. My hands break the wings. I do not mean it. My fingers are slick with powder from the wings.
I cry because it is dying.
Papa laughs. Silly, he says. Stupid.
Mama cleans for the big people in Palermo. She polishes the floors. She comes home and combs my hair.
You do not pick up the butterfly, she says. Do not touch with your fingers. The dust comes off and the butterfly cannot fly.
I sob, I broke the wings.
Bambina. She kisses the top of my head. It was so pretty. Is that why you are sad?
Senore Davidson keeps butterflies in cases. I polish the cases. The butterflies are prisoners, the pins hold them down. I want to tell Mama about them but she is so far away.
Mario brings me here. And Papa. Mario comes to West Virginia to dig the coal and be rich. I don’t want to go. I don’t know Mario very well. Papa says go.
I have eight children, he says. How can I feed them all? You are the oldest. You go and send back money. How else can a woman help?
Mama cries. Rosa is like my sister, she says.
Mama takes me to the boat. Papa does not come.
I will see you again, she says. Bambina. I will see you again.
Senore Davidson brings Mama to stay with me in this place. There is a white bed for her here, in this room.
Mario digs the coal for Senore Davidson at Felco, and that is where I go to live. I watch the names from the train. Carbon. Winco. Felco. I like the name of Felco because it sounds Sicilian. I think of home. The olive trees, the orange trees, Mama. The towns in West Virginia are all the same—the houses are white and they have eyes. Their windows are black, eyes that do not sleep, that need rest.
Mario takes me to his house. The floor sags. When we speak the house speaks back. We have our iron bed, one chair and a table. Mario says it will be better. He saves the money. I cook our first dinner, pasta slippery with fresh tomatoes and peppers. We have baccala on Sunday for our wedding. Special. The priest comes to our house because there is not yet a church. We cannot talk to him because he is the Irish. I wear a white chemise with the cutwork on the front. Mario comes into my bed and I think of Mama, I want her to comb my hair once again.