Despite the night’s warmth, Maria trembled. “Would one of them have done… that?”

“Without thinking twice,” Bernardo replied, then dragged hard at the cigarette. “One of them threw a stink bomb into Guerra’s grocery tonight. If I catch him he won’t have any arms left.”

“You know the boy who did it?”

“What’s the difference? He was a Jet. The first one we catch is going to be the first one to get it. If they catch one of us, we get it.”

“But why should it be this way?” Maria asked her brother. “Why should they hurt us?”

“Because they say we hurt them by coming here. You know what I’m going to do?”

“What?”

“Maybe tomorrow, I’m going down to Times Square with a couple of the boys—Pepe, Anxious, Toro, and Moose. And we’re going into one of them souvenir stores.”

“To rob it?” Maria was frightened.

Bernardo stroked his sister’s cheek. “Of course not,” he said. “Just to buy some iron statues of the Statue of Liberty. Some of them come about this long”—he indicated a measurement of about twelve inches—“and they’d be just about the right size for beating in the head of those Jets. You know what it says on the Statue of Liberty?” he challenged his sister.

“No,” she replied. “Should I?”

“It says something about all the poor people coming here to find a better life. Well maybe it’s true,” Bernardo continued, “but the Jets don’t believe it. So we got to beat it into their thick heads. And little Statues of Liberty seem just the right way to do it.”

Maria stood to confront her brother. Eyes wide, her heart beating so hard it was frightening, she shook her head slowly as she fixed the knot of Bernardo’s tie which had slipped to one side of his collar. Her brother was so good looking, but his mouth was too thin, and his eyes were like those of an animal she had once seen in a trap; they were fearful, but defiant in their hatred. His enmity was often unspoken, but more to be feared than noisy rage.

“Why must it be this way?” she said. “These people,” she moved her arm to encompass the city, “I don’t hate them.”

“But they don’t love you,” Bernardo replied. “Look,” he was impatient, “I don’t want you on the roof alone.”

Maria wiped at her eyes. “Not even with Chino?”

“Not even with Chino,” her brother replied.

“But he likes me,” she said. “Is it true really, that he spoke to mamma and pappa—about marrying me?”

“It’s true,” Bernardo embraced his sister and crushed her to him. “After you’re a bride, you can be alone with Chino.”

“Don’t go anyplace by yourself,” Bernardo warned again. “The lousy Americans think they’re entitled to more than we are, and if they see a girl like you…” He paused, stepped back, cocked his head and looked at his sister. “Man, you are one sweet chick. Chino’s a lucky fellow. By the way, Maria, you know that he loaned mamma and pappa the money for your fare? Even paid the fare for one of the kids? You know that?”