New York - The Novel

America?”
    “No,” Salvatore heard his father answer firmly.
    Salvatore knew about this. Giovanni Caruso had warned his whole family. Although their Uncle Francesco had found work for him, none ofthem must say that he had a job, or the men at Ellis Island would send him back. There were two reasons for this strange rule, he explained. The first was that the United States wanted men who were anxious to take any job they could find. The second was to discourage an illicit trade. For there were
padroni
who promised jobs, paid people’s passage, and even traveled with the immigrants on the ship—though the
padrone
was in first or second class, of course. Foolish people trusted the
padrone
because he was a fellow Italian. He’d be waiting for them in the park near the docks, and take them to lodgings. And before long the new arrivals were in his power, trapped like slaves, and fleeced of all they had.
    Satisfied with his inquiries, the man at the desk was waving them through.
    “Welcome to America, Signor Caruso.” He smiled. “Good luck.”
    They passed through a turnstile, down a flight of stairs, and then into the baggage room. Here they were given a box lunch and a bag of fresh fruit. They found their suitcases and the big wooden trunk. Nothing had been stolen. Salvatore watched as his father and Giuseppe started to put the trunk and cases on a trolley. They were told that they could have them delivered free to any address in the city, but Concetta was so relieved that they hadn’t already been stolen that she wouldn’t let them out of her sight again.
    She was still looking about anxiously for Uncle Luigi, but since Salvatore knew he wouldn’t be coming, he didn’t bother.
    Then, suddenly, his mother started crying out.
    “Luigi! Luigi! We’re here. Over here.” She was waving excitedly. And sure enough, at the far end of the room, Salvatore saw his uncle coming toward them. He was smiling.
    “Uncle Luigi!” Salvatore started running toward him. His uncle was carrying his suitcase. He scooped Salvatore up in his free arm and carried him back to his sister.
    “Where were you?” she asked. “We couldn’t see you.”
    Uncle Luigi put Salvatore down. “I came through before you. I’ve been waiting here ten minutes.”
    “Thanks be to God,” she cried.
    But Salvatore was even more excited. “They let you into America, Uncle Luigi. They let you in after all.”
    “Certainly they let me in. Why shouldn’t they let me in?”
    “Because you’re crazy. They send all the lunatics back.”
    “What’s this? You’re calling me a lunatic?” His uncle slapped Salvatore’s face. “Is this a way to talk to your uncle?” He turned to Concetta. “Is this how you bring your children up?”
    “Salvatore!” cried his mother. “What are you saying?”
    Hot tears came to Salvatore’s eyes. “It’s true. They put a cross on the lunatics, and the doctors from the madhouse question them, and send them home,” he protested.
    Uncle Luigi raised his hand again.
    “Enough,” said his mother, while Salvatore buried his face in her skirt. “Luigi, help Giovanni with the suitcases. As if we hadn’t enough troubles in the world.
Poverino
, he doesn’t know what he is saying.”
    Minutes later, when Salvatore was beside his father, he whimpered, “Uncle Luigi hit me.”
    But his father gave him no comfort.
    “It’s your own fault,” he said. “That will teach you to keep a secret.”
    1907
    It was just before noon on October 17 when the telephone rang. The butler answered. Then he came to inform Rose that her husband needed to speak to her.
    “Tell him I’ll be down in a minute,” she said. She was fastening her pearl choker. It looked elegant with her gray silk dress.
    Much as she loved William, she’d rather that he hadn’t called just then. He ought to have remembered she’d be busy. For this was the day of the month when she took his grandmother out for a drive.
    Taking old Hetty Master out once a month might be a duty, but Rose also found it a pleasure. Hetty was almost ninety now, but her mind was still sharp as a razor. She sometimes went out in her own carriage, but she liked to be taken out too, and there was never any shortage of things to talk about. She read the newspapers every day, and once Rose had brought her up to date with the latest doings of the children, Hetty would be sure to ask her sharp questions about the relative views of the Pulitzer newspapers or those of Mr.