Sally Boy (5 page)

“Oh my God! No, Salvatore, you’ll hurt
yourself,” Mama shouted hysterically seeing his desperate act. The
emotional strain was too much. Clutching her rosary, Mama fainted,
falling limply into the arms of her weakened husband.

Zeoli was able to constrain Salvatore long
enough for the ship to exit the harbor. The farther the ship
traveled, the weaker he became, until finally, his tired little
body gave out. Eventually, Salvatore surrendered: there was no
chance of returning. Exhaling deeply, the boy brushed away the
remaining tears. “I don’t know where to go, Signore Zeoli. Where
will I sleep?”

Relieved, Zeoli’s lips curled up into a
smile. “Well, let me have a look at your ticket, and then we can
locate your room.” Studiously, Zeoli scanned all the pertinent
documents. “It says here that you’ll be sleeping in cabin number
333. That’s not very far from where my family and I will be
staying.”

Salvatore tried to smile, but he could only
manage a yawn. “I’m very tired.”

“I know. You look worn out. Come with me.”
Zeoli turned to his wife. “Helen, take the boys to our cabin. I’ll
take Salvatore to his and help him get settled. Then you can come
by and say ‘good-night’ to him. Okay?”

Blonde, shapely, and very attractive, Helen
was both kind and patient. “That will be fine,” she replied
cheerfully. “Is that okay with you, Salvatore?”

“Yes!”

From his many trips to the United States,
Zeoli was familiar with the layout of these boats. Taking the boy’s
hand, Zeoli led him down a flight of stairs and to the end of a
long hallway. They passed numerous cabin doors, checking the
numbers on each until they found his designated quarters.

“Here we are...room number 333.” Zeoli
opened the door and the boy rushed in past him. Salvatore wasted
little time in inspecting every inch of his cabin.

“Do you like your room, Salvatore?”

“Yes.”

“Good. It’s a fine cabin.”

Laying the suitcase on the bed, Zeoli began
to unpack the meager contents. Neatly, he placed all of Salvatore’s
belongings into a small dresser adjacent to his bed. Climbing up
onto the mattress, the boy reached into his suitcase and snatched
up the framed picture his grandmother packed for him and promptly
placed the photo on a nightstand.

“What do you have there, Salvatore?”

“It’s a picture of my mother, my Mama, my
Papa, and me. My Mama told me if I keep it near me nothing will
ever harm me.”

“That’s absolutely right. Your family will
always watch over you.” Shutting the dresser drawer, Zeoli sat down
on the bed. “Sit down, Salvatore. I would like to talk to you for a
moment.”

The boy hopped up onto the bed next to
Zeoli.

“You know, Salvatore. You might not
understand this right now, but you are very lucky to be going to
America.”

“Why does everyone keep telling me
that?”

“I guess it’s because you’re getting an
opportunity to live in the greatest country in the world. I know
you feel sad and you miss your Mama and Papa, and I know they miss
you, too. They want the best for you. That’s why they’re sending
you to America to live with your father.”

“I don’t know my father. What if I don’t
like him? What if he’s mean? Can I go back home?”

Fighting back a laugh, Zeoli continued, “You
have to give him a chance, Salvatore. It will take some time for
you and your father to get to know one another. People in America
are just like the people in our village. There are good people and
bad people. You must give each person a chance. Believe me, it’s
very difficult for someone to pretend for very long to be something
they are not. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?”

“Yes. My Papa taught me many things about
people when I was little.”

“Good. Your Papa wanted me to teach you
about how things work in America. Since I’ve been there many times,
he thought I could help you to better understand the people there.
Your Papa felt he didn’t have enough time to adequately prepare
you. Would you like that, Salvatore?”

“Yes.”

The sound of light tapping on the door drew
Zeoli’s attention. “Come in,” he yelled out politely.

The door opened and Helen peeked in. “May I
come in, Salvatore?”

“Yes!”

Stepping into the cabin, Helen looked
around. “You have a very nice room, Salvatore.” Sitting down on the
bed, she pointed out, “Your bed is big and comfortable, and look,
you have a lamp right next to your bed. If you want, we can leave
the light on all night, not that you need the light on. I know
you’re a big boy. I mean so you can find your way around in case
you need to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. Would you
like the light on?”

“Yes, I want the light on, please.”

“Okay.”

“Well, I guess I’ll get going then.
Good-night, Salvatore. Signora Zeoli will help you get ready for
bed, brush your teeth, and tuck you in. I’ll be by in the morning
to collect you for breakfast. You’ll be eating all your meals with
us, and tomorrow, you can play with my sons all day. That’s the way
your Papa wanted it. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, Signore Zeoli.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning.” Zeoli
closed the door behind him.

“Here you are.” Helen handed the boy his
sleeping clothes.

“Thank you.” Softly, the boy treaded into
the bathroom. He brushed his teeth then slipped into the
pajamas.

Fetching a hand towel from the bathroom,
Helen smartly placed it over the lamp shade so the room wasn’t so
bright. “Is this too dark?”

“No. I like it like this.”

“Good. Then up you go.”

Salvatore dove under the covers. Helen
tightened them up around his body so he was snugly tucked in.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, she lovingly stroked his
hair. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll sit with you until you fall
asleep. I want you to have sweet dreams. We’ll be in New York
before you know it. I promise you, everything is going to be fine.
Good-night, Salvatore,” Helen whispered as she tenderly kissed his
forehead.

“Good-night,” Salvatore whispered back.

* * * * *

As the ship neared the coastline of New
York, the first discernable landmark could be seen, and the sight
of it took the passenger’s breath away: the Statue of Liberty.
Proudly, she stood perched atop her base on her solitary island
gazing serenely out to sea, welcoming all newcomers with her torch
held high, illuminating a land of opportunity. The huddled masses
stood on deck mesmerized by the icon of American freedom. For many,
coming to the United States was the culmination of a lifetime of
hope and perseverance realized.

A wave of sadness washed over Salvatore as
he stared at the fabled statue. Wiping away tears, he remembered
his mother telling him bedtime stories of how one day they would
travel to the United States on a big boat, and that Lady Liberty,
as well as his father, would be there to welcome them.

After tucking Salvatore in at night, Marie
would delight her wide-eyed son with tales of how the three of them
would live in the country, in a big beautiful house with a white
picket fence, noting that Salvatore could tend the chickens,
rabbits, ducks, and all the other animals they would keep. Marie
even hinted that perhaps someday he might have a little brother or
sister to play with.

The sound of the ship’s horn roused him from
his daydream and the reality of arrival in America consumed his
thoughts. Although Salvatore was in awe of his first glimpse of New
York , his fears slowly subsided, and a curious anticipation crept
in. He heard the shouts of longshoremen laboring along the
waterfront, and he clearly saw the crane operators deftly unloading
cargo from the bellies of tremendous iron freighters. Tugboats
assisted arriving ships, while other tugs helped direct enormous
ocean liners onto their designated courses as they headed out to
sea. The New York skyline combined with the ocean’s familiar scent,
and the keening seagulls circling the gigantic fishing boats, made
for a very engrossing scene.

Once the ship was secured and the gangplank
was in place, the anxious passengers disembarked, baggage firmly in
hand. Excitedly, they dispersed into a sea of overjoyed people.
Some held signs welcoming the new arrivals, while others saw their
relative’s beaming faces and rushed to greet them. The touching
scenes of reunited families and loved ones only made Salvatore more
homesick.

Carrying his own bag as well as Salvatore’s
small suitcase, Zeoli led his contingent from the ship and made
their way through a myriad of people en route to the predetermined
location where they would meet the much ballyhooed Mr. Scalise.

Impatiently smoking a cigarette near a
lamp-post, next to a bench, across from a giant, “WELCOME TO NEW
YORK,” sign was Peter Scalise. Checking his watch for the fourth
time in as many minutes, he spied an approaching group of five.
Seeing the youngest boy’s face made Peter’s lips curl up into a
smile.

Even after all the years, he recognized his
son’s face from an old photo enclosed in one of the numerous
letters he had received from Marie many years ago. Only
three-years-old when the photograph was taken, Salvatore’s big,
brown, gorgeous eyes were easily recognizable, even in this massive
crowd.

Though Peter never responded to any of
Marie’s correspondence, he curiously kept all of her letters and
photographs to remind him of what he had sacrificed to honor his
blood oath to Don Bruno and La Cosa Nostra.

Now a mature man of twenty-eight, Peter
Scalise was svelte but muscular, with a head of perfectly styled,
thick black hair. Possessing piercing brown eyes and smooth, tanned
skin, Peter also had a strong jawline, a regal nose, and a dazzling
smile. His well-manicured fingernails complemented the gleam of his
diamond rings and the flash of his gold watch. Peter’s dapper
ensemble consisted of a custom-made gray cashmere suit, a matching
silk shirt, and tie, all sharply drawn together by a pair of grey,
Italian leather shoes.

There was dignity to his manner and Peter
carried himself with a quiet confidence befitting a “made man” in
the Brooklyn crime family. With his style and good-looks, Peter
could have easily been mistaken for a movie star.

Flicking his cigarette away, Peter made his
way toward the group. Aware that no one spoke English, he politely
addressed the older gentleman out in front of the procession in
Italian.

“Hello. You must be Signore Zeoli? I am
Peter Scalise. Salvatore’s grandparents wired me that you would be
bringing my son home to me.” They shook hands like two men forced
to: Peter’s too-tight grip was met by a reluctant, limp hand from
Zeoli.

“Hello, Signore Scalise. I am Vincenzo
Zeoli. This is my wife, Helen.”

After ogling Helen for several moments,
Peter offered her his hand. “Hello, Signora Zeoli. It’s very nice
to meet you.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, too, Signore
Scalise.” Helen smiled as she shook Peter’s hand.

“I hope you had a good trip?” Peter asked
cordially.

“Yes, the journey was very nice. Thank
you.”

“I hope the boy wasn’t too much
trouble?”

Helen gazed sweetly at Salvatore. “None at
all, Salvatore’s a wonderful, polite, handsome young man.”

“Well, he does take after his father,” Peter
boasted, smiling smugly.

Noting Peter’s appreciation for his wife,
Zeoli tactfully stepped between them. “Signore Scalise, I would
like you to meet my children. This is my oldest son, Vincenzo Jr.,
and this is Michael.”

“Hello.” Peter politely shook their hands.
Shifting his focus from the group to the angst-ridden little boy
clinging to Zeoli’s pant leg, Peter continued, “And this must be my
son.”

Salvatore slid behind Zeoli’s leg and used
it as if it were a shield to ward off the unsettling stranger.
Bending over and reaching around Zeoli’s leg, Peter almost had to
wrestle his son out from behind it. “Come here, you little monkey!”
Peter playfully scooped up his son and kissed his cheek.
Salvatore’s body was stiff, and he slowly kicked his feet in
protest until Peter set him firmly back on the ground.

“I want to thank you, Signore Zeoli, for
watching after my son.” Reaching into his pocket, Peter pulled out
a roll of bills. “I would like to give you something for your
trouble.”

Stepping back and raising his hands palms
forward as if insulted, Zeoli insisted, “No! I will not accept any
money from you.”

“Why? This is how we show appreciation in
America for someone who does something nice for them.”

“I did not do this for you, Signore Scalise!
I did this for my good friend, Dominick Cogassi.”

Confirming that the insult had hit its mark,
Peter pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “I see.” Returning the
money to his pocket he continued, “Well, thanks anyway.” Taking a
secure hold of his son’s hand, Peter ordered sternly, “Pick up your
suitcase! We need to leave now, Salvatore.”

Frightened by his father’s tone, the boy
immediately grasped the handle of his bag and picked it up.
Attempting to make a hasty departure, Peter started to walk away,
but Salvatore resisted, pulling away from him. “Let’s go,
Salvatore. Now!”

Seeing fear in the boy’s eyes and wanting to
console him, Zeoli moved in to hug him. “Good-bye, Salvatore. We’ll
all miss you.”

“Excuse me!” Peter stated rudely and raised
his elbow driving Zeoli away from the boy.

Understandably offended, Zeoli hollered
loudly at the now fleeing pair. “Take care of Salvatore. He’s a
good boy. His grandparents miss him very much, you know.”

Flipping his hand backward over his shoulder
in disgust, Peter mocked, “Yeah, yeah, like they’re ever gonna see
him again.”