The Witch of Little Italy (21 page)

She loves you even if she doesn’t know it. Be strong. Give your baby the love you feel you never got. You’ll heal that way. Don’t make the same mistakes, make different ones. We all make mistakes … no need to compound them!

“Thanks, Aunt Itsy!” Elly yelled at the door.

“She can hear you, she’s not deaf you know!” yelled Fee through the door.

“You birds sure can hover,” said Elly.

*   *   *

The next day Elly moved into apartment 2B with Anthony. Mimi and Fee gave their approval even as Itsy growled in the background.

Anthony knelt down and put his head against Elly’s stomach. “And so we begin our lives, little one.”

Elly knotted her fingers in his thick black hair and threw her head back in happiness, laughing. A sound that bubbled up like champagne. A new sound. An old sound. The laugh of the Amores.

*   *   *

Itsy watched them bring things up and down from the trunks in the attic. Cooper was coming, she could feel it. She’d have to move the trunk soon. It was all happening. Unfolding like a Venus flytrap in the sun. Time was running out.

Summer

25

Itsy

The forgetting spell is tricky, but popular. When we were little and the winter set in, there’d be a stream of people who’d come to the 170th Street apartment so Mama could cast their bad memories away. There are a few ways to do it. Some more powerful than the others.

If you want someone to forget something without them knowing, you need pine syrup and Valerian root powder mixed with something else. A conduit. Some flavor powerful enough to mask the strong flavors of the botanicals. Garlic works well. Tomato, too. And then you have to concentrate on what you want them to forget, and you have to be specific. If you aren’t specific you could wipe out a whole chunk of thoughts never intended to be lost. And this only works until the person is reminded of whatever it is they forgot. Then it’s all over. Whoosh! The memory returns.

If you want to forget something yourself, you can wish it away and drink a cup of Mama’s special tea. She labeled it “
Loss
” in a tin in the kitchen. (Mimi still has that tin with Mama’s writing on it.) Again, this spell is only as strong as your resolve. It’s weak with heartache because no matter how much someone
thinks
they want to forget a lost love, they don’t. I know this for a fact. I know it because I tried.

The most binding forgetting spell is one where you are
desperate
to forget something. It’s the simplest one of all. No teas or tinctures or sauces required. Just a witch and a wish. Those spells are the hardest to break, even when you want them broken.

Mama taught us her magic like she taught us to walk. As if it were the most normal thing in the world. She couched it in sayings like, “Everyone has different talents,” and “Strange things happen everyday, we’re no exception.” And through it all, through the removal of curses on midnight on New Year’s Eve; through the endless recipes for herbal remedies and gardens full of magical ingredients; nothing about what we learned scared us. It all seemed as right as rain. Except the Forgetting spell. That incantation went against everything Mama ever taught us. And in that respect, we feared it.

It was a base art. Something only uneducated people (meaning those who didn’t understand the concept of loss) would do.

Mama understood loss. She knew we needed it in order to feel fully alive. She pitied the people who came to her for the forgetting spell.

And we never used it. Not even when we could have to ease our own sorrows.

And when I finally
had
to use it, I had no idea how powerful it was.

Each day, I learn. And each day, I wonder.

But sometimes the Forgetting spell needs to be used for protection. Sometimes not remembering can keep us safe.

Of course, Mama would disagree. But I’m only half Green, and she always seemed to forget that about her children. There’s an obstinate Italian side, too. Magic angry people. What a mixture!

26

Elly

“I need some Valerian root for the “Loss” tin. Elly, can you go to the Chinese market and buy some?” called Mimi from the kitchen. She was rummaging—half annoyed—and clanging about as she took inventory.

Elly loved to walk through the streets of the Bronx. The odd, old-fashioned pragmatism of New York’s ways fascinated her. People who didn’t live in the city always thought about it on two ends of the spectrum, magnificent and forward thinking, or dark and violent. But Elly was learning the truth. New York was the keeper of all things good. Old ways and new ways gathered together in a perfect hum of logic. She promised herself when she was no longer pregnant, and could string two thoughts together properly, that she’d create a series of street paintings.

“I’d
love
to, Mimi,” she said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“I could use some cat’s eye marbles. But I don’t know where you’d find them. George had boxes of them but Anthony got rid of all that. That boy. I swear. He’s so good about most things until he thinks of
you,
and then his sense jumps out the window.”

“There’s a flea market today on Fordham Road. I can go look around if you want.”

“Don’t tire yourself, love. You’re getting on in this pregnancy now.”

“Join the twenty-first century, Mimi. Some mothers-to-be are running marathons.”

Mimi turned around and shooed away Elly with her hand.

Elly chose to walk out into the back garden and leave through the gate. The garden was in full bloom now. It brought delight to every single sense that Elly had—especially the sixth one that she was quickly developing.

Studying Margaret Green’s book gave her a constant litany of facts about the plants.

Geranium for knowledge

Echinacea for health

Lavender for luck

Chamomile for calm

Pine for forgetting

She chanted slowly in her head as she walked by each plant. She moved quickly, though, because there was always the lingering fear that if she stood too long in one place in Margaret’s garden that her feet would take root and she’d be a rosebush in no time.

The gate squeaked open and Elly stepped out onto the back streets of the Bronx.

“Hey there!” said Liz, suddenly right in front of her. She seemed to step out of the sun.

“Hey! I’ve got some errands to do, want to join me?”

“Gladly. I’m bored, hot, and tired,” said Liz.

“And invisible. I didn’t even see you when I opened the gate.”

“You had sun caught in your eyes.”

“I guess, or else it’s just this crazy pregnancy. I need to keep my mind occupied on other things.”

The two young women headed toward Fordham Road.

“What kinds of things are you thinking about?” asked Liz as they walked.

“Well, I’ve decided that if I figure out Itsy’s secret, I’ll be able to see my baby. It’s the one thing still blocking my view.”

“Okay, so how do you want to figure it all out?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think straight.”

“Have you ever thought about going to Fairview?” asked Liz.

“Fairview?” Elly asked, confused. Then she remembered Mimi’s story and the information Anthony gave her about Margaret Green. “You’re right! Fairview,” she said. “Let’s go!”

“Right now?” asked Liz.

“Yes. I’ll go back and tell Mimi I have something else to do and we’ll take Georgie’s car.”

“
Ooohhh,
sounds like an adventure!”

“Hey, Liz?” asked Elly as they walked back through the garden gate.

“Yes?”

“I hope…” Elly stumbled on the words.

“What?”

“I hope that there isn’t one memory with you in it that gets left behind. I want to have our whole history.”

Liz winked at her and walked ahead, up the back porch, opening Mimi’s apartment door. “Well, then! Right this way, m’lady! Let’s get to rememberin’.”

And as Elly, suddenly graceful, moved through the doorway, Liz gave her a hug. “I…”

Elly hugged back. “Oh, Liz. I know … I love you, too.”

*   *   *

“You drive, okay?” asked Liz as they slid into Georgie’s car. “I never learned. But I’ll be co-pilot. I know the way. Get on I-95. Take I-91 North to Route 84. Then get on Route 128. Fairview is just a few exits down after that. There’s a big sign. You be the Lone Ranger. I’m Tonto.”

“The Lone Ranger, huh? Wow. Didn’t you even have basic cable growing up? And how do you know how to get to Fairview? Do you have some sort of internal GPS I don’t know about?” asked Elly already driving, the windows down, happy to be on a grand adventure.

Liz looked serious for a moment. “I used to go there when I was little.”

“What is this odd connection between the Bronx and Fairview Mass?!” Elly exclaimed. “It’s so freaking strange.”

Liz opened the passenger side window and put her hand out to catch the breeze. “Maybe not so strange.”

“How do you mean?”

“Haha!” laughed Liz. “You’re starting to talk like Mimi!”

“Whatever. Just go on, explain thyself, woman!”

“Well … If you look really close, you can find a lot of Fairview in the Bronx. Or anywhere in New York City and her boroughs … really. Probably mostly in Far Rockaway.”

“Nice…” said Elly, a little distracted by the I-95 ramp. “You know what I’m really interested to find out? What their
names
are! Their
real
names. I mean,
no one
will tell me. Do
you
know?”

No answer came from the passenger seat. Liz was fast asleep.

“Some crappy Tonto you make, Liz.”

The drive was boring, but Uncle Georgie’s car made good time. Elly was comfortable, if squished. The air got cooler the farther north they went, and she was pumped full of adrenaline. The view though … felt faded. Stretch after stretch of East Coast summer foliage, wide swaths of uniform color. The artist in Elly tried to at least see the contrast of different shades of green, but in the end it was all a big mass of marginal, dull, deciduous green. Until she drove onto the smaller, Route 128, that is. Then the trees gave way to sweeping ocean vistas. A Yankee landscape for sure. Not unlike New Haven, but wilder. More magical.

The exit was clearly marked and the drive into town lovely—Rockwellian with a touch of Poe. Right after the
ENTERING FAIRVIEW EST. 1672
sign there was a rotary at the center of which rose the hospital. You actually had to drive
around
the hospital to enter the town. It obscured Fairview completely. A Gothic structure with gaping orifices pretending to be doors and windows. A modern sign
FAIRVIEW MENTAL HEALTH FACILITY,
stood on the grass median of the rotary but did nothing to obscure the massive stone archway of the entrance to the hospital itself in which the older, less politically correct name
SAINT SEBASTIAN LUNATIC ASYLUM
was carved.

“Nice,” mumbled Elly as she entered the parking lot. “You think they could have positioned the place differently. I mean, it must
kill
the tourist trade.”

“I think that’s precisely why they did it,” answered Liz.

“Well … Heeeeeellllllo! What an amazing help you’ve been so far! Thank God we’re here, Liz, because I’ve got to pee. Something fierce.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been so tired lately. I feel like something’s catching up with me. I could sleep away my life.”

Elly parked the car and made a break for the entrance. “Well, we can talk about your problems on the ride back. Right now I have to find the ladies room and then figure out my whole existence. Okay?”

“You’re the boss,” answered Liz. “But why don’t you go ahead and I’ll catch up. I’m not feeling so well, Elly.”

Elly looked at her friend who did look quite pale and then ahead to the hospital. “Okay, but I don’t want to lose you. So why don’t you just wait in the car?”

“Sounds like an excellent plan. These old cars have exceptionally comfortable back seats.” Liz winked.

“You’re a naughty one,” laughed Elly as she made her way as fast as her belly would let her, up the steps into the hospital in a mad rush to find a restroom.

*   *   *

Elly stopped short in the massive lobby.

“I don’t want to stay here, Mama. Please. I can take care of you.”

Carmen was crying. Saying good-bye. Two nurses at the side and a doctor with a clipboard standing behind her, nodding his head and smiling. Little girl Eleanor wanted to bite him. Hard.

“You don’t have to stay here, Eleanor. I’ve sent for your Grandmother.”

“The one you hate? I won’t go.” Babygirl stomped a patent leather heel and the echo went on and on and on.

Carmen’s face twisted up into deeper grief. “Have I told you that? Have I burdened you with that as well? My God.” She looked at the ceiling.

*   *   *

Elly looked up at the domed painted ceiling, a crazy reproduction of the Sistine Chapel, only there were mermaids instead of saints.

“Can I help you?” A young, pretty nurse in an old-fashioned white uniform stood in front of her.

“Oh, yes. I need some information about my family,” and then blushing, realized how she must look. Pregnant, staring up at the ceiling and about to ask for a bathroom. “But first, do you have a public restroom? I’ve been driving for a while.”

The nurse smiled. Her teeth matched her uniform. “Of course, dear. Right this way.”

The marble bathroom was a blinding white. While Elly washed her hands in the sink she thought about Carmen. She looked in the mirror. “You were addicted, weren’t you?” Elly washed her face and looked into the mirror again. She saw Carmen staring back at her.

“Yes. It went from wonderful days of wine and roses to lost days full of heroin. I hurt you. I never meant to hurt you,” said the image of Carmen through the looking glass.

Elly touched the mirror. “I know, Mommy.”