Post by Anthony Higgins on Jun 13, 2008 19:30:24 GMT -5
Racetrack hadn't been to the Woodlawn Cemetery in a while. It wasn't a place he consciously avoided, but it always seemed as if he could find something better to do than come here again. He hadn't visited the cemetery in months, and honestly he was beginning to feel guilty. Granted, he didn't want to get all emotional like he had the last time he came, but he had the feeling he wouldn't have a problem this time around. Besides, he owed it to his nonna.
Giulia Danzetti was the picture of an Italian grandmother: slightly portly, short brown hair with streaks of gray, and a smile that made her children and grandchildren smile back. She had a booming laugh and there was no such thing as an "inside voice" when Race and his family had been with her. Plus, she could cook like no other. Racetrack could still remember her standing at the stove for hours, stirring something or another in huge metal pots or chopping and kneading dough: everything was a project. And it paid off...to this day Race never ate like he had when his grandma used to cook for him.
But the biggest favor Nonna Giulia had ever done for him, he thought as he pushed open the gate to the cemetery and stepped inside, was teach him Italian. He had grown up around her speaking Italian and fragmented English, and so he was quick to pick it up. By the time he was around eight he could speak both English and Italian with a fine fluency. When Giulia Danzetti died and little Anthony took to the streets, he didn't think he would learn much more than an eight-year-old's vocabulary.
But it had been a favor. He wasn't the only Italian-American in New York, and he found that he could understand people well, and even improved in the language listening to them. The biggest tip he'd ever earned, a whopping silver dollar, was when he resolved an argument between an Italian vendor and an American clerk. It was something, all right, to know Italian, but Race found himself out of practice. There wasn't anyone to speak Italian with at the lodging house, and people always got mad when he tried to speak it on his own time.
This was a good place, he thought. He reached his grandmother's grave and knelt down in front of it, as he had done before. Recalling the language, he wet his lips before beginning. "Ciao, cara nonna..." he said, and took a sort of comfort in the familiar sound of the round, flowing language. "Sento molto la tua macanza. Non so che sono facendo qua...ma ti ho voluto visitare..." Wow, he could get sentimental, couldn't he? But there really wasn't a way to be rough or rugged when speaking that language, so Race didn't try. Yeah, he missed his grandmother, and although he couldn't quite believe he was talking to a headstone, it was fine with him, and if anyone had a problem with it, Race knew what they could do with their problem...
Giulia Danzetti was the picture of an Italian grandmother: slightly portly, short brown hair with streaks of gray, and a smile that made her children and grandchildren smile back. She had a booming laugh and there was no such thing as an "inside voice" when Race and his family had been with her. Plus, she could cook like no other. Racetrack could still remember her standing at the stove for hours, stirring something or another in huge metal pots or chopping and kneading dough: everything was a project. And it paid off...to this day Race never ate like he had when his grandma used to cook for him.
But the biggest favor Nonna Giulia had ever done for him, he thought as he pushed open the gate to the cemetery and stepped inside, was teach him Italian. He had grown up around her speaking Italian and fragmented English, and so he was quick to pick it up. By the time he was around eight he could speak both English and Italian with a fine fluency. When Giulia Danzetti died and little Anthony took to the streets, he didn't think he would learn much more than an eight-year-old's vocabulary.
But it had been a favor. He wasn't the only Italian-American in New York, and he found that he could understand people well, and even improved in the language listening to them. The biggest tip he'd ever earned, a whopping silver dollar, was when he resolved an argument between an Italian vendor and an American clerk. It was something, all right, to know Italian, but Race found himself out of practice. There wasn't anyone to speak Italian with at the lodging house, and people always got mad when he tried to speak it on his own time.
This was a good place, he thought. He reached his grandmother's grave and knelt down in front of it, as he had done before. Recalling the language, he wet his lips before beginning. "Ciao, cara nonna..." he said, and took a sort of comfort in the familiar sound of the round, flowing language. "Sento molto la tua macanza. Non so che sono facendo qua...ma ti ho voluto visitare..." Wow, he could get sentimental, couldn't he? But there really wasn't a way to be rough or rugged when speaking that language, so Race didn't try. Yeah, he missed his grandmother, and although he couldn't quite believe he was talking to a headstone, it was fine with him, and if anyone had a problem with it, Race knew what they could do with their problem...
