Read Online Solitaria by Genni Gunn - Free Book Online

gather them on Judgement Day. One did not go visiting, send gifts, or buy clothes, and if the first day of the year was a Friday, there would be wars, tempests, and a thousand other natural disasters. Furthermore, children born on Fridays could expect to cry often during their lives — and this I’ve proven to be true. I was a tiny child, with pale pale skin and sable eyes, though I can see myself clearly — the determination in my face, in my outstretched arms, reaching for the world.
    Mamma followed close behind, to catch me if I lost my balance. Yet, now and then, I escaped from Mamma’s gaze, and ran a few steps, careening drunkenly into Vito’s or Papà’s legs. I’d hang on tight then, let the pebbles drop, and giggle. Vito smiled.
    â€œHow she loves men already,” Mamma said. “See what a little flirt she is.” She picked me up and held me high over her head, making faces and tickling me with tummy kisses. Then she handed me to Papà, spread a small tablecloth on the ground, and set the bread on it. She coaxed the book out of Aldo’s hands.
    â€œWe’ll eat now,” Papà said, pushing Vito toward the tablecloth. He placed me in the crook of his arm, sat beside Mamma, watched her spoon the dandelion greens onto a thick slab of bread, and hand Aldo the first slice. When we had all eaten, Vito looked at the empty basket, then licked his fingers, touched the few crumbs on the tablecloth, and brought them to his mouth.
    â€œYou’ll see,” Papà said, his voice subdued. “Once the field is cleared, we’ll plant vegetables and we’ll get a cow so there will always be milk and cheese.” He patted Vito’s arm. “You’ll see. It won’t always be like this.”
    â€œBut why?” Vito asked Mamma later that evening. He seemed smaller now in the dusk. He and Mamma were seated on the threshold, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for Papà to come home from a union meeting. Mamma reached over and took his hand.
    â€œIt’s family,” she said. “If something happened to Papà…we must always help family, you understand?”
    Vito was silent. He had heard enough of family pride and honour to know that all his life, he would be expected to do certain things, and that if he failed to do them, he would bring shame and dishonour to the family. He imagined two dark phantoms. “Remember, you are a mirror,” Papà always said. “What you do reflects on all of us.”
    â€œBut it’s not fair,” Vito said. He leaned his head on Mamma’s shoulder.
    They sat like that for a few minutes. Then she took his face in her hands and kissed both his cheeks. “Promise Mamma that you’ll be very careful,” she said. “This disease your uncle has… he’s going to die. It’s in his lungs, and he’ll be coughing all the time. You must wash your hands always when you’re around him. Promise me.” Tears sprang into her eyes.
    Vito nodded. He, too, wanted to cry, not because he was afraid, but because he felt a large piece being wrenched out of his heart.
    Mamma packed his few belongings into a sheet she had embroidered with his initials, and set it by the side of the door. In the morning, she kissed him and held him tight against her. He cried a little, and Papà bent down and wiped his tears with his large handkerchief. “You’re a big brave boy,” he said. “You’re a man now.”
    Vito shivered. Mamma pulled a sweater out of the packet and pushed his arms into the sleeves. “It’s only for a little while,” she whispered. “You’ll be home in no time.” From her sleeve, she drew out a card. “Look,” she said. “Saint Vito, just like you. He will keep you safe.”
    Vito took the card and stared at the angels and the crown of stars. He pushed the card into his pocket.
    Then Papà put his hand on