Read Online The King of Mulberry Street by Donna Jo Napoli - Free Book Online

switched to staring at the boys. They came in groups, ranging from six years old up, and most of them were with an uncle.
    Giosè whispered, “Those men aren't really uncles. They're hired by the padroni to bring the boys over. A
padrone
pays a man's ticket. In return, the man watches over the boys until they get through immigration. Then the ‘uncle’ goes on his way.” Giosè brushed off his hands. “And the boys begin work for the
padrone
. It's illegal, but that doesn't stop anyone.”
    The boys were barefoot, skinny, and dirty. Their “uncle” barked orders, and they obeyed immediately.
    I stared at one boy. Mucus crusted his cheek and there was a colored chalk mark on his shirt. His “uncle” pointed at me. “That one, he's my nephew, too.”
    Giosè shook his head as though he'd been right all along about me. “Get over there behind your uncle.”
    “I don't know him,” I yelped. “I've never seen him before.”
    The “uncle” grabbed me by the elbow and flung me behind him.

CHAPTER NINE
Trust
    “No!” I screamed. “I don't know him!”
    “Shut up,” said the “uncle.”
    “Send me back to Napoli!” I screamed.
    The “uncle” smacked me across the jaw with the back of his hand. I fell. He went on answering Giosè's questions.
    The other boys turned their backs to us, but one of them hissed out of the side of his mouth. “Stupid. You'll have work in America. And food. Get up.”
    I wouldn't get up. I'd done what Mamma said. I'd watched and learned and fit in. And none of it mattered, because now this “uncle” had me and I'd be lost and alone for the rest of my life. I lay there and screamed.
    The “uncle” kicked me. “Get up, or they'll throwyou in a home with sick boys and you'll die.” He turned back to Giosè.
    My side hurt. I drew my knees to my chest and hugged them.
    “That's where I'm going,” said the boy with the colored chalk mark on his shirt, “to the sick home. To die.” His eyes were glassy with fever.
    “I'm going to Napoli!” I forced out as loud as I could.
    The “uncle” kicked me harder.
    “What are you doing?” The translator from the first line stepped between us. “Don't kick him again.” He pulled me up. I held my side where I'd been kicked and looked at him in surprise. I'd thought he'd forgotten about me. Now he pulled me over beside Giosè. “That isn't his uncle. He just says it because one of his boys is sick and he needs a substitute for the
padrone
.”
    “The guy says he's the boy's uncle,” said Giosè, “so he is.”
    “Listen to the way he talks. He's from somewhere in Basilicata, but the boy's from Napoli.”
    “What, do you think I'm deaf?” said Giosè. “You're German; I'm the Italian. This is my country they come from. I hear how they talk. That doesn't change a thing. The boy needs an uncle.”
    “He's got shoes. He's going to stand right here till his father comes. He's not going anywhere with some fake uncle.”
    Giosè looked at the “uncle” with both palms turned upward in apology. “Eh, beh, what can you do?” He pointed to the stairs behind him. “Those are the stairs of separation.The sick boy goes in that hall to the left. If you ever want to see him again, you go with him. Everyone else goes down the stairs to fetch baggage and buy ferry tickets.” He held his hand out low, at the side of the podium.
    The “uncle” put money in Giosè's hand. Then he pushed the feverish boy toward the hall on the left and barked at the rest of the boys to go with him downstairs. The sick boy left without a word. I was sure he believed what he'd said—he was going to the sick home to die. I wanted to yell to him, “Fight!” Hadn't his mother told him to survive?
    I didn't want to stand anywhere near Giosè anymore. But where else could I go? The endless lines kept moving.
    After about an hour Giosè unwrapped a skinny loaf of bread stuffed with cheese and meats. Lettuce, tomato, onion, and pepper flopped out the sides. He