to make cleansing mud to wash down the church statues with ingredients dug from the bottom of the Hudson River. Memories of Iggy, his short cigarettes and happy laughter, made him smile.
The streets of Hoboken were filled with people on the move this Christmas morning. Freshly scrubbed, his clothes neatly pressed, Ciro stood out, looking robust and healthy in a neighborhood where the people were anything but. He moved through the crowd, checking the numbers on every building until he found 318 Adams Street. He climbed the steps and rang the bell.
A woman came to the door. She looked at Ciro through the screen, which was odd, as it was winter, and the screen door had not yet been taken down. There must not be a man on the premises to do the chores, he thought.
“Ciao, Signora.”
Anna Buffa smiled at him. Her shirtwaist skirt and blouse looked as though she had slept in them. He noticed that she was missing two teeth from the side of her mouth. Ciro could see she once had been attractive, but no more. “Buon Natale.”
“Buon Natale, Signora. I am looking for Enza Ravanelli.” When Ciro said her name aloud, his voice caught. Weeks of preparation had brought him to her doorstep. He had broken off his relationship with Felicitá, put money in the bank, and was ready to court her with the dream of marriage, when and if that was her desire. He’d thought of every conversation they had, and reread the letter she had written to him in response to his, in which he had begged her to be patient. Now it was he who couldn’t wait to see her and tell her his feelings.
“Who are you looking for?” Signora Buffa asked.
“Enza Ravanelli.” Ciro repeated her name loudly. “Is she here?”
Anna’s smile faded. “She doesn’t live here.”
“I’m sorry, I must have the wrong house.”
“You have the right house.”
“Va bene. Do you know where she is?”
“I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m Ciro Lazzari.”
“She never mentioned you.”
“Could you tell me where she’s gone?”
“She went back to Italy.”
“Italy?” Ciro’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Packed up and left. Just like that. She owes me rent too.” Signora Buffa eyed the box of candy.
“When did she leave?”
“Weeks and weeks ago. It was such a scene. I don’t remember. She screamed at me, upset my daughters-in-law. Disrespectful. An awful, awful girl. She had been stealing from me for months. I was glad to see her go.”
“That doesn’t sound like Enza.”
“You don’t know her like I do. I had to throw her out. She had men in this house at all hours. A real puttana. A disgusting pig of a girl, really.”
Fury rose within Ciro to hear Enza described in that way, but he could see that the old woman was drunk, and no protest on his part would have even registered. Besides, he was too devastated to think of anything but the love he had lost because he hadn’t expressed it in time. He had missed his moment with Enza, and there was no retrieving it. She had made her demands clear, but he was too late.
Ciro turned to go down the steps.
“You want a drink?”
“Excuse me?”
“Come in for a drink.” She opened the door wide. “It’s Christmas.” Inside, the house was a disheveled mess. She ran her hand down her thigh and lifted the hem of her skirt to show her leg.
Ciro leaped down the stairs and onto the street. He didn’t look back at the strange woman in the yellow house; instead he looked around to see if there was anyone who might know what had happened to Enza Ravanelli. He approached a neighbor, who turned away, and another who did the same. He stood there for a long time, until the beggar children surrounded him.
“Dolci! Dolci!” they cried when they saw the blue box covered in foil. More children gathered around, until they had encircled Ciro. He opened the box of chocolates, and one by one he placed a chocolate candy, wrapped in paper, in each outstretched hand, until he had given away every single sweet.
A girl with wide-set brown eyes looked up at Ciro, holding her chocolate. “Are you Santa Claus?” she asked before running off with the candy.
Ciro buried his hands in his pockets and made his way back to the ferry. If Enza had fled Signora Buffa’s house, why hadn’t she come to Mulberry Street? Had she returned to the mountain without him?
Laura pushed through the glass doors of the Horn & Hardart’s Automat