voice breaking. “That’s my train.”
The brothers embraced. They held one another a long time, until Eduardo straightened his back and gently released his brother.
“You go to track two for the train to Venice—”
“I know, I know, then the ferry to Le Havre. Eduardo?”
Eduardo picked up his satchel. “Yes?”
“I’ve never been to France.”
“Ciro?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve never been to Venice, either.”
Ciro put his hands on his hips. “Do you think anyone can tell? Do I look like a goat herder from the Alps?”
“Only when you wear lederhosen.” Eduardo slung his satchel over his shoulder. “Be careful in America, Ciro. Don’t let anyone take advantage of you. Watch your money. Ask questions.”
“I will,” Ciro assured him.
“And write to me.”
“I promise.”
Four young men, similar in countenance and age to Eduardo, each carrying a single satchel, boarded the train for Rome. Eduardo turned to follow them. “Your new brothers are waiting for you,” Ciro said.
“They will never be my brothers,” Eduardo said. “I only have one.”
Ciro watched as Eduardo slowly disappeared into the crowd.
“And don’t you forget it!” Ciro shouted, waving the missal, before he, too, crossed the platform and boarded a train to take him to his new life.
PART TWO
Manhattan
Chapter 9
A LINEN HANDKERCHIEF
Un Fazzolletto di Lino
Two days after he left Eduardo at the train station in Bergamo, Ciro made his way up the plank of the SS Chicago in Le Havre, hauling his duffel over his back. His impression of the French port city was limited to the view of the canal, with its bobbing dinghies nipping at the hulls of ocean liners lashed to the docks. The pier was cluttered with passengers filing up the planks of the ships with their luggage. Behind a wall of fishing net, swarms of loved ones waved their handkerchiefs and tipped their hats as they bid their final good-byes.
There was no one to see Ciro off on his journey. For an ebullient young man who had never known a stranger, he was subdued and sober as he made his connections. Ciro bought a meal of cold polenta and hot milk before boarding. He skipped the sausage, so the hearty meal only cost him a few centesimi. He hoped to arrive in America with his small purse intact.
The attendant took Ciro’s ticket and directed him belowdecks to the men’s third-class compartment. Ciro was relieved the sexes were segregated on this ship, as Sister Ercolina had told him about grim steerage accommodations where men, women, and children stayed in one large room, separated only by squares drawn on the ship’s floor with paint.
Ciro pushed the metal door to his cell open, dropped his head, and stooped to enter. The room was five by five feet, with a small cot jammed against the wall. Ciro could not stand up in it, and there was no window. But it was clean enough, with a scent of saltwater.
Ciro sat down on the cot and opened his duffel. The fragrance of the convent laundry—lavender and starch—enveloped him, fresh as the mountain air of Vilminore. He snapped the satchel shut quickly, hoping to preserve the scent; this was all he had left to remind him of his life in San Nicola.
The ship creaked in the harbor as it floated in place, rubbing against the pilings. For the first time since he’d boarded the train in Bergamo, Ciro exhaled. The anxiety of changing trains, meeting the ferry in Venice, and processing his ticket once he arrived in La Havre had kept him in a state of highest alert. During the day, he dared not nap or let his mind wander, for fear he would miss a train or ferry and bungle the trip entirely.
The first night, he’d slept in a church in Venice; on the second, he found a spot between shops on the boardwalk in Le Havre. Now only the ocean kept him from the start of his new life. He had avoided conversation with strangers, having been warned about the swindlers who preyed on unsuspecting passengers. He would like to see anyone try to get his money. He tucked it carefully in a pouch around his neck, then pinned it to the inside of his undershirt for safekeeping.
Ciro’s heart ached for all he was leaving behind, especially the company and counsel of Eduardo, the person who had made him feel safe in the world. None of the events of the past week had seemed real as they were happening, but now that he was alone, Ciro felt the finality of all of it. Ciro had