Ciro a small alcove with a cot, basin, pitcher, and one straight-backed chair, all of which had been cordoned off behind a thick curtain.
“It’s as nice as the convent,” Ciro said as he placed his duffel on the chair. “And better than the ship.”
Remo laughed. “Yes, our apartments in Little Italy are better than steerage. But just barely. It’s God’s way of keeping us humble.” Remo opened the back door of the shop. “That’s my little piece of heaven. Go ahead.”
Ciro followed Remo through the open door to a small enclosed garden. Terra-cotta pots positioned along the top of the stone wall spilled over with red geraniums and orange impatiens. An elm tree with a wide trunk and deep roots filled the center of the garden. Its green leaves and thick branches reached past the roof of Remo’s building, creating a canopy over the garden. There was a small white marble birdbath, gray with soot, flanked by two deep wicker armchairs.
Remo fished a cigarette out of his pocket, offering another to Ciro as both men took a seat. “This is where I come to think.”
“Va bene,” Ciro said as he looked up into the tree. He remembered the thousands of trees that blanketed the Alps; here on Mulberry Street, one tree with peeling gray bark and holes in its leaves was a cause for celebration.
“Signor Zanetti,” Ciro began, “I’d like to pay you rent.”
“The agreement is that you’ll work for me, and I’ll provide your room and board.”
“I had that same agreement at the convent, and it did not end well for me. If I pay you, then I’m secure.”
“I’m not looking for a boarder to pay me rent; I need an apprentice. The letter from my cousin, the nun, came at the right moment. I need help. I’ve tried to train a couple of boys here in the neighborhood, but they’re not interested. They want the fast money. Our boys rush to line up for day work on the docks. They’re assigned to crews that build bridges and lay tracks for the railroad. They work long hours and make a good wage, but they aren’t learning a craft. A trade will sustain you, while a job will only feed you temporarily. I think it’s important to be able to make something, whether it’s shoes or sausage. Food, clothing, and shelter are the basic needs of all people. If you master a trade that serves one of those needs, you will work for a lifetime.”
Ciro smiled. “I’ll work hard for you, Mr. Zanetti. But to be honest with you, I have no idea if I have any talent for what you do.”
“I will teach you the technique. Some of us make shoes; then there are the men who do more. They take the same skills I use in the shop to make sturdy shoes, and make art. Either way, you’ll eat. The world will never run out of feet in need of a pair of shoes.”
Ciro and Remo leaned back in the wicker chairs and puffed their cigarettes. The smooth tobacco calmed Ciro after his long journey. He closed his eyes and imagined he was home with Iggy, sharing a smoke in the church garden. Perhaps this little garden on Mulberry Street would be a tonic for his homesickness.
“You like girls, Ciro?” Remo cleared his throat.
“Very much,” Ciro answered honestly.
“You want to be careful, Ciro,” Remo said, lowering his voice.
“Oh, I understand about the red-haired girl on the dock now,” Ciro said, embarrassed. “At first, I didn’t. She just seemed pretty and American.”
“She has a job. But I’m talking about the girls on Mulberry Street, on Hester, and on Grand. They’re about your age, and sometimes there are ten children living in the same three rooms. It gets tiresome for them. The girls want to marry, as soon as possible. So they find a hardworking young man who will provide for them and take them away from the situation they come from.” Remo put his cigarette out on a stone at the bottom of the tree.
“And you think the girls on Mulberry are lining up for Ciro Lazzari to take them away from their troubles?” Ciro smiled.
Remo smiled too. “There will be a few.”
“Well, sir, I’m here to work,” Ciro said solemnly. “I want no permanent part of this beautiful country. I want to save my money and go home to Vilminore, find a good wife there, and build a house for her with my own hands. I’d like a