Sara Paretsky - Sisters on the Case

Tony hadn’t been home for thirty-six hours already. Gabriella was worried for his safety; she and Marie had argued about it Saturday night.

‘‘Me, I have seen those photographs from Birmingham and Little Rock. The hatred in those faces- I thought I was looking at Fascists from the war!’’

‘‘Oh, the press, the press,’’ Marie said. ‘‘They want to make good Christians look bad. They try to make the police look bad, too, when they’re just trying to protect property.’’

‘‘But in Birmingham, the police, they are going against little black girls. Is that right, to send a large dog onto a small child? Besides, here in Chicago, Antoni, he tells me the police have the strictest orders to protect Dr. King and all the marchers.’’

‘‘Yes, I heard Tony say that, and I can’t believe it!’’ Little flecks of spit covered Marie’s mouth. ‘‘The police! They’re collaborating with these outside agitators, instead of looking after the community. They should know that the community isn’t going to take that betrayal sitting down!’’

‘‘Marie!’’ Gabriella’s voice was quiet with fury. ‘‘What happens if this community attacks my husband, who is, after all, your own husband’s brother? What then? What will Bernard do if Antoni is injured in such a way?’’

Marie stalked away in a huff, dragging Boom-Boom with her. Gabriella sighed and took her daughter into her arms. ‘‘ Mia cara, cuore mio , you must not let this hatred poison you. I must send you to your Zia Maria tomorrow, because tomorrow come the girls to study their music with me. These lessons, they bring the money for your education, if you are ever to go to a university, which you must, carissima, devi studiare all’università, devi avere una vita all’esterno di queste fabbriche e questa ignoranza!’’

A life outside the steel mills and the ignorance of the neighborhood: Gabriella’s goal for her daughter. But meanwhile, this adored daughter had to live in the neighborhood, and that meant, perforce, spending Sundays with la regina dell’ignoranza, Zia Maria !

‘‘And do not run off to make some difficult or dangerous exploit with your cousin, Victoria, you must promise me that! I know Marie believes you are Eve in the Garden of Eden, leading her precious weak boy into danger, and me, I see him leading you too often, but truly, one must agree that together you each lead the other where no sane person would travel. On this weekend you must be like a good girl who knits and bakes and stays at home for Papa, do you hear me, Victoria? On this weekend, I give you a commandment! Promettimelo, cara !’’

Gabriella repeated her adjuration the next day when Boom-Boom came to collect his cousin after mass. Victoria looked her mother in the eyes and promised.

They rode their bikes the four blocks to Boom-Boom’s house, while Gabriella made tea and readied her front room for her students. Victoria took her new Brownie, the special present for her tenth birthday a week earlier. She had photographed her father in his uniform, her mother tending her rhododendron, her cousin in a Blackhawks jersey. Today she snapped an angry Ciocia Marie sweating in her hot kitchen.

Marie served Sunday dinner, roast pork loin and boiled potatoes, that no one felt like eating in the heat. She fussed over Boom-Boom when he picked at the heavy food: was he coming down with something? Marie’s brother Tomas, who was also at dinner, said that Boom-Boom was healthy as a hog.

‘‘Stop pretending that the boy is some kind of weakling-he’s playing ice hockey with sixteen-year-olds.’’

‘‘Only because you encourage him, Tomas!’’ Marie snapped, her thin cheeks flushed pink. She had suffered eleven miscarriages before and after Boom-Boom’s birth and could never believe her only child wasn’t a frail scrap that the Lord might snatch from her at any second.

Boom-Boom’s father, Uncle Bernie, had to work the afternoon shift at the docks this Sunday, so he missed dinner. Another of Marie’s brothers, Karl, was there with his wife, who quickly changed the subject. Since she insisted on talking about the impending march in Marquette Park, it didn’t help the atmosphere at the table.

Finally the children were permitted to make their escape up the steep stairs to Boom-Boom’s room. The cousins lived in identical houses: four downstairs rooms, attics that had been turned into their bedrooms, unfinished basements that the fathers kept planning to fix up as family rooms on their days off.

In the small houses of South Chicago, no conversation was ever private. After squabbling halfheartedly over Tori’s refusal to sneak out the window and head for the beach, the cousins lay on the floor, where it was coolest, and dozily listened to the adults in the dining room below.

With the children gone, the conversation became franker and coarser. Tomas had been fired from his job at Metzger’s Meats last week, and he blamed it on the Negroes.

‘‘But he was stealing from the company,’’ Tori whisperedto Boom-Boom. ‘‘How could that be Martin Luther King’s fault?’’

‘‘He was not!’’ Boom-Boom fired back. ‘‘ Wujek Tomas was framed by the janitor, and he’s a nigger like King and all those other Commies.’’

‘‘Boom-Boom! Gabriella says that’s the worst word to say, worse than ‘God damn it,’ or any other swear word.’’

For a moment, the cousins forgot the argument downstairs in their own fight, which degenerated quickly to punches. Although Boom-Boom was a year older and bigger, he was also the one who’d taught Tori to defend herself, which she was ready to do at a moment’s notice. It was only when he tore her shirt at the collar that they stopped, looking at each other with dismay: what would Gabriella say when she saw the torn shirt, or Marie when she saw the bruise on Boom-Boom’s shoulder?

In the silence that followed their fistfight, Wujek Tomas’s loud angry voice came up the attic stairs. ‘‘All I’m saying is, I’m going to kill Tony.’’

The front door slammed. Tori ran to the window and saw Tomas get into his car. It was a Buick Wildcat convertible, nicer and more expensive than anything anyone else in the family could afford. Where had he got the money for it, everyone asked; it was Gabriella who told Tony, while Tori was in her own attic bedroom listening to her parents, that Wujek Tomas stole meat from Metzger’s and sold it to supper clubs in Wisconsin. Tony told Gabriella that was all hearsay, so why would Wujek Tomas want to kill Tony?

Downstairs, Marie was demanding that Karl follow Tomas and stop him, but Uncle Bernard said Tomas would cool off in time, and Uncle Karl added that no one could catch Tomas in his Wildcat, anyway.

‘‘But he said he would kill my dad,’’ Tori whispered to Boom-Boom, her eyes wide with terror. ‘‘I have to find my dad, I have to warn him.’’

‘‘Tori, you can’t go to Marquette Park. You promised Zia Gabriella you would stay here at my house all afternoon.’’

It was part of the ongoing battle between Gabriella and Marie that Boom-Boom had to use Italian when addressing his aunt and uncle: Zia Gabriella, Zio Tony, while Tori had to address Boom-Boom’s parents in Polish: Ciocia Marie, Wujek Bernie.

‘‘I don’t care. If your stupid wujek hurts my dad, Mama’s heart will break in half, way worse than that throbbing heart of Jesus in your doorway.’’

Before Boom-Boom could stop her, Tori had run to the back window. She opened the screen, lowered herself so that she was hanging by her arms over the roof to the kitchen lean-to a few feet below, and dropped. She rolled down the shingles and jumped to the ground. She ran to the front of the house, where she’d left her bike, and took off.