The Black Madonna by Louisa Ermelino Page B

looking.”
    â€œYou’re gonna bury him with the cuff links?”
    â€œWhy not? How’s he gonna look when he gets where he’s going with no cuff links? Like a pauper?”
    â€œWhat about the ring?”
    â€œWhich ring?”
    â€œThe one he gave me, that time he came. Remember? I showed you and you said I’d lose it and you put it away. Well, you must of given it back to him because he’s wearing it. I saw it on his hand. It’s a big ring, square, all gold. It’s got shapes on it, like a tongue . . .”
    Nicky’s mother pushed the side of his head with her hand. “What are you talking about? A tongue . . . How can you talk to me like that?”
    â€œWhat? Whadda you want from me? It looks like a tongue. He said he got it in Hong Kong, in a crap game. The guy didn’t want to give it to him but he had no money, all he had was the ring.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo can I have it? Papa gave it to me.”
    â€œWhy not? Remind me tomorrow when they close the casket and I’ll get it for you. You’re his only son. You deserve something.” She pulled him down on her lap and put her mouth against his ear. “Poor Nicola,” she said softly. “Your father’s dead.”
    â€œWhat do you think it’s like to die?”
    â€œIt’s like going to sleep.”
    â€œWhere do you think Papa is now?”
    She turned her face away at this question. With devils burning his feet, she hoped to herself . . . with monsters poking sticks into the openings in his body. She shrugged her shoulders, tightened her arms around Nicky. “I don’t know,” she told him, “but how bad could it be? Nobody ever comes back.” She petted his head and kissed his temples. “You’re not too sad, are you, Nicola?”
    â€œNah, we all gotta go,” he told her.
    He squirmed in her lap. “What?” she said. “What is it? Tell me.”
    Nicky fingered the dollar bills she had given him. He touched the piles of money on the kitchen table one by one. “Look at all this, Ma.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAll this money. We’re making out like bandits.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo, can’t we keep him an extra day?”
    Teresa grabbed his ears and pushed him off her lap. She knocked him to the floor. She picked the money off the table and threw it at him.
    â€œWhat should I expect?” she said to no one. “His father’s son.” Nicky watched her. Then he smiled and came and stood behind her. He put his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck like a lover. She covered his hands with hers.
    A nd Teresa walked in the procession for Our Lady of Mount Carmel, even though Nicky could walk, even though the miracle had already happened. She walked barefoot carrying a lighted candie all the way up to 115th Street because she had promised. She prayed in the Cathedral of Our Lady of Mount Carmel to protect her son, the way years ago and far from New York, Magdalena had prayed in a village church to the Black Madonna to grant her wish, the same Black Madonna that looked over Antoinette’s kitchen, that lay hidden in Teresa’s top dresser drawer. Always, there was the Black Madonna.

MAGDALENA

    1936

A madeo Pavese was married a year when his wife gave birth to twin sons. She died delivering the second, who was stillborn. Amadeo Pavese named the first baby Salvatore and made the priest christen him before he said the prayers for the dead.
    The midwife spoke with Amadeo about the infant Salvatore. What did he know about babies? she asked him. Amadeo covered his face with his hands.
    â€œThe baby needs a
nutrice,
” the midwife said, “mother’s milk. He needs a
bambinaia
to wrap him in strips of cloth so his legs grow straight, to swaddle him in blankets so he feels secure.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and held herself. The priest put a hand on