the morning that carolina sailed for genoa, signor di bello began to reconsider the roar of derision with which he had treated juno’s matrimonial aims, and before the day was out he had made up his mind to possess her as his wife. to be sure, he had promised carolina not to marry for three months, and this pledge, given on his saint’s day, was of course inviolable; but he reasoned that there would be no breach of faith in offering juno his hand, and having the nuptials set three months to a day from the feast of st. george. he sat in the shop thinking over the great matter, when the sunlit floor was darkened by the shadow of sara the frier of pepper pods.
[pg 124]
“buon giorno, signor di bello,” she said, in a tone that gave promise sure of more to follow.
“o signora sara, buon giorno.”
“two cents’ worth of salt, if you please. ahimè! truly these are days of much expense. never did i fry peppers that required so much salt.”
“ah, si; much expense,” said signor di bello, yawning and handing her out a two-cent bag.
from a deep pocket of her skirt she drew a begrimed canvas money pouch, and untied a long string with which it was closed at the top and wound about many times. dipping in, she brought forth a handful of coppers, and selected two. these she laid on the counter with a sigh, first feeling of the bag to make sure that it was packed hard with salt. she looked about the shop, and stood a moment moving a red-stockinged foot in and out at the open heel of her wooden-soled slipper.
“your nephew not here?” she remarked, [pg 125]and then with a chuckle, “with the singer, neh?”
“what singer?” asked di bello.
“juno.”
“what has he to do with la superba?”
“more than you think,” returned the yellow-visaged beldame, nodding her head mysteriously, while her long gold earrings jingled. “listen, and it is i that will tell you something. go to the caffè of the beautiful sicilian if you would know with whom he spends his time.”
“what do you mean?”
“there it is that he meets the cantatrice.”
“juno?”
“si, signore.”
“satan the pig! bah! what are you saying?”
“the truth, signore; the truth, i assure you. i have it on the word of lavinia the waitress. only yesterday she saw them kiss.”
the gloating eyes of sara were fixed [pg 126]upon him, and di bello did something very unusual for him—he dissembled his feelings.
“what of it?” he said with an air of unconcern. “why should he not kiss her? it is no affair of mine.”
though a good piece of acting, it did not gammon the keen wits of sara the frier of pepper pods. taking up her bag of salt, she clattered from the shop, and before long stood the voluble centre of a group of eager women, into whose ears she poured the tidings of rival loves in casa di bello. meantime the grocer, waiting for bertino, fanned his wrath. when the young man turned up at the shop this was his greeting:
“satan the pig!”
“why?” asked bertino.
“and you have the courage to ask? very innocent for one who tries to rob me of the woman i love. o traitor!”
bertino stood speechless with amazement and dismay. his good-natured, easy-going uncle prancing about the place in a fit [pg 127]of passion was a sight that took his breath away.
“by the egg of columbus!” di bello continued, raising his clinched fist and fixing his eyes upon the loops of dried sausage suspended from the ceiling—“by the egg, i swear it, if you don’t keep away from that woman i’ll turn you from my door—i’ll have your heart’s blood!”
“what woman?” bertino asked gingerly, and with a feint of ignorance that was not convincing.
“bah! don’t play the fool. i know all. remember what i tell you—keep away from her.”
bertino went behind the counter, put on an apron, and held his tongue. by degrees the padrone’s ire cooled, until he became so tranquil as to take a chair.
“listen, my nephew,” he said, sprawling his legs and thrusting his hands in his pockets. “i will tell you a secret. this woman is to be my wife.”
“your what?” gasped bertino.
[pg 128]
“my wife. three months from yesterday she will be signora di bello. i would marry her this very day but i promised—donkey that i was!—i promised not to take a wife for three months; a pledge that i can’t break, for it was given on san giorgio’s day. oh, what a donkey!”
bertino did not dare ask any questions, but he resolved that something should be done at once to head off his uncle; not another day, nay, not a single hour, must pass until he and juno should be man and wife. he found an excuse to leave the shop, and went to juno’s humble abode.
“come with me at once, carissima!” he cried. “come to the church of san loretto. it is open to-day for masses, and father bernardo is there. we shall be married this very hour.”
“why such haste?” she asked.
“ah, my angel, can you ask? i wish to make sure of you—to know that you are really mine.”
together they made their way through [pg 129]mulberry, walking with step rapid and resolute. as they entered elizabeth street and approached the portals of san loretto, bertino recollected with a tremor of fear the threat of his uncle: “if you don’t keep away from that woman i’ll turn you from my door—i’ll have your heart’s blood!” they were about to ascend the church steps when he caught juno by the arm and drew back.
“come away from here,” he said hoarsely.
“what is the matter?”
“come away! we must go to some other church. here it is that the pigs of sicilians get married. it is no place for a genovese like me or a fine neapolitan like you. come, we shall find another priest.”
in secrecy he saw his one chance of saving himself for the present from the consequences of openly defying signor di bello. to be married at the altar of san loretto, to which dozens of sharp eyes and gossiping tongues were always directed in prayer, would be to proclaim the nuptials to all [pg 130]mulberry before vesper bells should be rung that day.
he led her through houston street and across the bowery to a rectory in lower second avenue, a quarter that lies only a few blocks beyond the frontier of mulberry, but with a life as remote and distinct from that of the italian colony as though a hundred leagues of sea divided them. a brief mumbling in a little parlour, and they were man and wife.
neither bride nor bridegroom looked joyous as they came forth into the street and moved slowly toward mulberry. bertino’s face was particularly long. he was in a black study. throughout his persistent courtship he had promised juno that she should have a home in casa di bello if she became his wife. now he found himself cracking his wits to contrive a good excuse for keeping her out of his uncle’s sight. if they met she would be sure to tell him of the marriage, whereupon inferno would kindle. with a wife on his hands, he would [pg 131]find himself homeless and out of employment, even if di bello’s vendetta did not remove the need of earning a living. he dared not make a confidante of his wife, for to do so meant disclosure of the ugly truth that he had cheated her of the richest husband in mulberry—of a prize which he knew she had been eager to win. his heart sank at thought of the terrible vendetta that she might take. he believed her capable of forsaking him and setting their union at naught. silent of tongue and sore bestead, he moved along slowly, while passers-by eyed the majestic woman at his side. when they had reached st. patrick’s graveyard, and her glance fell on casa di bello, she said:
“now that we are married, let us go to your uncle and tell him, so that i may move in over there. when that is done we can have the marriage before the mayor, and the wedding feast.”
“not yet,” he said; “not yet, for the love of dio!”
[pg 132]
“why?” she demanded. “i am as good as any one in that house.”
“oh, my precious one, it is not that; not that. listen. there is my uncle—a good man, but strange, strange. when i told him i should take a wife he called me fool and got very angry. he said i would not do my work so well if i took a wife. but you—ah, you, my angel!—i would not give you up for all the uncles and shops in new york—yes, in all america.”
“you talk nonsense,” said juno. “tell me why i should not live in casa di bello.”
“well, it is for this, carissima, only this: i am afraid to tell him just now that i am married, because he said he would put me out—do you understand?—said he would put me out of the shop and casa di bello if i got married. in a few weeks——”
“bah!” she said, waving a forefinger in neapolitan fashion, meaning that she was not to be taken in. “i never believed you when you talked of casa di bello. do you think it was for that i married you?”
[pg 133]
“wait, wait, my juno. pazienza. the day will come when you will be padrona of that house.”
“enough,” she said. “i am tired of this nonsense. what are you going to do?”
“listen,” said bertino, delighted at the success of his garbled version of di bello’s threat. “this is my idea: you do not like mulberry too well, nor do i. moreover, rents are very high here, because these animals find it hard to get in anywhere else, and the landlords rob them. but with us it is different. we, for example, are signori, are we not?”
“ah, yes; i am a signora.”
“very well. now i will tell you the rest: in the upper city there are apartments, small and fine, that we could take. you know giacomo goldoni, the cornetist at la scala? well, he lives in a place like that, he and his wife, just like americans.”
“where is it?”
“in one hundred and eleventh street of the east. do you know where that is? [pg 134]well, you can find it. to-day you shall go and choose the place. here is money, the first that you have received from your husband. do you think i have been fool enough to give the money i brought from italy to the pothouses? not i. when i need money i go to the bank of risparmio. see what kind of a husband you have! neither you nor any one else knows how much i have in the bank. i will tell you. before drawing this five yesterday i had fifty-three dollars.”
juno expressed her contempt in a glance, but she closed her fingers on the greenback.
“very well. i go to look for the apartment. this evening we meet. where? at the caffè of the beautiful sicilian?”
“no, no; not there!” said bertino. “you must not come to mulberry.”
“why?” she demanded, eying him closely.
he made the only answer that could have satisfied her:
“it is no place for such a signora as you.”
[pg 135]
they appointed another meeting place—one that lay beyond the zone of signor di bello’s nightly revels, and with a wave of the hand juno took leave of her husband. he watched her proudly as her stately figure moved toward the bowery. she carried her head with the dignity of the ladies she had seen driving in the chiaja of naples on a sunny afternoon.
bertino returned to the shop in paradise park. as he picked his way through the swarms of children on the sidewalk he thought of his uncle sitting in the sunlight, all unwary that the prize he coveted had passed to another. and the elation of the conqueror gave a spring to his step, and a swagger, until he turned a corner and beheld the sign of the wooden bunch. then misgiving filled his soul and restored his trudging pace, his peasant gait—misgiving that the vanquished one might exact an accounting.
“soul of a lobster!” cried di bello, springing from his chair, when the young [pg 136]man appeared at the door. “where the crocodile have you been? animal! to keep me waiting like this, and a grand game of bastoni to be played at the three gardens. by the dragon, you are going too far!”
he flung out of the shop, not waiting to hear bertino’s lame excuse.
that evening, after the shop was closed, bertino and juno visited a large instalment house in the bowery and made their selection of furniture.
“we shall not need much,” he said, mindful of his balance in the bank, “for in a little while we shall live in casa di bello.”
“casa di bello!” sneered juno. “do you think i am a fool?”
nevertheless, when two months of living in the little dark flat had brought her no nearer the inside of the di bello house, where her husband continued to live in order to avert suspicion, she became impatient, disgusted. the few hours a week that he could steal from the shop to visit [pg 137]her were not the happiest in his life. she grew sullen and entertained him with fault-finding. of his poverty she never lost an opportunity to twit him, and called him a cheat for marrying her. at last she declared that she would not stay there alone any longer. if a man took a wife and could not live with her and support her like a christian he had better give her up. and he talked of money! why did he not bring her good things from the grocery? for two months she had lived on bread and salame half the time, with an occasional feast of lupine beans and veal that he brought her from mulberry. and what veal! in naples it would not be permitted to sell such young meat. perhaps it was good enough for the wives of the mulberry cattle, but it would not do for her to live that way. she had been a fool to put up with it as long as she had—a woman like her!—when she could go on the stage and live as a signora should. yes, she could get a place on the stage, and it would not be an italian theatre either. [pg 138]goldoni the cornetist had left la scala and was playing in the orchestra of a broadway theatre, the great titania. the other day she met him, and she did not let on that she was married. see how well she could keep a secret!—but she was a fool for doing so. well, goldoni was a man. he said that he could get her a place in the titania without any trouble. in fact, the impresario would be glad to engage her. she would be the finest shape in the company. it would be twelve dollars a week sure for a figure such as hers, signor goldoni had assured her. why, then, should she remain at home nights waiting for a good-for-nothing of a husband, who never brought her anything better than bob veal?
bertino pleaded with her to be patient and all would end well. by the feast of san giovanni, if not before, it would be safe to reveal the secret of his marriage, when, he could promise her, his good-tempered uncle would forgive him, and invite them both to make their home in casa di [pg 139]bello. as for his aunt, she would not be here to interfere.
“your aunt will not be here?” asked juno, who recognised in carolina her bitterest foe.
“no. she has broken her leg, and will not return to america for a long time. the news came yesterday.”
when bertino pressed the bell button of the flat a week afterward the electric lock of the street door did not click its customary “come in.” for several minutes he kept up a serenade. at length a thunderous voice sounded through the speaking tube:
“she’s out. get out!”
it was juno’s first night on the stage of the titania. she had taken the engagement without deeming it worth while to inform her husband. bertino returned to mulberry, at first greatly alarmed for her safety, but in turn filled with most dreadful imaginings as to the cause of her absence. the following night he got a similar response to his sonata on the bell, but, instead of going[pg 140] away in a half-distracted state of mind, he lingered in the doorway, or paced to and fro before the house. to-night he was not merely a husband worried because his wife was missing. his alert eye and grimly patient air bespoke a more serious matter. whether walking, standing, or sitting on the steps he was careful not to take one of his hands—the right—out of his coat pocket. it was after midnight when he caught sight of her. the white glare of an electric light brought her suddenly into view as she turned the corner. he tightened his grip on the thing in his pocket, but as she drew near and it was certain that she had no companion save a small valise, he came forth from the shadow in which he had crouched when the purpose of dealing her a deadly thrust was full upon him. she started back, but quickly regained her frigid calm.
“you’ve had a fine wait,” she said.
“where have you been?” he demanded, for the first time speaking to her in a tone that smacked of authority.
[pg 141]
“working and earning money,” she answered—“money that you ought to give me.”
“working? where?”
“in the theatre—the great titania. bah! you never even heard of it. do you know where broadway is?”
he did not resent her scornful words. the motive for killing her having passed, he was again her blind worshipper. producing her latchkey she opened the door.
“come in,” she said. “i have something to say to you.” and when they had entered the flat: “you must come to the theatre and walk home with me every night after the representation. at the stage door you must wait. there are beasts who will not let a woman be when she is alone at night. i have been annoyed enough.”
“who has annoyed you?” said bertino, springing up and putting his hand in the stiletto pocket, now as eager to slay the offender as he had been to knife her a few minutes before.
[pg 142]
“no matter. to-morrow night and every night you be there at the stage door.”
signor di bello sought in vain to get a trace of juno. the impresario of la scala could not give him any clew. he visited all the concert halls and singing caffès of mulberry, as well as the italian theatres of little italy in the upper east end. not a soul knew anything about her. one day he said to bertino:
“that woman juno has flown like the bluebird that used to light on the garibaldi statue. do you know where she is?”
“how should i know? you threaten to kill me if i do not keep away from her, and then ask me where she is!”
“it is a grand mystery,” mused di bello, throwing out his legs and lying back in his chair. “just when i am ready to marry her she takes wing.”
“ah, si,” said bertino meditatively—“a grand mystery.”
