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“I know nothing,” Salvo said in Italian, “except that it’s late and I’m tired.”
“Your father wasn’t the only one who believed this,” said Harry, in reply to Gina, not Salvo. “My father, too. And Alexander Pope.”
“Who?”
“The poet.”
“No, Harry,” said Ben. “Pope thought a life lived without expectations was the ninth beatitude. Blessed are they who expect nothing, was what Pope wrote.”
“You completely misunderstand Pope,” Harry said, yanking up Ben by the arm, and glancing around for his jacket and hat. “As if you have any idea what a beatitude even is.”
“As if you do.”
“At least I’m not quoting him incorrectly! We must go.”
“Actually you did quote him incorrectly,” said Ben, as they bade their goodbyes to a battle-fatigued Gina.
“I didn’t quote him,” Harry said. “I was merely being polite in a conversation with our new friends. Goodnight. We will see you tomorrow. Please give our regards to your mother.”
“Pope ended it with ‘for they shall never be disappointed.’”
“Let’s go!”
They tipped their hats before they put them on and bowed politely.
Gina could see Salvo would have loved to have refused their help, but he didn’t know where the train station was and couldn’t get the three trunks downstairs without them. To pay her back he stood between her and the young men so they couldn’t take her hand, couldn’t treat her like a lady when they wished her goodnight.
After Ben and Harry left, Gina and Salvo retreated to separate windows from which they both looked longingly at the sea beyond, but for different reasons: Salvo because he yearned to be back home; Gina because she wanted never to leave the big city. She hoped Lawrence would turn out to be a little bit like a big city, only smaller. But no matter what it turned out like, it wouldn’t have Ben and Harry in it.
“A fine pair they are,” Salvo said to her at last.
“Aren’t they just,” echoed Gina. Especially the sand-haired, laconic one.
He sighed with exasperated disdain. “Sometimes,” he said, “I think you forget what Papa said to you.”
She bristled. “I don’t forget anything.”
“Then why do you act like you do?”
Gina turned away. She didn’t want to hear it. Leaving the room where her brother was making her defensive, Gina went into the room where Mimoo was snoring and sat in a wooden chair by the open window. She still heard horses clomping outside, a distant bell of a trolley car, noises from sailors, laughter, a city alive, pulsing and thumping into the night. Never forget where you came from, Gina Attaviano, Alessandro said to her before he died. Then it will always be easy.
I think it will be easy, Papa, she whispered, gulping the night air. In thrall to the new city, the old life for Gina had vanished with the tide.
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