Gabriella wouldn’t allow such images in her home and she told Victoria it was pagan to worship the heart of your god: ‘‘almost a cannibal, to want to display the heart-barbarica!’’ Gabriella didn’t think like this because her father was a Jew: after all, her mother and her Aunt Rosa-who like Gabriella had migrated to Chicago from Italy-were Catholics. It was more that Gabriella openly scorned religion.
When Father Gielczowski from St. Czeslaw’s came to visit Gabriella, to demand that she get Victoria baptized to save her daughter from eternal torment, Gabriella told him, ‘‘Religion is responsible for most of the torments people suffer here in this life. If there is a God, he won’t demand a few drops of water on my daughter’s head as proof of her character. She should be honest, she should always work her hardest, do her best work, and when she says, ‘I will do this thing,’ she must do that thing. If she cannot live in such a way, no water will change her.’’
The priest had been furious. He tried to talk to Tony Warshawski about Gabriella.
Peace-loving Tony put up his big hands and backed away. ‘‘I don’t try to come between my wife and my daughter. If you were a married man, Father, you’d know that a mother tiger protecting her young looks tame next to a mother human. No, I’m not lecturing my wife for you.’’
After that, Father Gielczowski glowered at Victoria whenever he saw her on the street. He tried to tell Marie to keep her own son away from the den of unbelievers, but Bernard Warshawski-who was usually as placid as his brother Tony-told the priest not to meddle in his family.
Besides, the sisters-in-law only lived four blocks apart; they needed each other’s help in keeping an eye on two of the most enterprising children in a wild neighborhood. Tony and Bernard suspected, too, that Gabriella and Marie also needed the drama of their arguments. True, Gabriella gave music lessons, Marie worked in the Guild of St. Mary, but both led lives of hard work; they needed excitement, and recounting each other’s monstrous deeds or words gave their lives a running drama.
Right now, the excitement was a little too much for everyone. The mayor, the cardinal, Police Superintendent Wilson, they’d all agreed that Martin Luther King and Al Raby had the right to march in Marquette Park. They’d also agreed that the ensuing violence might be horrific. And Tony Warshawski was one of the officers assigned to the park.
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.’’