Sins of the Father Page 11

  “Do you have somewhere to stay?” Alonzo asked, and seemed to blush.

  “I do. I have an apartment in the East Village—on Second Avenue, to be exact.” Uncomfortable silence grew as Alonzo searched for what to say, but Maranzano seemed content enough.

  “Here, meet my son,” Alonzo finally said, and gestured for Sonny to step forward. He was both horrified and delighted to earn the man’s attention.

  “Is this Vico or Enzo?” The man stuck out his hand and leaned down to Sonny’s level. “Surely, this isn’t little Vincente?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sonny replied in Italian.

  “And what a strong young Sicilian this boy is.” He looked up at Alonzo, who was full of pride. “Do you listen to your father, Vincente?”

  “Yes, sir.” He didn’t want to tell him that he only went by Sonny. His full name, Vincente, seemed more appropriate from this man.

  “Good. Do you read your Bible?” he asked with a furtive grin. Sonny felt a smile split across his own lips as well.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He’s a very good reader. Smarter than most of the boys his age,” Alonzo said.

  “Smarter than most of us too,” Oscar said from across the barbershop, although not in Sicilian.

  “Of course, he is. He’s a Consentino.” Don Maranzano stood back up. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Vincente.” His voice had an entrancing echo-like quality. Sonny accepted a handshake, feeling about five feet taller. “And it was good to see you again, Don Consentino”—he kissed Alonzo again—“and perhaps we will cross paths again.” He tipped his homburg, and left, the room suddenly more alive than before his arrival.

  Sonny

  Little Italy, Manhattan—June 20, 1925

  Sonny flipped another card. A Three of Hearts. He tossed it aside and continued. A few months prior, Antonello had finally gotten a job in Brooklyn and had moved out. He visited often, but when he didn’t, Sonny spent most of his time at the barbershop or on the stoop, looking at cards. It was a little bit like tarot card reading, except he got to make the rules and decipher the meanings. He didn’t believe in it much, but it was a way to pass the time. He used to look forward to the weekends, but now he dreaded them.

  He knew Alonzo and Rosa worried about him.

  He had graduated high school two years prior, and was now a full-time employee at A.C. Barbers. He didn’t have many friends, and he didn’t do much for fun, but he always reminded his parents that he had Antonello whenever they came to him with that concerned look only parents can have. He had Maria also, whose life he had taken an active role in, almost like an uncle or a third parent.

  Jack of Spades.

  It wasn’t the life he had wanted, sure. He had once told his father that he wanted to be a Wall Street man, someone important and knowledgeable. He had kept up with the stock market since he was a little boy, and had borrowed at least a dozen books on investing from the library just north of Little Italy. But the thought of being a businessman, with nice suits and expensive cars, was about as lofty as being the first Sicilian president of the United States.

  Four of Diamonds.

  He had all but given up on that. He certainly never talked about it. It was more important to him to simply be a good helper to his father, and a caring older brother to Maria.

  “Sonny Boy.” Alonzo walked up behind him and plopped down in a chair.

  “Hey, Dad. Want to play a hand?” Sonny perked up some. Rosa’s rule of only speaking Sicilian in the house had long since been abandoned.

  “Not right now, Sonny. But I have something to tell you.” Alonzo leaned back and crossed his legs. He rubbed the stubble on his chin and looked contemplative.

  “Come on, Dad, are you going to tell me or not?” Sonny said, not sure why his heart rate was increasing.

  “I’m sending you to college, Sonny Boy.” Sonny jolted to his feet, the chair falling down behind him.

  “What!” he shouted.

  “Calm down! Calm down,” Alonzo said, and laughed.

  “How? Where did you get the money?”

  Alonzo looked down and his smile faded. “I’ve been saving for a long time, Sonny Boy. I always wanted you to go, and I know you did too… There were times when you and the others had to go without certain things because I was saving this. So it’s only right that you use it now.” Alonzo revealed an envelope and put it down on their favorite card table. Alonzo snatched it back when Sonny reached for it. “Ah-ah, not so fast. I’ll hold on to this, old boy. But it’s going straight to your schooling.”

  “How much is it?” Sonny was at a loss for words.

  “A few thousand.” Alonzo waved down Sonny’s excitement. “Come on, it’s not that much.” Sonny ran through the numbers in his head. It would have taken a long time saving up a barber’s pay to have a few spare thousand dollars lying around.

  “That’s a lot of scratch, Dad.”

  “Well, it’s just enough to put you through four years at Columbia.” Sonny had to bite his knuckles. He lowered his head, embarrassed by how giddy he was becoming.

  “Dad…”

  “I knew it was where you always wanted to go.”

  “Think I’ll get in?”

  “With your grades, it’s guaranteed. Come here.” He gestured for a hug and gave Sonny a kiss on the cheek.

  “How did you do this? How do you have this much?”

  Alonzo thought for a moment before responding, and turned his gaze out to Mulberry Street before them. “That’s why it took me so long to get it for you. I didn’t know how or what I was going to do for a while. But I would do anything for my family, so I figured it out.” Sonny looked on, still wondering if this might be a dream. “Anything, Sonny Boy. Don’t you worry about it.”

  Rachel

  Columbia University, Manhattan—October 26, 1925

  “Oh, turn that up! This is my favorite song,” Rachel shouted to one of her friends, and then took a sip of her gin and lime through a straw.

  Another Friday night, another party her mother would be ashamed of her attending. Of course, Rachel’s mother also still said that women shouldn’t be allowed to, or want to, vote. She wasn’t the most modern woman.

  “Is that better?” Allison cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted over “You’re the Cream in My Coffee” and the clopping feet of the dancers.

  “Now I just need to find someone to dance with,” Rachel said, moving her hips to the music, feeling the effects of the booze come over her like a current.

  It wasn’t exactly a petting party, but everyone knew why they were there. Guys and gals were huddled in every corner of the dance hall, necking.

  “I’m you guy, Mamma,” a member of Sigma Phi Epsilon said, stepping into view and placing a hand on her hip. Rachel had already seen him dancing with a few other girls that evening, and the stale smell of cigarettes was so rank on his breath that she had to step away.

  “Who’s that fellow over there?” Rachel asked Allison, effectively ignoring the fraternity boy. The student in her eyesight was an awkward-looking chap, clearly not used to such social gatherings. He leaned up against the wall and nursed his drink, tapping his foot to the music but not moving another muscle. The tall green socks, plaid knickerbockers, and worn newsboy cap didn’t paint a very attractive picture, but Rachel could see natural muscles under those rags and the etching of a strong jaw.

  “I’ve never seen him before,” Allison said. Rachel maintained her gaze.

  The fraternity brother stepped back into her line of sight and continued to plead his case. “You don’t want to dance with him. He’s a barb.” It was true that the boy across the dance hall wasn’t in a fraternity himself; otherwise, he’d have a pin on his lapel, and he would certainly be out on the dance floor. “And he’s a Sicilian. Can’t you smell the grease from here? A Jewish dame like yourself needs to dance with someone with a bit more class.” The fraternity boy swayed back and forth from the alcohol, not exactly the picture of class to Rachel.r />
  She took his hand and pulled it away from her side a bit more forcefully this time.

  “Think I could get a dance with him?” Rachel asked her friend.

  “You can get a dance with anyone in here,” Allison replied, and topped off her gin.

  The fraternity brother threw up his hands and transferred his attention to Allison.

  “What about you? You sure are a bear cat.”

  “Go peddle your papers somewhere else,” Allison said with a flick of the wrist as Rachel started across the hall.

  It was a bit surprising that Rachel found her chest tightening as she approached the boy. She was a real charmer, and she knew it. She knew the outcome of approaching any other guy there, but it was different with a wallflower. He would be a bit unpredictable, which was perhaps why she was interested in the first place.

  “You could be the cream in my coffee,” she said, startling him.

  “Oh, I didn’t see you there.” He fidgeted uncomfortably and looked down at the drink in his hand. He was clearly Sicilian, but Rachel was surprised to find his English refined and his words carefully pronounced. She liked that.

  “New around here?” she asked.

  He nodded at length and eventually worked up the courage to meet her gaze.

  “I’m a freshman.”

  “And how!” she exclaimed.

  His face twisted in confusion.

  “What?”

  “It means something like…indeed.”

  “Oh. And how.” He smiled, which made Rachel find him more charming than all the well-dressed, oil-haired sheiks in there.

  “What’s your name?” She stepped forward and placed a deliberate hand on his forearm.

  “I’m Vincente…” He paused and seemed to rethink his answer. “Everyone calls me Sonny, though.” She nodded and waited for him to ask her name, which he forgot to do for an awkward moment. “And your name?”

  “I’m Rachel Katz,” she replied proudly. She figured he might know her father, a renowned physician in the area. His face didn’t convey that he was familiar with the last name.

  “It’s a pretty name,” he said with a forced grin.

  The more he looked at her, the more his feet tapped.

  She tightened the grip around his arm. Her chest wasn’t tight anymore. She knew where to take things from here.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  Sonny’s mouth opened to respond, but then he looked around the room.

  “Boy, you all sure move quick. I don’t really know how to dance like that.”

  “Finish your drink, daddy. I’ll show you how.”

  He deliberated for a moment but clearly couldn’t see a way out. So he finished his drink, winced, and allowed Rachel to lead him by the hand out onto the dance floor.

  She took both of his hands in hers and placed them on her hips.

  He didn’t seem to notice how flushed his face was.

  “It’s called the black bottom. Just bounce on your feet a little, and I’ll do the rest.”

  The music picked up at just the right time.

  “Okay, now when I kick one of my feet out, you do it too, right beside mine.” She tried to lock her eyes with his, but his gaze was fixed on her T-strap heels to see what her feet were doing. He did his best, but he was woefully uncoordinated. A few fraternity brothers were laughing nearby; she wondered if they were laughing at him, but she didn’t care. That look of intense focus was endearing, in an odd way. And when he dipped her, his grip was so firm and strong, she wanted him to hold her like that all night.

  “Now watch this.” The alcohol was making her confident, so she took a few steps back and began to shimmy, throwing her arms around and shooting him the most tantalizing eyes she could.

  “It looks like you’re gyrating!” he said, but she saw his eyes follow the movement of her chest.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “No, I think I do.”

  She fell back into his arms.

  “You ever kissed a girl?” Her voice rose over the music.

  “Sure, I have!” He seemed a little embarrassed, and flushed.

  “Want to kiss another?” She pushed out her chin up to him.

  “C-can I?” he stammered.

  She pulled away again and placed her hands on her hips.

  “Well, you better make me another drink, then!”

  “Oh. Certainly. Gin and lime?”

  “How’d you know?” she asked with a grin.

  “I saw you drinking it before.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and then hurried off to get it for her.

  She had him now. And if it was up to her, it wouldn’t be their last dance together.

  Alonzo

  Little Italy, Manhattan—May 13, 1928

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Alonzo shifted in the confession booth.

  “How long has it been since your last confession?” The ominous voice of the priest carried from the other side.

  “Depends on how you reckon it.”

  “By your reckoning.”

  Alonzo calculated before responding. “I have come to Old St. Patrick’s for confession every Tuesday since I arrived in America. Twenty-some years ago. But I have never been able to talk.” He found it difficult to do so now.

  “I have been present for many of these occasions. I can tell that something has been troubling you. What do you need to confess, child?”

  Alonzo pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his nose. “It’s been so long…” Tears welled up in his eyes.

  “Sins, no matter how old, must be repented. Christ is faithful to wash you clean, if you will allow him.”

  “I’ve done bad things, Father. I have killed. I have done very bad things.”

  “How long ago, my child?”

  “A lifetime ago. Sometimes it feels like yesterday.”

  “Have you remained sinless since then?” Alonzo assumed the question was rhetorical. He felt an onslaught of guilt come over him.

  “Better than before, Father.”

  “And the sins of your past have haunted you enough that you have been unable to truly attend confession all this time?”

  “Yes, Father. That is true.”

  “Then why are you here now? Has the Holy Spirit finally led you to repentance?” Alonzo leaned over, stifling his sobs in the sleeve of his jacket.

  “Because I am afraid, Father.”

  “What are you afraid of, child? The wrath of God?” The priest waited patiently as Alonzo tried to catch his breath.

  “I am afraid for my children. I am afraid that my sins will haunt them…”

  “Go on,” the priest said. Alonzo tried.

  “I am afraid they will suffer because of the things I have done.”

  “In the Gospel of John, Chapter 9, Verses 2 and 3, the disciples ask Jesus if a blind man was cursed by God for his sins, or that of his father. Jesus replied that neither the father nor the son had sinned, but the man was afflicted so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”

  “I do not want my children to suffer at all, Father.”

  “It isn’t about what you want, child. It is about the will of the Father, and the free will he endowed us with.”

  “I would give all that I have to spare them.”

  “God abhors your sacrifices, my child. He only desires a broken and contrite heart.” The priest continued as Alonzo sobbed. “Have your children yet been afflicted because of your sins?”

  “I don’t know, Father. My…my two eldest…they began to commit sins of their own. And I left them to their own devices.”

  “How do you feel about this decision?”

  Alonzo looked through the small framed window, hoping to see a comforting face on the other side. He could make nothing out but the silhouette of the priest, and the cross that lay atop his robes.

  “I have been haunted by it for years. I have no idea where they are now. One went into the war… The other…”

  “A
nd what of the children that remained with you? You said that these two were only your eldest.”

  “Yes, Father. One has gone to college.” Alonzo instantly regretted saying this. The priest surely knew who he was now. Sonny was the only boy within half a mile that had left for school. No reason to hold back now. “And my daughter, she will graduate school this month. She turns eighteen in November. I am very proud of them both.”

  “Are you afraid that your two youngest will follow in your footsteps? As your two eldest have?”

  “I don’t know what I am afraid of, Father.”

  “Lay your fears down at the cross, child. Leave them with Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God, who promises to overcome this world.”

  “I will, Father.”

  “Are you ready to confess your sins?”

  Alonzo was silent for a moment. “And if I sin again?”

  “Christ will only accept true repentance. If sin remains in your heart, he cannot cleanse you.”

  Alonzo stood and opened the confessional booth door, his tears finally subsided.

  Rachel

  Columbia University, Manhattan—August 21, 1928

  It had been three years since their first dance, and Rachel was still going steady with Sonny. It hadn’t been easy at first. Her girlfriends had given her a hard time, of course. He had no social standing at the school, but she considered this a project and made him a bit more popular each day. She also taught him how to dress more stylish, and they had practiced their dance moves alone in his dorm enough that, by his junior year, Sonny was as smooth a dancer as anyone at Columbia. Perhaps he still seemed a bit out of place, but he had proven time and again that he was willing to go anywhere for her.

  He was a novice; she was experienced. Rachel was his teacher, in more ways than one, educating him on everything he needed to know about being with a woman.

  It was difficult for Rachel to be tied down too. Her friends said she was a prom-trotter by any standard, and it was probably true, but she eventually had decided to restrain herself for Sonny. All the other fellows brashly asked her to come home with them, or to go out and neck. But Sonny had waited patiently for her permission, in all things, displaying at all times that he was grateful and perhaps surprised that she had given him her affections.