The Black Madonna Read Online Free PDF

to stick in your heart.” She twisted Nicky’s ear and when she let go it was red like a summer tomato. “Who knows why this happened?” She looked up and shook her fist at the sky. “Only God knows why He did this.”
    Nicky started crying. “It wasn’t God. It was Jumbo,” he said. “Jumbo weakened the rope and when it was my turn it broke. The rope broke and I fell.” Nicky was bawling now, his eyes shut tight, tears caught in his lashes.
    A woman in a fur coat stopped in front of him. Colored feathers stuck out of her hat. “What is it?” she said to Teresa. “What are you doing to him?”
    â€œYou mind your own business, you.” Teresa waved her away. “He’s my son. I’ll do whatever I want with him.” Teresa pulled Nicky upright and stuck her hand out, pushing Nicky into the cab that pulled up at the curb of Sixty-fourth and Fifth. She got in after him. “Worry about yourself,” she told the woman in the fur coat through the window. Teresa muttered to herself as the cab pulled away. She pushed her handkerchief in Nicky’s face. “Here,” she said. “Blow your nose.”
    All the way downtown, Teresa held her breath. She held it until she saw the bell tower of St. Anthony of Padua church and knew Spring Street was only two blocks away.
    Dante helped Teresa get him upstairs, and when Nicky was in his chair at the kitchen table, she took off her hat and filled the coffeepot. She asked Dante to sit down but he said it was too nice a day to be inside, which made Nicky cry like before.
    â€œHe’s fine,” Teresa told Dante. “He’s just excited.” She put a hand on Nicky’s forehead to check for fever and Dante gave him a piece of gum. When Dante left, she shut the door and pulled the chain. She boiled the milk for the coffee. Nicky made a face when the skin of the milk went into his cup.
    â€œWhat?” she said.
    â€œI hate the
scuma.
”
    â€œYou don’t know what’s good for you,” she told him, and took the cup for herself.
    â€œThe
scuma
’s good for me?”
    â€œOf course. It’s got all the vitamins.”
    â€œYou always say that. You say everything bad is good. You say the apple core’s the best part.”
    â€œThat’s right. It is. What do you know?”
    â€œHow could it be the best part? How? How?”
    â€œYou’re just spoiled,” she said. “When I was your age, I ate everything and I said thank you. I never talked back.” She poured coffee into his milk and stirred in three spoonfuls of sugar. She gave him a plate of anisette biscuits and ran a hand through his hair. She kissed the streaks of dirt the tears had made on his face and then she sat down with a pencil and paper and wrote numbers in columns.
    â€œWhatcha doing?” Nicky wanted to know.
    â€œNothing. Dunk your biscotti.”
    â€œCan I go down?” he said. “The doctor said I could. He said I should go to school.”
    â€œHe’s up Fifth Avenue. What does he know about here? You stay in the house. When you walk, you can go all over. I don’t care where you go. Now be quiet. I got things to figure out.”
    â€œAm I getting the operation?”
    â€œThe doctor said you needed the operation?”
    â€œYeah, but . . .”
    â€œJust eat your biscotti. Leave everything else to me. I’m your mother, no?”

T eresa left early the next morning. She was wearing the black straw hat with the painted wooden cherries and her corset. Before she left, she stood by the side of the bed where Nicky slept and she pushed back his hair and made the sign of the cross on his forehead with her thumb. He pretended to be asleep, and lay still until he heard the door shut and her footsteps on the stairs. He said three Hail Marys to measure time before he pulled himself over to the front window and watched his mother turn the corner up