Adrian Del Valle - Diego's Brooklyn Read online

  This time Diego took a look. “Keep walking and don’t turn around anymore.”

  “Boys, now don’t pay‘m no never mind and they won’t trouble us none.”

  Bill couldn’t have been more wrong. He and the boys turned the corner with the intention of returning to Amity, the same street they first took on the way to the piers. Walking along busy Court Street, they heard loud voices coming from behind. They grew louder as four teenage thugs caught up to them. One had a chain wrapped around his arm. As he spoke, he unraveled it.

  “So what were you assholes doin’ on my street back there? You don’t live here. None of youz do.”

  “We’re walkin’ back from the piers…that’s all,” said Diego.

  “Oh yeah? Well you shoulda went a different way…and whose the coon with ya?”

  “That’s Bill, the cop,” Larry blurted out. “He’s escorting us to the precinct.”

  “Precinct? You fat piece o’ lard. The precinct is way over dataway.”

  Jimmy cut in. “Look guys, we’re not bothering anybody.”

  “Oh, no? Well guess what? We’re bodderin’ youz!”

  The bully stepped back and started to swing the chain in a wide circle.

  With Jimmy standing out front, the boy was in danger.

  “Boys! Now, that there ain’t necessary.”

  Bill knew he could take the kid—knock him out with one punch. And he was sure, in his younger days, he could have taken the other three, but hitting any of them would send the whole Italian neighborhood down on them. Instead, he got in front of Jimmy and motioned for him to stay back with a wave of his hand. At the same time, the troublemakers that were with the chain wielding kid raised their fists all set to fight.

  Readying the chain for a swing at Bill, the bully said, “So…what’re you gonna do, now, you old man?”

  “That’s enough, Nunzio! Get back home where you belong.” A man’s large hand encircled the chain wielding kid’s neck and pushed him in the direction he wanted him to go. “Go ahead…get outta here. You too, the four of ya…get lost.”

  “You ain’t heard da last of dis, Louie. I’m tellin’ my father.”

  “Go ahead, Nunzio, and I hope he beats the shit out of you.”

  The four boys walked away as fast as they could back to President Street.

  Bill and the rest couldn’t believe their eyes. At the same time, they all said, “Louie?”

  “Yeah, Louie your neighborhood garbage guy to the rescue.”

  “Louie, I sure is glad to see you.”

  “My pleasure, Mr. Jackson. Are you all right kid?”

  “I’m okay, thanks.”

  “That’s good! What’s your name?”

  “Jimmy!”

  “Please to meet you, Jimmy.”

  “Louie, this is Jerry,” Diego said. “This is Jose, and that’s Larry.”

  “Larry, Jose, Jerry…please to meet all o’ you guys. I saw ya’s back on President and tried to catch up, but youz were already up the block and dat creep was followin’ ya. Nunzio’s da neighborhood trouble maker. I’ll make sure I tell his father. I know Patsy, he doesn’t put up with that kind of crap? Why, if they ever said anything to my wife and kids, I’d knock the block off their stupid heads, without his permission.”

  “You probably don’t have to worry about that, Louie. At least she’s Italian,” said Diego.

  “No, she ain’t! Yolanda is Puerto Rican.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, why would I kid about that? Yeah, she’s Puerto Rican, but I don‘t think of it that way. I never did. In fact, she was raised right there on President, down the block from me. And that’s before the likes of doze guys were ever born. She knows everybody around here and they don’t really care, anyways, except for a few dumb guidos that I wouldn’t have nuttin’ to do wit, no-hows. Heck, I knew her since I was dis high. So where’re you all coming from?”

  “Swimmin‘,” Bill said. “We were at the piers since eleven this morning.”

  “I hope dem guys didn’t scare youz too much.”

  “I wasn’t scared,” said Larry.

  “Oh, sure!” Jose retorted. “Maybe you better check your underwear before you say anything else.”

  “How about you, Mr. J? You didn’t seem scared at all,” said Jerry.

  “Well, then, ah guess ah fooled all o’ yawl, cuz ah was ‘bout as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full o’ rockin’ chairs.

  Louie laughed. “Hey, youz must be hungry. Come on, I’m gonna treat all o’ you to pizza.”

  “Gee…you don’t have to do that,” said Diego.

  “Yeah, Louie, it’s okay, we’ll be all right,” said Jimmy.

  “Thanks anyway,” said Jerry. “Right, Larry?”

  Larry rubbed his stomach and looked as if he was going to faint. “Man, I’m hungry!”

  “That’s it! You’re all coming with me.”

  Two doors up, Rinaldi’s Pizzeria stood out like a welcoming cafe. Outside, red cabana awnings shaded metal tables covered with green, well ironed table cloths.

  “Grab a table boys.” Louie opened the door and yelled inside. “Hey Ant’ny, get us three large pizza’s and soda for all the boys.”

  “Gee, Louie, this is great! I don’t know how to thank you for all of this,” said Diego.

  “What’re friends for, right, Mr. Jackson?” said Louie.

  “Jus’ call me Bill.”

  Louie’s head was already back in the doorway shouting at Anthony. “Ya got anymore o’ dem zepoli’s? Maybe Mr. Jackson and the boys want somethin’ to munch on while they’re waitin’.”

  From the kitchen, in the back of the restaurant, a voice sharply answered him. “Holda backa you horses, I’ll be right outta there. Aspettare uno momento.”

  A short and very round Anthony, wearing an apron spotted with dried tomato sauce, soon weaved around the tables with a large tray of zepolis sprinkled generously with confectioner’s sugar.

  “Ant’ny, these are my friends from the garbage route. That’s Mr. Jackson, he’s the boss of all of them. Ha ha. Hey Larry, you’re still all wet. What happened?”

  “I had to put my clothes on over my bathing suit.”

  “I done that before many times, myself.”

  Anthony, on returning inside, immediately popped his head back out with an afterthought. “I’m a come out witha the pizza right away. You boyza come anytime you like to my pizza store. Anthony maka the besta pizza in a the whole of Brookaleen.”

  Louie grimaced. “Ayyy…Ant’ny! Pu-leeze! Dominic’s always has a line around the block.”

  “So go to Domineek’s. Why you coma over to this a place if a you like thatta one so much?”

  “That’s ‘cause I feel sorry for you Ant’ny.”

  “Yeah, a you sorry lika a the hole inna my head. That Domineek, he’s a from a the mountains. What does he know about how to make a good a pizza. They gotta nothing but sheep uppa they. All they know in a the mountains eeza how to make the cheese, that’s all. So go you selfa to Domineek’s!”

  “Nah! I like the awning. Gets me outta the sun. You know wud I mean, Ant’ny?”

  “Ah, stai zitto. Some a bullshit you are. You know whata you can scratch, huh, Louie?”

  Louie knocked on the table, and snapped, “Hey where’s the soda? Bring the soda! Come on! What kind of a Pizza joint is this, anyway? Where‘s the service around here, huh?”

  “Holda you horses. I’m a go get it righta now.” Anthony’s voiced trailed off as he reentered the pizzeria.

  “That Ant’ny’s a good guy,” Louie said. “I went to school with his son. Tough story, that one. Anyway, he ain’t around no more.”

  “Why’s that?” Bill asked.

  Hold the fort, Bill. I‘ll be write back. I have to see a man about that horse Ant’ny was talkin’ ’bout. I‘ll tell you when I get back.”

  To Bill’s surprise, after Louie went inside to use the bathroom, a black kid of about eighteen and wea
ring a full apron, bumped his rear into the restaurant door from inside, carrying three aluminum trays of large pizza’s to the table. The boy had about him an air of confidence gained from having served many a table. He laid the first tray down in front of Larry. The other two, wedged between his finger tips and shoulder, were placed side by side in front of Bill and Jerry.

  “Hi, I’m Louis! You guys aren’t from around here are you?”

  “No, and you ain’t naytha, is you?” Bill queried.

  “Well, these days I am. I live right up stairs. Hey, I’m Louis. Eat up, I’ll be right back.” The boy went inside as light footed as he came out.

  Louie returned. “Now that looks good! I can see that you’re enjoyin’ it, too. Who brought it out…Luigi?”

  “Why, no!” said Bill. “A young fella named Louis.”

  “Oh, that’s Luigi. It’s not his real name, but that’s what Ant’ny calls him. He sorta adopted him. The kid has his own apartment upstairs. Used to live in Ant’ny’s house a coupla of years ago, but he wanted his own place. Ant’ny owns the building, so it wasn’t a problem.”

  “He seems like a nice kid,” said Bill.

  “Luigi? A piece o’ cake. They get along priddy good, those two. Ant’ny calls the kid his Siciliano.”

  Just then the door opened. Louis, with two trays of veal parmesan, set them down at a different table. After a short conversation with the customers sitting there, he returned. “Anybody need anything else?”

  Louie grabbed him by the wrist, “No, nothin’. Come sidown for a while. Take a load off your feet, you’re makin’ me dizzy wid all a this runnin’ around.”

  “Well, I guess I can sit for a minute. How’s everything with you, Louie?”

  “I’m good. I was tellin’ them how much of a trouble maker you are, you big eggplant.”

  Anthony stepped outside to join them. It’s a so nice out here. Not lika before. Boy, what a hot day today. I see you boysa meet a my Luigi.”

  Standing alongside him, Anthony patted him softly on the side of the face. Luigi eesa the besta partner I’m a ever have.”

  “What partner? I work for you, Anthony.”

  “Nah! Hogwasha, you anda me, we izza partnas. Luigi here is a the best. I’m a surprise he’s sitting down.”

  “I made him sit. You work him too hard,” said Louie.

  “He’s a work he selfa too hard. I don’t tella heem no theeng.”

  “The minestrone, did you check it?” Louis asked.

  “Oh…go see, lika gooda boy.”

  “I heard you’re goin’ back to Italy to retire,” said Louie.

  “Si, maybe inna few more of the years.”

  “So, what about this place?”

  “I izza gonna give it to Luigi, cheap. The whola the building. I don’t wanna theesa headache when me and the wife we go back to Italy.”

  “That’s nice of you Ant’ny. He’ll do good. He’s a hard worker.”

  “That he is. Thees building taka care of heem for the whola life. Hey, I gotta go inside. Enjoyza the pizza.”

  “That’s what Mr. Herzog once told me.”

  “What’s that, Diego?” Louie asked.

  “That’s how a lot of people in the city make a living. They work and save enough to buy a three story building with a store like this when they’re still young. Like that fish market across the street, the owner in there could have been a fisherman, so maybe he doesn’t want to go out to sea anymore and instead wants to stay home with his family. So, he buys a building and opens up a fish store, see?”

  “Yeah, or maybe he just likes fish,” said Larry.

  “Right, or like the guy in that hardware store down the block, maybe he likes tools, so he opened up a…”

  “So If I like candy, I could open a little candy store, right?” said Larry.

  “That’s the idea. You wouldn’t have to take a subway to work, because you live upstairs. This is how a lot of people in the city make a living. Or a liquor store, a bar, or any kind of store, really. You work hard, live in one of the apartments, collect rent from somebody on the top floor, and the building takes care of you.”

  “Yup, I’d rent out the top floor, too. I wouldn’t want to climb all those stairs, all the time,” said Larry.

  “I’m opening up a pet shop,” Jose said, excitedly.

  “Me too,” said Jimmy. “That was my idea, first.”

  “Oh, yeah…well don’t put your smelly store next to mine.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because! I don’t want you stealing my customers.”

  Diego shook his head. “That’s not how it works, Jimmy. To make money, you have to open your store down the street far enough away so that you can serve the customers in that neighborhood. Get it?”

  “Oh! I get it,” said Larry. “That’s why we see the same kind of stores like a mile down the street.”

  “Exactly,” said Diego. “Me and mom are opening up a cuchifrito restaurant.”

  “A coochy coo, what?” Bill asked.

  “Spanish food. We’ll sell it to all of the Puerto Ricans.”

  “I’ll be the first to try it,” said Louie. “I like Rican food.”

  “What about me? Arentcha comin’ to my store?” said Larry. “I give away free candy.”

  “How are you going to make money, if you give away all of the profits,” said Diego.

  “What profits? You don’t mean them God people, do you?”

  “Hey, what about my pet store?” said Jose.

  “Boys, boys, I’ll go to all o’ your stores and spend lots o’ money. Now how’s that sound,” said Louie.

  “Say, you know what? It’s gettin’ late out here,” said Bill. “I think we best be leavin you, Louie. Oh, wait…before I forget, what all happened to Anthony’s son? You was sayin’?”

  “He died in Korea and Ant’ny junior was his only kid.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “It took a while, but he finally found a way to deal with it. So now he has a new son. He’s a happy man again.”

  One of the houses where Bill and Diego worked trimming the back yard and sweeping the front of the building, belongs to a newly appointed assemblyman, James Richards. He lives in a brownstone in Park Slope, a twenty minute walk from Boerum Hill.

  “You fellows did a nice job in the yard the last time you were here. When was that, Monday?”

  “Yes sir,” Diego said.

  “Well…after you’re done, I’d like for you both to take a look at my living room. I need to have it painted.”

  “We can do that for you, Mista Richards,” said Bill. “It’d be our pleasure.”

  The job took two days. When it was finished, Bill and Diego stepped back to admire their handiwork.

  “Looks damn good, don’ it?” said Bill.

  “Sure does.” Diego checked the clock. “It’s near five o’clock. Mister Richards is going to be here any second, now.”

  No sooner did they start the cleanup, when in walked the assemblyman, and right on time. He was pleased with what he saw. On top of the twenty five dollars, he added another five and handed it to them.

  “How about a soda, boys?”

  “That is fine by me,” said Bill.

  “Thanks, Mr. Richards,” said Diego.

  “Say…I’ll be needing help to clean up the leaves in the fall and someone to shovel snow. Can I count on the both of you?”

  “Sho ‘nough,” said Bill.

  “You know what, fellas? I noticed something about the both of you that I really like…your manners and show of respect. Now, I know where a southern gentleman like yourself gets it from, Bill, but it’s both surprising and refreshing to see a young boy in the neighborhood speak so well for himself. What influenced you? I’m curious.”

  “My father, sir. Poppy came from an upper middle class family in Puerto Rico. They had a lot of land wealth and a few businesses in San Juan.”

  “So why didn’t he stay?”

  “My father d
ropped out of college to join the army. He was very patriotic and wanted to do his part in winning the war. Roosevelt and General McArthur were his heroes. It was appreciation, I guess, a thank you of sorts for the success of his family, you might say.”

  “So, was he an officer in World War two?”

  “A sergeant. He got his leg blown off at Juno beach. The Normandy invasion, I think. He lost a kidney, and had some other internal wounds that I’m not too sure about.”

  “So he’s a military type of disciplinarian?”

  “To a point. Poppy was actually easy going and soft spoken. He liked to say he was a man of values and of proud Spanish heritage and fine upbringing. He also liked to say, ‘We come from a cultured background and I don’t want you to ever forget that, Hijo.’”

  “You keep saying was. Isn’t he still around?”

  “Oh, no, sir. Poppy died a couple of years ago. I guess those old war wounds finally caught up to him.”

  “My goodness! So what happened to all of that family wealth?”

  “It’s still there. His stepmother grabbed it years ago when my grandfather died. My father was still recuperating at Downstate Hospital after the war when a letter from her attorney arrived. She had the legal rights to everything and used the excuse that my father abandoned the family so she could keep it all for herself. Poppy often talked about taking her to court, but never seemed to find money or the energy to fight it.”

  “What about his education? Wasn’t he able to get a good job?”

  “He tried, but with so many soldiers coming back at the same time, he kept getting passed up because of his medical setbacks. He had only finished two years of college, so it wasn’t enough for the teaching job he wanted. He ended up a clerk in a hotel.”

  “Where was that, where you live now?”

  “No! Rochester…Upstate. That’s where we lived until three years ago.”

  “I see, so…that’s why you don’t have a Brooklyn accent.”

  “Poppy moved here to be close to Veterans’ Hospital, near the army base.”

  “Right here in Brooklyn? Fort Hamilton, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right, but he died anyway. I thought I’d never get over that. We were close.”

  “You’re a stronger man than you think…and now you’re taking care of your mother.”