embered, like one of the statues of the Virgin Mary in St. Rose of Lima’s, back in Cicero.
Seeing him standing by the church door seemed to surprise her, even to frighten her, as if he might do something bad to her, and she quickly averted her eyes.
Tony had gathered his courage. “Buenas noches, Señorita,” he said, smiling. It wasn’t all that much different from Italian.
She looked at him and just perceptibly smiled, but did not speak.
He waited a good three minutes before following her inside the church, among other things debating the Christian morality of trying to pick up a girl there. He finally decided it was all right, he wasn’t trying to fuck her or anything.
He had a little trouble finding her in the church; it was dark inside. And when he did find her, he had trouble finding a seat that would give him a view of something besides the back of her head.
But even that wasn’t so bad. He stepped on some old lady’s foot and she yelped, and he said without thinking, “Scusi,” in Italian, and the old lady answered him in Italian. She said he was a clumsy jackass, but she said it in Italian, and that made him think that maybe the girl also spoke Italian—why not? She had gone into the Ristorante Napoli, and this was an Italian neighborhood. Maybe if he had a chance to say hello to her again, he could try it in Italian and wouldn’t sound like the neighborhood idiot trying to talk to her in Spanish.
He said a prayer for his family, and thanked God for not getting caught in Uruguay. And he asked God’s protection when they tried to blow a hole in the ship. And then he asked God, “Please let me meet her.” And for a moment he wondered if he should have done that, but decided there was nothing wrong with it, he had no carnal lusts for her or anything like that.
Once she turned around and saw him. And even in the dim light—he didn’t think there was a bulb bigger than forty watts in all of Argentina, and the ones in here looked like refrigerator bulbs—he thought he saw her blush.
When she stood up and left, walking past him out of the church, she didn’t look at him, although he knew damned well she had seen him. He hurried after her, and saw her heading toward the Ristorante Napoli. He waited until she disappeared around the corner and then walked quickly after her.
What the hell, it was three blocks to the ristorante, maybe I can catch up with her.
She turned another corner, a block away from the Ristorante Napoli, and he walked faster so he wouldn’t lose her. And in case she went in some house or something, he would know where she lived.
When he turned the corner, she was waiting for him.
“If my father sees you following me, he will cut out your heart with a knife,” she said. In Italian!
His mouth went on automatic. He was startled to hear himself say, “Oh, please don’t tell your father. I am just a poor Italian boy far from home and all alone.”
Boy, did I put my foot in my mouth with that stupid line.
But she smiled.
“You’re telling the truth?”
Tony held up his right hand.
“I swear to God!” he declared passionately.
“Where are you from? The North?”
“Cicero.”
“Where?”
“Cicero, Illinois. Outside Chicago. In the United States of America.”
“You’re telling the truth?”
“I swear to God, on my mother’s honor.”
“I have never heard of Cicero, Illinois,” she said.
“It’s a nice place. You would like it. You ought to visit there sometime.”
There you go again, asshole! Think before you open your goddamned mouth!
“You are an American?” she asked in disbelief.