Chapter 39 Section 3

The knife grinder comes here often.Matt should have listened to the knife sharpener's bell, and then, with the knife on the kitchen counter, went downstairs to find the master, inspected it and paid for it. On the way home, Rosemary saw people — mostly elderly — checking the air quality.As long as it is sunny, they will come out even in the severe cold, standing there, steaming from their mouths, slowly moving their positions according to the angle of the sunlight.She went upstairs and saw those knives were still on the table, untouched, and the blades were sad.The money was still there, thirty-five cents to sharpen a knife, bills and coins a lot.Matt sat in front of the chessboard in the living room, waiting for Bronzini to arrive.

Rosemary took off her hat and undressed, and went into the bedroom, where she saw the frame on the small sawhorse.She turned on the radio and started working on her beading craft. She knew that the knife sharpener and Jamie were fellow villagers, and they used to live in a nearby town called Campobasso.There is a mountainous area, and young men can sharpen knives. It takes two hours to bead a sweater.You know, even though the radio was on, she wasn't really listening to anything, the sound went in one ear and came out the other.As she spun the needle, she thought about Jamie.She'd tried to get him out of her thoughts, but it wasn't possible, was it?In her heart, he had replaced the radio.

She asked, "Why aren't those knives sharpened?" There was no response from the next room. "He never came, I never heard the bell," Matt said. "He's always coming on Tuesdays," she said. "He's been coming every Tuesday since we moved here and never misses time, except for Christmas." She waited for an answer, and she seemed to have seen this scene: the child was dissatisfied, silent, and his weak body was curled up in a ball, motionless. "I remember correctly, today is Tuesday, isn't it?" she said with certainty. She saw the pigeons startled suddenly from the roof across the street. There were fifty or sixty pigeons in all, scattered in all directions, like fireworks in full bloom.Later, the long pole swayed across the terrace, bending under its own weight.

Mr. Bronzini knocks on the door and Matt opens it and lets him in. In this apartment building, the women are mostly Italian.They all called her Rose, and thought Rose was her first name.One person started calling, and everyone else responded.She didn't correct them because—she didn't correct them anyway. No greeting.As soon as the two met, they immediately chatted about chess moves and recalled the strategies they used when they played chess two days ago.Sometimes, when Mr. Bronzini entered the door, he went to the chessboard first, and took off his coat after he sat down. Jamie used to say, carte blanche.

The boy who kept the pigeons stood behind the terrace without showing his face, waving his pole and directing the flock of pigeons flying in the air. The two faced the chessboard and thought silently for a long time.Later, they began to discuss, muttering and chattering. She sewed the beads onto the fabric. She didn't want to tell sad stories, she didn't want others to pity her, she didn't want to carry the heavy burdens of life like a house on her shoulders. Jamie used to say, here's some money, it's up to you to spend it.He used to say, I don't even want to know how you use it.

She heard a woman yelling at a child in the hallway.The woman's head stuck out of the door, yelling at the child who was sprinting down the stairs. "I'm making broth," the woman said loudly. Why do we love to laugh so much?We got together and complained about how broke we were, about our back pain, about our marriage not going our way.But, within twenty minutes, we were laughing again.What exactly is this matter about? They started spreading the word that he could remember the numbers on every bet.Actually, he couldn't remember.They still tell stories about his memory: that he haunted towering buildings, collecting bets from stonemasons and cleaners and salesmen, memorizing every number in his mind.In fact, he couldn't remember, there was a small piece of paper in his pocket, with the amount of the bet densely recorded in scrawled handwriting.

She heard women tell how to make broth, sometimes to their husbands, sometimes to their children.Rosemary knew what it meant.Its implication is, I see if you dare to come back late tonight; its implication is, I am serious, you should pay attention.It is a special calling to fulfill one's duties as a member of the family.Of course, eating a favorite delicacy gives pleasure, reminds one of the history of the food, the history of eating, the smacking of the mouth with the smell of garlic.However, this is also an obligation, a requirement.The idea of ​​family is that every member must be there on time tonight.For these people, sharing family happiness is an art, and the dining table is a specific place where this art can be expressed.

They said: I am making broth. They said: Whose craft is better than mine? There was no violence that day.She didn't believe the theory at all: that someone had packed him into a car and kidnapped him.Her man went out to buy cigarettes and got lost by himself. She did not want her children to see her trudging, languid, brooding, resentful, empty. Hide, hide.However, it is very difficult to do this. They—the women who lived in the apartment building—made her change her hairstyle.They told her she had the haircut of old Mrs. Herb in the nursery rhyme. No, she wasn't empty inside, she was just tense most of the time.She heard a voice from the bottom of her heart, a voice she had never heard before, her own voice, but impatient, angry, monotonous.

She heard Mr. Bronzini speaking in the kitchen, speaking of truths relating to the positions of the pieces.There was a series on the radio called Brighter Horizons, Brighter Tomorrow, or Brighter Days.He told Matt that there is truth in every position in chess.What you want is a deep truth, not a superficial truth.You want a position worth fighting to the death. This food, this family meal, this broth glistening in a cauldron with sausage, pork ribs with meat, onions, and garlic.Such is the loyalty, bond and happiness between them.As Rosemary went upstairs, she could smell the aromas wafting down the passage, beef roulade, pork balls, and basil spice.There was something ironic in that smell, and it made her feel very painful.

Then, when he—Jamie—come home, he took off his clothes, and little pieces of paper fell out of his pockets.It recorded the betting situation in code words, and the handwriting was scribbled, recording the names of the people, the names of the horses, the participating teams and the specific amount. They said, see what you do. Somehow she listened to his stories and laughed all night long.Sometimes he talked about going to the Row during the day, and sometimes he talked about going to Toots Shaw's famous restaurant--the one in another precinct.Toots Shaw met him and wanted to bet, and the bet was big, very big.Sometimes Jamie went to West Fifty-first Street and took Tots Shaw's bets.Toots Shaw was obese, slow-moving, and disfigured, as if he had been injured in a car accident.Jamie told her about the rich people who went to the fancy bars and drank until four o'clock in the morning.

They said, I'm making broth. Attorney Imperato's wife at the law firm she works for calls twice a week to tell him I'm making broth. The wages she earns by making beads by hand are extra money.The pigeons soared into the sky, circling and flying, and the long poles kept shaking on the terrace. Some women have only one man in their life.Her man was that guy, that bastard. Mr. Imperato likes to make fun of our famous predecessors, Abraham Lincoln as spaghetti and George Washington as a washing machine. Sitting in front of the chessboard on a warm day, Matt was pale and wearing only his underwear, making him look very thin.However, his eyes were piercing, staring at the chess pieces intently.It made her feel like there was a genie on the board, sent here by the gods, to make the child seem possessed. The subtle point is that when Jamie is at home, he is not the center of the family.She is the center, the quiet center, the center of family strength.Now that Jamie was missing, she could no longer bring herself to feel impersonal, to feel centered.Jamie is now the center.That's the subtlety, the incredible thing.Jamie was the heartbeat of the family, the missing heartbeat. It is a commitment and a call to fulfill an obligation.Please tell him I'm making broth. This is a threat to an undisciplined son or daughter.Stop bad behavior and change your attitude.It's up to you. They said: Who can compare with me? It's an expression of the importance of small pleasures, such as a meal, a coat with a fake fur collar, a chair in front of a fan on a hot summer day. There was no violence that day.It was just a small trick used by a cowardly man who walked out of the house, no big deal.No man came with a gun, no one strapped paving stones around someone's ankles and let a bullet go through his head.That's a small trick used by cowardly men. If you feel the soul of an experience, then you have earned the right to say who compares to me. Jamie speaks a certain dialect, the Ambruzes dialect.He used to go downstairs with the knife and gossip with the sharpener, and he was happy in that dialect.The two chatted while the master sharpened the knife.Jamie wouldn't do that if he was seeing people from the same area on a regular basis.It is difficult for him to meet the knife sharpener, so he is willing to chat with each other, which is a practice he likes. They call her Rose.They - most of them - are sure and powerful.They had guts, character, and big voices, most of them. She made beadwork, paid by the piece, like Jamie, for extra money. He slept until dawn and never woke up at night, even if he drank coffee, he still didn't wake up all night.He didn't seem to feel the cold at all, walking on the cold floor with bare feet, and sleeping in shorts in winter.She heard the radiator crackling in the pipes and knew it was the signal for her to wake up and go to Mass. Someone has placed a large bet on a racehorse named Terra.The horse crossed the finish line first, and he began to worry. She heard Matt analyzing chess positions.The two of them stopped playing chess from time to time to discuss how to deal with it. He wasn't one to boast, and often whispered dark tales late at night. Hide, hide.However, it is very difficult to do this. Baseball player Charlie Drey used to bet on horses, and Jamie took his bets, and Tots Shaw's bets.He put seven hundred dollars in the pocket of a coat, and she sent the dress for dry cleaning.The coat was the little bank where he kept his personal money, and he didn't tell her about it.She didn't know until she came back from the dry cleaner that there was an inner bag in the coat, which contained seven hundred dollars, so she hurried back to inquire.The dry cleaner said: What's the money, ma'am?What money, ma'am? She uses an awl with a wooden handle to attach the beads according to the pattern drawn on the fabric. However, why do we often laugh constantly?How come we danced all night, drinking, and joking, the night we lost seven hundred dollars? He's not the type to be rash and reckless and not take the risk of crazy moves.Then, however, risky bets arose and he began to feel the pressure to pay. They said: Who can compare with me? She wouldn't say such things, partly because of her personality, but also because she couldn't have the same sense of satisfaction as before.She felt neither that she was favored by fate nor that there was anything that pleased her. His leaving changed her life, and the voice in her head changed from what she used to hear before he left. But how did the two of us go to Eighty-sixth Street for a German dinner and then dance down the block at the Corso Ballroom on the night we lost seven hundred dollars? Today, with less of her own life and more influence from others, she is slowly losing her individuality.Maybe it was for that reason that they called her Rose? Nick walked down the corridor.Christmas is approaching, the Catholic missionary school kids are gone, and so is Matt.The business district is decorated with colorful lights and garlands, and the merchants start to put up Christmas trees at 5 o'clock in the morning, and you can smell their fragrance from a long distance away.The eels were on sale, and spruce and balsam fir had been brought in from upstate New York and lined up in rows against the walls.Children unload crates of California grapes to sell to make wine. Nick was wandering the hallway and saw Remo coming out of the classroom.Remo was wearing skinny top trousers, and the upper body was the Eisenhower jacket that never changed. "What are you doing here?" "Walking," Nick said. "Walking indoors?" "You went out? It's freezing cold. What are you doing here?" "I, I go to school here. What are you doing here?" "Walking," Nick said. "I have permission to go to the doctor." "Look at that nurse? She's the one you want to see." "Let me have a puff," Remo said. "Where is the Department of Home Economics?" "I don't know, maybe at the end of that corridor. I hear you're working." "At the ice cream factory." "Is the salary high?" "Forget it." "Then, the job is stable." "You've got to keep an eye out, like working on the docks," Nick said, sounding masculine, "a guy yelling, you, you, you, you. The boys are going home." Remo showed a look of admiration. "You eat what's produced in the factory?" "Actually, you want to know what's really going on." "What's the real situation?" "We steal ice cream and sell it, but we have to be quick." Remo didn't know whether to believe Nick's words.He held out his hand, asking for a cigarette butt, and Nick handed it to him.He took it, took two strong puffs, threw away the cigarette butt, stamped it out with his foot, exhaled the smell of smoke, and then entered the doctor's office. After the bell rang, the students left the classroom.Nick sees Loretta and Gloria.The two of them went out together into Fordham Road. "Ali's father won the bet," Gloria said. "I know, I heard." "Believe it or not, it only cost him five dollars." "Exactly. I can confirm that." The older guy, named Jasper, was a notorious womanizer in a Ford convertible.It was so cold, the hood was down, the engine was on, and the radio was on.The two girls walked by in silence, and the two had a tacit understanding, quietly, and exchanged glances understandingly. "Who bet five dollars?" Loretta said. "They spent fifty cents. If they thought they were really, really, really lucky, they'd bet a dollar." "He had a dream," Nick said. "He has a dream. What dream?" "What dream? A dream of winning a bet. What else can there be?" "For five dollars," she said, "he must have been confident." "I am very sure of that." "If I dream about a number, I'm going to die that day," Loretta said. "This guy handed over five dollars to a street bum." "Street bum, what bum? He gave the money to Annette Esposito." "Who is Esposito?" "She was a girl at a Catholic mission school, went to my brother's elementary school," Nick said, "and she took bets for her father and walked around a few times a day." "Doing stuff like that in school uniform," Gloria said. "Customers love dealing with someone they trust." They passed White Castle and saw children eating hamburgers there.Later, Gloria crossed the street and entered the apartment building where her family was. "Where's your radio? You always have it with you," Loretta said. "I have a radio in the car, and that's the only radio I need." "Better not to have that car," she said. "You think it's better not to." "That puts me at ease," she said. "That car, my God, is full of problems, not to mention stolen." "Aren't we having fun in that car?" "The drive-in trip wasn't bad. But there's no fun in the dark streets. It's almost like a criminal." "That's the way we are," he said. Loretta laughed.She has two teeth - the two front teeth - that don't have a perfectly symmetrical bite.It made her smile sexy, he thought. The two turned east, and Nick saw a garbage truck with Zhu Zhu's father at work.He jumped out of the car, strode across the sidewalk, lifted the lid of a trash can, pulled to the front of the car, and dumped the trash into the shredder. "See that man? That's Zhu Zhu's father." He said with a proud tone in his voice. Nick admired Zhu Zhu's father's graceful movements and the continuous body movements.It was a show of forearm strength as he dragged the trash can from the basement entrance, across the sidewalk, and to the front of the car.And he can make a lot of noise without scruples, move the trash can to the front of the car, start the grinder, and then lift and dump.This is mainly a movement of the shoulders.He lifted the lid and made a special noise.There was a touch of contempt in that gesture, but there was something graceful about it.These things are all obtained in the course of his work. Then he put the trash can back in front of the cast-iron railing in front of the basement.This, Nick felt, was also a special opportunity of the job. They arrived at the apartment building where Loretta lived and walked in together. Loretta, standing in the aisle, turned her head for him to kiss.He kissed her, leaning her body against the mailbox, her book dangling between them. "Who's home?" he asked. "Everyone is at home." He pushed her into the corner where the letter box stood, and she could hear the swishing sound of her skirt sliding through the metal hole through which the mail was checked. "You still think I'd better not have that car?" "Where do you park your car in broad daylight?" "We can put the car in the parking lot at Orchard Beach. It's just the gull and me." She kisses him. "Then steal another one," she said vaguely. He opened his eyes as he kissed her.She looked at him, her brown eyes wide open, as if seven things were going on in her head at once.She knew that he slept with other girls, masturbated, fellatio, whatever.Insertion, extraction, insertion, thrusting, wearing a condom, not wearing a condom, whatever the case.She also knew the names of the girls, some from Washington Avenue, some from Valentine Avenue, one from Kingsbridge Road.Rumors were passed among others, sure that such things would eventually reach her ears.Moreover, he also knew that she learned these things from the chat between Gloria and Zhu Zhu.It was a bit like the radio series his mother listened to while she was making beads, one after another. "Are you meeting me tomorrow?" she asked. "I go to work tomorrow." "They're all at home. What can I say?" "I have to work, what can I say?" "How long has it been since you washed your hair?" she asked. He walked for a while, and finally, on a whim, passed through the wide bronze gates and entered the zoo.He braved the cold wind and passed the Sea Lion Pavilion, where there were almost no people.He missed the old Chevrolet with no plates, no insurance, no license plate and a squeaky transmission.Every time I turn left, the passenger side door pops open.He could only drive at night, sneaky and furtive, mostly alone, smoking while driving, with the car radio coming and going. His resentment wasn't about the car, or about the girlfriend, but about something else.Even in his sleep, that thing often appeared in his mind. He walked for half an hour and then stood in front of the waterfowl pond.When he was in elementary school, he used to come to the zoo with a kid named Martin Mannion.That day was similar to today, with biting cold wind and few tourists.Martin Mannion came over the fence.Later, Martin Mannion climbed into the buffalo display and stood inside, waving his jacket at the buffalo.The European bison was huge and smelled of urine, looking at him calmly.Martin Mannion was so angry that he pulled out his penis and pissed on the bison. It was getting darker and darker.Nick stood by the bird pond, his back against the cold, lighting a cigarette. "He said, call me Alan." "Call me Alan." "I asked, what does Alan do? He told me that was my name." "That's my name." "I looked at him and asked him: How is that your name? You have a name." "Why isn't the name Alphonse used anymore?" "I said: Why is the name Alphonse not used anymore? You have used the name Alphonse for sixteen years, and your grandfather is called Alphonse." "They were both named Alphonse." "Both grandpas are called Alphonse. What's the matter? He said, I'm not them." "Poor little squint." "He said, I'm not them." "He's a big fool, that's what he is." "He said, call me Alan." "I'm not them." "I could break his back." "I'm not them." "He asked, who are you?" "He's a big fool, that's what he is." "I ask: If you're not them, who are you, idiot?" Giulio Bellisario—Juju—had never seen a corpse, including a corpse at a wake, so was interested in the experience. "If someone dies," Nicky asked, "that's enough to satisfy your curiosity." "When I got measles, I missed my grandma so much." "I looked around and found no volunteers. Have you heard about Ali's father?" "whats the matter?" "do not you know?" "What, he's dead?" "He won the bet." "I said so at the time." "He bought a Buick. One day he was selling fish and the next day he was dead." "I said so then. I saw him in the market yesterday. How did he die?" "How long does it take for a person to die?" Nicky asked. "I'm just talking." "One day he was still selling conch shells, but the next day he died." "Who can compare to him?" Zhu Zhu said. "I drive a big ass Buick, get out of the way, you farmers." The two of them were in a grocery store in front of Nicky's apartment building.The shopkeeper's wife was called Donato's wife, and that was the only name they knew.She liked Nicky's mother, so she tolerated the two of them standing here and chatting.Outside the store, several older children gathered.One of them, Scalfo, was making a long jump at the instigation of the other four.Scarfo wanted a medical, and they told him he needed to jump six feet.He stood there, in his smart clothes and wrinkled pants, practicing on the sidewalk to see if he could jump that far. Two young men stood in the shop, smoking and watching. "I saw your father," Nicky said. "He's collecting trash nearby, temporarily." "Did he find anything in the trash?" "What could he find? Bring home something? Don't count on it." "He may find something of great value." "My mother could get hysterical right away, don't count on that." Donato's wife gave them each a slice of salami, and they watched Scarfo jump. Matt bit his shirt cuff, his eyes flickering, sneaky.He looked across the board at Mr. Bronzini, who had a strange smile on his face. "You're going to kill me," said Albert. "I saw everything." "You came, you saw it, you made a cruel move, and you checked me to death." Mr. Bronzini knew that Matt liked to hear it said, to be victorious, to hear the loser declare himself dead.He failed, and that's the result.The man who beat him was Matt. The child's mother stood at the door and watched. "How many steps did you take? Oh, no, don't tell me," Albert said, "I hope to retain a little self-respect." Matt and his mother were very happy. "He's starting to think systems," Albert said. "I think that's a good sign that good things are going to happen." The two adults drank a cup of tea together, and Matt stayed in front of the chessboard, like a god controlling the chess pieces.Recently, the kid has lost a few more games, including a fiasco at the Manhattan Chess Club.Father Paulus was there and it was a very disappointing match. Came, saw, said nothing, turned and left. After a while Albert went to Arthur Avenue.There he saw the chestnut peddler pushing the stove with a cart.It was a cartoonish contraption, with blue smoke rising from curved metal chimneys.At one end of the stove hung a large basket filled with unfried chestnuts and unbaked sweet potatoes. He bought some chestnuts.The chestnuts were very hot, and the hawker quickly wrapped them in a piece of wrapping paper, as if doing a magic trick.Albert held the chestnuts, walked into the side street, and entered the barber shop. George the Barber led him into the inner room, and they sat down at a small table, eating chestnuts and sipping spicy Old Mister Boston.It was a rye whiskey that the designer drinkers didn't know about. Albert knew that George's wife lived in a small house somewhere, and that his married daughter lived somewhere else.However, this man has nothing to offer other than a haircut.He's fat, bald, and unfortunately too strong a personality to blend in perfectly with the items in the barbershop.Two huge china chairs sit next to a towel warmer; a stamped-iron ceiling; beneath the mirror are marble shelves and stained-glass cabinets holding bone-handled razors, sharpening belts, bone combs, scissors, push Scissors, mugs, brushes, shaving soap; witch hazel, pomade and body powder smell. George the Barber knew who he was. "Piagio won the bet," he said. "Who? Piaggio?" "He won the bet. The odds are 600 to 1." "That Piaggio who sells fish in the market?" "He won the bet," said George. When the chestnuts were gone, George refilled the wine.The two sat there quietly drinking, thinking about someone winning a bet. "How about finding women?" he asked Albert. "woman." "Yes, how about the marriage?" The radio was tuned to an Italian-language station, and an announcer repeatedly yelled, kiss you all, before cutting off the air.After drinking a glass of whiskey, Albert felt refreshed, and there must be no problem hearing such a statement. "This topic is too big." "Of course, what else is there to talk about?" "Too big, too big, too big, too big." "You are too much, you are too much," said the barber. "I can only say one thing." "There's only one thing to say." "Every marriage, every marriage, not mine or yours." "That's right." "What should I say, George? Very complicated." "Of course, do we have another theory?" "What else is new?" "What else is new?" asked the barber. Albert stuck out his tongue and licked the chestnut powder stuck to his fingers.A woman came in leading a small child, and George went forward.Albert didn't want to abuse the man's hospitality, drank the wine in the glass in one gulp, and followed him out. George adjusted the seat for the little boy, and Albert chatted with the woman.Afterwards, he put on his hat and coat and left the barber shop.He stopped in Mussolini Park and chatted for a few minutes with the men there.The fake priest named Benedetti passed by here, wearing a short jacket, black square hat, and holding a daily prayer book in his hand.His lips moved as if praying, but the book on his chest was not open. Albert had to sit down.He felt a little dazed and drunk.He sat on the bench and waited for the feeling to pass. The other men left one after another.The sun was moving slowly in the direction of the hospice, it was getting colder, and there was a flurry of snowflakes.Some of the men walked to the social club in front of the store, some to the candy store, and some to walking home. A tow truck races by to tow the wrecked car before a competitor shows up. Albert sat on the bench, waiting for his head to clear up a bit.In this case, it is important to sit and wait, it is necessary to be patient.Another important thing is not to vomit.You often see someone standing on a curb throwing up.He didn't want to let himself be that kind of person. He sat there feeling a little better, less dizzy, and generally fine.Kiss you all, kiss everyone on the street, he said to himself.The faces of the bakers, the grandmothers, the cleaners became blurred in his head.Yes, and kiss the priest, both real and fake. The kids call it disgusting.I think I'm sick, Johnny. A car pulled up on the side of the road, and he heard a hoarse voice.That's the butcher calling him across the street. "Albert, are you all right?" "Hello, Joe. Merry Christmas." "It's snowing, let's go home." "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine." "Do you want a ride?" "You go, go, go. Merry Christmas, I'm fine, bye." He heard the approach of a train about a block away.He heard the screech of the train on the bend, and the rumble of the train into the station.He sat in the howling wind, waiting for his head to come fully awake.