Shaken to the Core (15 page)

Kate took a step toward her. “Look beneath all that. I have a feeling that we have more in common than you might think. More than I have in common with the other daughters of wealthy families anyway. When I tell them I want to be a photographer, they just laugh and say I’ll forget all about that crazy notion once I get married. You never once laughed at me.”

“You did not laugh at me when I said I want to take care of my family,” Giuliana said.

“Why would I laugh at that?” If anything, it made her admire and respect Giuliana even more.

Giuliana shrugged. “Back home, people would not think it was possible.”

“Just like the people here would find it impossible for two women as different as you and I to be friends,” Kate said.

Giuliana gave the tiniest of nods and continued to walk up Montgomery Avenue. As they crossed Vallejo Street, she pointed to the right, to the twin towers of a church. “This is St. Francis. My brother and I came here for Mass some times.”

Quickly, Kate caught up with her. Did Giuliana accepting her role as a tour guide also mean she accepted that friendship between them was possible? She didn’t dare ask. Instead, she focused on the way the sunlight lit up the white walls of the church, making them seem to glow. “Let’s stop here for the first photograph.”

It was the first of many. As they walked along Montgomery Avenue, past cigar makers, pastry shops, Italian delicatessens, coffee roasters, and trattorias, they kept stopping for photographs. It always took a while to unpack the camera, pull out the bellows, and get the settings just right, but Giuliana waited patiently.

Finally, they reached Washington Square and wandered along the unpaved paths that crisscrossed the park. Two old women, clad in black, sat on a bench beneath a tree. The deep lines on their weather-beaten faces looked like road maps of the sad and joyous moments of their lives.

“You want to make a picture of the statue, no?” Giuliana asked, pointing to the bronze statue of Benjamin Franklin in the center of the park.

Kate didn’t look away from the two old women. “No. I want to take a photograph of them. Do you think that would be all right?”

“Ask them.”

They walked over to the two women. Kate hefted her carrying case with the camera. “Excuse me. Would you mind if I took your photograph?”

The two looked at her with blank faces, clearly not understanding a word of English.

Giuliana spoke to them in her native language, which sounded as sweet as a melody to Kate. She could have listened forever even though she couldn’t make out where one word ended and the other began, much less what Giuliana was saying.

But still the old women didn’t seem to understand. When one of them answered, her language was somehow different from Giuliana’s.

“I think they are from Genoa,” Giuliana said. “I do not speak their language.” She turned back to the two old women and—despite saying she didn’t speak their language—spoke a few disjointed words to them and mimed taking photographs.

The old women looked at each other and then at Kate as if wondering why anyone would want to take their picture. Finally, they nodded.

“I’m impressed. You’re really good with languages, has anyone ever told you that?”

Giuliana’s cheeks turned pink. “I like to speak with people.”

Quickly, Kate set up her equipment and adjusted the bellows so the lens could focus on the fascinating lines on the women’s faces. She used three glass plates on them, just to make sure she’d get at least one good photograph.

When they finally continued on their way, Kate glanced back over her shoulder. “I wonder what they were thinking.”

Giuliana laughed. “That you are a crazy Miricani.”

Kate joined her laughter. “Probably.”

“Can I carry this for you?” Giuliana asked, pointing at the carrying case. “It looks very heavy.”

Kate hesitated. She’d never entrusted her camera and the fragile glass plates to anyone else. “That’s all right. It’s not all that heavy.”

Just a few steps down the path, they stopped again to watch four gray-haired men play some kind of game. Metal balls clacked against each other as they were rolled down the path.

They sat on a nearby bench and watched the game.

“It is called bocce ball,” Giuliana explained.

“How is it played?” Kate asked.

“See the little white ball?”

One of the balls was indeed smaller than the others. Kate nodded.

“It is called
pallino
,” Giuliana said. “That means bullet. The men try to get their balls close to the
pallino
.”

Just then, one of the men managed to roll his metal ball so close to the smaller ball that when it stopped, the two balls were touching. The other men laughed, shouted, and pounded him on the back.

“That is called
baci
—kisses—because the ball and the pallino touch like they were…” Giuliana flushed and trailed off.

Because Kate didn’t know what to say to that, she pulled out the camera and took a photograph of the men playing. Now she had just one unexposed glass plate left, and she knew exactly what she wanted to use it on. She set the camera down on her lap and turned on the bench so she was facing Giuliana. “Have you ever had your photograph taken?”

“Me?” Giuliana’s voice came out as a squeak.

Kate smiled. “Yes, you.”

“No one wants a picture of me.”

Yes, I do.
Kate felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought, but she could admit to herself that it was true. Giuliana might not look like the women in the fancy fashion magazines her mother subscribed to, but her big brown eyes and the way she smiled, without any pretenses, were beautiful. Kate held back the words. Instead, she said, “I bet your mother would love to have one. You said she hasn’t seen you in years. You could send her the photograph.”

Giuliana nibbled on her plump bottom lip.

“Come on.” Kate gave her a gentle nudge with one elbow. “I promise it won’t hurt a bit.”

“All right. What must I do? Smile or put up my hair—”

Kate interrupted her rambling with a quick touch to her arm. “No. Don’t do a thing. Just sit there and watch the men playing, like you’ve been doing.” She wanted a photograph of Giuliana that showed her the way she really was, not the way she thought others wanted her to look.

When Giuliana turned back toward the men, Kate stood and moved a few steps away from the bench. She slid her last glass plate holder into the back of the camera. “Can you turn your head a little to the left? Yes, that’s great.” Now Giuliana’s entire face was in the sun, and Kate wouldn’t have to expose the plate for too long. Kate ducked and put her eye to the ground-glass viewfinder. A flap at the back of the camera shielded the screen and made it easier to see the upside-down image. Even through the viewfinder, the quiet strength in Giuliana’s features was stunning. Kate only hoped that she could do it justice.

She fussed with the bellows and adjusted the lens standard forward and backward until she had everything just the way she wanted. Only one chance to get it right and she wasn’t about to waste it.

Finally, she held her breath and released the shutter. With a soft click and whir, the glass plate was exposed. A little sorry to lose her excuse to look at Giuliana so closely, Kate pushed the bellows and lens back into the box and closed the bed of the camera. She couldn’t wait to get home, develop the negatives, and print the photographs.

As they left the park and crossed Filbert Street, Kate started to notice the mouthwatering scents coming out of nearly every house. The aroma of frying tomatoes, garlic, and herbs that Kate didn’t know drifted over, making her stomach growl. The sounds of an accordion came from a building three houses down from the corner. A bronze sign above the door read
Luigi’s trattoria
, and a handwritten piece of cardboard beneath it announced that you could get pasta, an entrée, coffee, and a bottle of wine for as little as twenty-five cents.

“Come.” Giuliana pulled her toward the trattoria. “I buy lunch.” When Kate opened her mouth to protest, she added, “You bring me ice for my ankle and did not let me pay. If we are friends, you cannot pay all the time.”

Well, prices here were much more affordable than in the restaurants Kate was used to, so she nodded and followed Giuliana in. The interior was unlike the luxurious restaurants she frequented too. No chandeliers hung from the low-beamed ceiling, and instead of thick carpet, sawdust was spread over the floor. The scarred wood table wasn’t covered by a snow-white tablecloth. But the heavenly scents drifting in from the kitchen made Kate forget everything else as she sat across from Giuliana on a wooden bench.

She was used to ordering in expensive French restaurants, but the menu in this eatery had her stumped. Her parents thought of the Italian cuisine as something poor people ate, so she’d never had Italian food. The names of the dishes made her scratch her head.
Spitini…Caponata…Sammorigghiu.
She had no idea what all of that was. “Help!”

Giuliana laughed, a gentle sound that didn’t make Kate feel bad. Then the laughter stopped abruptly. “I would help you, but…” She ducked her head and lowered her voice. “I cannot read.”

“Oh.” Kate cleared her throat. “I can. We should be able to figure it out if we work together.”

Giuliana had a skeptical expression on her face, but she obediently got up, rounded the table, and slid onto the bench next to Kate so they could look at the same menu.

Line for line, they went over it, with Kate trying to pronounce each dish and Giuliana trying to figure out what she was saying. Often, they burst into laughter when Kate mispronounced a word and it finally dawned on Giuliana what she was attempting to say.

The other patrons of the eatery started to look over at them. But instead of the disapproving glares they would have gotten in the city’s finer restaurants, people were laughing with them.

A middle-aged man came to their table. He embraced Giuliana as if she were a long-lost relative and planted kisses on her cheeks. Then he held her at arm’s length and studied her. “Bona sira, Giuliana. Comu si senti?”

Giuliana hesitated for a second before smiling and saying, “Unn c’è mali, grazii. E lei?”

“Bonu.” He patted her shoulder and glanced over at Kate, who just smiled and felt a little stupid for not understanding a word.

This must be what it had been like for Giuliana when she had first arrived in San Francisco. Kate’s admiration for her increased by leaps and bounds.

“Mè amíca nun parra Sicilànu,” Giuliana said.

“Ah. I am Luigi. Welcome to my ristoranti.” He gave Kate a friendly smile, his words colored by the same rich accent Giuliana had. “Can I help you with the list?”

“Um, excuse me?”

He gestured at the menu.

Kate and Giuliana looked at each other and then shook their heads. “No, thank you,” Kate said.

After two more kisses to the cheeks for Giuliana, Luigi walked away.

“He’s very…friendly. Do you know him well?” Kate asked when he was out of earshot.

“He is from Sicilia,” Giuliana answered as if that explained it all.

Maybe it did.

They took their time, but after a while, Giuliana had explained what each item on the menu was.

The list of foreign names and exotic dishes made Kate
’s head spin. Or maybe it was the way Giuliana’s leg touched the length of hers as they sat close on the bench so they could both look at the menu. She tried to make herself move away and put a bit of space between them, but it was as if a magnetic pull existed between their bodies. Finally, she decided that it was just an innocent bit of human contact that she would allow herself.

“Do you know?” Giuliana asked. “What do you want to eat?”

“I have no idea. It all sounds good. You’ve been here before, right?”

Giuliana nodded. “Sometimes, when Turi and I sold a lot of fishes.”

“So, if you can’t read, how did you know what to get?”

“Easy.” A broad grin chased away the shadows from Giuliana’s eyes that had lurked there when she’d talked about her brother. “I always eat the same. Bucatini con le sarde.”

“What does that mean?”

“Noodles with sardines.” Giuliana licked her lips. “It is my favorite food from back home.”

“Then let’s order that,” Kate said.

Giuliana smiled and signaled to Luigi across the room. Once they had ordered, she got up and moved back to her side of the table.

Kate rubbed her leg beneath the table. It felt strangely cold.

In short order, two plates of steaming food were set down in front of them.

The plate heaped with golden pasta made Kate’s mouth water, but she still couldn’t imagine she’d manage to eat all of it. “What is it called again?” she asked once they were alone again.

“Bucatini con le sarde,” Giuliana said. “But when Papà came to the home with an empty net, we had to eat bucatini con le sarde scappate.”

“What does that mean?”

“Noodles with escaped sardines.” Giuliana grinned. “That is a joke poor people make who cannot buy fishes.”

Kate had to admit to herself that she couldn’t imagine how it had to feel to go hungry or to eat pasta day in and day out, without meat or fish. She admired the Sicilian people for being able to joke about it.

Giuliana inhaled the scent of her noodles. Her eyes fluttered closed, and the shadows of happy memories ghosted over her face.

With her fork and knife hovering over her own plate, Kate watched her. Rarely had she seen Giuliana so unguarded, so happy yet at the same time a little sad. She had to miss her family something fierce. Kate’s heart went out to her.

When Giuliana opened her eyes, Kate quickly directed her attention back to her own plate and started to cut up the bucatini—long, thin noodles with a hole in it, like edible straws.

“Oh, no!” Giuliana pushed back her own plate with a horrified expression. “That is not how to eat bucatini.”

Kate eyed the pasta. “Does it matter?”

“Yes. Look. This is how you do it.” Giuliana picked up a fork and a big spoon and twirled a few strands of her own pasta around her fork until she had created a small ball that she lifted to her mouth without creating a mess. “Now you try.”