My Life, A Novel

Momma scrubbed floors and took in laundry until Anna was born. Now, she also takes care of her. I look for work. There is no work in this country. Once I got work in a restaurant, once in a bookshop. That’s why sometimes I work nights, as you know.”

The waiter cleared the dishes and asked what they wanted for dessert. Anna said gelato. He said he would like ice cream, too, but could he have it in a half-melon?

The waiter shrugged and brought his melon in one bowl and the ice cream in another. He reached over, dumped the ice cream into the melon half, and began to eat.

Anna giggled and whispered something to her mother.

“She said you’re a crazy eater,” Maria translated.

“Tell her that if she talks like that, she’s never going to get to America.”

“No, I won’t. She’s too young for wise-guy American jokes.”

Later, the three of them walked back to the apartment. After Maria had tucked Anna into bed, they left for a stroll.

Again, she took his arm “My daughter said to tell you you’re the right guy for me.”

He didn’t want to pursue that line of conversation, so he told her what had happened with Life magazine.

“So you fucked up,” she said.

“Maria, can I ask you a favor?”

“Not tonight,” she said.

“No, that’s not what I mean. I just wonder if you would mind not using gutter language.”

Her face flushed and she began shouting. A couple near them looked at the lovers’ quarrel.

“Listen, Navigator, who the hell do you think you are? You fly to Italy and bomb us...yes, you personally. You come to Rome and hop into bed with me. You take pictures of Italians beating each other with clubs like savages. And then you say, ‘Don’t use gutter language!’ What’s with you? Are you Jewish or something?”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” he said. “Not a very good Jew, but one just the same.”

Maria looked away. Long pause.

“Hey, Navigator, I didn’t really mean it that way.” Another pause. “I don’t know how to say this in English. My English is bad. But let me think a minute and try to translate what’s in my head.”

They walked quietly. A motorcycle roared past. The couple that had been looking crossed the street. A mangy dog sniffed the curb.

“I used to be a person,” she said. “I married a dear man and we had a baby. Then the war came. My husband and father were killed and we had to leave. Now I’m in Rome. I’m a whore. I’m dirt. I hate what I do. I hate the men who pay me with cartons of cigarettes and talk to me in gutter language. I have to take my daughter and get away from here. I’m not asking you to help. You’re a nice guy, but the wrong person. I just want you to understand. That’s why I invited you to see us. I want to become a person again.” She turned her head away and blew her nose into a handkerchief.

He didn’t have a clue what to say. This girl was obviously determined to find an American who would marry her and get her out of here. It certainly wasn’t going to be this American. Besides, he wasn’t even sure he could believe this Excelsior Hotel whore. But it would be worth thinking about.