Luigi and Joe

Luigi and Joe

You could say that fifteen year old Joe Riley was less than thrilled to be taking the subway to the Bronx to visit his grandfather in the nursing home, but his mother insisted he go, seeing it would probably be the last time he would see him alive. It was a morbid thought that Joe wasn't very crazy about. He wasn’t all that fond of his grandfather anyway. The old man had been hard on his grandson. Being his only male role model, he took it a little too seriously and ended up driving Joe away from him. Now, Joe was just waiting for him to die and get it over with so he could get on with his life.

He trudged up the steps of Saint Agnes Home For The Aged like he was a condemned man. He politely held the door open for two nuns before he entered what he referred to as “The Final Curtain Call“. When he got in to the ancient elevator, he pressed the button and said a prayer he would make it to the third floor. The elevator shimmied all the way up. When it reached the third floor, it stopped with a thud. "What a piece of crap!", Joe commented as he exited. As an elderly woman was entering in, Joe shouted, "God be with you, Lady", as the doors screeched closed. Joe shook his head and started toward his grandfather's room.

When Joe walked into the room, a doctor was just pulling a sheet over the old man's face. He looked up at Joe.

"I'm sorry, Son. Are you a relative?".

Joe looked at his dead grandfather's covered body. "Not anymore", he said, with no emotion. "I was his grandson."

"Well", the doctor said, laying his hand on Joe's shoulder, "He's in a better place now."

"I know I am" , Joe said, shaking his head.

He looked at the old man sitting by the window.

"Should he be in here with a dead body and everything?"

"No.", the doctor said, "but we're short handed today. A nurse will be by to get him soon. I'll give you a few minutes with your grandfather."

The doctor left Joe with his dead grandfather and the old man by the window.

Joe slowly peeled the sheet back from his grandfather's face. "Hey.", he said. "Just wanted to make sure you were really gone. I guess I can breathe now. You were one tough, hard fisted, son of a bitch, Pop. You might not have left any scars on my body, but I sure have plenty of ‘em on the inside. Kind of funny, you dyin’ in a Catholic home, ‘cause I’m bettin’ you're on the express train to Hell right now." He wiped his nose with his t-shirt. "You didn't have to be like you were, ya know, ya old fart? I'd of listened to ya if ya were nicer, probably even more, but it's too late now, isn't it? Now you're gone. Oh, and something else. Thanks for tryin‘, even if you didn't know what you were doin."

Joe covered his grandfather back up and turned to walk out the door, but the old man by the window caught his eye.

"Geeze, Mister. You shouldn't be sittin’ in here with a dead body layin’ around."

He walked over to the man’s wheelchair and grabbed ahold of it.

"Come on. I'll get ya out of here until they clean up the joint."

When he turned him around, he could see that the old man had been crying.

"Aww, geeze. Are you okay Mister?", Joe asked, hoping he was because he wouldn't know what to do if he wasn't.

The old man looked up at Joe and smiled. "

I'm just fine", he said in a thick Italian accent. "Excuse my presence here, but I couldn't leave. You're a good boy telling your grandfather thank you. You didn't have to, but you did. You show good character. Good heart."

Joe smiled at the old man. "Really. It was nothing. He's gone now."

The old man said, "But you do it. That's what is important."

"Thanks Mister. You're ok.", Joe humbly said.

"You're ok, too, and my name is Luigi. Luigi Zanello.", the old man stated.

"Well. Pleased to meet you, Luigi Zanello. My name is Joe Riley. Now, let's get you out of here. This place gives me the creeps."

Joe pushed Luigi's chair out into the hallway. He looked around for some place to settle him in. There was a sitting room across the hall, so he brought him in there. He parked his wheelchair and sat down next to the old man.

"You should be alright here until they take care of my grandfather, Luigi.", he told him "Do you need a nurse or anything?"

Luigi hissed, "Those nurses are too busy for old Luigi. I'll just sit here like an old Frigidator."

Joe held in a laugh at Luigi's mangling of the word “Frigidaire“. He looked at the clock on the wall. "Tell ya what, Luigi. I'll sit here with ya for a little while. We wouldn't want anybody puttin’ ya out on the curb now, would we?"

Joe looked at the old man. His face was filled with wrinkles and deep lines. His eyes looked so old that the color had actually faded away to a dull gray. He couldn't help but notice Luigi's ears were very big. Joe wondered if they had always been that way. Then he realized the man still had a full head of hair and it was thick. He tried to see if it was a wig without looking conspicuous. It sure looked real to him. The old man was thin, but not a sick looking kind of thin. In fact, for an old man, Luigi looked pretty darn healthy.

"Luigi? If you don't mind me askin. How old are you?"

Luigi smiled and folded his big hands. "I'm ninety three years old", he said proudly, "and I still have my own teeth." He laughed so Joe could see that, in fact, he did still have his teeth.

"Good for you, Luigi. Probably due to good livin’, right?" Luigi hissed again, "You really want to know the secret, Joe?" He waved for him to come closer. "Every day of my life, I have drank a nice glass of dandelion wine. My own recipe. Homemade, though. No other stuff."

He gave Joe a wink. "I’ll give you the recipe. It’s in my dresser in my room. Easy to make. Much easier to drink."

He laughed, slapping his leg and shaking his head. "How old are you, Joe?"

"Fifteen."

"That's old enough. I was ten when I started making my wine. Kind of tricky to find enough dandelions in the city, but you can do it."

Joe thought about making his own wine from weeds. Not only would he not live it down once his friends got wind of it, but his mother would also have a conniption. Still, he thought it might be a kick trying it just once, just to see what it tasted like.

"So, Luigi. What other secrets do ya have for livin’ a longer life?"

"Tomatoes."

"Tomatoes?"

"Tomatoes. Eat a lot of tomatoes. Cook them, eat them off the vine or in sauce, but eat tomatoes. When I came to this country, I was poor, but I could grow tomatoes. We ate those tomatoes every day. I was always a healthy man."

"Ok I'll eat more tomatoes.", Joe said.

"Good boy, Joe. You'll live to one hundred. You watch and see."

Joe looked at Luigi's left hand. He didn't see a wedding ring. He wondered if he had lost his wife or if he ever even had one. "So, Luigi. Were you ever married?", Joe asked.

"Oh!", Luigi said. A different kind of smile came to his face.

"Four wives I had." He held up four fingers. "A wife for each quarter of my life."

Joe smiled. "So. You were a player, you sly old dog."

"Oh no, Joe. Never played. Every time was a purpose. Wife one was my true love. We were fourteen, a year younger than you. We married in Palermo, Italy. She gave me two sons, Michael and Anthony. We were very happy, but poor. So, we came to America, the land of opportunity. Then, Angelina got sick and we had no money for a doctor. We lost her when she was just twenty."

"Oh geeze, Luigi. I'm sorry I brought it up.", Joe said apologetically.

"No. No. Her memory is a good one. She left me my sons. Wife number two was for the boys. They were young and needed a mother. She was a good woman, good mother, and nice to me, too, but she was mugged in an ally for two dollars. She never made it out alive. Wife three was a good worker, but her heart was not too tough. It gave out and she died right after the boys moved out and got married. Wife number four made me less lonely for a long time. We were friends and that was important. I was a very lucky man in love, Joe. It might not sound like it, but I was."

Joe thought about everything Luigi had told him. He was growing to like the old man. He was interesting, nice, and filled with all kinds of information. He found himself wishing Luigi had been his grandfather. If he had been, maybe his life would have been a lot different.

"Luigi. You want something to drink?"

"I'd love a beer", the old man said with a smile, "but I'll settle for a Pepsi."

Joe remembered a soda machine on the ground floor. He patted Luigi's back. "I'll be right back. You gonna be here?"

Luigi hissed, "Until midnight, I'll be here."

Joe laughed and left the old man to get the sodas

.

As Joe rode the rickety elevator down to the first floor, he thought about Luigi's life. He must have seen it all in his ninety three years. He thought he had been through it all in his fifteen. He had so many questions for the old man. After all, he seemed very willing to answer them. He quickly got two Pepsis and got back into the scare ride of an elevator. His thoughts were so consuming that he didn't even notice the wobbling or violent stop. Joe was far too eager to get back to his conversation with Luigi.

When Joe got back to the sitting room, Luigi was checking out one of the nurses who was standing out in the hallway. Joe took a second look at the nurse.

"Luigi you're not thinking about wife number five, are ya?"

The old man laughed out loud. "She's too old for Luigi", he said with a wink.

"I got ya", Joe said, handing him his bottle of soda. He was amazed when the old man simply opened the bottle and took a good chug from it.

"That's good.", Luigi said. "All they give us here is juice. At my age, I should get what I want. You know what I mean, Joe?"

Joe took a chug of his soda ."I couldn't agree with you more Luigi."

Joe sat across from Luigi so they were face to face.

"So Luigi, what did you do for a living before you were put in here?"

"I was a farmer, Joe."

Joe looked shocked "A farmer in the city?"

Luigi smiled with a far away look in his eye. "Oh yes, Joe. We had a house in Little Italy, they called it back then. I turned the back yard into a big, vegetable garden. A friend built me a cart to sell my tomatoes, lettuce, and zucchini. I did a pretty good business."

"What did you do in the winter?", Joe asked.

"I sold rabbits.", Luigi said proudly.

"Rabbits? What for?"

"For eating. They were as popular as beef back then. Still are in some places, I hear. You haven't tasted anything till you tasted rabbit stew, Joe." Luigi smacked his lips, remembering the delicious meal.

"I think I'll stick to chicken there, Luigi." Joe said, imagining that same meal.

"Rabbits were cheap, Joe. We didn't have a lot of money and those furry little things sure did mate.", he laughed. We could sell a lot of them. Cheap, too. People always had meat to put on the table. You get a taste for something when it's the only thing you have, Joe." "Yea I guess you would Luigi."

Joe thought about how hard it must have been for a poor Italian man in the city. He probably didn't speak much English. His neighborhood was most likely his world. Since Luigi could provide them with food, he must have been pretty popular, not to mention one of the richest men on the block.

"So, Luigi. What happened to your sons?"

"Ah. Michael was my oldest. He went into the army after school. He made it to be Major. Got all kinds of medals, too, but he was killed in something, not really a war, in Korea. I never understood, but they said he was a hero. I still have his Purple Heart. Antony was a little younger. He was his mama's boy. She taught him to cook and bake bread. He opened his very own bakery in the upper Eastside. His sons still run it today. Oh, they were good boys, my sons. A father shouldn't have to bury his sons. He should die first."

Luigi's smile left his face. His memories were turning sad. Joe didn't mean to bring up painful memories. He tried to think of something to change the subject.

"What about school, Luigi?" Joe quickly blurted out. "Did you go to school in Palermo?" Luigi leaned forward in his wheelchair. "Joe. That was my one regret. I only went to school to the fourth grade. If I had gotten a better education, who knows what I could have been. You listen to me, Joe. Stay in school and go to collage." The old man pounded his fists on the arms of his chair.

"You don't want to be an old man like me wondering “what if”, every day he has left. It’s no way to live. Believe me. I know."

He smiled at Joe. "I'm not trying to tell you like your grandfather, Joe. I just don't want you to make the same mistake I did. I didn't think I needed school. I was wrong. I did, and so do you." He sat back in his chair and drank his bottle of soda.

Joe sat there thinking about everything Luigi had told him. He had learned so much from this old man in just one chance visit on an emotional afternoon. Why couldn't his grandfather have been like Luigi? Why couldn't they have just sat and talked? Maybe they were just too close. Maybe his grandfather just hadn't been through everything Luigi had. For what ever reason, Joe was glad he took the time to help this old man out of his grandfather's room. The lessons he taught him were more than enough payment for the gesture, and even though the generation gap was vast between them, Joe had made a valuable friend that day and he was lucky enough to realize it.

Joe's mother walked into the sitting room. She was visibly upset by the death of her father. Joe stood up and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He took her hand and led her to the old man. "Ma. This is Luigi Zanello. Luigi. This is my mother, Louise." As they shook hands, a big smile came to Luigi's face. In all the hours they had been talking, Joe had never told Luigi his mother's name. In Italian, it was the feminine form of his name. Louise looked at her son. "We have some things to do now, Joe", she said quietly. "Alright Mom" Joe answered her. He turned to Luigi and said, "Hey, Luigi. How about I come visit on Saturday?"

"I'll be here, Joe. Probably still sitting in this room."

The two laughed and said good bye.

Joe's mother put her arm around him. "That was really nice, Joe.", she said, as they walked down the hall. Joe turned his head toward the sitting room. "Yeah, Ma. It really was."

©2006 M. Eileen O’Dea all rights reserved