Halstead Street, Chapter 1
By Simahoyo
(We know the parents of Maura Isles and Jane Rizzoli–but what about four generations back? Who were they? What shaped them–their ideas, experiences and attitudes that have come down to a certain Medical Examiner and Detective? How did the name, "Jane" show up in such an Italian family tree? And how did someone from such Irish antecedents wind up blonde and so light skinned? So many questions, and it all starts with...)
Giovanna Amari worked with her father, mother and two brothers in their tiny, airless, Chicago tenement, hand sewing gloves. They worked from dawn to dark, then by candle light. It was 1890, and they were lucky to have this job, even though it was piece work. Papa Amari had gotten a padrone to help them get work, and find this dark, single upstairs room where they all worked and slept, and ate and fought if they had the energy. He was a wirey man with deep brown eyes and olive skin. He was starting to lose his hair, and a St. Francis spot was at the back of his scalp. He wore torn, but clean pants from the pushcart peddler's. He also had an old shirt with the patched sleeves rolled up out of his way.
The padrone got the cut out gloves in huge bales, bringing them to the Amari's tenement, along with thread and needles. They were expected to finish a bale a day. Two thousand gloves, sewn by hand, between the five of them. Tomasso, aged eight and the youngest, often stuck himself with the needles, and so he was assigned the darkest colors so his blood wouldn't show. Tomasso was small, and sickly. Mama said he needed fresh air–not something they got much of unless they needed to visit the outhouse, where the air was hardly fresh. Francesco was the middle child. Aged 10, he was nearly ready to go find a factory job, but he stayed behind with his family–partly because the Amaris tended to stick together. And partly because he spoke only a little English. He was stocky, like Mama. His eyes were lighter than Papa's, close to a cup of coffee.
Giovanna was a marriageable fourteen, becoming too American for her parent's taste. She had a mind that got too busy. She looked out the window, thinking. And she spoke to American boys on the street. She had curly hair she had trouble controlling, so she wore it up. She was thin and wirey, like Papa, with eyes like mama. She, like many young Italian women, wore an underdress covered by an overdress and apron with pockets for thread and small scissors. The needles were worn on her apron top.
It was after work, and while Mama made supper on the wood stovetop- a slice of stale bread dipped into sauce for each of them, Giovanna leaned out the window, yelling down to the street,
"Pasquale." She didn't know anyone's name, but there were enough Pasquale's that someone would answer. "Do you know the time please?" A young man stopped, smiled up at her, and ran to the jewelers to check the clock outside. Panting, he ran back, calling up, "It's seven o'clock."
"Thank you." And now Giovanna ran her fingers through her hair, grabbed her slice of bread, and headed to the door. "I'm going to the English lesson."
Papa blinked in surprise at her attitude. "You don't ask your father? You just go? Why do you need English anyway. We'll soon find a nice Italian boy for you to marry. You don't go out in the street like an American."
"Papa, I live in America. I want to speak the language. The class is free, and the teachers are high class ladies. I asked around. I could translate for the family. I should go."
Mama set her jaw. She usually deferred to Papa, but here she had her own opinion. "Giovanna, you will marry soon, but having someone to keep us from being cheated in the market and to understand this new land–yes, I believe you should learn English. Papa, let her go and learn for all of us."
Papa threw his hands into the air. "I am surrounded by Americans. Yes, go. But you had better work twice as hard tomorrow–no excuses–understand?"
Giovanna nodded. "I understand."
She clattered down the stairs, stepping over the spot where they had rotted through, and out into the street. They actually lived on Halstead Street, so all she had to do was walk alongside the street, dodging newsies and gangs, as well as horses and wagons trying to move over the piles of garbage. Her nose twitched. Italy smelled better, for sure. Three blocks later, she came up to the big mansion called Hull House, and fought with herself over running away, or going in. As she stood in front, a pretty woman, with a Roman nose and a cross pinned to her dress walked up to her and smiled. She said something in English. Giovanna held her hands out to show she didn't understand. Then something wonderful happened.
"Are you here for the English lessons?" the woman asked in Italian. Giovanna clasped her hands in gratitude. "Yes. I want to learn the English." The woman smiled again, and took Giovanna's arm, gently steering her to the steps and up inside. "I am Ellen Starr. My friend Jane and I live here, and we like to work with new immigrants. I have traveled to Europe several times, and so I learned to speak Italian. I am so glad you came here to learn English." She made it sound perfectly normal for anyone going to another country to learn the language.
Giovanna smiled, nodding happily. "I am Giovanna Amari. I live nearby. I so want to learn the English, not only for me, but for my family." They walked down the hall, in the beautiful home, and into a classroom. Several people were seated together-all working people, Giovanna noticed.
She could see other Italians, Russian Jews, Greeks, and Poles. How they were going to learn together was a mystery to her. She sat in an empty place, next to a Polish woman with blonde hair and clean, but faded clothing. A slightly older woman than Ellen walked into the classroom. She was well dressed, and had a kind face and intelligent eyes. Her back was crooked, but she moved as if she could do anything. She smiled at all of them.
The teacher pointed at herself, saying, "I", then going to each student, she pointed to herself first, "I", then at each student, "You." Giovanna thought about it, then concluded that the first word was the same as, "Mi" and the other the same as, "Si". Giovanna looked at the teacher, pointed to herself, saying "I" and at the teacher, "You." The teacher nodded enthusiastically– "Yes" Soon they all were pointing and saying their first English words.
That night, they learned, "I, You, Man, Woman, Door, Wall, Face, Hand and Leg." Giovanna felt very smart and accomplished. She went home, dealing with the catcalls of the drunks as she walked. She went up the stairs, into their room, and sneaked to her pallet on the floor. Mama opened one eye, smiled at her, and went back to sleep. Giovanna slipped off her outer dress, and under the blanket she shared with Tomasso. Excited as she was, she knew she would have to get to sleep. Papa would never let her take more English lessons if she couldn't work hard. When she slept, she dreamed of talking to people in English.
The next day was the same as always. They rose before dawn, while Mama made a thin gruel of corn meal. It was like polenta, only not nearly as filling. They were all used to their stomachs rumbling most of the day. As they set up for the day's sewing, Giovanna told them about her English lesson. She taught them her new English words, then they all set to the sewing. As they sewed, Giovanna shared her experiences in the wonderful Hull house, where rich, educated ladies taught immigrants from all over. It was like being Columbus and telling about the travels to a new world.