On the Mountain—A Story
TASCA THE LAWYER came to the Mauro house a few weeks before Election Day. Mrs. Mauro, drowsy on her sunny porch of October, did not react to his importance as she might have; her reveries had removed her.
“Paul. Uncle Paul Di Martino. Your brother,” Tasca said. “What’s his address, upstate? The farm where he’s retired?”
“Paolo,” she answered in Italian, “does not write letters.”
“We’re giving him a big honorary dinner,” Tasca said. “The local associations. The Italian lawyers of the Bronx. We’re heading it.”
Mrs. Mauro stared at the porch windows and squinted to see the store fronts on the hill beyond Lorin Place. Reni had gone shopping and was not back yet.
“He did great things here.” Tasca now looked at the windows. “He should of had an appointment. Maybe welfare commissioner; something like that. There’s thousands he helped, you know. But what do you expect? Like Poppa said, he never came out. Not one election would he work. We might of even run him. But his clothes! Nobody could see him, you know what I mean.”
About the Author