PE4: Internal Crisis

Inner Crisis Synopsis  (E) Severino has some important decisions to make #1847381 by Bikerider

PE4: Internal Crisis

Severino sensed something was wrong as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. Fear crept up his spine as his eyes focused on the blanket covering his bed. He always left it hanging to the floor to hide the toolbox he kept hidden. It contained his savings and important documents, including his Passport. Now the blanket was thrown back over the mattress and the box was gone; along with all the money he worked so hard to save.

He dropped to his knees and looked under the bed. The dust had been disturbed as if someone dragged the box. He stood and surveyed the room as anger thumped in his chest. The door, and its lock, was intact. He hadn't left the door ajar, he was certain to check it carefully, shaking it noisily, each morning before leaving for work. Someone had let themselves in, or was given access. He made a mental list of who had a key to his room, but there was only one person; Mrs. Steinbaum.

He found Mrs. Steinbaum downstairs in the kitchen, stirring the contents of a pot vigorously as the skin on her upper arms shook like jelly. She looked up from the large, steaming pot, beads of sweat glistened on her furrowed forehead.

"Who was in my room today?" His hands trembled with anger.

"Your lady friend," she replied turning back to what she was stirring. "Antonia...isn't that her name?" She paused. "Her mother was here with her."

"Her mother?" Severino replied. "What was she doing here?"

"You should ask her." She lifted her eyes from the stove and looked at Severino, the large wooden spoon in her hand poked toward him with each word she spoke. "She is angry with you for what you have done to her daughter." She put the spoon down and walked to a cabinet in the corner.

"Antonia is not a little girl, she's a grown woman. Old enough to make her own decisions."

Mrs. Steinbaum turned back to Severino as she spoke. "And did she decide to get pregnant all on her own?" Sarcasm dripped from the words.

"Pregnant?" Severino's shoulders sagged. "She told you she is pregnant? Antonia told you that?"

"No, her mother told me. She is very upset with you. I think it is good that you, being at work and not here when she came."

"Maybe. But if I was here she wouldn't have stolen my money."

"What money?" She looked at him skeptically.

"All the money I saved since coming here. All of it, the entire tool box."

"Just before they left Antonia came down to talk to me. She said she wasn't feeling well so I gave her a glass of water. When we returned to the front door her mother had already left. I didn't see a box."

"She took it. No one else could have. But I am going to get my money back, no matter what I have to do."

She looked at him silently for a moment then opened a drawer in the cabinet and took out an envelope with red, white and blue marks along its outer edges. "This came for you yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Severino stood. "Why didn't you give it to me yesterday?" He walked to where she was standing and took the envelope. He saw the air mail markings. It's from Italy.

"Because I didn't see you yesterday. You came in very late. You were probably with that girl...the one you got pregnant." Her voice was edged with disdain.

Severino turned the envelope over in his hands and saw the return address. It was from Angela. He put the letter in his pocket and turned to leave.

"Don't hurt anyone. You have enough trouble already."

"I'll do what I have to. I want my money back."

Severino didn't tell Mrs. Steinbaum that not only was all the money he had in that toolbox, but his future was there as well. He had arranged to buy a grocery store in Brooklyn, and the money he had saved was just enough for the rent and to stock the store. He would be able to quit the dangerous work in the subway tunnels, stop working ten hours a day in the freezing cold of winter, and leave the constant fear of a cave-in. Without that toolbox he would have to start all over again. A year and a half would be wasted.

. . .

Severino climbed the stairs of the apartment building and stopped at the door on the second floor, the one with the number two painted in red on the center. The sound of loud voices and crying babies filtered out from behind the door of the apartment across the hall. He knocked, when no one answered he knocked a second time, harder. Still no one answered. He turned to walk away just as the door opened slightly. He could see Antonia's brown eyes peering out at him. She glanced over her shoulder and turned back to him quickly. "Severino...you must go."

"Antonia," he said. "Is it true?"

"Yes, Severino, it is true." She turned her head and looked inside the apartment, then turned back to him. Stress narrowed her eyes. "You must go, my mother will be awake soon. It's better if she doesn't see you."

"I want the money she took from my room."

"I asked her not to take it," she whispered. "But she is very angry. She saw the locked box and thought it contained money. Money that she said will be used to support the baby."

"You're not going to have the baby."

"Severino, what are you saying?" Her eyes pooled with tears. "Of course I will, I have no choice." Her eyes opened wide at the sound of footsteps behind her. "You must go!"

The door was pulled open and Severino saw Antonia's mother, a large, fleshy, dark haired women in her mid-fifties. She glared at him. "What are you doing here? You have caused enough trouble. You must leave."

"I want my money. You stole it from my room."

"Your money?" A thin smile spread across her face. "I know nothing of this. But if you have money it should be used to pay for the baby you made. If my husband was alive you would have more trouble than a few missing dollars. You have ruined my daughter. Now leave!"

"I'll be happy to go," he looked directly into the older woman's dark eyes. "I will get my money back, make no mistake. It will be easier if you just give it to me now."

"So that's the kind of man you are, are you?" She stepped toward Severino. "You come here to the home of my pregnant daughter, the woman whose reputation you soiled, and you threaten us?" She turned to Antonia. "You see the kind of man you have taken up with? Mio Dio!" She made the sign of the cross on her chest.

"I don't want trouble, you have enough already with a pregnant daughter. Give me my money and you'll never hear from me again."

"And what of the baby? Should we forget about the baby too?"

"I will pay for the doctor. She shouldn't have the baby."

Antonia and her mother stood staring at Severino, their mouths hanging open. "You come here and suggest that my daughter rid herself of the baby? Spregavole!" She reverted to her native tongue in anger. "You are, despicable."

An apartment door across the hall opened with a squeak. A man wearing a dirty undershirt that did nothing to hide a large, bulbous stomach stood watching the conversation. "Tutto bene, Lucia...Antonia?" he asked as he eyed Severino.

"Yes, Salvatore," the older woman replied. "Everything is okay. Go back inside, please." She nodded her chin toward Severino. "He is leaving...now."

The man gave Severino a lingering look of disdain, then backed into his apartment, slamming the door.

"You see," Antonia's mother said. "We are not as helpless as you might think. I have friends that will protect me. Now it is time for you to leave." She grabbed Antonia's sleeve and pulled her into the apartment, then slammed the door. Severino stood looking at the door just inches from his face.

"I have to talk to Vincenzo," he mumbled as he turned and walked away.

. . .

"Vincenzo will fix this problem," Severino mumbled as he walked the dark streets back to his room. Vincenzo was the big man on the work site. His job was not to work, but to oversee the interests of the people no one spoke of openly. His job was to make sure that all the materials used in the construction of the subway came from the right suppliers, the ones who paid for the privilege of doing business with such a big job. He made sure that all the laborers paid their premium, showing their appreciation for having been hired and allowed to work. He also collected the pay for the numerous employees who were on the list of workers, but who didn't actually exist.

He was also the big man in size. Barrel chested, protruding stomach, large hands and all of it held together by thick, full muscles. But there was one thing all the men working the ditch knew; Vincenzo never went inside the tunnel. The tunnel caved in often, sometimes killing the men working inside. If Vincenzo took a disliking to you, you found yourself working in the dark tunnel every day.

But he was also the man who could right a wrong, fix a problem...make an unwanted boyfriend leave your sister alone; he could arrange for a pregnancy to end, quickly. All you had to do was ask—and pay what he required for the services rendered. But if you refused to pay for the favor he performed, you would find yourself working in the tunnel regularly. That is, if you were able to work at all.



Severino stepped into his room and shut the door. He stood with his back against the peeling paint of the wall inside his room. He wanted his money returned, but he didn't want anyone to be hurt, least of all, Antonia. He didn't want her to have the baby; she couldn't have the baby. Another child would complicate his life, making it impossible to afford to buy the grocery store. He didn't just need his money back; he needed to see to it that there would be no baby. . He already had a wife and a child.

A wife...he suddenly remembered the letter Mrs. Steinbaum had given him earlier that evening. He had put it in his pocket during his conversation in the kitchen downstairs, and after hearing the news about Antonia he had completely forgotten it. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the envelope. He tore the flap open and removed the letter, unfolding it, his eyes moved slowly down the page.

It began: Marito Mio Carissimo. The handwriting was neat, and Severino smiled when he read how she had begun; My dear husband. He reached the end of the letter and let out a long breath. Angela was thankful for the money he had been sending, especially the extra money since Giuseppe arrived. Italy was in turmoil since Mussolini signed a pact with the Axis Powers, the economy was failing and the price of everything was going up. There was talk that Italy would be sanctioned. Things were not good. People were leaving the village for America every day now. Her mother, MariaRosa, was not well but not seriously ill.

The last sentence caught his attention. I want to come to America. Maybe it will be nothing more than a visit. But I promised my mother that I would go, look, see if America is a place where I can live, and be happy. Please send enough money so that I can come to you.

He raised the pages to his eyes and read the last sentence over again. He closed his eyes as his thoughts moved quickly. She wants to come here now. This is the worst possible time. The problem with Antonio had to be resolved quickly. He needed the return of his money. Without it there would be no grocery store, and no money to pay for his wife's passage to New York. His shoulders sagged and he dropped onto the bed and stared out the window at the darkness beyond. He would talk to Vincenzo in the morning. He would help resolve the problem, and soon.

. . .

Severino's eyes snapped open and searched the dark room. The ticking of the wind-up alarm clock next to the bed filled the room. Sleep was quickly replaced by the flood of ideas filling his wakefulness.

Angela wants to come to see America. She is willing to come here so soon, and she would bring Giiuseppe—my son. That is almost more than I had hoped for. But what about Antonia. She's not what is known as a beauty, no. Most men never saw her beauty. She was young, her skin soft and warm, her mouth wet and passionate. It was her passion that made her beautiful in my eyes. Something about her very few men have ever seen. But I will not see her anymore.

But what about my money...my business? Vincenzo would fix all of it, quickly. It would all be returned, minus what I will have to pay him. He will place a premium on his work for me because I have spurned him before; turned down offers made by him, offers of a better position in the pits. What would he require in return for that? More than I'm willing to give, I'm sure. Besides, what would I do as a supervisor? The men would hate me. I work hard and they would work harder. There would be complaints.

But now I have to go to him for help. He will make me pay double, if he does it at all. But if he does, he must promise that no one will be hurt, especially Antonia. Eventually she will see it is better not to have the baby. I know no doctor that will do a good job of it. But Vincenzo does, I'm sure. But he must promise. He will have to promise.

I will make that a part of the agreement. Antonia is not to be hurt. Only taken to a doctor. But what is he doesn't agree. What if Antonia is hurt? I don't want that. I want only my money, all of it. I worked the hours and hours in the most dangerous places in the pit. Days and days in the tunnels. At night washing from my hair the clumps of dirt that fell from the tons of dirt and rock hovering above my head.

It is my money. But I don't want Antonia hurt. I hope he will agree to my terms. And as soon as my money is returned I'll buy a ticket for Angela. I know she will like it here and stay. I know she will. My son will grow up here. He will not be poor. I will feed him, protect him. I want to raise my son, teach him to work hard. Vincenzo will make it all possible. Angela has to stay. My son must stay.

. . .

The room was filled with light as Severino's eyes opened slowly. The clock ticking next to the bed suddenly came to life with an irritating ringing. He reached over and shut the alarm off. A moan escaped from between his lips as he stretched his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold under his bare feet. His back snapped like corn popping in a kettle as he stood and raised his arms over his head. His arms had become thick since coming here. His thighs were large, muscled. His stomach was flat and rippled. He lifted his pants from the chair where he left them last night, and stepped into them. Sitting on the edge of the bed he put his socks and work boots on his feet. He thought for a minute. What should I say to Vincenzo?

His boots scraped the bare wood floor as he walked to the door and opened it. Turning to close the door, he paused and held the door open and looked back into the room. He frowned, then pulled the door shut. Holding the knob, he shook the door violently against its scarred frame. He walked down the dimly lit hall and his thoughts turned to what he would say to Vincenzo. He will have to agree...no one is to be hurt. As he walked out into the early morning sun, his thought about how long it would be before Angela could come. I will have to move. That room is not big enough for me and my wife...and my son.

. . . . .

Word Count: 2849