Fellowship

Under a meadow, minty green,
roosts a family -- hardly seen.
Rich in character, poor in name,
not a worry, they look the same.
They're always busy, always on time,
building their burrows, all in a line.
They huddle as one in the winters cold,
caring for their young and very old.
No money to spend, their pockets dry,
sometimes they laugh, sometimes cry.
Friendly little fellows in sympathy,
caring for their fortune of dignity!

Roaring, screeching clamor of a train rambling down the elevated track outside Joe's bedroom window woke him with a start -- No matter how long they lived there, he could not "get used to" the incessant racket reverberating through the paper-thin walls of their new apartment in Astoria, Queens. Even the rodents timed their morning calls to the seven o-clock express.

The welfare folks located this apartment for them a year and a half ago. It was your basic two-and-a-half bedroom slummer -- the half standing for a broom closet with a curtain. Joe's sister had the half, his brothers and he shared one bedroom, his mother had the other bedroom. Whenever they complained, his mother would tell them about people in other countries who had to sleep on the ground: bare earth. Somehow, he just could not identify with that image; for the scene that kept popping in his mind was one of pioneers in western movies -- now that could not be all that wrong, could it?

Joe pulled the shabby, water-stained draperies from the window and peered out to see what the weather was like. A windy, cloudy, late spring-time day greeted him; the kind of day when the sun plays hide and seek -- it hides and you seek. It had to do, he mused, for today was the big day: He had made up his mind to seek his fame and fortune -- and thereby out-run the thugs. He was going to be a "man of respect"-- even if it killed him. No more would he be a burden to his mother. No more would he take the ribbing from those Greek and Irish jerks. No more would they laugh at the way he dressed. 'He would show them,' he thought to himself. No more would those police who had known father laugh at him when he asked for their help! He would don his suite of respect and show them all!

As Joe continued to stare out the window, his thoughts went to the place they had moved from only two years ago. Boy had times changed... again! Instead of Old Man Bianco's cheerful Deli on the corner, there was a dismally monotonous, red brick building that housed Bernie and Yetta's Candy Store. They, survivors of the Nazi Holocaust -- with proof imprinted upon their person -- would promulgate their histories through a thickly worn diary that Bernie possesed to all visitors whom would listen. From this chronicle of sadness and carnage, this tattered ledger of horror and trepidation, his stories would leap from the pages as if each and every soul were buried within those written words. Joe, in desperate need of a father figure, soon became his youngest and most ardent admirer. As Joe intently listened, Bernie would speak of terror, hope, and joy -- all experienced simultaneously. Gesturing vigorously with flailing arms, as exuberantly as any Italian storyteller could, while weaving and bobbing as if to a Hungarian polka, he would talk to Joe for hours. Though full of compassion and lingering pain, they inevitably became the brunt of harassment from the neighborhood "wannabees", whom, mistaking their sincerity and desire to help for weakness, preyed upon them with the viciousness of a hungry school of sharks stranded in a depleted and antiquated goldfish pond with the two aged survivors of a catastrophic holocaust...

Even at 7:00 in the morning, a group of toughs stood outside Bernies' demanding tribute just to enter. Joe would have to brave the requests of his mother when she asked him to get something from the store.

"What's the little punk want today? Probably wants to listen to the Jew talk that crap!" Jimmy Lendahan would say.

"I betcha he's got some bread." Joey Esposito would inject in a hostile tone of voice.

"Well, let's see what he's got in those pockets." Jimmy would reply.

He could not recall how many times he stole cigarettes or got them from Bernie to give to his mother after being mugged.

"Honey, do you have the change?" His mother would ask.

"I lost it." He would reply, guardedly.

"How many damn times can a kid lose change? You have no responsibility!" She would scream as she smacked him around.

Since the day his father passed away, Jeanette began resorting to physical abuse in ever increasing tantrums. She placed her blame on tradition and the family, which caused her to repent those words and all they stood for. Yet her repentance was a source of even more sorrow. She did not want her oldest son to become like his father and felt that by "avoiding" the past she could rescue his future... but it only got worse.

Joe was caught up in the old world of the men of respect. A world he envisioned as "Knights in Shining Armor". He had not the slightest inclination of the facts of his father's world, nor of the actuality of the reality of his death. His fragmented memory of his father as a powerful, loving, and caring man of respect tore at his very soul. "Father would know how to deal with this situation! He would not put up with this lack of respect! Was it his mother whom was making life miserable? Why did she want to leave the old neighborhood and move to this horrible place? Was it that she wanted to keep him from recieving his legacy? Could he allow anyone to do this to him!"

Joe desperately desire to be loved, to be part of a normal family... to Joe, normal ment men of respect; Italian neighbors; men with guns and sharp, clear orderly lives! Yes! This is what love meant! He therefore created a family in his mind -- one he could be proud of --which caused him to become increasingly embarrassed by his "real family"! He would think of what might have been, what could have been. He lived in a make-believe world where he was the only active participant. He used those old day-dreams of the past to rescue the future, thus creating a mere facsimile of reality -- a "paper dream" to be lost, burned, thrown out and trampled. He yearned to be back in his old neighborhood with Mr. Bianco:

"Good morning Mr. Bianco, sir," he would say. "It's a beautiful day." Then an apple would suddenly appear like a magic trick with the words -"Youa wanna apple?"

"Oh no, Mr. Bianco... I can't accept that." All the time knowing that by the end of their "chat", the prize would be in his grasp.

"Youa taka da apple. I nowa tela noa one... Youa hurta my afeeling if youa dona taka!" Old Man Bianco would state in his true to form sincerity.

At which time Joe would anxiously reach out and take the bright red apple with a "thank you very much" repeated between huge bites of that delicious treat. As he thought about Mr. Bianco, he made a promise that he would return to his old neighborhood and thank him. He was always there to assist him!

Joe pulled the draperies closed -- lest anyone see him in his hour of action -- and shook his younger brother Carmine with so much force he thought the world had ended.

"Carmine, Carmine... Get up! We have to go before mom wakes up."

"I don wanna go!" He cried.

"Be quiet, you'll wake her! You promised you would go. Don't you want to see Pennsylvania? Don't you want to learn about tradition and respect?"

"You promised to take me to the Worlds Fair if I went." He said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, if you get up and get dressed I will."

His brother, now seven years old, was initially spared the emotional feelings that his sister and he experienced. Soon, the reality of life would effect him also. In the mean time he became Joe's pupil... someone that he could hand down all that tradition his father taught him. Today was the start of Carmine's "education".

It was 1965, the TV, newspapers, and everyone were talking about the New York Worlds Fair. Even though it was a short train ride to Flushing, Queens -- where this grand fair was to be held --his mother could not afford to go, let alone take them. It was the monumental bribe to take Carmine to the fair that convinced him to join Joe on what was to be the inauguration of things to come!

Joe had solid plans. In school, he had seen brochures of Pennsylvania on his teacher's desk. They all had one common and recurring theme: beautiful streams, brooks, towns, forests, fishing (could be fun!) And happy people -- all saying how they should visit! This is where he would go, the Pocono Mountains... or something like that.

After waking Carmine, he went to the closet and flung the door open. Hanging neatly in its shroud of plastic was his Suit of Armor: His three piece, black, pinstriped suit! This, his most cherished item of clothing, remained entombed since that terrible day almost three years ago. He had wanted to wear it to his father's funeral, but as fate would have it, he did not go...

The funeral was held a few days after his father and uncle had their "accident", with everyone was dressed in black -- as if midnight could be worn on the sleeve. Joe was depressed, but he thought if he could see his father one more time he could say good-bye. Unbeknownst to any one, he stole to his mother's room and carefully removed his diamond pinkie ring from the jewelry box. He did not intend to wear it, instead, as tribute to father, and in secret, he'd put it in the casket. He dressed in his suit, fedora, and tight shoes, then silently joined the solemn gathering.

His mother came over and complemented him on his attire, "You look very sharp and handsome."

"Thank you." He replied respectfully, standing erect to his full height.

"There is a favor I must ask of you." She said in a soft and gentle tone. "Do you remember the time you asked me about being the 'man of the house'?" She continued, looking him directly in the eyes.

"Yes." He answered in a voice that was as manly as he could muster.

"Well, you are now the man of the house. I know you want to attend your father's funeral. But I need you to take care of your brothers and sister while I'm gone. Would you do that for me?"

Her voice was on the verge of breaking up. He could see a mist of tears forming in those lovely eyes. Fighting for the umpteenth time, his tears, his sadness, his disappointment, he agreed with a simple, "Yes."

For the first time, he did not care for respect, tradition, or man of the house --they had no substance! He could not taste them, he could not smell them... he thought he had seen them... but he could not feel them. Later that evening, when everyone returned, he snuck out and went to their church, The Immaculate Conception, only to discover that the funeral was not held there; he did not know where it was.

"OH, God. Please Jesus, tell me what to do." He prayed out loud." I do not know what I should do." No answer came to him...

God

had come to him a long, long, time ago. It was during a dismal time in his life when his birth defect kept him confined. He could not play with the kids in the neighborhood. He could not have fun. He just sat in a chair or push-walker and had day dreams of nightmares: he would awaken to the shouts and cries of his siblings and their friends playing with his father in the back yard, jump out of bed, run towards the gleeful noise, and then, just as he exited the front door, his feet would shrivel and he'd fall on his face.... in front of his father!

When he was five years old, his father, in his determination to motivate him to walk, surprised him with a brand new bright and shiny bicycle. All of his siblings and their friends were riding bikes -- he wanted desperately to join them.

For an entire five months the bike stood silent, like himself, waiting to join in happy excitement with the others. The doctors warned his father that this experiment was detrimental to his progress; "If he cannot ride the bike the whole affair will cause damage to his will power". Yet, every day, his mother would place him upon the bike's soft black seat, wrap his hands tightly around the multi-colored tasseled hand grips and, placing his bandaged and twisted legs upon the boxy foot pedals, push him off. Holding back his tears, using all of his will power, he would push and push and push, and never get no where -- and every night, mounted upon his dreams, cool, sweet, spring time children, cheering in the breeze, would turn to laughing blizzards.

"I'm stopping. I don't wanna ride this stupid thing! Take it away!" He shouted one day.

"But you must try." His mother said.

"I have. It ain't gonna work. Give the bike away!"

His mother looked at him with sad, moist eyes, and wheeled the bike away.

Later that night, his mother came to his room and sat on his bed. Held tightly in her hands was a blue and yellow book. She looked directly into his eyes and said; "Joe, I know, more than anything else in the world, you want that bike. Your Father and I want more than anything else for you to be able to ride that bike. Sometimes it takes more than what we can give or show you for you to be successful. We pray to God every day and ask Him to help us in our lives. We must continue pray to Him. He will help you. This I am sure. If you truly accept Him in your heart, ask Him to help, and YOU DON'T GIVE UP, He will help you! You must confess your hopes and wishes to HIM!"

"But Mother, I do pray, and I have asked Him for help. I prayed to God last night, and all of the other nights!"

"But you must ask of Jesus... You must use His name. This book I have in my hands is a very important book." She said as she handed it to him. "It is The Lord's Prayer. I want you to memorize it. When you can recite it by your self you will have his power behind you."

Joe sat upon his bed, eyes and hands glued to the bright, blue and yellow book, waiting until she had left the room, then swiftly opened the cover of the book.

A colorful picture of Jesus greeted him: yellow halo, a touch of thorny brown, white flowing robe. His face seemed serene and divine. He was looking towards the simple stars which were perched, silvery-white and glittering, upon a creamy blue background. His arms and hands were outstretched, as if imploring something of His Father. And then, Joe saw His sturdy feet, encased in a pair of thonged sandals, they rested upon the brown, rocky ground...

"Yes, sandal feet... Oh, Jesus, how I want feet like yours." He thought.

He turned the next page. On a delicate, pastel blue background, within soft, white, billowing clouds, rich, black, Roman letters spelled out their urgency: "PRAY WITH ME."

He began to memorize the prayer. He would open the book, look at the words, close the book, and recite -- over and over...

Children playing in the yard awoke him. He was dressed in the clothing he had worn the day before, the book was lying, still open, upon his chest. He closed it and looked out his window onto the patio. His bike, glimmering in the morning sunlight like a knights patient steed, fully dressed in battle armor, stood waiting for it's master.

Boy, was he ready! "I WILL RIDE IT... HOW FAST WILL I GO?!.. The Lord's MAGIC will bless me!" He thought with happiness.

He reached for the book, picked it up, and started to read... suddenly, he had a change of mind and closed it. He shut his eyes and began to pray.

"Our Father Who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be thy name.

Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done,

On Earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day, our daily bread

And forgive us our trespasses

As we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation

But deliver us from evil

For thine is the power and glory

Forever and ever... and help me ride my bike!

Amen"

"I want you to push very hard." His mother encouraged. "I will start you off..."

The bike moved -- just as it had so many times before -- down the road. He struggled with the handle bars, with the pedals, "Oh, Jesus, please help me. Oh please." All of a sudden, it seemed his feet were moving the pedals with the ease of an adult! HE WAS RIDING HIS BIKE!

He zoomed down the road, secret tears wetting his cheeks, past all of the other children. Zoom, he went by the crowd of adults which were cheering him on... He had prayed to Him for His help and it was He who provided him with the courage and strength to ride that bike: Jesus in fact would become his secret Father Figure.

He would never tell anyone when they talked late at night. Mother would put him to bed and he would wait until everyone was asleep, then he would get out of the bed, falling softly upon his bent knees, and they would talk in prayer.

You see, Joe's father never truly got over the fact that his oldest son had a deformity. Joe-Pep's secret of a slight deformity of his right foot was kept locked in a file in his mind. This birth defect that plagued his oldest son revealed his own faults. Thus, Joe-Pep would always take Carmine with him whenever he could. He did not realize his penchant towards Carmine ever effected Joe... but it did.

Jesus would provide Joe with the power to love him. Joe never ever held his father's treatment against him, he just prayed that they would someday come together. When his father was taken from him, all sorts of thoughts went through his head: did God take him because of his treatment? Had his prayers in some way caused his demise? The questions and facts were overwhelming. A car accident! A car accident! How did he die! He felt in some way that he had been privy to his demise. Did he not sometimes ask God to convince father he was "normal? That he loved him? Did he not ask Jesus to come down and be his father? Confusion had taken over his life. His father was taken from him just as he was beginning to be his proud son... and Joe-Pep a proud father! Had he not given him a job! Were they not living together again? What was the truth? What were the facts? Who was responsible? These questions allowed a battle to develop with in his mind. A powerful, purposeful, planned battle. His decision to runaway from home would be first steps in a continual war of wills: A war begun with the Curse of Alphonso sixty years before; a war that had terrified and ultimatly consumed so many of Joe's ancestors...

The morning after spending the night in the Church, Joe went to school as if every thing were normal. Uniformed Police and Detectives were waiting for him along with his Nana Lou, mother, and Nana's brother, his Uncle Frank. Rather then being happy to find him alive, they were quite angry. Two cops, one tall and balding nick-named Jolly Green Giant, the other, short and dumpy, called Ball Buster, seemed quit upset. They seemed very sinister to him. Joe's Uncle Frank, whom was a "connected wiseguy", seemed to know them very well. But Joe felt a chilly breeze coming off their persons. His mother's demeanor seemed to change when she noticed the frightful look upon his face caused by the two police officers; she came over and he melted in her arms. On the way home, he informed her that he had slept in Church and prayed to God, she grabbed him in her arms and she cried. Though he felt good, confusion ruled his mind once more! What had happened? Was mother truly possesed by a demon? Had father's demise affected her so severely that she did not care anymore? What had occurred in her life which would cause her to jump in and out of what seemed like dual personalities? One moment she would be demonstrating her love, and the next, screaming her head off as she chased Joe around, beating him with a kitchen spatula. Pushing that unruly memory aside, he thought once more of her caring arms wrapped around his small, frail shoulders that morning three years ago.

Joe felt good remembering that feeling and started removing his suit from the closet. He then ripped the covering off with a fervor which caused his brother to finally jump out of his bed.

"Get dressed," he demanded. "And hurry it up!" Carmine immediately began to dress, putting his clothing over his pajamas!

While Carmine was dressing, Joe thought once more of his father and God and how he had prayed to Him. Like he had done so many times before, he had prayed for an answer: "Dear God, what should I do. Can you send me a message? Like what you did in that bible story that Sister Claire told me last week? You know, a miracle? Well, maybe just a burning bush, a small one?" He had even stepped over every other crack in the sidewalk as he said: "He'll let me know - step - He'll let me not - step." But he wasn't very truthful, he kept landing on "He'll let me know "... on purpose.

The only thing which happened was an urge to leave home and discover for himself the facts of truth and family. He was in desperate need for answers. He wanted a Father Figure in his life; someone whom he could learn from; someone he could share the good and the bad with; someone that he could be proud of; someone that he could brag about and tell stories too and of; someone whom would listen to a man of respect....for a man of respect could not talk with the women! Oh no! God forbid! He had thought of Bernie... but he would not do, he was not very strong with those guys whom bullied him! He thought of Mr. Bianco, well, he would not do because he was always so busy helping everyone. He had decided to either go out and find one or return so wealthy and famous he would truly become the man of respect... and rescue his mother and family from the evil thing that had taken over their lives!

He started to put on his suit. There was one problem -- he had grown out of the doggone thing! After all his planning, how could he leave town as a man of respect!? How was he going to stop in front of Bernies and show those idiots what a man of respect he was? What about all of his dreams of arriving in Pennsylvania with all the people bowing from admiration at such a man of respect!? After enlightening his setbacks, he decided to shoe-horne his "Suit of Armor" on!

He then reached for his jousting helmet, his brim-feathered fedora, and tried placing it on. It took no longer than a split second for him to realize either the son-of-a-gun shrunk...or his head grew! As he muttered to himself that "this little circumstance is not going to deter me from my mission" and grabbed for the now stained and soiled brown paper-wrapped Macy's shoe box: his feet rebelled! If he was going to complete his mission, he would need to pick up some shoes. Until then, his sneakers would have to do.

His mother was sound asleep, her purse on the dining room table. He opened it up and discovered there was $65.00 in bills and some change. He picked up a pencil kept by the phone and wrote her a note:

Dear Mom,

I am leaving home with Carmine. I love you, don't you worry none. When I make my fortune, I will come back and we shall move back to the old place... and repay you the $40.00 I borrowed.

Love, Joe