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Roaldus iiichmond
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The widow sat by the window watching the spring sunshine
on the granite -paved street. Across the river light fall
on the shod roofs where her husband, Edo, had worked. Down
the street men were entering or leaving the beer garden
where Edo Used to stop on the way home.
"We came oVfltr together when we were young only eighteen,"
she said, "We were married in our hometown, Brescia, in
Lor,bardy. We went by train tilrouEh rilan and Paris. At
Havre we to9k the French boat, the Transatlantique. Edols
uncle had crossed on it the year before. We traveled steer-
age to save money. The food wasn't the best, but it was
well -cooked and clean. It satisfied us. And the beds were
clean. Nothing like that hotel in New York where we spent
our first night. The beds were full of bugs, Valen Edo
gave up his work he used to sit in bed or on the porch read-
ing his Italian paper. Ii Progresso, a New York paper. I
still Eet it. No read that the hotel where we stayed was
being torn down. It's a good thing.
Edo had cousins here already, working in their uncle's
place. Everyone was working in granite then. Our own people.
So it wasn't so much like coming to a foreign land. Edo
never cut stone until we came to this country, he learned
it in Barre. We had happy times.
"No, I wasn't afraid then. Edo wasn't afraid either.
If he was he never showed it. None of the men do unless
sometime when they're drinking, and then only joking about
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it. But the women know.
We see it coming the change.
It begins to show in a man's face in his eyes. Sometimes
the smell of granite dust on Edo's clothes would make me
want to cry but not when he could see me. Edo was a gay
laughing man, tall and strong. Be could sing too, he had a
fine voice. And be was handsome, a blond.
We never missed one of the Italian picnics at Dewey
Park halfway between Montpelier and Barre. There was
a trolley line then, and the Italians from Montpelier would
come with their families, too. Edo was always gay. Some-
times the crowd would suddenly stop singing to hear Edo.
And it was as if he was so busy making happy music that he
didn't realize he was singing alone. Today the picnics are
fewer, and further away from home. Everyone goes in his
own car.
"Ile was only thirty-two when he died* So very young,
and the gray was already in his hair. But his life had
been a full one, a hard one. Everything he did was that
may. All of himself he put into it, whether it was working
or having a good time. he was that kind of a man. I don't
mind talking about him. I think he should be in a book.
If I could write I'd put MIn in a book myself. A Whole book
about him.
"The world is crazy today* Edo was wild too, in a way
a different way than people are now. A more healthy
normal way. I don't know what's wrong with people today.
I'm glad we didn't have children. I wouldn't want a girl
or boy of mine growing up the way it is today.
3*
"I don't care about going back to Italy. I think it's
worse over there. I would have gone back. We used to talk
about it lots. Bow we would go back together and tell the
old friends about Barre our new home and new friends.
It would have been good to go back with Edo but not alone.
"Mhat do I do now/ I don't do much. I have friends.
a few good friends. They are widows too, some of them.
we talk, play cards, sometimes we go out to eat or see a
movie, or just to walk when it's nice weather. The ones
with children —perhaps they 3611 a little liquor but only
to people they know, decent people. And they're decent
themselves not like the girls today, allays out with a
different man every night.
"That soundsloitter again? Not really, it isn't. I've
had a long time now to watch people and things to see
the change. You're too busy with your own life when you're
young to notice others. Everything is yours around you,
and your people, the ones you love. Later, your blood slows
down and you have time to sit and watch. Sometimes you don't
like much what you see, 4eybe it's just the difference in
age. The people were the same before, only you didn't notioe•
"But I have talked too much of my own thoughts and not
enough about Edo. The story about granite would be his
story,not mine. But 1 vnow his first job was with the Giordi
Brothers. Only sight men worked with him. The shed was
originally the barn of the Oiordi house. Many successful
sheds started like that, in a small way. The owners worked,
too. They were skilled 'Porkers who vented to be their own
bosses. Most of them did well. They needed little capital
to start. The important thing, Edo used to stiy„ was the
hard work, the skilled work they put into the monuments,
and the patience. And as the money came in, they replaced
hand tools with the machinery the big sheds were beginning
to put in. I never went near the sheds. Only once I saw
the quarries. All the granite I saw was dust on his clothes
and blocks on flat cars across the river that was enough.
"It gave us a good living. Le always had that. Edo
left ma money. I don't know how long it will last. if
it doesn't last I can go to work. I'm still young enough.
I can cook or even wait on tables. I wouldn't like it, but
I'd do it. I'd feel better probably if I had something to
do and leas time to think. I like to think and read.
I like to just sit here by the window and watch people and
cars. I don't feel all by myself not ever. Some way
it seems he is always with me. I guess we had something
most folks miss."
Down the street a cur was slowing up in front of the
beer garden. Four stonecutters stepped out, slapping stone
dust from their clothes. The widow said:
"His last summer, Edo used to sit on the side porch,
in the sun, and watch his friends stop in there for wine
or beer after work. They'd call out to him. And sometimes,
afterwards, they'd come over full of the news and politics
they had talked about over their drinks. If there weren't
too many of them I'd mike mine or brandy eggnogs --it was
the only way Edo would take raw eggs. They never spoke of
a.
sickness, I remember the last afternoon be sat in the sun.
It was late May. E. was looking at the early onion tops that
were showing in neighbor Tool's vegetable garden* and he
said, "Remember* Elsa* it was May when we left Brescia. May
fifteenth. And over there the potato sprouts were already
pushing through the earth. here the green comes later..."
The widow took a framed photograPh from the wall.
'Hero is his picture. You can see how fins a man he
vas. I. don't mean to boast about him. I never had to do
that. There be is with that smile on his face .that's
Rdo. I would have to cry now at the ends I'm sorry. 'It's
just looking at his face with that smile, Looking and think
trig back.'