Document text
1„
Miss Wary Tomasi
63 Barre St.
Montpelier, Vt.
The Granite Worker
Italian
The at sun gime a WI.) warmth. A grapevine twisted
limply around the porch post, its small, dry tendrils strag-
gling against the rail, Here and there life manifested it-
self in bard, scarlet pellets pushing through the shredded
bark. On a blanket spread over the rough granite step set
George Toei huddled in a loose bathrobe, his slippered feet
resting on the brown earth. He drew absently at his pipe.
Two men tamping and beating a narrow stretch of grouna for
a bocci course held his attention, They were working -in
the neighboring backyard. It was Sunday, and a treat for
them to be in the open away from the grey dust. or the granite
sheds. Occasionally they called out to George, but for the
most they spoke only to each other or kept silent. Two years
ago George had been BANTO Street dhampion LAID favorite
game of theirs that somewhat resembled bowling. Even last
summer he had played, Against the doctor's orders, for the
swinging, stretnIttrtg movement of the arm and the force be-
hind it might easily tear the tender, diseased lung tissue
to the point of hemorrbage, This year, for certain, the
shrivelled form on the stone step could do no noire than look
an at this sport.
In the kitehen Elsa Tosi scrubbed vigorously at the
painted walls. With a sick in demanding your attention,
you bad to work whenever you had the time, Sunday or not,
19820
2.
she explained. Wisps at mast hair essayed frau her towel
turbaned bead. Geld earrings dangled against the fleolb,
jaWbones. The teen cloak struck three. Pros habit she
glaneed at the cloak over the sink, "Ibis time for biS
eggnog," she said, "The doctor wants him to take egg*.
He's tired of them in *ilk, so onee in a While I make egg-
nogs with port or brandy.'
We sat beside Wass be sipped his drink.
Elsa said in a tired voice, 'The onion tops are out of
the ground about half a foot. When Zoe acmes home, leg, don't
you take a walk down around the garage and see them."' Joe,
she informed me, was the roamer. George bad worked beside
him in the shed. He'd roomed here four years, ever sines
the children left.
George cleared his throat. His words came huskily,
tightly, as if pinched in his throat. Hack in the old
country, be said, the crops would be shoving a faint green
in the fields. It vas May when be left Italy 36 years ago.
The fifteenth. And already the potato sprouts were shoving
through the earth. He and his uncle had gone by train frau
Valeano„ his home town, through Turin, Modena, Paris, and
then to Havre where they boarded the French boat, the Trans-
atlantique. HO bad no choioe in the selection of a boat,
he admitted. His uncle, who had taught him all be knew of
carving in the small granite center near Valeano, bad crossed
once before on the Transatlantique. HA was satisfied. He'd
cross an it again.
3.
It was his mole who talked hie into coming to Barre.
It was a feat growing granite town, he said, and they paid
skilled workers well.. George was just thirty thenj he left
Elsa in Valorem and promised to send for her the next year.
'Hut yft didn't,' Elea interrupted. 'It we two years
and four month***
'That's booms* I hadn't figured it oast so such to
live in America," George explained.
Yee, he had enjoyed the trip over. They had come steer-
age to economise, the food was not of the best but it was
substantial, and everything was clew, Cleaner, and'hiS
thin white face twisted at the distasteful mommy cleaner
than that hotel in New York where he and his mole spent
their first night. The beds were full of vermin. Thome
hotels were pulled down now. He'd noticed that on a visit
to New York five years ago when he'd gone to his son's
graduation at Columbia
"It's funny,* Elsa mused tmering her hair under the
tight towel binding, "'when George loft Italy I kept planning
and dreaming of living in Barre. We've never even stayed
there overnight. It's always been Montpelier."
They'd come from New York to Montpelier, George explained,
because his uncle had left clothes and a few possessions at a
friend's home. That first night they learned that Uoore's
shed in Barre where the uncle bad. worked was sold. Perhaps
they could have found work there. Perhaps not. The BianCh4
brothers who owned a shed on River Street in Montpelier of-
41.
fered tbmoboth.york* so they stayed here.
Yes* George disliked the granite work at first.' It
wasn't like being in the open sheds in Italy where one
could breathe a little froth air along with the dust. And
yes* be agreed* the stone was softer over there. It con*.
tamed less quarts* and therefore less barmitul to the lungs.
A couple of you* after Elsa came to Montpelier a track
was laid along Barre Street for trolley aecOmmodations to
Barre. more sheds opened in Montpelier* and for a time a
number of Barre men were employed here. They earried,their
lunch and took the trolley back: after'four.
Bianchi Brothers employed only eight workers.... No,
it didn't take numb capital to operate a monumental business
those days. The shed was originally a barn* a pirt of the
Blendm house. Since most of the work was done by band*
little equipment other than band tools was necessary. The
owners worked too. They were skilled workers who wanted to
be their own bosses. They did well, made money enough to
build larger sheds* and, when machinery came in around #26*
to buy that.
The two men laboring on the bocci course strolled to
the porch, jackets slung over their shoulders. They were
around fifty, large boned* rugged* a living memory of what
Georg* Toei had been. 'That do you hear from Marc?' one
asked.
"Oh, he's fine* fine*" George replied. ens makes awe
money and has a better time than we ever did."
Mare? Elsa lifted the usually stilled eyebrows. Mare
was their eon. A lawyer now in ahatham„ N.Y. And doing
well enough to send the adopted aloe* Elsa to =mai school.
No, he hadn't been interested in granite, nor did *be
and George vent him to be. Since they'd saved a little, why
not spend it in preparing him for a profession that vas
healthier and easier?
The two in chatted briefly with the sick man, bads him
farewell, his eyes followed them as they sauntered smogs
the street to the Italian ClOb roam. It was time for their
wine or grappa, and for a hearty diseussion of politics at
home' end in Italy. The Club memo bad epee been Georges
favorite haunt. Be said nothing. Nis fingers pressed bard
around the half-filled glass of eggnog. The knnakles *bone
white.
Elsa saw. She spoke quickly, her gold earrings bobbing,
and catrhing the sunlight. *That trolley was bandy. It'd
stop right in front of the house. Sundays in imumer wed
ride to Dewey Park halfway between Memtpelier and Barre,
for picnic's. Many of the Italians from Barre meld be
there, their families with them. Today the picnic* are
fewer, and they have them further away from home. Every.
body goes in his own oar.*
A cloud rimmed lazily under the sun. George Tool
shivered,
*We'll go in now, ah, George?* Elsa suggested. She
took his arm. *Tomorrow maybe it will be nice enough to
come out again