Journal of Italian Translation - Brooklyn College - Academic Home ...

104
Journal of Italian Translation
wait, I don’t worry. You say you call, I wait, I worry, and you are a
skunk. Goodbye!”
“Ma, Ma, wait a minute! Don’t be mad! Come on, tell me, what
did you cook for us tonight?”
“Cazz, cucuzill, e uova!”
“What did she say?” Cisco had his ear close to the receiver.
“She said she cooked a prick, with baby squash and eggs.”
Cisco pushed his way out of the phone booth so that he might
better hold his sides. I shut the door to block out his laughter.
“Come on, Ma, don’t be mad! No, we won’t be late! Where are
we? We’re in Brooklyn, but I swear we’ll be there in an hour!”
“Sure, sure,” she said, “te mitt a cavalla nu strunzo e arriva a ora
de pranzo.”
“What did she say?” Cisco pushed the door open.
“She said, ‘Sure, you’ll mount a turd and get here in time for
dinner.’ But Ma, I told you we’re going to be on time.”
“You’ll be on time,” she continued in Italian, “when Minny’s
ass grows teeth!” and she hung up.
The subway trip to the Bronx took longer than expected. I rang
the downstairs bell to let Mom know we’d arrived, and we hurriedly
climbed the five flights of stairs. She greeted us at the door in
her best regal manner, wearing her most saccharine smile.
“Ma, I’m sorry we’re late!”
“Gentleman” – she ignored me and addressed Cisco – “I hear
so much about you. You are the good friend who will take care of
my Enzo! May God keep you both in good health for a hundred
years!”
“I’m honored to meet you.” Cisco almost bowed.
“You forgot the pastry?” She turned her saccharine smile on
me.
“Oh, damn! I’m sorry Ma.”
“With all that gorgeous food, who needs pastry?” Cisco sniffed
the air.
“You need! I wanted to make a feast for the friend of my dear
son! Come!” She led the way, past me, into the living room, where
Pop, Gabrielle, and my brother, Fred, stood waiting for us.
“What did she just mutter to you?” Cisco whispered.
“Nothing. She just called me a cretin and wished me a touch of
cholera.”
“With that angelic smile?”