“So?” she said saucily, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t care about your smelly underwear.”
When he raised his eyebrows in surprise, she pressed sweetly, “Please, Angelo? No one shows me anything interesting. Everyone treats me like a baby.”
Everyone did treat Eva like a tiny princess. She was doted on, and Angelo had noticed that she didn’t especially enjoy it.
“All right. But you have to show me something too.”
“Like what?” She lowered her brows doubtfully. “My legs are just normal. My whole body is normal. What do you want me to show you?”
Angelo seemed to ponder that for a moment. Eva was sure he was going to ask to see her girl parts. Nonno would paddle them, and Nonna would cross herself and get out her black beads and start praying if they were caught, but Eva was curious too and wouldn’t mind having her questions about boy parts answered.
“I want you to show me that book you write in. And I want you to read it to me,” Angelo said.
Eva was surprised, but it was probably safer than show-and-tell, and she only had to think about it for five seconds.
“All right.” Her hand shot out to take his in a brisk handshake. From Angelo’s glower, she knew he was worried about the deal he’d made. Her willingness to shake probably had him thinking he was getting the raw end of it. He probably thought she wrote about him. She did. But she didn’t care if he knew about it.
Still, he shook her hand and began to pull up his right pant leg. All the other Florentine boys wore short pants almost year-round, but not Angelo. Angelo looked like a little man in his trousers and ugly black boots.
“I thought you had to take off your trousers!” Eva huffed, not liking that she’d already been lied to.
“I just wanted to see what you’d say. You aren’t a lady, that’s for sure.”
“I am too! I’m just not a silly lady who makes a fuss about a boy’s baggy underwear.”
He stretched his leg out, the adjustable steel columns strapped to his knee and upper leg on one end and attached to a black boot on the other.
Eva touched the adjustable braces with an outstretched hand, fascinated.
“It helps me walk. My papà made it for me.” His face changed at the mention of his father, the way it always did. Angelo’s father was a blacksmith, and he had promised to train Angelo to make things out of metal too. Angelo didn’t need two legs to build things with his hands. But that had been before his mother died. His father was in America, Angelo was in Italy, and nobody would be teaching Angelo to work metal.
“Can you take it off?” Eva really wanted to see him in all his legless glory. Angelo unbuckled the straps and moaned a little, as if it were a relief to loosen them.
He pulled the prosthetic free, and Eva stared down at the leg that ended just below his knee, her eyes wide, her lips parted in a soundless O.
Angelo looked embarrassed and maybe a little ashamed, as if he’d done something wrong. She reached out and took his hand immediately.
“Does it hurt?” The leather looked soft, and he wore a thick sock to protect his skin from the weight and pull of the contraption. But it wasn’t like pulling on a boot, and the oddly shaped lump just below his knee was red and chafed.
“Wearing the metal leg is a little uncomfortable. But I like being able to walk. I used a crutch for a long time. The brace is adjustable, and it will grow with me, at least for a few years. I can still use the crutch when my leg gets tired.”
“How did you lose your leg?”
“I never really had it.”
“You were born without it?”
“My mother said the doctor thinks the cord in her stomach was wrapped around it early on and it wasn’t getting any blood. It didn’t grow right and parts of my leg died. They removed the dead parts after I was born.” He shrugged. “Mamma said it wasn’t a big deal if I didn’t allow it to be.”
“Some of it grew right.” Eva’s eyes were on the muscles of his bared thigh, and Angelo blushed and immediately began reattaching his metal leg so he could push his trousers back down. His embarrassment made Eva blush too. She just wanted him to know his leg looked fine to her.
“I do exercises every day. I jump and lunge and squat so that my legs are strong. The doctors told me that the stronger I am, the more I can do. I am very strong,” he added shyly, his eyes darting to Eva’s face before he looked down again. She was impressed, and she smiled, nodding.
Eva suddenly stood up and left the room. Angelo watched her go, probably wondering if she was done with him, but she was back before he was finished buckling the final strap. She held a book in her hands, and she sat down close to him on his bed. He scooted over immediately, almost falling onto the floor. She wondered if she made him feel shaky inside. She felt like that around him sometimes. But she kind of enjoyed the sensation. He glanced at Eva, and she recognized the look. Babbo looked at her like that when she did something he didn’t understand.
“Don’t you want to see my book?” she asked.
“I want you to show me,” he insisted, not taking it.
“Okay. Well, this is my book of confessions.” She opened the soft leather cover and turned through the pages, not letting him get a very good look at any of them.
“You have very nice penmanship, but I don’t read Italian very well. Speaking it is one thing, but I’ve only ever read in English.”
Eva nodded, glad that he couldn’t easily read her thoughts or her words.
“I thought it was your diary.” He sounded disappointed. “Who are you confessing to?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s definitely my diary. But I confess things. Very private things.” She waggled her eyebrows at him, letting him know that he was hearing very privileged information indeed. Mostly, she just wrote about her day, but she had to make it sound good.
“Read one to me,” Angelo insisted.
“I thought you were shy,” she said drily. “You aren’t. You are quite bossy, actually. I’m glad.”
Angelo tapped the book, drawing Eva’s attention from him to the pages.
“All right. I will read you the confession I wrote about you when you first arrived in Italy.”
“About me?”
“Yes. You will like it, I think.”
“I am so glad Angelo is here. I’m tired of being with adults all the time. Babbo says I am smarter and more mature than children my age because I’ve grown up surrounded by old people. That’s good, I suppose. But I’m tired of old people. I want to play hide-and-seek and tag. I want to have someone to tell my secrets to. I want to slide down the bannister, jump on my bed, and climb out my bedroom window and sit on the roof with a friend, and not just the ones in my imagination.
Angelo is only eleven, two years older than I am, and I’m already as tall as he is. He’s kind of small. Nonna says that is normal. Girls mature more quickly. She says he will catch up. But he is very handsome, and he has very beautiful eyes. They are far too beautiful for a boy, though. Of course, that is not his fault. His hair is curly like a girl’s as well. He’ll have to keep it short and never wear a dress. Otherwise he will be prettier than I, and I don’t think I like that idea.”
Angelo scowled at Eva, and she snickered at his displeasure.
“You are very handsome, you know,” she teased. “Even if your nose is too big for your face.”
“I don’t think you have to worry that I will be prettier than you,” he huffed. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” When he realized what he’d said, his face flushed all over again.
“I didn’t like that one,” he said quickly. “Read me another.”
And so she did. She read him confession after confession, and he listened as patiently as a priest.
1938
17 November, 1938
Confession: Sometimes I’m afraid to sleep.