Carmella Commands
but tense with the purpose to command. And this slight break had given him new eyes through which to view his child.
“Carmella Coletta, official interpreter.”
The phrase rang in his ears. How she had grown since—well, since he had last appraised her at all. Almost as if she were no longer his daughter—a child of Italy. Was it true, perhaps, that here by his side she was interpreting America, instead of florid screen titles, to him? She seemed to sense the spirit of the new country. Whereas he, Tommaso, sensed only certain opportunities for making money from its people. They were not his people. Were they Carmella’s people?
As they left the theater and waited to cross the traffic-filled street she took his arm with a comforting air of dependence. That was as Maria had done in Italy, even though traffic gave small excuse for it there.
“Didn’t you like it better because I was with you to translate the titles?” she asked.
“Of course,” he admitted gruffly. “Why don’t they print them in our tongue, anyway?”
“Ah,” said Carmella, “because so many young folks go, who read English better than they read Italian. But always I can interpret to you, padre.”
Tommaso grunted what might have been a “yes” or a “no.”
[153]
