Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3 Tony's face lit up as they took off running. Carmen knew he loved the taste of the thick, sticky syrup. And he wasn't the only one. Kids from the neighborhood visited the tank all the time. The tank leaked. Molasses was always dripping down the sides, like ice cream melting down a cone. Kids would scoop the molasses into their mouths with their fingers, or turn sticks into molasses

lollipops. Who needed to waste a penny at the candy store when you could get a taste of molasses for free? "I thought you hated molasses," Tony said as they trotted along. Carmen shrugged. "Maybe I'll take some to Rosie." Rosie was a horse, an old mare who lived at the stable where Papa worked. Carmen liked to take her out for rides after school. They'd go to the park by the harbor. Rosie would nibble on the grass and Carmen would write letters to Nonna. Her grandmother loved hearing about all the people in the North End. But Tony was her favorite. She called him trottolino—wild boy. But today, Rosie and Nonna's letter would have to wait. It took only a few minutes to get to the tank, which rose up over them like the mountains in Carmen's village back in Italy. Except the tree

covered mountains were beautiful. The tank was hideous—brown-painted steel covered with syrupy slime. Tony slammed his hand onto the sticky tank. "I win!" he said gleefully. Carmen grinned at her friend. She'd finally cheered him up! Nonna's voice echoed in her mind. Ben fatto—good job. "Wow!" Tony said, pulling his hand away from the tank. His fingers dripped with syrup. "It's leaking like crazy!" Tony was right about that. The tank always leaked a little. But today the goo was bleeding through the lines where the sheets of metal came together. Thick streams of molasses ran down the sides. Tony stuck his finger into his mouth and closed his eyes. "MMMMMMMmmmm," he said. "Tastes like Cracker Jacks."

Carmen dipped a finger into the syrup, then took a catlike lick. "Blech!" The molasses tasted sweet, but with a bitter, black-licorice aftertaste. She shook her head and made a face. Tony laughed. Then he smeared some molasses above his top lip, making a sticky brown mustache. "Hello," he said, lowering his voice. "I'm Mr. Lawrence. Recess is now against the law!" They both had a good laugh. "Let's find some sticks," Tony said. He started walking around the tank, scanning the ground. Carmen didn't need a stick—she'd had enough molasses, thanks. Plus, being this close to the tank gave her a queasy feeling. She tried not to look at the dead flies stuck in the goopy puddles on the ground. She wrinkled her nose as she breathed in the sickly-sweet smell. Blech was right. She stared at the tank, wondering why it leaked so much.

Whoever built it did a bad job. And why did the molasses company have to put such a big tank right here? It blocked out the sun and ruined the views of the harbor. And Carmen hated to think about what all that molasses was used for. She'd heard Papa and his boss, Mr. Vita, talking about it at the stable a few years ago. They were in the little back office, playing cards. Carmen was brushing Rosie. "They say it can hold more than two million gallons of molasses," Mr. Vita said. Two million gallons? That sounded like enough to fill a big pond. Papa whistled. "What do they do with it all?" Carmen had been wondering the same thing. She knew some famous American foods had molasses in them, like baked beans and gingerbread. But two million gallons? That was a lot of gingerbread. "It's used for bombs," Mr. Vita said.

"Bombs?" Papa said with surprise. Carmen nearly dropped Rosie's brush. Was Mr. Vita joking? No. He explained that the molasses went to a factory where it was boiled down into something called industrial alcohol. Then it was used to make dynamite and bombs. Strange, Carmen had thought. But then Rosie had snorted, impatient to get out for a walk. Carmen put the tank out of her mind. Back then, the molasses tank was just one of many strange things about America. Carmen had only just figured out that Red Sox weren't things you wore on your feet. And why did so many English words have sneaky letters that made no sounds? The bombs didn't mean much to Carmen, either, back then. The Great War had just started, and America hadn't yet joined the fight against Germany. But now, three years later, tens of thousands of American soldiers had been killed in brutal