Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5 Carmen wiped away tears as she and Tony and Mrs. Grasso hurried through the streets. Mrs. Grasso had explained what happened—that Papa had become very ill around lunchtime. Mr. Vita took Papa home in a wagon. "He's in bed now," Mrs. Grasso continued as they passed the bakery. "The doctor already came. He said your father has some new kind of flu."

The word flu made Carmen feel calmer. The flu wasn't really a killer, like typhoid or polio or rabies. Carmen had the flu just last year. She'd felt rotten and was in bed for days. But within a week she was back to herself. Papa will be fine, Papa will be fine, Carmen repeated to herself as her boots clicked against the stone streets. And looking around her, everything was the same as always. There were the little kids playing hide-and-seek between the pushcarts piled high with fruits and vegetables. There was Mrs. Ortelli through the window of the bakery, chatting with her customers. There was the gray cat sunning himself outside the tailor's shop, and the hams and sausages hanging in the butcher's window. There was a rat poking through a pile of trash. And of course there was Tony, right next to her. But then, when they stopped at the corner to wait to cross the street, Carmen caught sight of something else.

The newsboy, the one she and Tony had passed earlier. Carmen had barely listened to the headlines he'd been shouting out. But now Carmen slowed down and stared as the boy waved the afternoon paper at the people rushing by him. Suddenly his words seemed meant just for Carmen. "DEADLY FLU HITS BOSTON!" Carmen practically flew up the narrow staircase that led to their apartment. She rushed past Mr. Vita into the small bedroom she and Papa shared. Another neighbor, Mrs. Perelli, was kneeling next to Papa's bed. But that man in the bed… that couldn't be Papa. He looked like a shivering ghost, deathly pale, lips tinged blue. His teeth chattered, even though the bed was piled with blankets. "Papa?" Carmen rasped, dropping down to her knees. Papa's eyes fluttered open. The ghostly mask fell away for a few seconds.

"Mia ragazza," he rasped. My girl. Carmen sat down, blinking away tears, forcing a smile. She would cheer him up, just like she cheered up Tony. "Papa," she said, her voice shaking. "I… I got another one hundred on my math test…" But Papa's eyes were already closed again. Carmen grabbed his hand—it was so hot! As if his blood was boiling, as if his bones were on fire. She pulled a rickety chair over to the bed and sat down. "I'm here, Papa," she said. "I'm here." Hours passed, and the sun went down. Papa tossed and turned, muttering in his sleep. And then came the cough, a hacking, wheezing cough like nothing Carmen had ever heard. It sounded like little bombs were exploding in Papa's lungs. Mrs. Perelli and Mrs. Grasso sponged Papa's face and arms to cool him. They spooned medicine into his mouth.

But Papa's skin got hotter. The cough got worse and worse. Carmen sat in her chair, gripping Papa's hand. Her mind kept drifting back to the flood after the earthquake, when Carmen clung to Papa's back as they were caught in the churning sea. Nonna had told her the story so many times. "I was up early that day," she always began, "because that naughty goat escaped again. I'd just reached the top of the hill when everything started to shake." The earthquake lasted forty seconds but it felt like years, she said. When it was over, she raced down the hill to the house. The roof had collapsed. But Mama, Papa, and Carmen made it out, and were safe. "We thought the worst was over. But we were wrong." The earthquake had caused the sea to rise up. Now tidal waves twenty feet tall slammed into the village.

"Your papa grabbed you and tried to run," Nonna continued. But nobody could outrun the sea. Nonna always got a twinkle in her eye at this point. "The water was strong. But your papa was stronger." He grabbed a shutter from a ruined house. He climbed up on it, and told Carmen to hold on to