The Grater

I went off another prompt today. It intrigued me, because I’ve read some fiction and non-fiction about Tenement living in New York City in the early part of the 20th century. It’s fascinating to read about, though heart-breaking of course. I think that’s why this prompt appealed to me.

Thank you to Anthony for help with Italian phrasing. I know the majority of the slums in NYC at that time housed Italian, Irish, and Jewish immigrants. I also know that money was scarce, food was basic, children worked in factories, and luxuries were something people rarely saw. When I saw the word grater as part of the prompt with tenement, I immediately thought of a little boy gifting his mother with something unnecessary, but from the heart.

The prompt was Historical Fiction and must include ‘tenement housing’ and ‘grater’. Enjoy!

The Grater

Historical Fiction – Tenement House – Grater

Tolly dug through the refuse pile with determination.  His best friend, Mikey, stood to the side of the pile of garbage watching, one hand scratching absently at his hip.  Probably fleas, Tolly thought as he glanced at the dirty boy.  Mikey ran the back of his other hand across his nose, wiping away some snot.  Mikey probably had another cold.  Mikey always had colds.

Tolly was on his knees, the press of discarded items pressing into the flesh there.  He’d left off his good socks and was barefoot, of course.  One didn’t wear their shoes when out playing or digging through garbage.  He had a decent pair of shoes, so he saved them for school, when he went.  Or church, if Pops wasn’t too tired to go.  Momma was a little disappointed he wore his short pants, but the woolen long pants were too hot for late summer.

Momma had no energy to argue with him anyway.  The O’Malley’s had started arguing in the middle of the night, waking up Tolly’s whole family.  Mr. O’Malley even hit Mrs. O’Malley a couple of times, which angered Tolly’s Pops.  His Pop had taken Mr. O’Malley outside, while Momma comforted Mrs. O’Malley.  Little Sean, their baby, cried in the crib, while Tolly tried to quiet his three sisters.  Nonna was awake too, looking grumpy from her spot on the bed she shared with Momma and Pops. 

Tolly’s sisters quieted quickly.  Mr. O’Malley always frightened them.  He was loud, drank a lot, and fought with Mrs. O’Malley all the time.  Tolly wished they could just move away, but Momma explained there was nowhere else they could go.  Their landlord rented half of Pops’ room to the O’Malleys and Tolly’s family couldn’t complain, or they would have nowhere.

Slums, Tolly heard them called.  Tenement houses were the official name.  Every apartment in Tolly’s building had two or three families in them.  Momma said they were a lucky, because they only shared with one family, and a small one at that.

Tolly was eight years old.  He was gonna try for a mill job next year.  He didn’t need no school anymore.  He could read and write.  Better than Pops, who barely knew English at all.  Pops’ mill would hire him, he knew.  Or he could get a paper.  Mikey used to do papers, until he was almost run over by a horse on the street, so his mother made him stop.  Mikey didn’t have to work.  He had four older brothers who worked, since he didn’t have a Pops anymore.  His Momma wanted him to stay in school.

Momma, of course, wanted Tolly to stay too, but Tolly wanted to be a man and help Pops, so he bargained with Momma.  He’d stay in school til he was nine, then get a job with Pops.  With that many mouths to feed, Momma couldn’t say no.

“Whatcha looking for anyways?” Mikey said, rubbing his nose again. 

Tolly didn’t answer.  He instead said, “You’s got a cold again?  You should go see Doc about it.”

“Ma said it’s alright.”

“Don’t breathe on me, though.  I ain’t wanna be sick.”

He tossed aside broken bits as he dug through, his hands quickly getting covered in dirt.  Not that they both weren’t already.  Baths were usually on Saturdays anyways, and it was only Wednesday. 

Tolly sat back on his bare heels and took off his hat to wipe the sweat away from his brow, leaving a smear of grime.  The sun was particularly hot today and beat down on him and Mikey on the island.  Birds circled overhead, eyes peeled for anything edible in the piles of trash collected from the overcrowded city and deposited here.  Their cries kept making Mikey look up, but Tolly ignored them, focused on his mission.

“C’mon Tolly.  Let’s go home.”

“Just a minute.”

He scooted forward, digging through the pile more.  There had to be one here; he was running out of time.  Momma’s birthday was tomorrow, after all.

“If ya tell me whatcha lookin’ fer, I can help yer.”

“Yeah yeah yeah.  I’m lookin’ for a grater.  You know, like you use on cheese and stuff.”

“Whatcha need a grater for?”

“I don’t need a grater, dummy.  Momma wants one.  Only I can’t afford one and neither can Pops.”

Momma was a good cook.  She made everything taste so good, no matter what.  It wasn’t easy to make the sorry pile of groceries she bought into meals to feed seven people, but Momma always managed.

“I just wish I could grate the cheese better,” Tolly heard his Momma tell Pops one day in the language of their village in Italy.

“I made you a grater,” Pops said.  He had punched a nail into a piece of tin, leaving the other side jagged enough to grate the chunks of parmesan Momma bought.

“It’s a lovely grater,” Momma agreed. 

But Tolly understood.  Momma wanted something nice.  Something that would grate the cheese real fine for Pops’ pasta.  But they were expensive, Tolly knew.  Pops couldn’t waste money on something they didn’t need.  Then Tolly thought maybe he could find something in the dump and clean it up real nice and shiny for Momma.

Mikey wandered over to another pile of trash sitting in wait for the incinerator.  He fell onto his own scratched up and dirty knees to dig into the trash.  Both boys worked diligently for the rest of the afternoon.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Happy Birthday, Bella,” Pops said, kissing his wife on the cheek.  The younger girls made gagging sounds.  Momma brandished her wooden stirring spoon at them, making them giggle.

Pops grinned at them all as he sat himself at the small table in the middle of the room.  Usually they sat on the floor or the bed to eat, since Momma and Mrs. O’Malley used the table mostly for sewing.  But Pops insisted on everyone sitting all proper tonight in honor of Momma’s birthday.

The meal was good, of course.  All of Momma’s meals were.  Pops had bargained with the local butcher for a big chicken, and Momma was able to make something from the old country.  Tolly didn’t know what it was called, but it was so delicious and there was enough leftover for tomorrow, too.  Nonna made a small cake, using some borrowed sugar from their neighbor.

Then came gifts.  The girls all worked secretly with Nonna to piece together a small blanket for Momma.  They used scraps from clothes discarded around the neighborhood and from their tenement neighbors.  It was worn in places, and the stitches made by his youngest sister were crooked, but Momma cried over it and said it was the most beautiful blanket she’d ever owned.

Pops got Momma a comb for her hair.  Momma had beautiful dark hair, and the comb had rhinestones that sparkled like diamonds in her work worn hands.  “This is too fancy for me, Sal,” she breathed, running her rough fingers over the smooth ivory of the comb. 

“Nothing’s too fancy for my girl,” Pops said, beaming with pride at his wife.

Even the O’Malley’s got Momma something.  Mrs. O’Malley knitted Momma a pair of gloves for the winter, though it was far away and seemed silly for a gift in the end of summer, but Momma was very grateful for them.  Winters could be rough, and a good pair of gloves could keep your fingers from freezing off.

Then it was Tolly’s turn, and he handed Momma the gift he had wrapped in an old cloth.  They couldn’t waste paper on gift wrapping.  Momma pulled the string off, carefully saving it to the side, and gently unwrapped Tolly’s gift.

The gleam of copper caught in Momma’s eyes.  “A grater, mio figlio?” she said, her lovely voice choked up.  “Where did you get a grater?”

Tolly shuffled his feet, his toes just barely scraping the flooring under his chair.  “I didn’t steal it Momma,” he insisted.  She was looking at him with such a strange look in her eyes.

“I didn’t say you did.  How’d you pay for this?”

Tolly was embarrassed.  He didn’t pay for it.  He’d found it.  Maybe Momma wouldn’t like that.  Maybe she would be offended.

“Answer your Momma, Tolly,” Pops said sternly.

“I found it, Momma.  I didn’t buy it.  I looked all day in the dump for it.  I cleaned it real good and all.  It’s not dirty.  I spent an hour cleaning it.  With some soap Mikey’s momma had.  She let me use it.  I scrubbed it good.  Then I shined it.  It took me another hour to get it all shiny like that.”

Momma cleared her throat.  “It looks like you put a lot of work into this.”

“Well of course, Momma.  You deserve something pretty.  I wish I could buy you a new one, but I just can’t yet.  When I’m older I’ll buy you a dozen.”

Momma laughed then.  She placed the grater on the table safely, pushed her chair back, and held open her arms.  All four of her children rushed around the table and crowded into her embrace.  She made sure to land a kiss on each messy head in her flock.  “What a lucky Momma I am to have such good bambini!  Grazie figli miei!”