A Bandit's Tale Read online

  “Did I what?” I was stalling. I knew what he wanted to know.

  “Did you rat on us? Did you lead the guards to us?” He shook me so hard my head rocked back and forth, making drumbeats on the wall. His thumbs dug into my shoulders, and I could feel tears start up.

  “N-no!” I stammered. “I swear it!”

  “What happened, then? Why didn’t you come with us?”

  “I don’t know….” I tried to shrug, but with his hands gripping my shoulders, I couldn’t move. I was too scared to budge.

  “I—I didn’t w-want to admit it,” I managed to stammer. “It’s just that…I—I can’t swim…all that well.”

  Suddenly he let go and sputtered, “You little snake. You can’t swim at all, can you? Yet you let us waste valuable minutes waiting for you to come through the tunnel. You lied!

  “We had a chance, Rocco. The best chance I’ve had.” Pug’s voice was cold and hard. “But because I’m loyal, because I believed in you, trusted you, I lost it.”

  “Can…can you try again?”

  He cuffed me on the side of my face. “You don’t have the right to ask that anymore. I don’t want to ever talk to you again. Stay away from Jimmy and George too—from all of us. Understand?”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  Pug didn’t hear. He was gone, stomping off down the hall to join the line of boys for breakfast.

  I was sorry—sorry to have lost my only friends there, boys who knew more than me. And I was sorry to have lost my place in another mob.

  —

  I didn’t talk to Pug, George, or Jimmy again. I didn’t make other friends either. Pug passed the word: I was a liar and a coward. I was not to be trusted.

  Once, in the yard, Jimmy made eye contact and gave me a half smile, but Pug caught him at it and jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.

  No one else spoke to me unless they had to—not in the yard, in the printshop, or in the dormitory at night. I spent most of my time puzzling out the words in books, keeping my face hidden. I didn’t cry, though sometimes I came close. And now I really did bring a book to the yard to have something to do.

  The guards and warden noticed the way I was being treated. I expect Warden Sage put out the word that I was so virtuous I’d refused to take part in the escape attempt. Mr. Wright was extra nice. Whenever he saw me, Officer Reilly winked, patted my head, and slipped me a lemon drop.

  I was indeed sorry to lose my friends. But, in the end, I reaped an unexpected benefit from the whole unfortunate episode: escape.

  Credit p3.1

  Credit p3.2

  CHAPTER 18

  Being very full of daring (but once again disreputable) acts

  Christmas had come and gone: my first Christmas away from home. Someone set up a small Nativity scene made of rough clay figures in the House of Refuge’s chapel. It was hard to tell the donkeys from the goats, which made me think inmates had probably made them.

  Even the singing and some special pudding couldn’t lift my spirits. Everything felt hollow compared to my memories of home, where the whole town celebrated together. I knew Papa, Mama, Anna, Emilia, and Vito would all be at the living Nativity scene on Christmas Eve. It was one of our biggest festivals.

  Each year, a woman and a man dressed as Mary and Joseph would appear at the outskirts of town with a donkey. Neighbors would follow them as the couple walked through the town, knocking on doors and being turned away. Finally, the procession ended at the church. There, before the crib with an image of the baby Jesus, people would make offerings of food.

  Emilia and Anna had helped Mama bake bread last year for our family’s gift. I remember how Emilia had started scratching her head with her hands covered with flour. Like Mr. Wright walking around with black marks on his head, my little sister had ended up with white streaks in her glossy dark hair. I wondered if she would do the same thing this year.

  Last Christmas, the night had been still and the streets quiet except for the sound of voices lifted in song inside the church. I’d been in charge of choosing one of Signor Ferri’s donkeys for the procession and making sure the animal got back to the stable again. As you can probably guess, I didn’t choose Old Biter.

  —

  Now it was March. Since the attempted escape, I’d continued to be a model boy. I’d applied myself in the printshop and the schoolroom. I didn’t get into fights or cause trouble. No matter who teased and tormented me, I kept my eyes down without rising to the bait. I barely spoke. That wasn’t always easy. Sometimes I had to fold my hands into fists, digging the tips of my nails into my palms until I made marks.

  It also meant that since I couldn’t practice my English with my fellow inmates, I had to talk instead to the warden and guards. Since it was a bit unusual for someone like me—an ignorant immigrant delinquent (as I am sure they considered me)—to make so much progress in English, I soon got the reputation of being a wonderful specimen of a reformed boy.

  One day, Warden Sage sent for me to come from the classroom to his office. I arrived to find a gentleman and two fine ladies, perched on their chairs like colorful pieces of fruit on display.

  “Ah, here’s the boy I mentioned. Come, Rocco, don’t be shy.” Warden Sage waved me in.

  I went to where he stood beside his desk and presented myself, posture erect as a soldier’s. We’d recently been doing drills to give us military discipline. So, for good measure, I saluted.

  One lady oohed and aahed at that, bringing her gloved hands together in a dainty clap. “Isn’t he just darling? Look at those cheeks.”

  “Rocco, these good citizens have come to inspect the House of Refuge and learn about our work,” Warden Sage explained. “Tell them how you like it and what you have learned in your time here.”

  I beamed at the visitors and spoke slowly and clearly. “I am learning the printing trade. Also, the teachers are helping me to speak and write English.”

  “What were you doing before you came here, young man?” asked the other lady, who wore a purple hat that looked to me like a bunch of grapes stuck on her head.

  I hung my head, as though barely able to think about my horrible past. “I had fallen in with some older boys, ma’am, who set me on a path to wickedness and stealing. I was arrested for pinching a moll’s leather…um, that is to say, for attempting to steal a lady’s purse.”

  This seemed a good point to wipe my eyes, so I did that. I added, “Thanks to the House of Refuge, I realize what I did was wrong. Now I am set on the path to honesty and virtue.”

  It was such a good performance I think even Warden Sage believed me. I fit the role of reformed rascal quite well. But I still looked rather pathetic. Even with more food, my arms and legs stuck out like bony sticks in my growing body. And, of course, there was my sweet face, which had gotten me into so much trouble.

  —

  March was warm that year. One Saturday afternoon, about a year since I’d come to America, the air was so pleasant we walked in the yard in our shirtsleeves. I overheard some guards talking about getting the garden started sooner than usual, since it seemed we could expect an early spring.

  Everyone in the group of men nodded except Officer Reilly, my old friend. He claimed he could tell the weather by the pain in his bad right knee. “Don’t count on these warm days to last. My knee don’t agree with you.”

  The next day, after chapel, Officer Reilly pulled me out of line and slipped me a lemon drop as usual. “Young Rocco, I’ve got an errand to run first, but when I get back, I’m going to need a hand down at the dock after the midday dinner.

  “My knee’s telling me we got some bad weather coming, and I want all our boats and equipment lashed down well so nothin’ blows away. Think you can help me out?”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m shorthanded because it’s Sunday and so my regular helper is off,” he added. “Just meet me at the back door at one and I’ll sign you out and we’ll go down to the dock.”

  �
�I’ll be there on time,” I promised. “Sir, do you think we have a lot of rain coming?”

  “Forecast said maybe a little rain later. I don’t know about them weather forecasters, though.” He grimaced as he started hobbling down the corridor. “All I can say is, something’s coming. My knee ain’t hurt like this all winter. And I’ll trust my knee anytime.”

  All through our dinner of boiled cabbage and potatoes with little dried-up bits of corned beef mixed in, my mind raced. I looked at the limp green slice of cabbage on my fork and realized my hand was shaking with excitement.

  Alone with Officer Reilly near the dock on a Sunday afternoon: This was my chance.

  Officer Reilly was my favorite guard. I’d gotten to know him pretty well over the past few months, ever since the day he’d brought me to Randall’s Island. I helped him carry things, because of his bad knee. Sometimes I asked questions about his life. He often talked about his wife and two grown daughters. One was about to have a baby, he boasted with pride.

  “Never thought I’d be a grandpa,” he chuckled. “I’ll tell you this, Rocco, though I know you won’t believe me. It all goes by in a flash, and the good times, they go twice as fast as the bad.”

  Now I caught sight of Pug across the room and quickly looked down at my plate. Pug had never forgiven me. In my place, Pug would probably think nothing of banging poor old Officer Reilly over the head with a shovel if it meant getting away.

  I felt a twinge of guilt as I plotted to betray Officer Reilly’s trust. But I was about to do it anyway.

  —

  After the meal, I met Officer Reilly at the back door. He signed me out with the guard there, and we made our way down to the shed near the dock. A rowboat and a larger launch bobbed in the water nearby.

  “This launch is brand-new and has one of those grandfather clock engines they just invented in Germany,” he said. “Was quite a feat to get one here. Do you like engines? This one is a beauty.”

  I didn’t know anything about engines and struggled to come up with an intelligent question. “So, um…the engine makes the boat go faster than rowing?”

  “That it does, son!” He clapped me on the back. “Why, it has a one-cylinder, one-horsepower engine. I hear they’ve got a two-horsepower engine being tested out over in Germany. I read all about it. Fellers named Daimler and Maybach invented it. I tell you, the world is changing fast, which is why you don’t want to spend your life in prison, boy.”

  “No, I certainly don’t, sir.”

  He was right about that. I studied the strip of water on the west side of the island. It was called a river, but it wasn’t much wider than a canal. Right now the water was dark and churned up by a strong breeze.

  Above us, the skies were boiling with black, gloomy clouds. It hadn’t started to rain yet, but it looked like it might at any second. I shivered. I was glad my plan included taking a boat. Just a few minutes in the water would be the end of me, even if I could swim.

  “So, we’re going to take the engine out of the boat?” I asked.

  “Yup. We’ll put it in the shed. I used the launch this morning to carry over a visitor for Warden Sage. Why, we skimmed over those six hundred feet of water like a shot. Plus, it’s a lot easier on my old joints than rowing.

  “I just came back from dropping the visitor off at the pier at One Hundred Eighteenth Street,” he went on. “Now’s the time to store the engine nice and dry before the storm hits. Would’ve done it myself already, except for my bad knee. I like to have help carrying it up to the shed.”

  Officer Reilly unlocked the shed door. The wind caught it, whipping it out of his hand. “Whoa! We’re in store for a gale. Rocco, grab that rock there to prop the door open while we go for the engine.”

  I did so and then followed him down to the dock, where the launch and rowboat made a steady rhythm as they strained against their ropes and bumped against the wooden dock.

  “Gentle,” he warned as we lifted the engine out of the launch. He had to shout a little over the wind. “Now let’s get ’er into the shed. I got a special place all set up on my workbench there. Want to give ’er a good cleaning.”

  We walked carefully up the bank and into the shed and then set the engine down.

  “Close the door, lad, will you? That gust is blowing right on my neck,” said Officer Reilly, not looking at me. Already he couldn’t wait to begin cleaning the engine.

  This was it. “Should I…should I bring up the oars from the rowboat now, sir?”

  “Oh yeah, yeah. That’s a good idea, go on, then. You’re a fine lad,” he said absently, grabbing a cloth and leaning close to examine some tiny part of the precious engine.

  Too absently. Officer Reilly trusted me. And I was about to let him down.

  I was shaking inside as I went back down to the dock. I can still make a different choice, I thought. I can bring the oars up to the shed, put them away, and sleep in a real bed tonight. I can do the rest of my time—seven more months—and keep going to school and learning a trade.

  Why didn’t I make that choice? You may well be shaking your head by now. The sensible thing would have been to give up my attempt, especially with those dark, threatening clouds swirling overhead.

  Not only that, but it might have been the best thing for my future. Maybe I could have gotten apprenticed to a printer or gotten some other kind of honest job. I guess I was just too muddled to see it.

  I went back to the shed, opened the door, and made some noise in a pile of wood in the corner. Officer Reilly still had his back to me, bent happily over his engine.

  “Done!” I called cheerily. “I’ll just run up and sign myself back in.”

  “Oh, all right. Save me the trouble. That’s a good lad,” he said again, intent on getting the last specks of dirt out of his pride and joy.

  It was, of course, against the rules for me to return alone.

  I had to hope that the rules had slipped Officer Reilly’s mind. Because while he thought me safely back in the House of Refuge, I’d be rowing myself across the water.

  Even if he did look up and see that I hadn’t actually brought the oars in, his bad knee meant I’d still have time to get a head start.

  I ran to the rowboat and untied it quickly. Then I held it steady in the rocking water while I clambered in. The shed door stayed closed, and no one else was in sight.

  The boat spun away from the dock, and for a second I panicked. The wind was high, whipping around the rowboat so I almost couldn’t control it. I’d never rowed before. I had seen it done, though, and after spinning in circles a couple of times, I managed to get myself pointed in the right direction.

  “Crikey!” I exclaimed, using Pug’s favorite expression. This was harder than it looked.

  Officer Reilly had said the distance was about six hundred feet. I pulled hard on the oars. I was almost halfway across, rowing with my back facing Manhattan, when the door of the shed flung open. Officer Reilly appeared in the doorway, waving his arms frantically.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. I couldn’t catch it at first. And then I was almost sure I hadn’t heard right. Because what I thought I heard didn’t make too much sense given the springlike weather we’d been having—or for someone yelling at an escaping inmate.

  What he yelled was this: “Come back, Rocco! My knee tells me it’s gonna snow hard!”

  CHAPTER 19

  Containing a storm so terrible that the reader cannot laugh even once through the entire chapter

  Poor Officer Reilly!

  He’d been taken in. Taken in by my innocent face and polite speech. He didn’t realize how well Tony had trained me to fool a sucker. I hoped he wouldn’t get into trouble because of me. After all, boys tried to escape all the time.

  Most, like Pug, George, and Jimmy, didn’t make it. Around Christmas, a boy in my dormitory had tried to go over the wall, but broke his leg jumping off on the other side. Pug had told us about an inmate who managed to swim across the Bronx
Kill. A week later, he made the mistake of visiting an old friend who’d been arrested. In the police station, a copper overheard him bragging to his friend about his daring escape. He was nabbed right then and there.

  No one, though, had ever done what I was attempting: to get away in the midst of a ferocious storm. The strong gusts almost blew my cap away, and I had to try to stuff it in my pocket without letting go of the oars. The water was dark and wild. It started to sprinkle, but those clouds looked so heavy I felt sure they would burst over my head anytime now. And it didn’t help that I had no idea how to row a boat and keep it pointed in the right direction—away from the House of Refuge.

  —

  But I did it. By the time I reached the dock on the Manhattan side of the Harlem River, my hands and face stung with cold, though at least I still felt a little warm from my struggle to get across.

  Luckily, no one saw me tie up the boat. I stashed the oars inside, hoping they wouldn’t be stolen. That would just make Officer Reilly more upset. As I walked away from the wharf, I considered getting rid of my telltale House of Refuge gray coat. But the wind was too fierce. Besides, I figured it wouldn’t be noticed on such a stormy Sunday.

  I’d landed at the pier at 118th Street. By the time I walked over to Fifth Avenue, the sprinkles had turned to light rain and the light rain had become a downpour. My plan was to walk south along the east boundary of Central Park and head toward Little Italy. I was more than a hundred and thirty blocks—seven miles, I guessed—from the alley near Mulberry and Hester Streets where I’d hidden my four dollars.

  At least, I wasn’t worried about getting lost. Even though New York City is enormous, it’s easy to find your way around because it’s laid out like a grid. Numbered streets run horizontally across the island, east to west. The lower numbers are in the southern part. The avenues run up and down, north to south. The blocks between the avenues take longer to walk across since they’re much wider.