Books [Swiss Stonecutter]
“It's got to come sometime. Old Zonfrello went last week. He was a year younger than me. We came over together, worked in the same sheds. He was a big man, strong like an ox. He used to laugh at the dust. “Wash it down with grappa,” he said. “The grappa burns it away.” Now Zon is dead. They had a big funeral. Cars lined all the way down the street. I watched them go by. Zon was a nice fellow. Everybody his friend, everybody like him. I don't know what his wife do now. Five-six kids and only one I guess earns money. She'll have to sell liquor like the other widows. I don't blame her. She's got to do something with those kids.
“My own boys — you know them? Yes, they're good boys, but what they do? They're wild. They waste their lives away. Drink, drink, drink. It's all right to be wild and drink. I did myself. But sometime you got to stop, straighten up, earn a living. You got to grow up. They don't seem to, those three.
“Joe, the musician, got married, but not good. He didn't marry the right girl. She don't help him. She makes him worse. Already they got three kids and all they do is fight and talk divorce. She fights with my wife, too, calls her names. She ain't been to see me since I came back from the hospital. Now she don't even let the kids come see me. I miss them.