A Sicilian in East Harlem By Salvatore Mondello

and he places each egg on the merchant’s folded arms. The merchant was gullible. When it was clear that the merchant could no longer move, he untied his pants and left. The poor merchant saw his pants slide to the ground and he began to shout; the more he shouted the greater the number of people who came to see what was going on. And they saw this man tightening his body to one side so that the onlookers would not see how his mother had made him; and fearing that movement on his other side would allow all the eggs to fall, making a frittata.

One morning after grandma and I had finished our pane e latte (chunks of grandma’s bread dipped in milk and a small amount of Italian coffee for flavoring) , she told me another Firrazzanu story:

Lu Vinti Pir Centu

’Na vota un Principi riccuni, mittemu lu Principi Partanna, avennu tanti censi di ’siggiri e nun cci putennu arrivari, pinsau di fari Pricuratori a Firrazzanu. “Te’ ccà,” dici, “te’ la pricura e ’siggi pri mia; ed eu ti dugnu lu vinti pri centu.” Firrazzanu si nn’ha jutu a ddu paisi, unni avia a ’siggiri li censi, e fa chiamari a tutti li dibituri. Chi fa? si fa pagari la sò parti, veni a diri lu vinti pri centu, e nenti cchiù. “Lu censu, dici, cci lu pagati a ’n’au tru annu a lu Principi; pri ora vaiativinni.” Torna nni lu Principi: “Chi facisti, Firrazzanu? ’Siggisti tutti, li censi?”

“E chi ’siggiri e ’siggiri! a mala pena potti ’siggiri li mei.”

“Chi veni a diri?”

“’Siggivi a stentu la parti di lu vinti pri centu chi tuccava a mia; la parti vostra,” dici, “ca vi la paganu l’annu chi veni.”