Mamma stopped, as though she had heard my stomach call out. She ran onto the sand and talked to the man. Hefashioned a cone from newsprint and filled it with fish tails. He squeezed on lemon and laced them with salt.

Mamma whispered a prayer and we squatted side by side. Normally, we'd sit to eat, like any Jew; we weren't horses. But there was nowhere clean. The Most Powerful One would understand-squatting was almost sitting. Mamma draped her shawl over my head, too, and we ate. Those fish tails were amazing.

I chewed and stared at my shoes. Life could hardly get better.

When we finished, we walked along the water. A steamer loomed in the harbor. I'd seen it the day before from the high piazza on Vomero, but up close it was overwhelming-a giant iron monster. We walked onto the dock. Mamma went down on one knee and smoothed my shirt across my bony chest and wiped my hands and face with the inner hem of her shawl.

From somewhere under that shawl she pulled out a little fold of cloth. It had a string tied around it. Another surprise? With her thumb, she tucked it inside my right shoe, under the arch of my foot. It was so small, it fit easily. "Your job is to survive."

"Wha-?" I opened my mouth, but she put a finger over my lips.

"First of all, simply survive." She stopped and swallowed and for a moment I thought maybe she was sick. "Watch, like you always do, watch and learn and do whatever you have to do to fit in. Talk as little as possible-just watch and use your head." Her eyes didn't blink for so long, they turned glassy. "Nothing can stop you, tesoro mio. Remember, you're special, a gift from the Most Powerful One. As soonas you can, get an education. Be your own boss." Then she said, "Open your mouth." I opened my mouth and she spat in it. "That's for long life." She stood up. "Don't undress with anyone around. Ever. Swear to me."

"What?"

"Swear, Beniamino."

I swallowed her saliva. "I swear, Mamma."

We held hands and walked the plank onto the ship. I looked beyond to the two mounds of Vesuvio, red in the rising sun.

A man stopped us.

"We've come to see Pier Giorgio," said Mamma.

"He went to visit his family in Calabria."

"Then we'll wait for him."

"He's not coming on this trip," said the man.

Mamma sucked in air. "That can't be." She pulled me in front of her and pressed her hands down on my shoulders so hard, I thought I'd fall. "I paid," she said. "I paid Pier Giorgio."

"For what?"

"Passage to America."

America. I reached up and put my hand on hers. That was why she had said those crazy words about survival; she was afraid of the journey. But it was worth it; we'd find our fortune in America, like Tonino. We'd send money home, enough for everyone to come and join us.

I would have whispered encouragement, but the man was arguing with her. "This is a cargo ship," he said for a second time. "No passengers."

"That can't be," said Mamma. "It's all arranged."

The man sighed. "How much have you got?"

"I gave it all to Pier Giorgio. My son's passage is paid."

"Go to another ship. Give him to a padrone-an agent- who will pay his fare in exchange for work once the ship lands."

"My son will never be anyone's slave."

"Then he's not going to America."

I looked up at Mamma to ask her what was going on. But she put a hand over my mouth and stared at the man. "Yes, he is." She took off her shawl. The cloth of her dress seemed thin and shabby, like gauze. In an instant my strong mamma changed into someone small and weak. I wanted to cover her up.

The man rubbed his dirt-caked neck, leaving a clean streak of olive flesh. Then he took us down a ladder. We stepped off at the first inside deck, but the ladder kept going down. "Go hide in the dark, boy, past those barrels and boxes. Don't make a peep till you feel the sea moving under you. Even then wait a full hour before you come up. Promise."

I looked at Mamma. She nodded. "I promise." I took Mamma's hand, to lead her to the right spot, but he slapped my hand away.

"Your mother has to hide in a different spot, for safety. Hurry up now. Go."

My eyes stung. I blinked hard. This was nothing, nothing at all, compared to being in the grotto under the convent with the body and the rats. This was simple.

I felt my way into the dark. When I looked back, Mamma and the man no longer stood in the circle of light that came in above the ladder. I went farther. Finally, I sat. But the floorboards were wet. They smelled of vinegar. So I climbed onto a barrel lid. Other smells came at me- machine oils and salted foods and wine and olive oil. And, strangest of all, hay.

Soon men climbed up and down the ladder, disappearing below or above, mercifully not stopping on this deck.

My skin prickled, but I didn't rub my arms. My bottom went numb from not changing position, but I didn't flinch. My tongue felt fat against the roof of my mouth, but I didn't open my jaw. There were noises from the deck above as though hundreds of people were up there. And there were quiet sounds, too, now and then in the dark nearby. The labored breathing of a frightened person. Mamma. I wanted to call out to her. But I had promised not to.

After a while, scraping sounds came from the deck below, then the whoosh of fire and the roar of the steam engine. I heard a clank and all light ceased.

Only babies were afraid of the dark.

A horn blasted over and over, and I felt the movement of the sea. We were going. Going to America.

I waited in the dark. More than an hour, it had to be more. I waited in the heat that grew until I was drenched with sweat. Then I whispered, "Mamma."

CHAPTER FOUR.

Whispers.

"Zitto-quiet," came a hot hiss of sour breath. A man's voice.

I twisted my neck and peered into the dark. I couldn't see him, but someone was near. "Where's Mamma?"

"Halfway back to hell by now," came the raspy voice.

Catholics talked that way-hell this and hell that. I got off the barrel and felt my way in the direction of the ladder, calling loudly, "Mamma."

"Stop," said the man. "Come back and shut up. Someone might hear you."

Yes. "Mamma!" I pressed forward. I'd find her and we'd climb to the top deck and see America.

Something caught my pants at the hip. I pulled and the cloth came free with a small rip.

"They'll throw you overboard," said the man.

That stopped me. I swam good; I wouldn't drown, no matter how deep it was. But I didn't know which way America was. And what if they threw Mamma overboard, too? With her shawl on, she might sink.

A long time passed, enough for my shoulders to ache from holding them tight and still. Think-use my head, like Mamma said. People couldn't just throw other people overboard. Weren't there laws against things like that? And even if there weren't, someone would have to have a terrible reason to do such a terrible thing.

I slid my foot forward silently. My path was blocked. I pushed at crates. "Mamma." I whispered as loud as I dared. "Mamma, Mamma."

"Don't doubt me, boy. We're too far from port to turn around. If they find us, we'll be food for the fish. There's no other way to get rid of us."

"Why would they want to get rid of us?" I said.

"No one has pity on sick stowaways. We could infect the ship; then they wouldn't let anyone debark in America. They won't take that chance. I hear that if a sailor lets a sick guy on, they throw him overboard, too."

I wasn't sick. Neither was Mamma. We wouldn't get thrown overboard.

I had to get away from this sick man. I tried to climb over the crates. Impossible.

Mamma was nowhere near. Even if she hadn't overheard our conversation, she would have called out for me by now if she was down here. But she knew where I was. She'd come find me.

"I shouldn't be a stowaway," said the man in a tiredvoice. "I paid my passage. I was supposed to go to America in steerage, on a regular ship. It took years to earn the money." He stopped talking. Too bad. At least his voice was a kind of company.

The boat pitched and made my stomach lurch.

The man groaned. "Leave it to me to pick up cholera, so they wouldn't take me, even with a ticket. But last night I heard people saying this cargo ship was heading to New York. I was practically crawling, but I snuck on."

I shook my head, though he couldn't see me in the dark. "New York? I thought we were going to America?"

"New York is America, boy. Don't you know anything? New York is paradise. The opposite of your little hovel in Napoli. The opposite of where your mamma is."

"Mamma is here. On the boat."

"No, she's not. She stuck you here so you can go to America and make a life for yourself."

"Mamma's hiding. She's on the top deck."

"Are you crazy? No hiding places up there."

"Then she's on the deck below. She's here!" I pushed hard at the crates. I threw myself against them, over and over. Finally some tumbled away, me with them. I stumbled forward till I finally grasped the ladder. It was as though I was in the grotto all over again-the panic I felt at the bottom of the ladder, the relief that came as I climbed.

At the top was a metal hatch. I heaved my back against it and it opened. Sunlight streamed in, all wonderful. The cool sea air swelled my lungs. "Mamma," I hollered. "Mamma, where are you?"

A man pulled me from the hole. "What do we have here? A talking rat?"

Talking? Mamma had said to talk as little as possible. I dangled by one arm from the man's hand, the breeze knocking me about.

"No, a silent rat," said the man who had told me where to hide. He came running over and shot me a warning glance.

I pulled myself free and gingerly walked a few steps along the deck toward a herd of cattle with pigs snorting among them. It was their hooves I must have heard before-that was what had made me think there were a hundred people on board. Beyond them was the terrifying sea in every direction. Green, swelling and falling, on and on forever.

Find Mamma. But the railing was two levels of pipes, with so much space below and between them that there was nothing to stop me from flying into the water with the next pitch of the ship. A mast rose thick and sturdy off to my left with a high pile of oily cloth folded beside it. I went toward it, my shoes slipping on the wet deck, arms reaching. I made it!

I climbed onto the pile of cloth, clung to the mast, and looked around. I saw men. Men, but no women. Not a single one.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Brooms.

"Come on." A hand tugged my elbow.

My arms and legs were wrapped around the mast as if I was a monkey. My bottom was on the oily cloth, getting dirty, which didn't matter, since I'd wet my pants. I had yelled for Mamma, then cried myself to sleep.

"Get up."

I hated all these men. They had seen me cry. And none of them would bring me to Mamma.

"Food," the man said, lifting his eyebrows. "Come."

Food? His face looked nice, almost kind. But I looked at the sea beyond the open deck and hugged the mast tighter.

He grabbed my shirt and pulled me down. "You'll get your sea legs soon," he said. "For now, take the middle path." And he let go.

I stood unsteady, arms to both sides. Path? All I saw were animals packed against one another and thick ropes coiled high. And pipes and rigging and barrels and lifeboats and the big white funnel horn.

"Follow me." The man went straight toward the animals. Just then, the ship rolled and I fell on all fours. He grabbed me by the arm and we staggered through the animals. The cows had to be thumped hard to get them to move. The pigs grunted and threatened to charge.

We came to a second mast and a set of steps up to a raised area near the prow of the ship. A circle of men sat there, stripped to the waist. They made space for us.

Fresh bread passed from hand to hand. Then came dripping mozzarella, so new my fingers left dents.

"This'll be the last mozzarella till America," said a man.

I caught the white drops of its milk in my hunk of bread. Slices of salami came around, wet to the touch. I didn't take any; they were made from pig. But I let myself smell my fingers after I'd passed it on: spicy and lemony. Then came tomatoes.

If the men had prayed before they ate, I hadn't seen it. And no one covered his head. They didn't act like my family-they didn't talk about how good the meal was and how thankful they were, even though this food was plentiful and delicious.

"Where's Mamma? She's hungry, too."