I was nine the year my Pa couldn’t find work and the Albergotti family became part of my life. Everyone knew the Albergotti family was tied to the Gambinos. Still wasn’t the accent you’d expect to hear in Cherokee County.
Pa had been out searching for work, and me and Ma had been making ends meet. I was small but my back was the strongest of the two of us. Ma said I was her little man, but I could hear her cries through the wall that separated the bedroom from the living room where I slept on the couch. She longed for me to just be her little boy.
Pa came back empty handed on a day so hot you could use the porch as a skillet. Ma didn’t want me to hear nothing. Said I was a child and shouldn’t have to shoulder grown folk business yet. But I’d press my ear against the biggest crack in the door to listen to them argue.
“I told you I can get on at Burton Dixie Mill,” she said. “Might even be able to work my way up as a supervisor on the floor.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. I wanted Ma home with me. Didn’t want to be at the mercy of the mill whistle to see her.
“No. I ain’t having you working. My job is to take care of you. I’ll figure it out.”
Wasn’t too long after and Mr. Albergotti was standing on our porch. Pa wouldn’t let me come outside when he was there, but I’d press my ear against the biggest crack in the door again to listen. Mr. Albergotti was offering Pa a job.
“I ain’t gone watch,” Pa said.
I could hear the steel in Pa’s voice with these words. I knew he meant it. Mr. Albergotti knew he meant it too. But Ma was standing next to me looking right out the window staring holes into Pa and Mr. Albergotti. She didn’t seem to much care what either of ‘em meant.
Mr. Albergotti stuck out his hand for my Pa to shake. Pa took it. I heard Ma’s dish towel snap in anger beside me.
“Jesus Christ.”
Ma never took the Lord’s name in vain. I was excited.
Pa was in charge of Mr. Albergotti’s birds. I called ‘em chickens. Pa kept correcting me.
“Gamecocks. The proper term is gamecocks.”
They were chickens. And I loved them. Pa’s job was to make sure those chickens were well-cared for and ready to fight. ‘Bout three weeks before a big fight, Pa was supposed to keep some of the prized ones in the dark. Isolated. He could rarely do it.
In the beginning, Pa wouldn’t let me come with him to care for the chickens. As time went on, he softened and let me tag along. Ma never softened to the idea.
Mr. Albergotti had bought a spread of land to raise these chickens on. It was beautiful. No neighbors for miles. And the chickens had the run of the place. They’d pick their legs up high and march around the yard as Pa softly sang “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.” He’d sing with a few tears slipping down his cheeks. Those chickens had his heart.
Mr. Albergotti was never there, but other men were. Pa called them henchmen. I didn’t know what that meant. What I did know was when the henchmen were there, the chickens went in the boxes. The pain it caused Pa to put the chickens in the boxes was etched on his face. His mouth set in a straight line and his eyes refusing to meet mine. He didn’t sing when the henchmen were there. One time he gripped my shoulder so tight it bruised. He said, “Don’t do like me.” I thought about that a lot as the bruise faded.
Pa cared for those chickens right at a year. With the porch hot as a skillet again, Mr. Albergotti showed up. Pa told me and Ma to wait inside. Ma snapped her dish towel again, but it was more than anger this time. There was power in that snap.
“It’s enough. I’m going out there.”
My eyes waited for Pa to tell her no. Instead, he sank down in his chair. Ma grabbed the shotgun over the door. Then she opened it.
“We need to come to an agreement, Mr. Albergotti.”
After what seemed like hours but was really minutes, the door opened letting the heat rush in. Pa and I both stood. Ma gripped the shotgun so tight her hands lost all color.
“It’s settled. You ain’t going back there. We’ve come to an agreement.”
Pa and I peeped around the door and saw Mr. Albergotti still standing on the porch complete with a smile.
“Your wife has made a deal with me. If she can hold up her end of the bargain, we will be done in a week.” Mr. Albergotti’s eyes locked on Ma. “Remember. You must keep your end of the bargain. I enjoy a lady’s company when I’m traveling.”
A few days later Ma packed up and hit the road with Mr. Albergotti and his prized chickens. Pa begged her not to go. Said he’d figure something out with Mr. Albergotti. She ignored him.
Pa sat in his chair while Ma was gone. He crooned about some day meeting his chickens up yonder in a land with no partin’.
Within a week, she was back home but she was different now. Harder and quieter than she’d been before.
Mr. Albergotti never showed back up on our porch. Guess Ma had the strongest back of all of us.
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(Photo: Lennart Tange/flickr.com/ CC BY 2.0)
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- Chief Chicken Handler by Katy Goforth - February 9, 2024