Before I say anything else: this chapter is going to be really long. Okay. Continue. The title means We are Italian. This chapter is HUGE on Race's Italian ancestry--that of which I'm pretty sure is confirmed, but it might just be a popular headcanon. Either way, I've embraced it totally. Even though this isn't the reason why I started this story, this chapter, right here, means a lot. And I mean a lot. Also there's going to be a moderate amount of speaking Italian, brought to you by my prior knowledge of Italian via Duolingo and other language websites as well as google translate. If you see any glaring errors, tell me about it. I've done my research on what it was like for people coming into America back then. Starting in the late 1880's, thousands of Italians immigrated to the US. Among them, possibly, could have been Racetrack's parents. Or grandparents, or both. Anyway, this is supposed to represent Italians in the late 19 century...and how normal Americans react to them. Also, I'm really sorry, but...someone is out there, who hurts our beloved Racetrack, and it's not gonna be pretty, no blood or knocking out, but still not good and please don't cuss out in the comment section. It's just a warning for something coming later in the chapter. Even among adversity, though, a friendship perseveres, and goes to grow stronger. Enjoy! :)
"Read it right here! Baby born with two heads! Right here, in Brooklyn!" Race shouts. "Extra, Extra!"
He smirks with satisfaction as he sells a pape, then a second one. There's nothing like that in the paper today. He just really has fun saying it. Plus, if Spot's nearby (which he hasn't been in a while), then this is great spite.
"Fire in Harlem! Read about it right here!" Race yells to any pedestrian walking close.
"Thanks, sir."
"Much obliged, miss."
Ain't it a fine life.
Race opens up another page in the paper to see what headline he can make out of what's on the page. He opens his mouth to shout something, but falters when he sees what's written on the page.
OUT-OF-STATE NEWS: 5 ITALIANS IN TALLULAH, LOUISIANA, LYNCHED
He can't say that out loud.
Heart dropping, he briefly skims the page. They were the only Italians living in Louisiana. But why were they lynched? Race couldn't concentrate, but picked up something about a goat being involved. These aren't the first lynching's reported from out of state in a paper. People love all the real morbid stuff like that. The thing is, most lynching's they read about...come from stories of African Americans and Italians getting lynched.
Race can't sell this.
But he has to.
Still disheartened from what he read, Race turns around, puts on a fake smile, and starts selling papes again. It's only a few minutes before the first races of the day begin. He shuffles the papers in his hand. He still has a good amount left.
Surely he can sell them all soon--
"Scusa," Race hears a man say apologetically behind him, "quanto è per un giornale?" Excuse me, how much for a newspaper?
"Una penna per in giornale," Race responds automatically. One penny for one newspaper.
It was...natural.
And the fact is simply that Race hasn't spoken Italian in years.
He turns around to find a man with dark eyes and dark hair, not too much shorter than him, with what must be his wife and small children nearby.
YOU ARE READING
This Ain't Just Newsies No More ~ Sprace & Javid
FanfictionWhat could possibly make Spot so shaken up he'll hand over Brooklyn? What could make Jack so shaken he'd give up Manhattan? Only one thing: Race and David have been taken. But where? How? Why? But why do they care so much about them? Well, first we...
