Jennarino and the Magic Clams

Written by Peter Carellini

In the magical neighborhood of Bensonhurst, where all kinds of people thrived and laughed, lived a young Sicilian lady named Jennarino Sambuca. Jennarino, her gentle father Francesco and lively mother Christine, and her wise grandmother Vita lived in a two-story apartment passed down for generations; music, stories, and good food and company filled their home, as the smell of delicious eggplant and gravy moved through the air. Outside, they bandied friendships with immigrants from around the world, in what felt like a paradise of every culture. The apartments were different colors and shapes, with a different spirit, on every block. Life was good for all. 

`The Sambuca family felt far from trouble. Their garden always grew the ripest tomatoes and fruits that they gave to their neighbors. Jennarino played her saxophone every night. The neighbors loved the sound; passing civilians loved the sound; her family loved the sound, but most importantly, her grandmother loved it more than anything else.

But the land of New York City had a greedy mayor with a heart of darkness. He craved what was new, for people of great wealth, and looked down on neighborhoods like the one in which the family lived. One fine day in the beginning of summer, two of his cronies from the Office of New Development paid a visit to the Sambuca apartment while Jennarino and Vita watched their game shows. They handed Christine a letter, whose dark words stated that the city was going to buy the house back forcefully - and build fancy new condos on top of it.

“Fuck, is this bullshit?” asked Christine.

“It is the will of the Mayor!” said one of the cronies. “This house is the oldest - and therefore, its time must come to an end.”

Jennarino saw the sudden fear in her grandmother’s eyes as those words rang. She sprang from the couch to the door in a hairbreadth, despite her father’s caution. 

“Youse mean to tell me you pricks is gonna send my nonna to the streets?”

“We will provide discounts for new rents and offer any help we can,” said the men. “Your house will be the first of many new spots for exciting and beautiful luxury condos!”

“Sirs,” said Francesco. “I’m afraid we can’t leave this place. We don’t have the money, and it’s hard to move my wife’s mother to another place. She’s lived here for eighty years.”

“It is the will of the Mayor,” they parroted.

Before the family could protest any further, the cronies already turned heel and left. Jennarino and her mother cursed them colorfully. Vita sat in shock.

Christine turned to Francesco. “Today, it’s our house - tomorrow, it’s the entire neighborhood - these fuckin’ douchebags are gonna chuck decades of tradition into the trash like ugotz! For yuppies from the suburbs!” 

“There may be hope yet,” said Francesco. “We have a great many tools at our disposal.”

“Madone! This is bullshit,” said Jennarino. Her anger raised her agita a thousandfold. When Francesco heard the stomach acid bubbling in her daughter’s stomach, he sighed; for the situation felt lost. Vita had a fiery courage but even she could not speak, so stunned she was. Francesco swore he would talk to his business associates and see who could help - yet in the next few days, no could offer a solution. Christine consulted every friend of every culture - yet in the next days, she was regaled with stories of family who lost their homes so similarly. They both went to work with heavy hearts, for what else could they do?

Jennarino, on the other hand, possessed the fire of youth and would not give up. She stood under the waning moon and held her fists high in the air, shouting “Jerkoffs! You fucked with the wrong guineas!” 

Passing cab drivers and other night-shift workers stared in awe. They prayed for whomever trifled with this clan of Italians, indeed.

Alas, like her father and mother, Jennarino found it difficult to find solutions. She consulted the laborers and unions across the Bronx, to no avail. She went to the heart of Chinatown to find good pro bono lawyers, to no avail. She took the bus all the way to Astoria to see if they faced similar problems - lo, how they were! This new mayor was a special kind of ruthless. She continued her quest, seeking help, even scheming with her street hustling friends, but the Office of New Development was too powerful.

Jennarino returned home from her crusade with a heavy heart, like her mother and father. Still, she played her saxophone, which gave the family some respite and happiness. And Vita, who they cared for most, insisted that she cook everyone a nice dinner to forget their troubles. They feasted on a magnificent banquet of antipasto, linguine and gravy, cured meats and cheeses; with their stomachs full, their troubles were forgotten for one glorious moment. 

When they woke up, however, Vita was quieter than usual. Jennarino ran her grandmother’s errands that day, desperate to do something.

But fortunately, people liked Vita very much - and Frankie Galamatucci, a local scientist who dwelt in a lonely laboratory, was one of those people. One morning, as she smoked her cigarette on the stoop, a young, portly boy named Vicci delivered her a letter: it instructed her to come to the lab.

“The old brownstone on 77th in Bay Ridge? Jesus! That’s Doc Galama’s fuckin’ lab. Maybe he wants to help me!”

She skipped across town to the address, excited and weary as to what this scientist could do. Some said he created monstrous sea life, others claimed he had been kicked out of every school he entered. What could Jennarino do? No one, especially in Bensonhurst, is perfect. She took a deep breath and entered the old brownstone.

What a dark place! The inside was one giant circular room, covered in cobwebs and riddled with rusty, failing equipment from what looked like the 1970s. In the back, she found him - thin, angular, and in a white lab coat under a sharp goatee - sitting in a velvet armchair with a tray of biscotti and two cups of pitch black coffee.

“Jennarino,” said Frankie, in his deep voice. “Youse came. Sit down! Mangia. Coffee!”

She nodded, took a biscotti and coffee, and thanked him.

“Don’t mention it,” said Frankie. “Your grandmother Vita…a long time ago, she offered me support when no one else would. She has always been a friend. As you know, not many think of me as more than a mad fuckin’ scientist.”

“I think youse okay,” said Jennarino.

“Thank you, young Jennarino. So…I assume you’d like for your grandmother to keep her home?”

Jennarino threw her hands up in the air. “More than fuckin’ anything! Madone, if we could fend off those douchebags, I’d never sin again.”

“Excellent. I will help you, and give you something that will solve all of your problems.”

Jennarino’s heart beat fast. She could scarcely believe her good fortune.

Frankie leaned in. “But first you must solve my riddles three - so I know youse is clever enough to see this thing to the bitter end.”

Jennarino grit her teeth, knowing there’d be a catch. But she was ready. “Fine! Let’s hear ‘em.”

Frankie twiddled his fingers together. “Riddle number one: at night they come without being fetched. By day they are lost without being stolen. What are they?”

Hah! She played her saxophone under them every night. “Stars, obviously!”

Frankie smiled at her, impressed by her quick wit. Jennarino herself was amazed at how her love for her grandma got her brain going.

“Riddle number two: A box without hinges, lock or key, yet golden treasure lies within. What is it?”

“Frankie, c’mon - I read the fuckin’ Hobbit! You think Itals don’t like fantasy? The answer is an egg!”

“Aye, no need to throw it in my face! Well, finally, the last riddle, and this one is tricky: Who is that with a neck and no head, two arms and no hands?”

He was right in its trickiness. Jennarino did pace around the lab, while Frankie sat patiently sipping on his coffee. 

She thought and thought. People with no head…she thought of her mother and father, and their friends. For some reason, she thought vividly of the mechanic, and his grease-stained…

“Oh shit! Oh, I got it! A shirt!”

Frankie clapped. It echoed throughout the eerie building. “You’ve done it, paisan! You’ve solved my riddles three.” And the two danced merrily around the laboratory. When their merriment subsided, Frankie rummaged in his desk for something.

“Christ,” whispered Jennarino to herself. “I can’t wait to see what he’ll give me! Money? Blackmail? An old property loophole?”

He handed her a jar: inside were nothing but clams in the half shell. This must have been a prank. The old scientist really did lose his marbles.

“Frankie - fuck is this shit?”

Frankie smiled. “These are magic clams, Jennarino! They will help you in your time - “

“Son of a bitch!” shouted Jennarino, her agita returning terribly. “You two timin’ fuck!”

Frankie seemed unfazed by her fire. “Youse bein’ hasty! Like I said - don’t be too bigheaded, or it’ll undo you. For these magic clams will help your quest.”

“If I wanted clams, I’d go to 86th Street and get ‘em myself!”

“No, no - they ain’t for an entree. Tomorrow, you will go down to the Office of New Development in the South Street Seaport. You will then throw these clams in the water by the foot of the building at the stroke of noon. Then your problems should cease to exist.”

Jennarino could only blink and grit her teeth. “Funny guy, eh? This a fuckin’ joke to you?” 

His look went dark. Jennarino knew her words had stung him. “Alright, see ya later.”

He rang a bell that summoned Vicci, and before Jennarino could damn him to an eternity of suffering, the young portly boy had already escorted her outside into the muggy summer air. She kicked three trash cans down on her way home. Part of her longed to back and apologize, but - she was angry. Her hopes were dashed with a jar of clams! 

“I’d get rid of ‘em, but, fuck it - we need all we could get. At least we could cook ‘em nice with breadcrumbs.”

Bitterly, she stuffed the jar into her knapsack and returned home to a tired mother and father. Vita had already gone to bed, so stressed was she. The usual smell of eggplant and gravy had left the house, and in its place came a stale odor. Jennarino wanted to cry, coming back empty when she thought she would have a final key to their problem.

The family’s friends from the land of Jamaica came over that night for coffee and cake. They offered options for affordable housing and neighborhoods that their friends moved into. Francesco and Christine showed some interest. 

From her bath, Jennarino overheard these plans, lamenting her failure. “Fuck was I doin’, trustin’ a stunod like that?”

Later, Jennarino sat in her bed, marinating in her own woe. To her surprise, Vita entered her bedroom.

“Grandma! I thought you was in bed!”

Vita sat down on the foot of the bed, and rubbed her granddaughter’s shins. “It’s gonna be alright, sweetie. You’ll see.”

“I don’t know, grandma. Feels kinda hopeless, ya know?”

Vita shrugged. “If it is, it is.”

Jennarino sat upright. “Youse ain’t worried? Youse ain’t angry? You barely made a peep since they came.”

“Nope! I been deep in thought,” said Vita, pinching her granddaughter’s cheek. “You know, a home ain’t a house - it’s the people inside it. And I can survive this as long as I have you all.”

Jennarino felt warmth, like the first shower after winter’s chill. She hugged her grandma tightly, her energy returned. 

“How right you are, grandma!”

Vita chuckled. “Ain’t I always?”

They sat for a while, enjoying the quiet, and then parted with a tender goodnight. In bed that night, Jennarino did not twist nor turn.

“Grandma V is right! I’m gettin’ agita for nothin’. Maybe that scientist is right. He wouldn’t two time my nonna like that. And if we fail? Who gives a fuck! As long as we try.”

Jennarino woke up nice and early the next day to ready herself, free of agita and full of hope. With clams in tow, she caught the R train to the South Street Seaport as clouds grew dark. There, at the southernmost foot of the city, sat the dark and portentous Office of New Development. It loomed tall like a chess piece. A bolt of lightning flashed behind it.

But Jennarino did not fear. She kissed her crucifix necklace and reached into her knapsack to grab the clams. “These gavones are about to have a taste of their own sauce!”

She waited until the very stroke of noon. When the clock of the nearby courthouse hit twelve, she tossed them into the water. At first, nothing happened.

But then something incredible happened. From the water came a hideous mass of tentacles, multicolored and shaped differently, spiraling up like a fishy building. New Yorkers gathered around to watch this creature. 

“What kind of a fuckin’ fish is that?” they shouted.

An old food vendor pointed his finger. “That’s no fish! It’s the Fra Diabolo, fabled Italian sea beast!”

Jennarino gulped. Everyone inside the building ran for their lives as the creature turned its attention to the New Development building. Soon, the Fra Diabolo had completely enveloped the place - and with an effortless pull, dragged it into the murky depths. The monster nor building were seen anymore.

Jennarino stared at the empty spot in awe and shock, unbelieving that Frankie had such a weapon at his disposal; she was touched too, by his willingness to use it for Vita.

“Frankie, you sick bastard. Salud!”

Jennarino returned to Bensonhurst. She kept quiet, to see if the plan worked, and to avoid being questioned by crooked police. She also went to the bakery to procure some pastries as a thankful gift to Frankie - but oddly enough, when she went to his lab, there was no sign of anyone in it.

The next day, an official newsletter went out: due to the unforeseen sea beast attack on the office, all records of houses to be deposed had been lost! No one could prove that those two men visited the house, nor that they scheduled Vita’s house to be repossessed! All over the news, the Mayor was furious. Jennarino’s street emerged to celebrate in a massive block party: not only was Vita’s future secure, but all of their futures!

That night, Jennarino played her saxophone triumphantly and loud, and the house smelt like the eggplant and the gravy once again. The family lived happily in the house until the end of their days, and it passed on many generations.