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The black fumes soar ever higher into the air, as the steamer chugs its laborious way through the waters of Manhattan, heading for the port. The Green Lady stands by, her expression seemingly changing from one of optimism to unsettled discontent. Far away, police sirens ring out every now and then, as New York sounds its growing pains, writing its discontent on the walls of downtown, the paint drying slowly even with the constant flash of journalists' bulbs. This city was never the promise it was in Sardegna.

Sergio knows it has been a long crossing... he made it himself. But even now, from the bridge, as gulls fumble their way through the breeze, he wants to shout at the steamer. Tornare! Dovete tornare al Sardegna! But the black clouds which have, for so long, separated like thousands of isolated sheep, now bind themselves, belching from the boiler of the "Marseille" like the fury of Etna as the pilot puts the ship into port. Shaking his head, he looks away. Italians, Irish, Swedes, French, British, German, Spanish... they all arrive at the same port, lured by that same promise: Of jobs, or of a new start.

His wife and son are here now. He can see the mass of people charging onto the shore, desperate to seek their fortunes in this great land of opportunity... the folly of thousands before, and he doesn't doubt, thousands after. The clouds shift in the sky a little, the sunshine breaking through, shimmering off the water in a bright moment of hope, and Sergio smiles. What idiots they are... but what fortunate idiots.

***

She smiles on the bridge, the imagined event fading from her mind completely. The airplanes drone on overhead, carving the sky like a loaf of fresh bread, as the tourists are carried on their way around the islands, marveling at the sights of the Big Apple. She knows her grand-parents struggled to find their way in this city... but now... its home. Our home.

"Mommy... can we go? It's cold up here." She looks across, and sees her husband and daughter, looking at her, hoping for that same old lasagna at home, the dish they all enjoy. She sighs, brown hair fluttering in the breeze like the Stars and Stripes on the steamer that brought that family all those years ago.

"Yep. Let's go have some dinner." She gazes out again, her eyes catching something in the sun. She swears she can see it pulling in, and smiles.

Did they know that this would become their home?