03-04-2019, 04:45 PM
It was often said that nothing happened between 12 and 2 in San Finzione. But this day, something did.
As the bells of St. Francis de Sales Cathedral sounded the hour, many people began their customary two-hour lunch break. Others made excuses to leave work during those hours for a personal matter.
All of them began to congregate toward the city park in front of the Cathedral. As they carefully obeyed all traffic laws while walking, driving, or riding to their shared destination; they produced Zorro masks from pockets, purses, and bags and donned them. Those whose journey took them via the marketplace were observed by an old woman dressed entirely in black who sat at an outdoor cafe drinking her vino and watching the world go by; as she had for as long as anyone could remember and would probably still be doing each day simply to baffle future generations.
Recently, the waiter had become better about making sure her glass was never empty and no longer bothered her about payment. She'd had a dim memory of a nice, respectful American girl who'd drank and talked with her one day having something to do with that. The crazy young thing had even claimed that SHE was a great-grandmother as well. Ridiculous! She'd later heard something about the girl going on to become Contessa. That was nice, good for her.
Memories had been getting trickier for her lately, but she recalled more of what they'd talked about: Another couple of nice young Americans who'd stopped and bought her a bottle and talked to her some time before that. She didn't understand why people seemed to hate Americans so much; the ones she'd met during The War seemed nice, and the only three she'd met since had all bought her drinks.
The memory of what she'd talked about with the young couple seemed hazier than most, but suddenly it had become clear. Not like something she'd forgotten, more like something that the church bells signaling the noon hour on this day had reminded her that she'd set aside to remember at this time.
The other girl had been a former lover of both the pretty new bride and her young husband (Scandalous! But then, there'd been a couple of girls back in her own day...) and they'd come to play a joke on her. They'd told her what the joke was, but strangely, asked her not to remember it until this time. What a crazy thing to say! Maybe Americans were all crazy too. Still, they'd bought her drinks long after the men had stopped doing so, and here she was remembering it...
And their joke was crazy too now that saw the people going to do it and knew what was coming. All they'd wanted from her were her observations on the people she saw from her spot every day, but if she'd been much younger, she'd have asked what else she could do to help. She'd been contemplating walking over to the park to see it for herself until the waiter came and topped off her vino.
Yeah, why change a good thing now?
* * *
As the bells of St. Francis de Sales Cathedral sounded the hour, many people began their customary two-hour lunch break. Others made excuses to leave work during those hours for a personal matter.
All of them began to congregate toward the city park in front of the Cathedral. As they carefully obeyed all traffic laws while walking, driving, or riding to their shared destination; they produced Zorro masks from pockets, purses, and bags and donned them. Those whose journey took them via the marketplace were observed by an old woman dressed entirely in black who sat at an outdoor cafe drinking her vino and watching the world go by; as she had for as long as anyone could remember and would probably still be doing each day simply to baffle future generations.
Recently, the waiter had become better about making sure her glass was never empty and no longer bothered her about payment. She'd had a dim memory of a nice, respectful American girl who'd drank and talked with her one day having something to do with that. The crazy young thing had even claimed that SHE was a great-grandmother as well. Ridiculous! She'd later heard something about the girl going on to become Contessa. That was nice, good for her.
Memories had been getting trickier for her lately, but she recalled more of what they'd talked about: Another couple of nice young Americans who'd stopped and bought her a bottle and talked to her some time before that. She didn't understand why people seemed to hate Americans so much; the ones she'd met during The War seemed nice, and the only three she'd met since had all bought her drinks.
The memory of what she'd talked about with the young couple seemed hazier than most, but suddenly it had become clear. Not like something she'd forgotten, more like something that the church bells signaling the noon hour on this day had reminded her that she'd set aside to remember at this time.
The other girl had been a former lover of both the pretty new bride and her young husband (Scandalous! But then, there'd been a couple of girls back in her own day...) and they'd come to play a joke on her. They'd told her what the joke was, but strangely, asked her not to remember it until this time. What a crazy thing to say! Maybe Americans were all crazy too. Still, they'd bought her drinks long after the men had stopped doing so, and here she was remembering it...
And their joke was crazy too now that saw the people going to do it and knew what was coming. All they'd wanted from her were her observations on the people she saw from her spot every day, but if she'd been much younger, she'd have asked what else she could do to help. She'd been contemplating walking over to the park to see it for herself until the waiter came and topped off her vino.
Yeah, why change a good thing now?
* * *
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