ventisei
Lucia spent the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday in bed, aside from a quick trip to take the donations in the community basket to the parish office, of course.
Francesco had been just as devastated as Lucia and Mariella to hear about how things had played out with Tiziano and Vittorio. While he had wanted to come over to talk it out in person, Lucia insisted she needed time alone to think. And think she did, long and hard, not only about the decision she’d made at Mariella’s, but also about Francesco’s suggestion that she open up to Alex.
In Lucia’s mind, Gatti was Enemy No. 1, with Tiziano now labelled ‘Traitor’. The thought of Alex being an enemy of their ilk simply didn’t fit the bill. He wasn’t that bad. Stubborn and abrupt at the window, yes. But not the same as the other two. And although it made her feel uncomfortable, she could now accept that she too had been out of line. Brash and rude, and deliberately annoying. The Verdi concerto had been a cheap shot. And her idea to screen Pinocchio al fresco in winter had been swayed by her new desire to assert herself more – but also, if she was truthful, to taunt Alex. He had merely been an easy target.
You’re not thinking straight, Lucia. You’re usually more collected than this. It’s all too much at the moment.
With this clarity Lucia was able to give honest consideration to what Francesco had suggested: Alex could be a potential ally, a helping hand should the need arise. A neighbour to help keep an eye on the calle . While she still had many questions about who he was and his comings and goings, she decided to make time to talk to him. To start over, fresh. Tonight, however, wasn’t the night.
With Foscari by her side and the Venezia, Ovunque! project notes splayed across her bed, Lucia had set to work to do what she felt she did best: preparing her lesson plans for the week ahead. Being the first week of Carnevale meant providing a more colourful themed program at La Scuola Rosa.
On Monday all three groups would spend time refining their use of Italian adjectives and adverbs, completing writing pieces which described the stock costumes of the Commedia dell’Arte theatre tradition. To expand on this, Tuesday would see the groups work with a series of comedic lazzi , short comedic scenes of the Commedia style, and script their own Italian role-plays in pairs.
What about Wednesday . . .?
Lucia’s mind drew a blank, and she decided that she required chocolate to bolster her mental clarity. It was as she was standing by her little pantry cupboard reaching for a bar of cioccolato al latte that a delicious idea came to her.
Had Foscari read the twinkle in her eye? He gave an excited yap, and she returned it with a wink and gentle smile. It occurred to her with surprise that it was the first time she’d smiled all day.
‘ Buono e delizioso . Two adjectives we use a lot in Italian. They agree in gender and number with the foods they describe,’ Lucia began in her trademark student-friendly Italian on Wednesday morning. She weaved her way around the tables of her classroom on the second floor of La Scuola Rosa, with Foscari her trusty shadow. ‘But, proceed with caution. Attenzione !’ Her right hand flew through the air in warning and she lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘While they are both used to describe food, they are also very . . .’ Her students leaned in closer. ‘BORING!’ she erupted, and the students jolted and laughed in response.
‘That was cheeky, Lucia!’ one student remarked.
‘In Venice we say, A Carnevale, ogni scherzo vale . During Carnival, anything goes!’ Lucia winked. She turned on her heel and made for her desk by the whiteboard from which she retrieved a large platter, covered with an Arlecchino-inspired tea towel in multicoloured diamond print. She placed it in the middle of one of the large desks, and coaxed the students to gather around. ‘ Venite ! Venite !’
The air was suddenly laced with the comforting scents of vanilla and cinnamon, and a lull settled across the group.
‘ Che profumo !’ one student cooed, and others nodded. ‘There’s something sweet under there.’
Lucia smiled. ‘Today we are going to elevate your ability to describe food. Approfondire , to increase, enrich, deepen our knowledge.’
The students shared delighted glances, which only encouraged more passion and enthusiasm from Lucia.
‘We are going to leave the same-same delizioso and buono behind and expand your linguistic horizons!’ With a theatrical flick of the wrist she removed the tea towel, revealing a decadent collection of traditional Carnevale sweets. ‘ Dolce . Both an adjective and noun,’ she reminded them. ‘A treat, and used to describe something sweet.’
A few students made notes in their workbooks.
‘ Prego !’ she said, inviting each to make a selection from the platter.
There were two options to choose from: fritole , sugar-dusted bites of deep-fried dough, and galani , crispy crimp-edged pastry ribbons. One by one the students made their choices and returned to their seats, devouring their sweets with glee.
‘As you taste and enjoy your dolci , I want you to think about how you might describe them. What sensations do you feel in the mouth? La bocca . How does it smell? Il profumo . How does it taste? Il sapore . Remember to use the sensory verb, sentire . And together we will make a vocabulary bank on the board of all the different adjectives.’
Soon hands were raised. Croccante. Friabile. Soffice. Pastoso. Dolce. Fino. Duro . . . The list continued. And eventually they added broader food terms until Lucia’s board was full and she applauded them. Foscari barked along.
Giving them a moment to finish their notes, Lucia went to sit by the window overlooking the calle with Foscari in her arms.
‘It’s not difficult to find new words. It’s the art of expressing oneself that’s challenging. Non è difficile. ’
On that final word – difficile – she turned and gazed across at La Commedia.
YOU need to find the words to express yourself now, Lucia. Go, speak to him. See if he’s home. Make an ally out of him.
Later that day, the postman delivering the day’s mail arrived on foot with his usual navy Poste Italiane trolley in tow, just as Lucia was waving off the last of the students. Francesco and Mariella were tidying up inside, while Lucia was holding a small paper plate of leftover dolci in her hand. Her plan was to gift them to Alex as a peace offering.
‘ Per Lei ,’ the postman said, handing Lucia an envelope.
‘ Grazie ,’ she replied, surprised to see the crest of the comune printed in the top corner. She chewed her bottom lip in confusion. All her usual comune -directed communication arrived by email these days. What could this be?
Lucia carefully put down the plate, tore open the envelope and pulled out a one-page letter.
Lettera di richiamo . . .
A warning letter? A warning about what?
Her hands began to tremble as she flattened the single page against the glass of the school’s front window.
. . . noise regulation violation . . .
. . . breach of public space laws . . .
. . . required permits . . .
The pounding of her heart reverberated down into her legs, making her feel unsteady.
. . . possible fines . . .
She turned to face La Commedia. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, stinging the delicate skin under her eyes. It had to be him ! Who else could it be? No one else had expressed any concerns about the work of the school on the calle . She balled both her fists so tightly that the letter in her hand crumpled between her fingers.
The conciliatory mental space she had only just created for Alex, hoping to reach out to him and connect with him in some way, exploded into dust.
Her feet were moving before her mind had time to stop and reason with her. She tore across the calle . ‘Alex!’ she called up to the window he always appeared at. ‘I know you’re in there! Come down, we need to talk!’
When she got no response, Lucia continued shouting for another minute before a sleepy-eyed Alex with unkempt locks arrived at the window, yawning. ‘What is it now, Lucia?’ he moaned.
‘This!’ She held up the letter. ‘From the comune .’
Alex’s face flattened a little. ‘You left me no choice.’
‘They are threatening me with fines, Alex! Do you even understand what—’ But she caught herself just in time. No one except the inner circle, Gatti and Tiziano knew about Edoardo’s buyout deal and she wanted to keep it that way.
‘I’m sorry, Lucia, but things can’t go on like this.’
She exhaled petulantly. ‘And they don’t have to. I’m going to report you !’
‘For what, exactly?’ He leaned further out the window, but Lucia had already set off up the calle . ‘Lucia!’ he cried, quickly returning inside, only to burst onto the calle a few moments later, zipping up his jeans fly as he ran after her.
‘Lucia, wait!’ Alex called again, but, striding ahead, she refused to turn and acknowledge him. Darting between tourists and locals on the narrow calli , he begged her to see reason. ‘You brought this on yourself. I asked politely. I begged nicely. You just have to do things your way. You’re frustratingly stubborn!’
At this she stopped short, causing Alex to smash into the back of her. ‘Stubborn? You think I’m the stubborn one?’ She half chortled sarcastically. ‘You’re the adult who pinned a ridiculous paper sign to his window in the middle of the day, asking for silence! And you expect us all to satisfy your specific needs?! We have work to do too!’ Her raised voice and dramatic waving of hands was earning plenty of attention from passers-by.
‘Not here, Lucia,’ Alex warned.
‘Fine. I’ll do it in there!’ And she pointed a few metres ahead to the comune office she had visited only three weeks earlier.
‘Ugh! You’re so frustrating!’
‘Well, too bad!’ Her vibrant green eyes flashing, she darted away again, bursting through the door with a fury that caused it to slam closed behind her.
Alex was only seconds behind her, and the arrival of the irate duo caused all heads in the entrance lobby to turn curiously.
The same man Lucia had dealt with on the main desk during her last visit locked eyes with her and moaned. ‘Not you again.’
‘Yes, me. What is this about?’ She slammed the letter on the counter between them.
‘Signorina. We close in ten minutes . . .’
‘Good. This will only take two.’
There were guffaws from patrons waiting in another queue and Lucia waved her hand at them, as if to reassure them she would be done in a moment. Their raised eyebrows and watch-checking suggested they thought otherwise.
‘This man,’ Lucia began, thrusting an accusatory finger in Alex’s direction, ‘has lodged some kind of complaint about me and my business, and I want it rescinded. Immediately.’ She pushed the letter closer to the comune employee, who simply rolled his eyes and collected it for closer inspection.
Assessing the letter, he tapped away at his keyboard for a moment, before a grin formed at the corner of his lips. ‘Signorina Trevisan, this is out of my hands. It has already been tabled for a dispute resolution hearing next week.’ His eyes flicked to Alex. ‘Are you Alessandro Scarpa?’ Alex nodded. ‘A hearing for you both , as this is in relation to your concerns.’ He scanned what was clearly a long document on his screen. ‘Your letter must have been delayed, Signor Scarpa.’ His eyes flicked between them – he was clearly revelling in the power rush. ‘So, I suggest you both return home, quietly, and get on with your lives, heads down, for the next week. As we will be seeing you next Wednesday afternoon at sixteen-hundred. Arrivederci .’
Flustered, Lucia turned on her heel, her cheeks flaming. ‘Look what you’ve done,’ she said to Alex, and her shoulders dropped in defeat.
Just as Alex was about to reply, the man at the desk interrupted. ‘What you’ve both done. Next please!’