his Panama hat. Chairs scrape across the floor, last morsels of food disappear into mouths, and glasses are deposited on the floor next to muddy shoes. All hundred and twenty or so curious pairs of eyes fixate on the lectern, as if someone shouted “Bingo.” I can almost hear Nonna whispering from the great beyond, “Bread and games, child. Even the old Romans knew the only effective way to get people to do what they have no intention of doing.” I almost laugh out loud. What the hell is your plan? I wonder.
I eye Carlo, who stands by the door with his legs apart and arms folded, making his famous bella figura . Then I focus on a square of sunlight on the floor.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you in the name of the deceased, whose wish it was that the testament be publicly read. This is the last will of Giuseppa Camini, born Graziano, signed on February 10, 2014.” Lombardi clears his throat and rustles some papers, an eerie sound in the deep silence nobody dares disturb. “‘I hereby revoke all previous testaments and declare the following to be my ultimate wish. I appoint Umberto Lombardi of Grufo & Millotti as executor of my will. My loyal estate manager, Alberto Donati, has the right to live on the estate for the rest of his life. This right shall not be affected even if the estate should be leased, rented out, or sold.’”
A tinge of excitement runs through the room like a slight cosmic disturbance. The notary looks up and adjusts his tie. I glance over at Alberto. The relationship between him and the deeply Catholic Nonna was an open secret, much gossiped about in the village. Alberto’s expression gives nothing away, but the way he squeezes the cap in his lap tells me enough. I offer a silent prayer of thanks to the heavens.
“‘To my dear Rosa-Maria Alberti I leave my silver rose brooch and a stipend of five hundred euros per month for the rest of her life, to be taken from my life insurance. The rest of my jewelry, including a diamond necklace by Visconti, a gold bracelet by Gioielli, and my grandmother’s diamond ring, I leave to Lucia Camini, the wife of Marco Camini.’” Lombardi reaches for his bottle of water but then decides to continue without drinking. “‘My grandson Marco Camini gets the oil painting in the living room, but has no other claim on the estate. He received the statutory share on October 7, 2005, as noted in the attached document.’”
A murmur runs through the room. Most people in the audience look surprised, some gloating, and others nod seriously. Marco stares straight ahead and Lucia contemplates the tips of her shoes. This fair deal is no news to them—but my brother messed it up when he ran his bookkeeping firm into the ground.
“‘I designate my grandson Fabrizio as the sole heir of Tre Camini and all the tracts of land attached to it, since I know he will administer the estate the way I intended. I stipulate that he obtain possession of his inheritance as soon as he has entered the holy state of matrimony. Should Fabrizio Camini decline to accept the inheritance under this condition or not be married within a year after the reading of this testament, I designate Marco Camini as my sole heir. Until that time, my estate manager, Alberto Donati, is entrusted with the management of Tre Camini.’”
The mayor’s wife lets out a satisfied guttural sound and rams her elbow into her husband’s side. Mothers turn to look at their daughters. Lucia stares at Lombardi as if he just revealed that Nonna left all her possessions to the church, and Marco inspects his fingernails.
And what do I do?
I run outside, far away from the chattering mob that’s pretending to be stunned by what they heard. And far away from the smile playing about Marco’s lips.
Hanna
“Hello?”
“It’s me. Hanna.”
“Carissima!” my mother says. “How wonderful to hear your voice. What’s that horrible noise in the background?”
“It’s raining.”
“But it’s
I eye Carlo, who stands by the door with his legs apart and arms folded, making his famous bella figura . Then I focus on a square of sunlight on the floor.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you in the name of the deceased, whose wish it was that the testament be publicly read. This is the last will of Giuseppa Camini, born Graziano, signed on February 10, 2014.” Lombardi clears his throat and rustles some papers, an eerie sound in the deep silence nobody dares disturb. “‘I hereby revoke all previous testaments and declare the following to be my ultimate wish. I appoint Umberto Lombardi of Grufo & Millotti as executor of my will. My loyal estate manager, Alberto Donati, has the right to live on the estate for the rest of his life. This right shall not be affected even if the estate should be leased, rented out, or sold.’”
A tinge of excitement runs through the room like a slight cosmic disturbance. The notary looks up and adjusts his tie. I glance over at Alberto. The relationship between him and the deeply Catholic Nonna was an open secret, much gossiped about in the village. Alberto’s expression gives nothing away, but the way he squeezes the cap in his lap tells me enough. I offer a silent prayer of thanks to the heavens.
“‘To my dear Rosa-Maria Alberti I leave my silver rose brooch and a stipend of five hundred euros per month for the rest of her life, to be taken from my life insurance. The rest of my jewelry, including a diamond necklace by Visconti, a gold bracelet by Gioielli, and my grandmother’s diamond ring, I leave to Lucia Camini, the wife of Marco Camini.’” Lombardi reaches for his bottle of water but then decides to continue without drinking. “‘My grandson Marco Camini gets the oil painting in the living room, but has no other claim on the estate. He received the statutory share on October 7, 2005, as noted in the attached document.’”
A murmur runs through the room. Most people in the audience look surprised, some gloating, and others nod seriously. Marco stares straight ahead and Lucia contemplates the tips of her shoes. This fair deal is no news to them—but my brother messed it up when he ran his bookkeeping firm into the ground.
“‘I designate my grandson Fabrizio as the sole heir of Tre Camini and all the tracts of land attached to it, since I know he will administer the estate the way I intended. I stipulate that he obtain possession of his inheritance as soon as he has entered the holy state of matrimony. Should Fabrizio Camini decline to accept the inheritance under this condition or not be married within a year after the reading of this testament, I designate Marco Camini as my sole heir. Until that time, my estate manager, Alberto Donati, is entrusted with the management of Tre Camini.’”
The mayor’s wife lets out a satisfied guttural sound and rams her elbow into her husband’s side. Mothers turn to look at their daughters. Lucia stares at Lombardi as if he just revealed that Nonna left all her possessions to the church, and Marco inspects his fingernails.
And what do I do?
I run outside, far away from the chattering mob that’s pretending to be stunned by what they heard. And far away from the smile playing about Marco’s lips.
Hanna
“Hello?”
“It’s me. Hanna.”
“Carissima!” my mother says. “How wonderful to hear your voice. What’s that horrible noise in the background?”
“It’s raining.”
“But it’s
Similar Books
