“How is a girl supposed to catch you, Fabrizio, if you’re always running so fast?”
I didn’t want to be caught—and that didn’t change when the girl in question was the baker’s daughter, the baker’s daughter’s cousin, or the baker’s daughter’s cousin’s friend.
I found the girl that Nonna didn’t want me to find at all when I was an adult, and it took me four years to realize that my grandmother’s doubts were justified. After that, there were countless women. They made me laugh and warmed my bed, and their shapely legs earned me the envy of other men. None of them touched my soul. None of them was Sofia.
I laugh without humor. How silly of me to believe Nonna would stop her scheming just because she met the Grim Reaper. I go to the sink, avoid looking into the mirror, and turn on the faucet. While the water is running, I tear open the envelope.
Montesimo, February 8, 2014
My dear Fabrizio,
It probably is unusual to start one’s last words to a loved one with an apology. Since you’re reading this, Signor Lombardi has just finished reading my testament and you are scared to the bone. You are furious and desperate, and I can understand how you feel. The Lord told me some time ago that my time is up, and so, with a heavy heart and deep conviction, I made the decision that might be the end of Tre Camini. Maybe you’ll understand my motives better after reading this letter.
First of all, I want you to know that I am very proud of you. None of the Caminis, except your late father, has ever been as closely rooted to our estate as you are. Your love for it is palpable and present everywhere—shown in the calluses on your hands, in the way your laborers look up to you, and even in the taste of every single apricot. Our farm could be in no better hands than yours, of that I am sure. Yet, in the same way that your brother lacks attachment to our land, you lack insight into what makes a Camini a true Camini.
Tre Camini is much more than just an agricultural estate. It’s a family business steeped in Christian values and traditions. In good and bad times alike, the family has guaranteed growth and a future. Without family, this country estate has no reason to exist. That’s why I want you to marry and pass on the family legacy in the face of God, as your grandfather and your father did. Fill Tre Camini with the laughter of children, because that is why it exists.
You might say that this is not your way. You might think that I am old fashioned because I place so much value on these matters. But most of all, you believe that you will not find another woman you can love.
Trust a stubborn old woman’s experience: love often grows where one least expects it.
It is sometimes not enough to just trust that things will grow and thrive out in the fields. You are a Camini—and in their hearts, all Caminis are husbands, wives, mothers, and fathers.
Your Nonna, who loves you very much
PS: If you are not willing to try for Tre Camini, try for me. I don’t want to have to turn in my grave because Marco is doing something stupid with my apricots.
Hanna
I readily admit that there are worse things.
On a scale from one to ten—with ten equaling being struck by a deadly disease; nine, giving birth to triplets; and eight, having an overdrawn credit line—a cloudburst on a deserted country road is not all that bad. True, I’m drenched, but the rain, which has lightened from shower to spray, is lukewarm. I carry the urn safely in my arms—it seemed wrong to expose the old lady to a bumpy ride in a wheeled suitcase. The cyclist from before passes me and rings his bell somewhat maliciously. I can live with that.
I don’t know how long I’ve been walking, but the afternoon sun is low, and each step seems to take me farther and farther from civilization. I pass a soaked cardboard sign with “50” painted on it, languishing in the ditch. A similar sign with a washed-out message dangles from a fence a quarter
I didn’t want to be caught—and that didn’t change when the girl in question was the baker’s daughter, the baker’s daughter’s cousin, or the baker’s daughter’s cousin’s friend.
I found the girl that Nonna didn’t want me to find at all when I was an adult, and it took me four years to realize that my grandmother’s doubts were justified. After that, there were countless women. They made me laugh and warmed my bed, and their shapely legs earned me the envy of other men. None of them touched my soul. None of them was Sofia.
I laugh without humor. How silly of me to believe Nonna would stop her scheming just because she met the Grim Reaper. I go to the sink, avoid looking into the mirror, and turn on the faucet. While the water is running, I tear open the envelope.
Montesimo, February 8, 2014
My dear Fabrizio,
It probably is unusual to start one’s last words to a loved one with an apology. Since you’re reading this, Signor Lombardi has just finished reading my testament and you are scared to the bone. You are furious and desperate, and I can understand how you feel. The Lord told me some time ago that my time is up, and so, with a heavy heart and deep conviction, I made the decision that might be the end of Tre Camini. Maybe you’ll understand my motives better after reading this letter.
First of all, I want you to know that I am very proud of you. None of the Caminis, except your late father, has ever been as closely rooted to our estate as you are. Your love for it is palpable and present everywhere—shown in the calluses on your hands, in the way your laborers look up to you, and even in the taste of every single apricot. Our farm could be in no better hands than yours, of that I am sure. Yet, in the same way that your brother lacks attachment to our land, you lack insight into what makes a Camini a true Camini.
Tre Camini is much more than just an agricultural estate. It’s a family business steeped in Christian values and traditions. In good and bad times alike, the family has guaranteed growth and a future. Without family, this country estate has no reason to exist. That’s why I want you to marry and pass on the family legacy in the face of God, as your grandfather and your father did. Fill Tre Camini with the laughter of children, because that is why it exists.
You might say that this is not your way. You might think that I am old fashioned because I place so much value on these matters. But most of all, you believe that you will not find another woman you can love.
Trust a stubborn old woman’s experience: love often grows where one least expects it.
It is sometimes not enough to just trust that things will grow and thrive out in the fields. You are a Camini—and in their hearts, all Caminis are husbands, wives, mothers, and fathers.
Your Nonna, who loves you very much
PS: If you are not willing to try for Tre Camini, try for me. I don’t want to have to turn in my grave because Marco is doing something stupid with my apricots.
Hanna
I readily admit that there are worse things.
On a scale from one to ten—with ten equaling being struck by a deadly disease; nine, giving birth to triplets; and eight, having an overdrawn credit line—a cloudburst on a deserted country road is not all that bad. True, I’m drenched, but the rain, which has lightened from shower to spray, is lukewarm. I carry the urn safely in my arms—it seemed wrong to expose the old lady to a bumpy ride in a wheeled suitcase. The cyclist from before passes me and rings his bell somewhat maliciously. I can live with that.
I don’t know how long I’ve been walking, but the afternoon sun is low, and each step seems to take me farther and farther from civilization. I pass a soaked cardboard sign with “50” painted on it, languishing in the ditch. A similar sign with a washed-out message dangles from a fence a quarter
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