Today, you will find Chapters 6 and 7. Enjoy.
Anna in Tuscany
Copyright 2021 | Stephanie Verni
Anna in Tuscany, Episode 6, Chapter 6Chapter 6
On Tuesday, I spent the day getting my assignments organized. Danielle and I talked on the phone for an hour, lining up my travel within Italy. I was going to Rome, Venice, and Florence, and then to some of the smaller regions and towns. Her assistant booked my hotels for those jaunts.
Luckily, Rosa had packaged leftovers for me for two nights, so I relaxed with a new book I’d picked up and ate dinner. I even poured myself a small glass of wine. After dinner, I needed fresh air and slipped into my coat for a nighttime stroll.
Being alone wasn’t so bad, after all. I got to do whatever I wanted and was on my own timetable. I ate what I wanted when I wanted; I took walks when it suited my own schedule; I had plenty of time to read; and I even took time for meditation in the mornings and before bed. “Find yourself,” my mother had said to me. I wanted her to know I had listened. I was doing what I said I would do.
Wednesday morning was much the same: I got up, had breakfast, and began to do research for my first article. Tonight, I had a date to play cards with my neighbor, Matteo. I was looking forward to getting to know him better.
To that end, I bought desserts from my local pasticceria and a plant for Matteo. He seemed like a sweet man who had lost his wife, and I was looking forward to his company. It also was unlikely that I’d be any good at cards.
Not wanting to be late, I knocked on the door a couple of minutes early.
“Ah, princepessa, so good to see you,” Nicolo said, with a smile. He was wearing a crisp, maroon shirt and his glasses. He looked very smart and tidy, and he caught me off-guard as I was not expecting him to be joining us. Nicolo saw my surprise. “I always play cards with him on Wednesdays. He must have forgotten to mention that.”
He motioned dramatically for me to come inside, and I saw Matteo sitting at the card table, ready to play. Music featuring an accordion played in the background, and I could see Matteo shuffling the cards.
“Come in, come in,” he said. “Ah, Anna,” Matteo said when he saw me enter the room. “Ciao, bello. We are happy you come.”
“Grazie.”
I presented Matteo with the plant, and he took the desserts from me from the pasticerria.
“Eccelente!” He looked pleased by the sweet treats. “Sit, sit,” Matteo said. “We play da cards.”
“Which game?” I asked.
“We play Scopa. You know how?”
“Of course, she knows how! You do, don’t you, Anna?” Nicolo asked.
I smiled. “Yes—si—my grandmother taught me,” I said.
Matteo nodded and smiled once he understood. Nicolo watched me as I made myself at home at the table.
And there I was. Sitting in my neighbor’s apartment playing cards with an older gentleman and his grandson, his younger clone. It was uncanny how much they looked alike. There was something in the twinkle of their eyes that made it clear they were not only related by blood but connected in a much deeper way. My sixth sense was kicking in—and I could feel that. I think it’s one of the reasons I enjoyed writing and hearing people say they connected with my travel pieces. While it’s always about the places we visit, underlying all of that is the people—the people who make up the place. Additionally, people always told me I looked like my grandmother more than I looked like my own mother—perhaps it was the hazel green eyes and the shape of our faces—but everyone knew I looked like Nana. The same was true for Nicolo and Matteo; they both had strong Roman noses.
“So, how are you enjoying Siena?” Nicolo asked me.
“Good.” Then I asked, as I am always curious to know more, “Nicolo, how do you speak English so well?”
“At school. We learned Italian and English.”
It made me wish I were truly bilingual. The desire to work on my Italian was growing exponentially as I began to become reacquainted with the culture.
After about fifteen minutes, Matteo won the first round. He clearly was a little devil at playing Scopa. Nana had told me years ago that it was the favorite card game of the older gentlemen in Italy. If Matteo was any indication of their love of the game, I knew I was going to lose at cards all night.
“So, how long will you be with us, Anna?” Nicolo asked.
“I’ll be working here for a year.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a travel writer.”
“What a great job. Sounds delightful,” he said.
“It is pretty nice. I love to write and don’t mind the travel.”
I could see Matteo’s ears perk up when he heard Nicolo and me talk about what I do for a living.
“What is your first assignment?” Nicolo asked.
“It’s about La Festa Degli Innamorati,” I said. Matteo looked at me quizzically. “I have to get started on it, and I’ve been doing some research. But I could use some more inspiration. Do either of you have a good story about Valentine’s Day here in Siena?”
They thought for a moment, and Nicolo yielded to Matteo, who said, “A Siena l’ispirazione è tutt’intorno a te.” Matteo had been following along perfectly and replied back to me in English—In Siena, inspiration is all around you.
We played another hand, and Matteo won again. His eyes danced with enjoyment.
“He loves winning,” Nicolo said.
“I see that. How often do you spend time together?”
“I come by at least three times a week. I try to get him out, too. We go to dinner or to hear music. But always cards on Wednesday nights when I’m not working.”
“And what do you do for a living?” I asked Nicolo.
“I’m a travel writer,” he said.
“Are you serious? Really?” I could hear Matteo snicker. He was enjoying this conversation.
“No, I’m only joking you,” Nicolo said. “I’m a doctor. Pediatra.”
“A pediatrician? Here in Siena?”
“Yes. Just around the corner.”
“Si prende cura di me,” Matteo said. He takes good care of me.
“Matteo, why are you speaking to me in Italian if you know English so well.”
“Ti sto insegnando l’italiano,” he said. I’m teaching you Italian.
I should have known. Clever old dog. But I was even more impressed with Nicolo being a doctor and taking care of children.
We ate a bit of the sweets, played one more round, and then when I could see Matteo was beginning to tire, we began to clean up. Matteo put the plant I gave him on the windowsill and settled into his easy chair, turning on the television to watch his favorite news program.
“This was fun, even though I’ll never beat Matteo at cards,” I said to Nicolo in the kitchen as we put the food and drinks away. “I’m glad he invited me to come over.”
“I am glad you came, too,” Nicolo said. “He hasn’t been the same since Nonna died. He misses her big.” Big. Good choice of words. I missed my Nana big, too.
“How long were they married?” I asked.
“Fifty-five years.”
“That’s a long time,” I said, in awe.
“And in love with each other all those years—and still—as you can see. All of the paintings in the apartment are Nonna’s. She was quite an artist.”
“I’ll have to take a close look at them sometime,” I said.
“His heart, it is always broken,” Nicolo said. “It makes me sad to see him this way. I come around to help and to cheer him up as much as I can. But he’s lonely.”
“Well, I will keep a good eye on him, too. I can care for him, also.”
“I appreciate that, Anna. Could I possibly get your mobile number, just in case? He doesn’t always answer the phone, and my parents are no longer living in Siena. They moved to the coast, so they’ve left Nonno, who refused to go with them, in my care. Which I don’t mind at all. He’s my Nonno.”
“Of course,” I said, and Nicolo and I exchanged our contact information.
I walked back into the living area and leaned down to meet Matteo’s eyes. “Grazieper la bella serata, anche se mi hai battuto a carte.” Thank you for a lovely evening, even though you beat me in cards. I kissed Matteo on the cheek.
“Nessun problema,” Matteo said, laughing. No problem.
“I will see you tomorrow,” I said to them both.
Nicolo walked me to the door. “Ciao, bella,” he said.
Anna in Tuscany, Episode 7, Chapter 7Chapter 7
A week later, as I was eating supper, and after another week of playing cards and losing to both Matteo and Nicolo, the light of the day coming to an end, I heard a knock on my door.
Matteo stood before me with an old, leather tattered box that looked worn. It was a pretty sizeable one, and it was tied shut with a big ribbon.
“That looks heavy,” I said, taking it from him and carrying it inside. “Come on in.” We moved into the living area, where he sat on one of the guest chairs, and I placed the box on the coffee table.
“What is this?”
“Stoooria d’amore.” A love story.
I looked at him a bit puzzled.
“My eyes are bad, and my hands no work the typewriter like they used to. It is storia d’amore I have-a worked on for years. My-a story. Our-a story. Lenora and I.”
“May I?” I asked him, pointing to the box.
“Sì.”
I opened the box and saw faded letters tied up in ribbons, black and white and color photographs, handwritten poetry, and a stack of typewritten pages tied up with string. In awe, I looked at the contents of the box. It was a reservoir of documentation, a scribe’s scrawling on paper here and there, bits and pieces of stories everywhere. Cards in red envelopes.
“When did you stop writing this?”
“Five-a years ago when Lenora pass.”
“Matteo—were you a writer?”
“Giornalista.” Journalist.
“Really?” I asked. He nodded.
Looking at some of the photographs was like looking at Nicolo. Their similarities were striking, and Lenora reminded me of Nana when she was younger—voluptuous with sweet eyes and an angelic smile. In photo after photo, you could see how much in love Matteo and Lenora were.
Danielle had wanted a unique piece about love and Valentine’s Day for the website—a more personal story, if I could find one.
As I perused the collection, aspects of their love story unfolded here in this box, but would I be able to tell this story? I could, I thought. Matteo is here to help fill in the blanks. Was I holding the key to an untold love story—one that I could sink my teeth into? Dissecting the contents of the box was like being handed the parts of a car before it’s put together, and I understood what he wanted me to do.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” I said.
“It’s-a yours,” he said.
“I can’t keep this—these are all your treasures.”
“You write the story on La Festa Degli Innamorati. On-a loan. Here is-a your ispirazione for your story.”
“Are you sure, Matteo? I would be reading these private letters and poetry—”
“It is all there to be a-read. It is good story, a nice story, and we need a little nice in this world. Spread the love.”
I couldn’t argue with him. Kindness is always important in life, to any story. And I was intent on doing just as he said—spreading Italy’s love.
My heart was filled with gratitude that this man would entrust his love story to me. I had come to Italy to find myself, to get away from it all, but in reality, I had found something that made my heart sing. And maybe his, too.
“And you will help me fill in the blanks?” “I will-a help you,” he said.
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About the author:
STEPHANIE VERNI is the author of THE LETTERS IN THE BOOKS; FROM HUMBUG TO HUMBLE: THE TRANSFORMATION OF EBENEZER SCROOGE; BENEATH THE MIMOSA TREE; INN SIGNIFICANT; LITTLE MILESTONES; THE POSTCARD; and ANNA IN TUSCANY. She is also a co-author of the textbook, EVENT PLANNING & MANAGEMENT: COMMUNICATING THEORY & PRACTICE. Currently an adjunct professor at Stevenson University Online, she instructs communication courses for undergraduate and graduate students. She and her husband reside in Severna Park, Maryland, and have two children. On the side, she enjoys writing travel articles for marylandroadtrips.com.
Connect with Stephanie on Instagram at stephanieverniwrites.