[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
cleared her throat, took her hands out of her pockets, as if he'd awakened her
from a deep sleep. "It was begun in 1236 by some Franciscan monks. Thirty
years later the main sanctuary here was complete." "A rush job." "Yes, quite
fast. Over the centuries the chapels sort of sprang up along both sides. The
sacristy was built, then the bell tower. The French, under Napoleon,
deconsecrated it in 1798 and turned it into a customs house. In 1886 it was
converted back to a church, then restored in 1928. When Bologna was bombed by
the Allies its facade was extensively damaged. It's had a rough history."
"It's not very pretty on the outside." "Bombing will do that."
"I guess you picked the wrong side.
"
"Bologna did not.
"
No sense refighting the war. They paused as their voices seemed to float u p
and echo slightly around the dome. Backman's mother had taken him t o church a
few times each year as a child, but that halfhearted effort a t pursuing a
faith had been abandoned quickly in high school and totall y forgotten over
the past forty years. Not even prison could convert him
, unlike some of the other inmates. But it was still difficult for a man with
n o convictions to understand how any style of meaningful worship could b e
conducted in a such a cold, heartless museum
.
"It seems so empty. Does anyone ever worship in this place?
"
"There's a daily mass and sendees on Sunday. I was married here.
"
"You're not supposed to talk about yourself. Luigi will get mad.
"
"Italian, Marco, no more English." In Italian, she asked him, "What did yo u
study this morning with Ermanno?
"
"La famiglia.
"
"La sua famiglia. Mi dica." Tell me about your family
.
"It's a real mess," he said in English
.
"Sua moglie?" Your wife
?
"Which one? I have three.
"
"Italian.
"
"Quale? Ne ho tre.
"
"L'ultima." The last one
.
Then he caught himself. He was not Joel Backman, with three ex-wives an d a
screwed-up family. He was Marco Lazzeri from Toronto, with a wife, fou r
children, and five grandchildren. "I was kidding," he said in English. "I hav
e one wife.
"
"Mi dica, in Italiano, di sua moglie?" Tell me about your wife
.
In very slow Italian, Marco described his fictional wife. Her name is Laura
.
She is fifty-two years old. She lives in Toronto. She works for a smal l
company. She does not like to travel. And so on
Page 93
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
.
Every sentence was repeated at least three times. Every mispronunciatio n was
met with a grimace and a quick "Ripeta." Over and over, Marco went o n and on
about a Laura who did not exist. And when he finished with her, h e was led to
his oldest child, another er e
ation, this one named Alex. Thirty years old, a lawyer in Vancouver, divorced
with two kids, etc., etc. Fortunately, Luigi had given him a little biography
on
Marco Lazzeri, complete with all the data he was now reaching for in the back
of a frigid church. She prodded him on, urging perfection, cautioning against
speaking too fast, the natural tendency. "Deve parlare lentamente," she kept
saying. You must speak slowly. She was strict and no fun, but also very
motivational. If he could learn to speak Italian half as well as she spoke
English, then he would be ahead of the pack. If she believed in constant
repetition, then so did he. As they were discussing his mother, an elderly
gentleman entered the church and sat in the pew directly in front of them. He
was soon lost in meditation and prayer. They decided to make a quiet exit. A
light snow was still falling and they stopped at the first cafe for espresso
and a smoke. "Adesso, possiamo parlare della sua famiglia?" he asked. Can we
talk about your family now? She smiled, showed teeth, a rarity, and said,
"Benissimo, Marco." Very good. "Ma, non possiamo. Mi displace." But, I'm
sorry. We cannot. "Perche non?" Why not? "Abbiamo delle regole." We have
rules. "Dov'e suo marito?"
Where is your husband? "Qui, a Bologna." Here, in Bologna. "Dov'e lavora?"
Where does he work? "Non lavora." After her second cigarette they ventured
back onto the covered sidewalks and began a thorough lesson about snow. She
delivered a short sentence in English, and he was supposed to translate it. It
is snowing. It never snows in Florida. Maybe it will snow tomorrow. It snowed
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]