“The cigarette vending machine outside the tobacco store. It has condoms too.”
“Oh. And you know this because you often find yourself scrambling for condoms in the middle of the night?” I ask with a hint of malice.
“Would that make you jealous, by chance?”
“It might,” I admit.
“Anyway, when the tobacconist decided to put condoms in the machine, the ultra-Catholic fringe of Belvedere had a fit, accusing him of encouraging promiscuity among the youth, transforming the village into Sodom and Gomorrah. No one talked about anything else for months.”
“Not much ever happens here, does it?”
“Believe it or not, no.”
“How did it end?”
“Let’s just say the tobacconist and the ultra-Catholics settled on a diplomatic solution.”
I push the engine of the little Cinquecento to its limits and beyond as I speed toward the parking lot in the square.
“Here they are,” Elisa says, pointing to the lit window on the vending machine.
I spot the label glued above the wordDurex, which sports the image of a long-haired, bearded man sternly pointing his finger in our direction, with the caption “Jesus is watching you.”
“That’s the diplomatic solution I was referring to.”
“Very effective,” I note.
Elisa slips a twenty-euro bill into the machine, presses the corresponding button, and we wait.
“Shouldn’t they fall down into the hole?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she replies nervously.
“But they’re not.”
“No.” She presses the button again, then again and again, but the machine refuses to do its job. “It’s blocked, stupid thing!”
“Stop it, stop it, you’ll hurt yourself,” I say, restraining her from punching the vending machine. “Any other solutions?”
“We can ring the pharmacy.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
The pharmacy has a back door with a little window, like the one prison guards use to check on prisoners in their cells, from which my pharmacist friend peers out.
“Good evening!” he greets us. “What can I get for you?”
“Condoms,” I reply quickly.
“Ah, so you’re all healed down there?”
“I’ve never been better, thanks. I’m in a bit of a rush, though.” I cut him short.
“So, condoms. I have these super-thin ones, they seem to be popular, people say you can barely feel them.”
“Perish the thought. Let’s not risk it,” Elisa intervenes.
“I have the performance ones, ultra-resistant, if you’re really going at it, or fruit flavored for the gourmands.”
