“Burned?” the two ask, even more incredulous.
“Someone gave me ... they gave me some ... some oral sex. A woman,” I hasten to specify.
“Who was it, then? The Fire Breather’s daughter?” laughs the pharmacist.
“That’s not relevant. This woman, before she ... well, you know ... she’d eaten this spicy tomato soup she makes.”
“It’s Pompilia!” exclaim the baker and the pharmacist in unison.
“She’s famous for her tomato soup. Tastes like it was cooked by the devil himself!” adds the baker.
“Excuse me, but can you explain what this has to do with anything?” I ask him, taken aback by his intrusiveness.
“I’ll give you a second opinion.”
“I don’t need a second opinion,” I explode, exhausted. “I need an ointment, something to put on my dick because it’s on fire, and it’s about to fall off!” I can feel all the customers in the queue staring at me. “And I’ll take these fruit chews as well,” I add, sheepishly.
The pharmacist wraps up a tube of ointment for me. “Store this in the fridge and apply it every two hours. Put on some nice, loose cotton underwear and get yourself an ice pack. Tomorrow you’ll be good as new.”
22
Elisa
“You’ll never guess what I just found out,” exclaims Giada, rushing into my room, where I’m sitting on my bed with my laptop on my lap, surrounded by piles of papers, folders, and notes.
“Please don’t mess up my papers. I’m working on my business plan for the EC grant,” I say, turning the computer toward her. “May I present, Le Giuggiole Agriturismo!”
Giada blinks her long eyelashes in amazement. “What about the vineyard?”
“We’ll keep producing Chianti, but once the villa is renovated, thanks to the regional fund for the restoration of historic-artistic assets, we can make it a wonderful farmhouse with a restaurant and lodging, where we can host events and ceremonies.”
“Like the Relais & Château?”
“Maybe,” I sigh. “But let’s start small: Anagriturismois required to serve drinks and food that are at least forty percent its own production. So in addition to Chianti and Vinsanto, we’ll use our oil, honey, elderberry syrup, jujube syrup, and all the jams that Mamma makes with our fruit trees; the preserves and sauces will be made with vegetables from the garden. We can even make the soaps ourselves. It may be just a hobby of Donatella’s for now, but why not exploit it.”
“It sounds nice, but you keep saying ‘ours, ours, ours.’ There is nothing of ours here, Elisa.”
“Not yet,” I point out.
“What if they don’t give you the loan? What if they deny you the funds?” she says, her big blue eyes shining with anxiety. “You’re already so invested in this, and I don’t want to see you disappointed.”
“We’d be the only agriturismo in Belvedere! Everyone else is gone; no one we knew thought about how to reinvent what they already had, they all went looking for new things elsewhere. There’s no competition, and the proposal is solid. Why would they deny me funding?”
“I’m just saying you should prepare yourself in case something goes wrong.”
“I appreciate your concern, Giada, but I know what I’m doing. I could give Linda a solid future, which is a lot more than I’ve done for myself.”
“Have you come down with irresponsible single mother syndrome again?” she reproaches me. “I thought you were over that!”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it completely.”
“You did a great job with Linda,” she reassures me.
“I also made a lot of mistakes.”
“The only people who don’t make mistakes are the ones who never do anything in the first place,” she says, repeating her life mantra to me.
“Hey, why the hell am I talking to you anyway? You’re the one who let Mamma sell me to Elmo Colli without the slightest objection. What good is a sister who doesn’t come to my aid in times of crisis? It was a terrifying date,” I reproach her for her complicit behavior from the other morning, when she sneered at me behind my back.
