Very Mild Chicken Pox Images

Droppie (VII parte)

"That," said his grandmother had always been a pejorative tone in the name of the servant. "That" had stolen the silver spoon of sugar. "That" had chipped the porcelain bowl. "That" always arrived later with the expenses because he did flirt with the butcher. When, exasperated by how rude Donna Caterina, "that" threatened to leave, my grandmother was closed in the room sobbing: "The loss, the loss." And to learn to behave in a more charitable the next, though of humble birth, he reread the life and works of St. Catherine. But then "that" would not go away ever, and everything began again as before. The truth was that those two women they loved and could not be one without the other. "That" was the only one which allowed the grandmother to comb his hair down to the ground and of dressing in her elegant Cignoni, assuring them with twenty-five "pettiness" of bone. Only allowed to assist her in the kitchen to the creation of his secret recipes. It made her a gift to Christmas because she said: "The real rulers are seen by how it treats the servants." The annual buying train tickets to go the country, which invariably "that" came back with a suitcase full of goodies for everyone. That the boy had never seen Donna Caterina accept one, though. Was thanked and shook his head. Only muscat grapes of his homeland could not resist and plaintively asked to serve as appropriate: "Damm 'n'acino grape" or "Give me' 'nu drop of' poison '.

She was grateful to the teachings of Monsignor Della Casa and was always saying that real ladies do not eat and drink, but they eat like birds and you should always lift table with a little of appetite. He always wore black and had gnarled hands and long fingers with a piece of string tied around the ring not to be slipping away the faith of her husband. The boy remembered to have noticed it once while she was peeling peas or beans for the next day with the maid. He remembered his hands freezing cold that night when his grandmother rubbed her feet in front of the tv, cold or wet that morning in which he taught himself to tie the knot. Not to mention the time he got up at night to fetch a glass of water, he saw the flickering light of a candle grandmother sitting at a table together with other women her age with the palms resting on the round table three feet of the room, fingers spread and thumbs and little fingers that touched not to interrupt the chain. Suddenly the tripod had a start and then slowly lifted from the ground. His grandmother shook her head back and his voice no longer spoke the name of the deceased husband of one of the women and began to answer her questions, speaking in first person as if he were. The boy went back in the room immediately and did not tell anyone what he had seen and heard, but was so impressed by the thing that asked not to be present in the house when his grandmother was dead.

The answer came one day late winter. The boy had gone to Rome with his brother for being a bit 'with her grandmother taking advantage of the Easter holiday. Donna Caterina was not at all well. The maid was tired, old and sick and had fallen to the country for Christmas, never to return.

Although she would never even admitted to herself after the death of the servant Donna Caterina had fallen into a deep depression and almost did not eat any more. Not even a "grape". Needless to say, were all very worried about her, including her grandson that he was very fond. On the way home for lunch, hoping that the grandmother ate at least one of those maritozzi with the cream she liked time, an old woman appeared from nowhere at the corner of the lane of Bologna balancing on shaky legs with shopping bags. As if he could read the thoughts of the boy smiled with his toothless mouth and said: "He passed the winter 'a little old, eh? "and disappeared without a trace. So, suddenly, as she had come.

The boy went home very shaken and told Peter that naturally do not believe a single word of what the brother was a veritable oracle of death, and even not so cryptic. Donna Caterina went to sleep in mid-April. The same month her husband's death, the marriage of his daughter and the birthday boy.