When I reached the middle of the road, I smiled at a short, pot-bellied old man with a thick moustache, carrying a basket of leaves.
“Ciao...” I said shyly, because I knew very well that my Italian was limited to ‘ciao’ and ‘grazie’, but also because I was already used to the sour faces Italians made whenever I tried to be friendly. For example, Martino Accuri. The damn driver hated me and made no effort to hide it. Every time I greeted him, he muttered ‘stronza’ under his breath, and I was pretty sure it was an insult.
Fortunately, that wasn't the case with that old man.
“Ciao, Signorina!” He replied effusively, and I blushed at the flood of Italian words that followed, because I didn't understand a single one.
“Sorry... I don't speak Italian.” I groaned, my heart sinking as I looked into the man's round, friendly eyes, waiting for an answer.
Not understanding what was happening, he laughed loudly and whistled in the direction of the vineyard, waving his arms at someone. Not letting my doubt linger too long, a man who must have been about my age appeared with long strides. He had a friendly expression on his face and was dressed in dirty jeans and... no shirt.
I stared as he talked to the old man with the moustache, lingering on his toned body and the muscles of his abdomen dotted with black hair.
The man was a sight for sore eyes...
When he turned to me, I straightened up and smiled awkwardly.
“I'm Fabiano. This gentleman is my uncle Gennaro. He wants me to ask you if you're the new housekeeper at Signor Vicari's villa.”
I smiled, thrilled to find someone else in that place who could speak English.
“Yes, that's me!” I blurted out and extended my hand to the old man. “My name is Daisy!”
Fabiano translated, and before I could react, his cheerful uncle grabbed me and greeted me in the Italian way. With a kiss on each cheek.
I laughed. I was getting used to such intimacy. Besides, I had no other choice.
“Piacere, Signorina Daisa!”
“Daisy, Zio. Daisy.” Fabiano corrected him, while I took a step back and turned my attention back to his muscles and the sweat running down them.
Good Lord... The Italian air really did wonders for men.
Gennaro pronounced my name correctly and fired off a few more things in Italian, fluffing his moustache.
Fabiano smiled. “Uncle Gennaro wants to know if you have ever donesfogliaturabefore.”
“’Sfogliatura’? What’s that?”
Fabiano chuckled. “It’s when we remove some of the leaves from the vines to help the grape clusters ripen. We usually do it closer to harvest time, but this year the fruit is very late.” Heexplained, running a hand through his dark, curly hair that fell to his neck.
“Nope.” I confirmed. “We don’t have any vineyards in my town.”
Gennaro asked something else.
“My uncle wants to know where you're from, Signorina.”
“Oh, just call me Daisy! No Signorina!” I asked. “I'm from a small town in South Mississippi, United States of America.”
Gennaro let out a loud “oh!” accompanied by wide eyes and open hands. With enthusiasm that transcended language barriers, he said something that made not only Fabiano, but also the people around him, burst out laughing.
“My uncle traveled a lot when he was a boy and spent three months in Mississippi during his trip around the world!” Fabiano translated, placing one of his strong arms on the old man's shoulders, who was nodding fervently. “He says he loved the food... Fried pickles, fried catfish, your fried chicken... And...” The old man said something in my direction that included ‘scusa,’ one of the few words I recognized thanks to Camillo. “And he apologizes, but his English was never good, and over the years he's forgotten it.”
"No problem. Besides, I'm in Italy, so I have to learn to speak Italian.“ In front of those friendly people, it was easy to forget everything that had been happening. ”And your uncle is absolutely right, Fabiano! Our food is great."
Fabiano smiled warmly, translating my words to his uncle with great ease, but I realized that the old man was starting to protest.
“Okay, okay!” Fabiano replied in English, amused by whatever Gennaro was saying to him. “He says he may not be able to speak English anymore, but he understands most things,” Fabiano explained, and I smiled again.