The Train to Orvieto

by Novelli, Rebecca J. ;

  When I arrived at our shop a few hours later, the Americans were already sitting on wooden stools around the table and arguing among themselves. Bruno was there, too, nodding and smiling. I could tell that he didn’t understand what they were saying. No one noticed that I was listening.

  “You’re just too cheap to pay a real expert from the States,” the fat one said to the quiet one who wore glasses. “You’re making a big mistake. You gotta pay for expertise.” I wondered what he meant. Everyone knew that you had to touch the grapes to know when they were ready to become wine. Papà and Bruno knew because they cared for the vines themselves. They could feel when the grapes were ready.

  “Business is business,” said the second. “Let’s not waste money on so-called experts.” He bit off the end of a fingernail and spit it out on the wooden floor. “It was your so called tax expert who got us into this mess in the first place.”

  “You two don’t know grapes from Shinola,” the man with the glasses said. “Without grapes, we got nuthin’.”

  “The question is, how do we ship the stuff?” the second man said. “Barrels? Tanks? Bottles?” I had seen him before. He always jiggled his feet or his keys and talked constantly of moving from one place to another. I liked to listen to him because he sometimes revealed useful information, such as that American women owned cars and drove themselves wherever they wanted to go on roads that were much wider than the ones we have in Italy. I was sure I could learn to drive a car. I tried to learn as much as I could about cars and about driving by asking questions of Dante, the mechanic. Once I asked Bruno about carburetors.

  “So, now you think you can fix cars, too?” he said.

  The fat man looked noticed me. “How’s tricks, hon’? Got anything we haven’t tasted yet?” I went in the back of the shop and found a bottle of the new vintage. I poured out three small glasses and set them on the table while Bruno watched.

  The fat man took one of the glasses. He smelled the wine, swirled it in the glass, and drank it all at once like a dose of medicine, then coughed and shook his head. “Geez! It’s got a real wallop, sis.” Bruno smiled. The fat man looked at Bruno more closely and then extended his hand. “Howdy, son.”

  “Piacere,” Bruno said. He pointed at the wine. “E’l’Orvieto originale. L’ho fatto io.”

  “It’s the original Orvieto. He made it himself,” I said.

  “He made this? Hey fellas. He made this stuff.” I translated for Bruno, who smiled and nodded vigorously. “You don’t say? Listen,” the fat man said to his associates, “this guy knows something about growing grapes around here even if his wine tastes like benzina.”

  “More than we do, but if this is what he makes….” The man wearing glasses returned his wine to the tray unfinished. He turned to Bruno. “No offense.”

  “Nessun’ offesa,” I said. Bruno nodded enthusiastically.

  “Listen,” the fat man said, “our production problems could be over. Suppose we take their wine, mix it with whatever we can get, and package it under our label?” He looked from one associate to the other. “We’ll say it’s indigenous. Jack up the price.” He waved his hand. “Marketing.”

  “Excuse me,” the man with the glasses said, “I didn’t hear them say they wanted to sell their wine to us unlabelled.”

  “If we buy from them and put it in our bottle with our label, it’s ours, isn’t it?” He turned to Bruno and handed him his card. “Maybe you’d be interested in doing some business with us?”

  “È un uomo d’affari,” I told Bruno. A businessman. Bruno looked at the card and smiled broadly. He shook hands with each of the Americans.

  “I think he’s interested,” the fat man said. He turned to me. “Set up a meeting, hon’. Tomorrow, noon, the trattoria on the other side of the piazza.” He waved a coin in front of me and winked. “Make it worth your while, sis.”

  “Domani a mezzogiorno,” I told Bruno, “abbiamo una riunione.” I felt needed, but I also remembered what mamma had said about her own, very similar role in business meetings: “They think I’m a houseplant. It doesn’t matter that I know more than they do.”

  “Our new vintage is already a great success,” Bruno said when the Americans left.

  “They only want to mix our wine with someone else’s,” I said. “They don’t care about the new vintage. They don’t even like it.”

  Bruno frowned. “You’re always so negative. You don’t understand. We’re going to be rich.”

  10

  The oblique afternoon sun streamed through the open doors of the salotto, washing papà and Bruno in golden light. I sat down on the sofa near Bruno.

  “We’ll need to make an investment if we’re to start with new vines in the south vineyard,” Bruno was saying.

  Papà shook his head. “I’d have to take a large loan or find investors. Either way I’d lose control.” I saw that Bruno was disappointed.

  “Sir, you have a great deal of land, but no capital to develop it. Any new venture requires capital. What other options do you see?”

  I knew Bruno was right, but papà seldom changed his ideas no matter how persuasive the reasons for doing so. “Papà, maybe you should consider what Bruno is saying more carefully.”

  Papà slammed his fist down. “As long as I have breath in my body, I won’t allow anyone else to take control of Vino Marcheschi.”

  Bruno shrugged and turned to me. “Tanti auguri, cara. Would you like to open your birthday presents now?” He went out of the room and returned with two large boxes, both black and tied with wide gold ribbon. I knew they came from a very expensive shop.

  “I thought you went to Firenze to sell wine.”

  “I did!” Bruno laughed. “These are the profits!” Inside the box was a purse with gleaming gold hardware. It smelled of new leather. In one of the finely stitched interior pockets there was a leather-backed mirror. I knew it had cost more than any gift I had ever received.

  “It’s beautiful.” I stood up and put the handle over my arm. “How does it look?”

  “Bellissima. Like you.” Bruno handed me another box. Inside was a pair of matching pumps. “For when we do business in America.”

  I ran my fingers over the buttery leather. “They’re very beautiful, but much too expensive.” I meant more than the price.

  “Nothing is too good for you,” Bruno said. “Try them on.” The soft leather shaped itself to my flesh and bones so easily. I wanted to keep them, but I understood the meaning of such gifts, gifts that reflected Bruno’s ambitions, his assumptions about my role in fulfilling them, gifts with a message about how I would live and what my future would be. “I want you to have beautiful things to go with our beautiful life together.” He raised his glass. “Always.”

  I knew I should kiss Bruno then, but that doing so would affirm my consent not only to becoming Bruno’s wife, but also to accepting a role that had already been defined for me, my consent to more than I could name. I took off the shoes and put the gifts back in their boxes. “They’re much too beautiful for a university student.”

  “We have more important things to discuss tonight,” papà said quickly. He removed the faceted glass stopper from the decanter, poured the wine, and then raised his glass. “To the two of you and to our future. Both of you make me very happy today.” He sipped the wine and then turned to me. “Bruno has asked me for your hand, Fina. I’m pleased to give my permission and my blessing to both of you and to your marriage.” I felt my life moving on without my will. In the light that poured into the room, Bruno’s stiff white shirt seemed cast from pale bronze. Papà took another sip of his wine. “You have always been my devoted and obedient daughter, cara, and you bring me the most happiness of all of my children.” I recoiled at the word obedient. “You’ll be rewarded for your devotion.” It seemed to me that he was talking about someone else, someone not in that room. “I’m growing older and I need your help here.”

  My heart raced. “I want to go to university first.”


  Papà looked surprised. He cleared his throat. “We cannot always do everything we imagine we want to do.”

  “Not everything. Just university.”

  “It’s time for you to learn about our business. I’ve already discussed this with Bruno.”

  “But not with me!”

  Papà’s hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles whitened. “Bruno has asked me for your hand. That is what is proper.” Papà inhaled slowly and then went on. “Together you will make a happy marriage like mine. You will be our assistant, Fina. Our future together is assured. What could be better than that?”

  Bruno reached out to me. “Fina, I’m so happy and….”

  I felt something close in on me, something that prevented me from breathing. “You planned that I will do what mamma did. Is that what you mean?” I said.

  Bruno looked surprised. “Isn’t that what we’ve always said?”

  “I don’t want to do what mamma did. I want to go to university and then teach history.”

  Bruno and papà glanced at one another. Bruno turned to me. “You mean you want to leave Orvieto?” I nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me this before now? I would have made very different decisions.”

  “I did.” In the silence that followed, a bird sang in the garden. The fragrance of jasmine wafted on a stray breeze. I put my hand in my pocket and squeezed mamma’s rosary, fastened my eyes on the stitching on Bruno’s shirt, followed it up to his shoulder, then to his collar just under his chin, just below his mouth where his words would come out. He’ll say something soon.

  “Basta!” papà said. Enough! “Your job is to take care of your family and your husband. This is God’s will. I’ve been patient and so has Bruno.” Patient? How had they been patient? “If you love me, you’ll do as I say.” I felt weightless, a leaf in a whirlwind.

  “I want to go to university. That’s all.”

  “Cretina!” Idiot! papà said. “How could you help your husband and me if you aren’t here?”

  “Later, when I come back.” I didn’t really know.

  “This is all you have to say?” Bruno’s voice sounded cold and distant. “Just that you’re going away?”

  What more could I say? “I received honors on my exams, and—”

  “University.” Bruno seemed to summon the word from all of the obscure and distant places he had ever heard of. “Why would you go to a place that isn’t good for you?” How does he know this when I don’t? I wondered.

  If they understand how important this is to me, they will change their minds. “I’m sure it’s good,” I said before they could take more away from me. I studied the weave of my napkin, the threads that went in opposite directions. “University is a perfect place for me to….”

  “You’re unrealistic. Nothing is perfect,” Bruno said.

  “I mean for me.” Surely, I know more about this one thing than he does. “I thought you and papà would be proud of me.”

  “Me, me, me. That’s all you think about!” Bruno voice was cold and hard. “You knew that we were supposed to become fidanzati tonight.” I watched his mouth, afraid that the anger and the disappointment in his eyes would weaken my determination. “You have no right to betray me like this. I thought you cared more about us. About me. Instead, you led me on.”

  It was the first time I felt truly angry at Bruno. “Does love mean only that I must marry you when you decide or work in the winery because the two of you have discussed it? Why does love mean that only I must give up what I want to do?”

  “We had an understanding and you’ve violated it,” Bruno said.

  “No! You betrayed me!” My voice was so loud that it seemed as if someone else had spoken for me, someone who was certain. “You’re just angry because I have plans of my own.”

  “If you don’t accept Bruno’s proposal, he’ll marry someone who has more sense than you do,” papà said. Was this what Signora Lucarelli meant?

  Bruno stood up. “I can still change my plans.” He nodded at papà and went out. The front door slammed behind him and then the courtyard gate.

  “Idiota! You’ve ruined our lives,” papà said. My heart throbbed. Loose. Fast. Without brakes.

  11

  I looked out at the empty dawn with eyes that hadn’t closed all night. My body felt hollow, my movements automatic, out of my control. Even if I don’t marry Bruno, people will still speak to me. I’ll still live in a house. Sleep in a bed. The sun will still shine. I will still be alive. I dreaded facing papà at breakfast. I hoped he had gone out early.

  In the dining room, papà sat in his chair, his fingers tapping on the carved lion faces, tense and ready to pounce.

  “Buongiorno, papà.” I sat down at my usual place. Grazia had laid out my breakfast dishes. She took her time serving my toast, pouring my coffee from the ceramic pot that was formed like a rabbit. I kept asking for things—sugar, some fruit, coffee—anything to keep her there, anything to avoid talking about Bruno.

  Papà wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned toward me speaking as if to a simpleton. “Last night you dishonored me and our family, Fina. Bruno made his proposal in good faith and now he intends to leave Vino Marcheschi. This foolish idea of yours has compromised our livelihood.”

  “I only intend to go to university. You and Bruno have done the rest.”

  “Bruno is our manager. He’s wise and capable and knows our business. I trust him. The life you enjoy now is the result of my work and his. I planned that you and he would take over the business. You would be comfortable for the rest of your lives. So would Raffaele and Silvana, if I chose.” Papà has his dreams, too.

  “I love our podere as much as you do, papà.” I meant the smell of the winery, the crumbling walls and cool storage rooms filled with oak casks, the sounds in the fields, the color of the sky. “But I don’t want to live mamma’s life.”

  Papà jerked as if he had received a blow. He seemed to widen and swell with contempt. “In my day we appreciated our blessings and were willing to sacrifice some of our own selfish desires for the good of our family.” He banged his coffee cup on the table. “You’re no different than Silvana and Raffaele.” A puddle of coffee formed on the tablecloth and expanded in a widening circle. “Silvana is a tramp and Raffaele is a faggot, but at least they’re who they say they are. You,” he took a deep breath and then spat the words at me, “are a pretender.” Grazia crossed herself, grunted, and began to clean up the table. “I thank Jesus and the Blessed Virgin Mary that my mother and father didn’t live to see all of my children dishonor me.”

  “Papà, listen….”

  “Listen? To what?” He looked at his hands, turned them over as if they might reveal something important.

  “Bruno only asked you for permission to marry me. He didn’t ask me.”

  “All of us understood what he intended!”

  Grazia gathered our dishes and the tablecloth and went out. I could see that papà was considering what I had said.

  “You weren’t dishonored and Bruno wasn’t humiliated. I’ve always said that I intended to go to university. I told you about my exams. About when I’m supposed to enroll. Neither of you listened to me.” His body softened. “When I’m finished….” Grazia brought a clean tablecloth and spread it over the table.

  “One thing, cara: I won’t pay for this university scheme of yours.” At least he doesn’t intend to stop me from going, I thought. Grazia replaced our dishes.

  “Mamma left me some money from Grandpa and Grandma Carver.” Grazia set out our food.

  “Willa gave you money without telling me?”

  Papà looked at Grazia. “Did you know about this…this inheritance Fina is talking about?” Grazia shook her head.

  “Papà leaned close to me. “Willa left money to you?” I nodded. “So, she hid money from me, too.” He slammed his fist on the table. I jumped. “Willa deceived me just like you’ve deceived Bruno.”

  “I didn’t deceive anyone. Besides, my teachers th
ink I’ll be a good teacher.”

  “A girl who doesn’t keep her word? Anyway, you’ve no place to live.”

  “Cattolicà can help me.”

  “These people who help you do things against your best interests, who fill your head with ideas about going to university, are pazzi. What did you do to cause this interest in you?”

  “I’ve been a good student and I did well on my exams and I want to be a teacher. That’s all.”

  “Must be something else.” Could there be another reason, one I hadn’t guessed? “You’re just an ordinary girl. I think some clever people are trying to take advantage of you. I’m certain Willa has caused this mischief.”

  “Well, mamma was clever and she wanted me to go to university.”

  Instantly, papà’s face contorted with rage. He tried to control himself. “So clever that my children say she was unhappy with me.” He pushed his chair away from the table. “No, Fina, the more I think about this plan of yours, the more I’m sure it’s not the proper thing to do.”

  “Papà, I know that God approves.”

  He laughed. “What does an ordinary girl like you know about what God thinks?”

  12

  Papà was already sitting at the head of the table when I came into the dining room. “Bruno, my guest of honor, here. Fina, next to me.” He gestured to his right. Grazia had set out the silver tray with the decanter and glasses. Papà poured our wine.

  “Gabriele asked me to come,” Bruno said to me. His tone was distant, formal. He turned away.

  “We have important matters to discuss,” papà said. “Grazia, the antipasti, please.” He acted as if nothing unusual had happened, but I realized our meeting would be a decisive one. “Bruno, what do you think of our originale, now?”