by J. B. Hawker
The sets are very involved, many of them growing to include miniatures of entire village scenes.
Rather than traditional Biblical dress, the Italian sets often include characters clothed in European styles of the medieval period or later. Today, the heart of the craft of Presepi design beats steadily in the port city of Naples, on southern Italy’s west coast.
This nearly unendurable air flight was the culmination of Linda’s desire to complete her collection with an authentic Neapolitan nativity set.
Walt’s life insurance and the sale of the potato farm provided Linda/Taffy with a comfortable retirement and the freedom to fulfill her long-held dream.
In a few weeks from now, when the sisters returned home to their temporary apartment, they planned to find a small place to buy in Boise, in eastern Idaho, where the two widows would keep one another company for as long as they lived.
That part of Taffy’s dream seemed pretty bleak to Bunny, but having no more attractive alternative, she had agreed to her sister’s plans.
“Bunny, listen to this,” Taffy urged, as she began reading aloud from a well-worn brochure, “The convent hotel is the most spotless place you can imagine, but the most important thing is the caring you get from these nuns, a recent guest said. Of course, nowadays you feel very insecure traveling, but when one stops in a place like this one feels totally safe.”
“Isn’t that reassuring, Bunny? I am so pleased we decided to stay in these convent hotels on our trip. We are saving money, of course, but the security provided by warm and caring nuns sounds like just what we need.”
Bunny nodded in agreement as she leaned nearer to examine, once again, the photographs of the rather imposing building and austere rooms of the monastery of the Madonna Dell’Orto church, currently being run as a hotel on the island of Venice where they would stay for their first nights in Italy.
The sisters made all their own travel arrangements via the Internet and were feeling rather anxious since neither had ever ventured outside the United States.
This particular convent hotel had only family-style meal service and few extras, but it was close to the center of Venice, the train station and the Piazzale Roma which was the terminal for all the ferries.
The convent representative had assured them it was only a short vaporetto, or water taxi, ride from the airport to the hotel.
The cost was less than half the rate for any other lodging in Venice, even though the higher priced summer tourist season was over.
This trip was an expensive venture and it was important to economize wherever they could, in spite of Taffy’s improved economic outlook.
When Bunny read an article in the Sunday newspaper travel supplement about the convent-hotels, it seemed ideal for their purpose.
Bunny discovered many of the convents and monasteries in Italy started opening their doors to paying guests in the run-up to the Holy Year in 2000, when the celebrations drew millions to Rome.
Worried about a shortage of hotel rooms, the government offered low-cost mortgages and remodeling loans to convents and monasteries willing to provide lodging.
These lower priced accommodations were becoming increasingly popular with tourists.
The plane tipped slightly, pulling Bunny back to the present, and she heard a new tone in the whine of the jet engines.
Looking around her, Bunny noticed other passengers shaking off their lethargy in anticipation of the end of their ordeal.
Taffy patted Bunny’s arm.
“We have almost arrived, Bunny! Look! Can you see down there? That must be Italy. In a few moments, you and I are actually going to be in Venice, the most romantic city in the world!”
Taffy chattered excitedly, her mind now out of the fictional world and fully engaged with the present.
Bunny wished she could share Taffy’s anticipation. Being in the “most romantic city in the world” could only be a painful experience in light of the loveless future she was expecting.
If only things had turned out differently and the man she loved were here.
“Get a grip, Bunny,” she chastised herself.
Sitting up straighter, she tried to wipe the uncomfortable memories from her mind so she would be able to focus on making sure her sister had the Italian adventure of a lifetime.
The passengers converged on the luggage carousel and waited with varying degrees of patience for a chance to pluck out a familiar bag or two. So many of the cases looked identical that more than one eagerly claimed bag reluctantly rejoined the others after a closer inspection of identification tags.
Bunny spent hours on her laptop researching travel websites while preparing for this trip. She’d taken the advice of making their bags easy to identify by striping them with alternating bands of silver, orange and neon green reflective tape.
She waited alertly, but, so far, no luggage on the carousel sported the unique design.
Anthony Parma entered her field of vision as he approached the baggage area.
Bunny watched his slow progress toward them. He seemed weary, but determined. Bunny wondered what had brought him to Italy, all alone.
Taffy nudged her and pointed as the first of their garish bags made its appearance.
When the sisters approached their own luggage, Parma was retrieving his single bag nearby.
He nodded to Bunny.
“Anthony! It is so good to see you made it off the plane unscathed,” Bunny greeted him.
The man smiled a greeting, his glance including Taffy at Bunny’s side.
“Anthony, I would like you to meet my sister, Lind..er..Taffy Brackett. Taffy, this nice gentleman is Anthony Parma. Anthony fell for me, briefly, on the flight. But he got over it, I’m afraid.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Parma,” Taffy murmured, before turning to Bunny and saying, “What in the world are you talking about?”
“Bunny is teasing me, Mrs. Brackett. I stumbled in the aisle and landed on your unfortunate sister. She was very gracious to forgive my clumsiness.”
“It wasn’t your clumsiness, at all, Anthony. That Teutonic ice maiden was to blame,” Bunny spoke indignantly.
Parma continued to address Taffy, “It was an unfortunate accident. But all is well, and it gave me the opportunity to meet you charming ladies.”
For just a second, Bunny thought he was going to click his heels and kiss her sister’s hand, but Parma merely gazed into those baby blues, nodded again, picked up his bag and walked from the terminal
“What is it with you, anyway, Taffy? That old guy spent several minutes sitting on my lap with his arms wrapped around me only a few hours ago, and he greets me like a stranger. Then, one look at you and he’s practically salivating. You are entirely too old to still be getting that reaction from men.”
Bunny spoke with only half-feigned irritation.
“Oh Bunny, don’t be silly. I don’t know what you are talking about. Mr. Parma was only being polite.”
This was a typical reaction from Taffy.
Bunny sometimes doubted it was possible for any woman to be so oblivious to her own effect on the male of the species, but Taffy would never admit to an awareness that men reacted to her any differently than to Bunny or to most other women.
There was no denying, however, that Linda or Taffy, or whatever name she was using, was what some called a “man’s woman.”
Even in her late middle age, men continued to respond to the combination of dainty hands and feet, unlined alabaster skin, and sapphire blue eyes fringed with long black lashes. Not far from retirement age, her hair was still as naturally dark and rich as ever. And one couldn't forget her most striking feature, an extraordinary bosom.
Although her coloring was different, and she could not carry a tune, there was something reminiscent of Dolly Parton about Taffy.
Bunny did not enjoy the comparison with her own more understated endowments.
Chapter Two
...and then you may all wash your feet and rest Genesis 18:4
Bunny’s arms ached from dragging her wobbly wheeled case and trying to keep her carry-on shoulder bag from sliding down her arm while she walked.
Taffy looked fairly shattered, as well.
Riding the water taxi to the landing in Venice had been exhilarating as they entered this legendary city. Taffy was enchanted by the romantic ambiance.
To Bunny, it had seemed unreal, almost Disney-esque; a feeling enhanced by the painted canvas trompe l'oeil facades camouflaging the scaffolding and restoration work on many of the ancient buildings. They reminded her of backdrops from the stage plays of her youth.
Once off the vaporetto they wandered the dark and narrow cobbled streets for many blocks seeking the monastery hotel where they were booked.
The twisting lanes widened out at intervals into sunny neighborhood plazas furnished with stone benches, planters and sometimes a small fountain.
Extravagantly decorated Carnevale masks leering out from a display window as she walked by gave Bunny an uneasy feeling. She tried to avoid their empty-eyed gaze.
Several of the businesses along the way were shuttered, although it was still afternoon. This late in the fall, many of the tourist-oriented shops had already closed for the season.
Just when they felt they could walk no more, Bunny and Taffy found themselves standing before the massive stone entryway of their home for the next two days, the monastery of the Madonna Dell’Orto church.
Bunny had been excited to learn the Dell’Orto church was Tintoretto's home church. He had painted the renowned frescos and was buried in the crypt on site.
The Idaho church where she and Taffy were members had a mural behind the baptistery which had been painted by a long-ago teenaged church member.
Bunny liked to think of a young Tintoretto painting the frescos for his own church family. It made the old master seem more real, somehow.
The monastery hotel was a massive, forbiddingly ornate stone structure.
The sisters paused for a moment to bolster their confidence before pulling open the heavily carved wooden door.
The clicking of their steps on the marble floor echoed in the contrastingly utilitarian lobby as Bunny and Taffy approached the registration desk.
Bunny noticed here in Italy the religious sisters still wore a modified habit with scarf-like headdress, unlike American nuns who usually dress in modest everyday clothing.
She’d read that nuns were actually considered bad luck in some parts of Italy, rather like black cats are in the States.
Under the circumstances, she thought it took real devotion to dress in a way which drew such superstitious attention.
Bunny was fascinated by the origins of unusual superstitions. She liked to play with fantasy scenarios and speculate what might have led a group of people to decide a certain action or object might have power for good or ill.
Walking under a ladder bringing bad luck was easy. Who wants a bucket of paint to fall on their head? But this one about nuns would require some creative thinking.
With legs like lead from climbing the three flights of ancient stairs to their austere accommodations, Bunny sagged into a straight-backed chair between the two narrow beds.
Taffy flopped down on the cot nearest the small multi-paned window.
They almost refused the kindly nun’s offer to help bring their bags up to the room.
If they had given in to such a misguided impulse, Bunny and Taffy might still be struggling up the dozens of well-worn marble steps.
The nun, though small, was wiry and strong as an ox. She practically skipped up the stairs with their carry-on bags while Bunny and her sister puffed along behind.
This particular nun was good luck, indeed.
After a few moments spent catching her breath, Bunny forced her tired body up from the hard chair to look out the window.
“Oh, Taffy! That climb was worth it. This little window overlooks a canal. It may not be the Grand Canal, but it is absolutely charming. It’s so unusual the way the water laps right against the walls of the buildings. See the cute little bridge in the distance?”
Turning from the window, Bunny discovered her sister was sound asleep, exactly where she had flopped.
The trip and the climb had taken their toll.
Bunny slipped into a robe and unpacked her few necessities.
Pulling a lined tablet and a pen from her carry-on, she jotted a few notes for her travel journal and then climbed into the unyielding bed.
Exhaustion soon trumped discomfort and she joined her sister for their first slumber in Italia, land of romance.
A rustling sound in the darkness pulled Bunny from dreamless sleep. A brief moment of confusion was quickly followed by full awareness.
There was enough moonlight coming through the window for Bunny to make out the figure of her sister attempting to get something from one of the suitcases.
“I’m awake, Taffy. You can turn on the light before you stumble into something in the dark,” she yawned.
“Oh, I didn’t want to wake you, Bunny! I’m so sorry, but I had to get up and find the bathroom. I checked every wall and didn’t find a bathroom door, then remembered I would need to put on my robe and take a walk down the hall.”
“Maybe we didn’t think all the details through when planning this trip. That inconvenience is probably one of the reasons these places are so economical.”
“Well, we are here now and we will just have to make the best of it,” Taffy responded resolutely as she slipped out the door.
Bunny got up and switched on the bare overhead bulb, creating a chiaroscuro effect of harsh light and deep shadows in the cell-like chamber.
“Why didn’t we pay more attention to the ‘monastery’ part of monastery hotel?” Bunny grumbled under her breath.
Checking her watch, she discovered it was still hours before dawn.
The wisest thing to do would be to go back to sleep to try to adjust her body clock, but she felt more awake than she had since boarding the plane two days before.
Should she lie in bed, staring into the darkness for the next few hours, or get up and try to do something productive?
Taffy returned from the bathroom with a look of distaste on her face.
“Bunny, you won’t believe it!” she wailed.
“There is no toilet in the toilet! No toilet in the bathroom, I mean. There is a hole in the middle of a tiled area of the floor with little raised ramps on each side to put your feet on. If I hadn’t been so desperate, I may never have figured out how to use the silly thing. It’s lucky I’ve been keeping up with my yoga exercises, or I could still be stuck in there. This is not what I expected.”
“Oh dear," Bunny replied. “I read about those bathroom facilities while researching our trip. They are called Armenian toilets or something like that. Apparently, there was a time when the government promoted them as being more sanitary than western-style plumbing. It never occurred to me we might find them in our hotels,” Bunny moaned.
“Well, we are only here for two nights. Maybe the next place on our itinerary will be different. Do you think we should call ahead to check and make other arrangements if this is the norm for the convent and monastery hotels?”
“Could you afford the extra expense, Linda, I mean, Taffy?” Bunny fumblingly asked. “I’m willing to go along with whatever you say, since you are underwriting this adventure.”
“Let’s just try to get a bit more sleep and decide about that tomorrow. I’m not thinking too clearly, right now.”
The sisters climbed back into bed and, eventually, slipped back to sleep.
The next morning, after a typical Italian breakfast of a sweet roll, coffee and fruit, Taffy and Bunny became tourists in earnest and set out to see all the sights Venice had to offer.
Passing up on an expensive private gondola ride, they enjoyed seeing the same architecture, canals and bridges from a half-empty excursion boat.
This late in the season the sisters were managing to avo
id large crowds of tourists. The weather was a bit chilly and some of the attractions were shuttered for the winter, but it was still Italy and a thrill just to be there.
They found themselves in glorious St. Mark’s Square just after lunchtime.
Bunny was intrigued by the rows of upturned platforms encircling the grand plaza.
She approached a waiter at a nearly empty outdoor café and learned these wood and metal platforms were sections of the portable elevated sidewalks used when the Piazza San Marco was, not infrequently, under water.
Bunny wondered, briefly, if they also served as perches for the multitude of pigeons which call the plaza home.
The waiter was so charming and helpful that the sisters felt compelled to have their lunch at his café.
Selecting a table in the most sheltered spot available, they ordered Panino di Prosciutto e Fontina and espresso.
Bunny was determined to “go native” at every meal and to resist the urge to cling to familiar western-style dishes when making her menu selections. In this instance, the dish sounded more exotic than the Italian version of a ham and cheese sandwich it actually was.
“How are you holding up, Taffy?” Bunny inquired.
Her sister was looking every bit as worn out as Bunny felt.
“I am enjoying each second of this experience, Bunny, but I must confess to feeling more tired than I expected. It’s probably just the jet lag.”
“I could do with a bit of a rest, too. Why don’t we go back to the hotel and sit in the lovely sheltered garden while reviewing our plans for the rest of the trip? Now we are here we have a little better idea of what we may be able to tackle.”
“Good idea! Before we go back I think I’ll just dash inside and see if there isn’t a more ‘normal’ restroom we can use in the café. I want to avoid the Armenian experience as much as possible.”
So saying, Taffy stood up too swiftly and stumbled against the waiter who was just bringing their drinks.
The two collided with enough force to send the tiny coffee cups crashing to the tiles, with Taffy following right behind.
Thrusting her hand out to break her fall, she managed to drive a sliver of white crockery deeply into the fleshy part of her right hand.
