April 19, 1992

 Good Friday

“How many eggs do you need?”

Oh, let’s say 80 for the pasta, 40 for the filling; how about ten dozen? That should be enough”

“How many cappelletti are you going to make?

“Well, we should be somewhere between forty and sixty for lunch, you never know who’s going to drop out at the last minute and who’s going to want to bring a friend so I was thinking an egg and a half per head for the pasta and the filling is always half as much. Do you think I need more?”

Viviana paid the poulterer and put the eggs in her black shopping tote with “Cinecittà” picked out in rhinestones on one side. The cartons fit perfectly on top of the two bricks of Parmesan cheese and the little box of nutmegs.

“I sure hope you aren’t going to do this alone.”

Oh no, I’ve got three men rolling out the pasta for me and four old country aunts who’ll close the pasta into capelletti if we all sit down and play cards afterward. It’ll be a nice afternoon.”

“Don’t you need any chickens? I’ve got ten brace of old hens . . .”

“Thanks, but Paolone is going to pull the necks of eight big old capons tonight, so all I‘ve got to do is pluck’em and clean’em and throw’em in the pot. With celery and carrots and onions. I’ll do that tomorrow morning. Thanks! Happy Easter.”

Viviana walked out of the shop into a blustery day. The fog had lifted earlier this morning when a cold wind from the northeast started blowing across the fields. She was making her way to her car across the square when one of Sunday’s guests popped out of nowhere.

“Viviana, how nice to see you. What are you up to?”

“Oh, ciao Amonasro. I‘ve bought my eggs and cheese and I’m off to start the cooking for Sunday.”

“Well, then, you have time for a cup of coffee.”

“I really. . .”

“It’ll only take five minutes. Come on.”

Amonasro clasped Viviana’s elbow and they walked into a café. It was market day so the bar was brimming with farmers in their city best, drinking coffee while their wives were shopping or working at the market. Viviana smiled and resigned herself to not having anything interesting to look at.

“Listen Viviana – two coffees please – I’ve got some bad news; I won’t be able to make it on Sunday.

“What a pity, Paolone was looking forward to seeing you.”

“I know, but Elisabetta and Carlo are coming down from Bologna that day and bringing Elena with them. I’ll need to take them out to a restaurant.”

“Amonasro, you know you’re just fishing for an invitation. Of course they must come, too. You should just go ahead and ask me outright.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you in an embarrassing situation, you’re always so. . .”

“Glad to see Elisabetta and Carlo? You know I am and Paolone wouldn’t miss seeing them for the world either.”

“Well, what should we bring?”

“Oh, whatever you like. Why don’t you let Elena decide so she gets to eat something she particularly likes?”

“Viviana, you know you’re just fishing for dessert. I’ll call them and tell them.”

“Good! See you on Sunday morning – come whenever you want. We’ll be there all morning. Thanks for the coffee.”

Viviana made it to her car and drove out to the farmhouse. This structure was as dilapidated and graceless as it was enormous. A vast mud yard sprawled out around it, and the fields lay fallow fifty feet to the left, right, and back of the house. She slipped off her city shoes, left them on the passenger’s floorboard, and slipped on an old pair of embroidered slippers with mud caked on their sides.

When she got to the kitchen with her groceries, she placed the bags on the table and put the coffee on before even taking her coat off. This was going to be a big afternoon and she would need all of her resources.

She looked at the stanzone or “big room” and saw that all the tables were in order. This all-purpose area was actually an airy stable. Well, it wasn’t exactly a stable any more; Paolone had cleaned it, painted the walls, and put down a cheap ceramic floor about fifteen years ago, before Viviana had met him. The far wall was taken up with mismatched kitchen appliances: a big double mud sink, another smaller sink for washing your hands and dishes, a couple of stoves, a couple of refrigerators and a big horizontal freezer. Ancient credenzas with peeling veneer stood on either side and in the centre of the room were three temporary tables on sawhorses pulled in from the cold storage room. 
          Beyond them sat four big armchairs, an irreparably marred coffee table and what was left of a gigantic sofa that only Paolone used. It was big enough to hold him stretched out completely with his dirty boots still on, and this was where he came in to take a nap if he got tired. In the summer, he often slept there all night, since he was too tired to shower at nine in the evening after spending a full day in the fields. The television held a place of honour next to the fireplace, and over the chimney was a larger than life-sized oil portrait of Mussolni, hailing his people from a balcony bristling with red carnations.

Almost everyone felt immediately at ease in this room. You never had to think about where you were going to sit, what you were going to do, or where the food and drink were. This room was an open book, and once you entered it, you turned to any page you pleased.

No sooner had the coffee perked than Viviana’s first helpers arrived: Ivo and Anna.

“I think we have time for a cup of coffee, don’t you?” Viviana helped them with their coats, poured a round of coffee, and sat down to chat. Ivo had floored the ex-stable and he would be helping Paolone with the new house they were building on the other side of the fields. The new house was going to be fantastic, with a real dining room that would hold two tables, fifteen by three feet each. There would be a place for everyone to sit and eat, any time they wanted to. They wouldn’t have to drag furniture in and out of the cold storage room any more. She had driven past the new house last week off in the distance, its long dirt road running to it between the peach orchards which had been in full flower with their delicate clouds of pink and white blossoms. It was exactly where she wanted to live.

After they finished their coffee, Ivo rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands in the sink while Viviana cleared the table and put a twenty-pound bag of flour on one corner. She placed a rolling board with a rolling pin in the middle of the table, a ten-gallon empty paint bucket beside it, and the eggs on the credenza behind him.

“Alright Viviana. Let’s see if I can roll out a perfect circle.” Ivo’s calloused hands pulled up six great handfuls of flour and dropped them onto a pyramid on the table. He punched a whole in the top with his fingers and thumb and then and broke six eggs into the funnel shaped hole, beating them with an old fork. Later as he kneaded the dough, Anna grated the Parmesan and mixed it with forty eggs. She added big fistfuls of pale white runny sheep cheese to the mixture and grated six whole nutmegs into it. Just before Anna started to cut the pasta into squares, the doorbell rang again.

It was the four country aunts – Mina, Mirna, Mirta and Milva, their heads all wrapped in silk scarves. Viviana kissed each one on both cheeks, gave them a quick hug and ushered them into the farmhouse. After untangling their scarves from their hair and earrings and taking off their coats, they washed their hands, put on their aprons, and set to work. They grabbed demitasse spoons and daubed a little of Anna’s filling onto each square of pasta. Then with a single movement that was as nonchalant as it was elegant and expert, they folded each square around the filling into triangles, twisted the triangles into tiny little hats and lined up the little hats into apple-pie-orderly rows of on a large pastry tray. It took them a little more than seven seconds to make each hat.

Viviana kept busy, making pot after pot of coffee as more people arrived and before you knew it, the house had turned into a cottage industry. A pharmacist and Viviana’s insurance agent were rolling out pasta on the large dining room tables, wrapping it around their rolling pins and taking it over to the kitchen area where Anna would cut the pasta into squares and hand it over to the aunts. The music was on and everyone was humming and chatting. In what took hours, but seemed like no time, the aunts were filling the tenth large tray with the tiny little hats while the men were washing their hands. Viviana was now sweeping the dining area of the little flour that the men had accidentally spilled onto the floor. They were quite proud they could roll out six eggs of pasta dough so thin you could read an article in the newspaper through it.

Paolone burst into the door about this time, took one look at the pharmacist’s wife and trumpeted out in dialect, “Damn, but you’re a curious little hussy, ain’t you?”

She laughed at him, as did everyone else. She was Paolone’s sister and they adored one another. Paolone turned to Viviana who was laying the green playing felt on the kitchen table. He grabbed her face between his two ham hock hands and kissed her on the nose with a loud smack.

“If the women are going to play, I guess that means the men are going to drink through the first round, don’t it? I suppose I should fill up some bottles from the demijohn in the basement.”

Viviana winked at him and responded. “Well, I guess the only reason you drink is because you know can’t win at cards against us, so I suppose that’s just what you need to do. Do you want a hot cup of coffee first?”

“Nahh. You just keep doing what you need to do and I’ll be fine.”

The country aunts had seated themselves in the meantime and were shuffling the cards.

“Viviana, aren’t you going to play with us?”

“Oh, I’ll sit in when one of you needs to take a break. I want to get these cappelletti into the cold storeroom. The kitchen’s in perfect order. Thanks for helping.”

They were cutting the cards at that point and Viviana knew they would not pay attention to anyone until the first round was over. Paolone came back with two big bottles of red wine swinging in his hands and Viviana stacked some glasses and took them into the living room area where the men were watching the television and smoking.

“This one has a long story,” said Mina as she dragged a card along the felt to the centre of the table.

“Santé” said the men as they clinked their thick clear glasses filled with wine. Viviana pulled a plate of cold cuts out of the refrigerator and laid it on the rude coffee table amid their thanks.

They would all be gone in an hour, off their separate ways to their homes and Viviana would start fixing dinner. In the meantime, Paolone would pull the necks on those capons and hang them in the cold storage room. Then Paolone and Viviana would eat their dinner without speaking, only because they would watch television the whole time.

Just as Viviana was about to take her place at the card table, the doorbell rang. It was Viviana’s city aunt.

“Oh, well, it looks like you’ve finished cooking for Easter.”

“Hardly that Jolanda, but I am finished for today. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Why that is just what I was hoping you would say. Hello everybody!”

The men and the women turned and smiled and went back to their TV and cards.

“Viviana, are you coming to the vigil with me this evening?”

“Jolanda, you’re kind to ask, but, well, I’ve got to fix dinner here and I have another big day in front of me tomorrow getting ready for Sunday. You’ll all be here, won’t you?”

“Of course, we will, but I mean Viviana, Easter is about our Lord and Saviour. You might want to go to church, mightn’t you?”

“I’d love to if I had the time. I just . . . “

“Remember the parable of Mary and Martha?”

“About the lazy spinster who sat on her big behonkus and listened to Jesus go on and on while her grumpy spinster sister swept the floors, made sure the meat didn’t overcook, emptied the chamber pots, and moaned and whined the whole time about having to do it all herself? Oh yes, I remember that story.”

“You’re the perfect example of Martha, who . . .”

“What are you talking about? Do I sound grumpy? Do I look harried and overworked? Have I been grousing with these people here?”

“You know what I mean about Mary and Martha.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean. I’m not a spinster either for that matter.”

“No, but you’re separated from your husband, aren’t you? You’re all alone.”

“Jolanda, there is not enough room in this house to be alone if Paolone is even sitting in his car outside. What do you really want to tell me, Jolanda?”

“Viviana, what makes you go to all this trouble? I mean look at the life you had with Angelo. You had all the help you needed: two full time maids and you dined in the best restaurants in town. You led a life of real ease and comfort, and what have you given it up for? A ramshackle old barn on the edge of town.”

“All right, let’s get this over with once and for all, without any spite, without any more sarcastic little comments, without any more barbs. I wish I could make you understand. My life used to be a lot less trouble, but it was also a lot less fun. I mean, Angelo and I ate out five days a week, and in case you’re still wondering, I still can afford to eat out that often, so the way I lead my life is not a question of expense or convenience. Going to restaurants bored me. It still does. And frankly, the food is never as good as what you can make at home. You know that, too. What really gives me satisfaction is seeing all of my friends and relatives together under one roof eating delicious, wholesome food and enjoying each other.

"While we’re on the subject of Jesus, let’s go ahead and talk about him, too. He certainly didn’t need to come down to Earth; wasn’t he better off up in heaven singing and flying around with everybody traipsing about in sheets and praising him and praying to him? What could have possibly pushed him to come to Earth and suffer?”

“He came to earth to wash us of our sins and give us everlasting life. Isn’t that what the Bible says?”

“That’s what the Bible says but I don’t recall Jesus ever actually stating that in so many words. I’ll tell you what I think. I think Jesus was just plain bored. I mean, being God and all that, he could never even lose at cards, now could he since he always knew what cards everyone was holding? He knew who was going to win the UEFA soccer cup, years ahead of time, so there was no use in betting or even sitting around to watch it since there would be no surprises.”

“There was no UEFA Cup in Galilee when Our Lord walked the Earth.”

“Yes, but He knew there would be one, one day.”

“Viviana, this is bordering on sacrilege.”

“Then perhaps, you might want to talk about something else that does not concern Jesus or my life or the church or my former husband. I didn’t bring any of this up. All I did was offer you a cup of coffee. Did you come here just to pick on me?”

“No, you know I didn’t. I was just hoping you would come to church with me for the vigil this evening.  But I don’t suppose you have the time.”

Viviana quickly discarded the slight irritation that Jolanda had brought on. Jolanda did mean well, and Viviana knew it.

“Thank you Jolanda, it is kind of you to think of me and to drop by, but I’ll take a rain check.”

“Well, do you need any help for Sunday?”

(Viviana thought:

Jolanda could pluck the chickens and butcher them or make meatballs with the boiled meat tomorrow or wash the vegetables or grill them over the fire or make the cream for the trifle or on Sunday she could sweep the floor or set the table or wash up afterwards.)

 Jolanda continued:

“I do have a couple of hours tomorrow after lunching with our priest before I go to the hairdresser’s and then to Mass.”

Viviana realized Jolanda wouldn’t gladly do any of the above in her Chanel suit, so she said:

“Oh no, thank you I think everything is under control. The main task was getting the cappelletti rolled and stuffed, and that’s all done. Just bring your family over on Sunday.”

“Which brings me to my last point: would it be a terrible imposition if we brought Lorenzo’s mother with us? Otherwise she’ll be all alone since Lorenzo’s sister is spending Easter with her husband’s parents.”

Viviana looked Jolanda directly in the eye and smiled broadly and sweetly. “Of course you can, you hardly need to ask. I am always glad to see old Signora Amadesi.”

Jolanda sighed in relief. Viviana now knew this was the main reason Jolanda had stopped by even if Jolanda tried to be nonchalant about the whole matter. Viviana hadn’t gone to a Mass in five years except for funerals and weddings, Jolanda did not like to cook very much, and Easter dinner for five at a restaurant would cost as much as a pair of good shoes. Viviana had been on the verge of saying:

“Well, why don’t you take your mother-in-law out to a restaurant? It’s so much less trouble.”

           But she didn’t. Viviana did not encourage spiteful conversations. Besides, the card players were calling for her to sit in on a round of Snipe the Romagnol version of bridge so Viviana excused herself from Jolanda and went over to sit at her rampart overlooking the green felt plain. Jolanda pulled her coat on and said good-bye to all the men and women in the room. “See you all on Sunday!” she chirped and walked out the door.

“This one knocks hard,” said Viviana as she thumped the table with her knuckles and laid down the Jack of Cups.

Viviana’s partner Mina smiled at her. Mirna laid down a club and Mirta laid down her whole hand. Viviana had won the game with her first hand at the first round.

“Well, Miz Luckybutt, I don’t know what the use of playing with you is. You seem to know where all the trumps are,” said Mirna with good-natured hauteur.

“Oh, I don’t know about that but I do know enough to sit down and enjoy myself even when I don’t know that I’m going to win. I do know how to play a lucky hand when somebody deals me one.”

The men were starting to stand up because the game was over, and it was getting close to dinnertime. Viviana stood as well.

“Sorry aunties, I guess you wouldn’t enjoy playing against me today anyway since I’m having a winning streak. I’ll let you get back at me on Sunday.”

“Oh no you won’t, you with your golden little heinie! We’ll all be over tomorrow morning without the men! Who’s going to pluck all those chickens and butcher them and make the meatballs and wash the vegetables and grill them and make the cream for the trifle and sweep and clean the dishes afterwards?”

“Oh really, I can . . .”

“You can stop when you’re winning at cards alright, but we’ll see how well you do with trumps after we’re finished with the food tomorrow morning. You just can’t squirm your way out of this one.”

Viviana smiled and suddenly realized she was not going to have enough coffee for all them tomorrow morning, or enough time to go get it.

“Well, you’ve got some gall, inviting yourselves over at the drop of a hat. I’ll say that. You could at least offer to pick up some coffee on the way here since you drank up every toasted milled bean in the house.”

“Coffee! Is that the only reason you want us to come, so you don’t have to buy your own coffee? Well, if you’re that tight and mean, I imagine we’ll be here at half past nine with two pounds of the cheapest brand we can find. All right?”

“Fine! Be sure and wear your old sweaters . . .”

“We know what to wear to beat you at cards little Miss Piglet without a Tail. Nine-thirty sharp. And don’t invite any men. We’ll all have our hair up: in curlers!”

Everyone was now standing around outside the front door in the mud and they burst out laughing at this mock bickering between Viviana and her country aunts. Viviana stood and waved good-bye at them as Paolone came out, cupping her left flank as he passed by her out of the warmth of the farmhouse. Viviana looked up at the moon shining on the fallow fields and all that mud. She pulled her sweater closer around her shoulders and sighed as she thought of her aunt Jolanda, who of course would arrive on Sunday for Easter Dinner with her husband and two sons and her Mother-in-law and a big tray of miniature pastries. Since Jolanda would go to Mass, her family would be a little late for socializing with the other guests, but you can be sure they would be right in pole position when the four-gallon pots of cappelletti and broth were placed on the tables.

Viviana knew just what Jolanda was like but Viviana did not have the time or malice to judge her aunt. Viviana sighed, not because she was peeved at Jolanda or even out of sympathy for her. Viviana sighed out of relief that she did not live in Jolanda’s little world confined to ease and comfort. Viviana heard Paolone insulting the chickens as he chased them around the coop out back, caught them, and wrung their necks with merciful deftness. Viviana turned to walk into the house and the little pool of yellow light on the mud retreated inside the jamb as she closed the door behind her.