The Reluctant Tuscan Read Online Free PDF Page B

opening was a hole for her mouth, where puffs of vaporized breath were coming out making it look like I was sharing my bed with a steam engine.
    I was hoping that she would grow disenchanted, and give up, and we could go back to L.A., sit in our hot tub, and defrost. So I rarely missed an opportunity to point out the difficulties of living in Italy, the insoluble problems with the Pingatores, and, of course, Dino’s having huckstered us into renting this igloo. The last I was careful to frame around my concern for her comfort, which would have scored me enough points to merit some serious lovemaking if it had only been warm enough to take off our clothes.
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    The morning after my leg cramps, Nancy and I were trying to eat breakfast with our mittens on when we heard two of Dino’s dogs, Pipistrello and Tiberius, scratching at our door.
    Nancy peered out the window. “Dino’s bringing us firewood.”
    â€œOh, good, we’re rescued.”
    â€œBe nice,” Nancy hissed at me as she scurried around the room, closing all the shutters we had opened. “And don’t say anything about the cold.”
    â€œBuon giorno, signore, signora,” Dino called out. “Permesso.”
    â€œ Salve, Dino.” Nancy opened the door to Dino holding an armful of logs. “Here, let me help you with that.”
    â€œNo, no, I got it.” Dino entered, followed by Scheherazade gifting us with another dead bird.
    â€œOh, Dino, how kind of you to bring us wood,” I said with such Old World graciousness, Nancy glared at me for being an asshole.
    â€œIs no problem.” Dino tossed a couple of logs into the fireplace, which startled the dogs into a frenzy of barking. “I come by yesterday but you no home.”
    â€œIf we had a phone, you could have called first,” I shouted over the barking.
    â€œStai zitta!” Dino screamed at his dogs, urging them to shut up. “I molto sorry for the phone. I talk to Telecom Italia, che idioti ! They promise they install in two days but then they go on strike.”
    â€œAnd how are we able to tell when they’re on strike?” I asked as I picked up the dead bird Scheherazade had brought us and tossed it out the door.
    â€œThe thing is,” Nancy said in her gentlest tone, “my husband’s concerned that I’m not very comfortable in the cold, and—”
    â€œCold? È maggio . Primavera . Even in winter nobody uses heat.”
    â€œLook, Nancy’s prone to bronchitis,” I said, “and this kind of damp cold—”
    â€œ Ai, you should have seen how it was during the war. I was just a baby. Nine months old. We hid up in the hills with the partisans when the Germans attack! My grandmother wrap me in leaves because we had no blankets and she carry me down the mountain with the Germans shooting at us from one side and the Americani dropping bombs on us from above!”
    â€œMy goodness,” Nancy said, cupping her hands over the coffeepot for warmth.
    â€œAnd no food!” Dino squatted in front of the fireplace and struck a match to the kindling. “Just how you say . . . castagne ?”
    â€œChestnuts,” Nancy said.
    â€œYes, chest-a-nuts. And we had to fight the squirrels for them!”
    â€œWe can’t go on like this,” I blurted. “That fireplace is totally inadequate and unless we get some real heat—”
    â€œThat’s what I’m here to tell you. Rudolfo come home tomorrow and he get your heater working.”
    â€œTomorrow?” I was, of course, skeptical.
    â€œ Sì, I invite you over to our house for dinner,” Dino said, shooing Cosimo away before the dog could pee on the firewood. “I make a party for my son and you come and meet the whole family.”
    â€œ Grazie, Dino,” Nancy said.
    â€œYes, thanks for the invitation,” I said, “but I don’t see why you can’t—”
    â€œO Dio,