The Demon Catchers of Milan #2: The Halcyon Bird (24 page)

“That could be helpful if things get awkward,” said Francesco.

“Things are
supposed
to be awkward,” Égide said. “On my first date with Francesca, I ordered the tourist special out of sheer fear.”

“Oh,
Santa Maria
! Did you actually eat it?” asked Anna Maria.

“No,” said Égide. “I let it get cold.” He smiled at the memory.

“Really?” I said, happy to make sure we stayed on this new topic.

“Really,” he replied. “I was looking at her the whole time. Listening.”

“He had to. I talked the whole time,” said Francesca from the doorway to their bedroom. “I was so nervous. Poor you,” she said to Égide. “I don’t think I’ve ever talked so much … and about so little! I went home terrified you would think I was just a chatterbox.”

Égide went over and pulled her to him with one arm, kissing her cheek.

“I knew you weren’t,” he told her.

“Dinner is going to be hell for you,” Anna Maria told me. “Everyone is going to get sappy about their first dates … except for my brother, of course”

“Hey!” cried her brother.

“And you will die of an overdose of family sentimentality before you ever see Bernardo again. Which is just as well,” she added, throwing a glance at her sibling. “Men are a pain.”

“Bad news from the professor, Cousin?” Emilio asked Anna Maria, leaning over the threshold to the kitchen. He ignored her scowl, saying, “Everyone come sit, dinner is ready.”

As we sat down, Nonno looked at me with a pleased
expression and declared, “I had to leave my first date with my wife halfway through.”

Anna Maria widened her eyes at me and mouthed, “I told you so.” I fought to stay straight-faced.

“Well, when I say a date,” Giuliano continued, “it’s not like the ones you young people go on. Her aunt and her sister walked in with her, but sat at another table in the same café and pretended not to listen. Then Bertoldo Strachetti came to get me, because his brother-in-law’s mother had started reciting in Latin,” he went on. “My father told him to say it was a family emergency. But my Laura knew he was lying.”

I looked around the table and realized I was the only one who had not heard this story a hundred times.

“I left,” Nonno said. “And she thought I had arranged with him beforehand, to get me out of this. She thought I didn’t want to be there because our relations had set us up.”

Everyone was listening politely, even Anna Maria. I had expected her to make some smart-ass comment. Instead, she was looking at Nonna. I did, too, then, and saw one corner of Nonna’s mouth lift in a smile uncannily like that of her grandson Emilio.

“She never dreamed that I’d worked on my family and hers behind the scenes for
weeks
, months,” Nonno continued. “I’d tried to get everybody to think that it was their idea, because I didn’t want anyone to suspect.”

I tilted my head, waiting, but he only smiled at his wife.

“Suspect what?” I asked, finally, realizing as I did so that I had asked the question somebody was always supposed to ask at this point in the story. He reminded me so much of my own grandfather sometimes.

“That I had been madly in love with her for more than a year. I didn’t want anyone to know, until I was sure.”

I smiled.

“You must have been sure,” I said.

“Well, yes, after another date I was. When I could get one. I had to chase her down myself, then. It took another month to see her again. I thought I would die. It was only a few years after the war; it was still hard to get things and nobody had any money. And there I was, going all over the city for whatever I had heard she wanted …”

Nonno laughed.

Nonna laughed, too, now. I could see that the grandchildren were all looking more interested. It seemed the story had gone off its usual path. I wondered what the normal punch line was, and if I would ever hear it.

“Shoes in the wrong size,” Laura remembered. “A card of buttons, the ugliest buttons you’d ever seen. A book about modern art, in French.”

“With good pictures,” Giuliano amended solemnly.

She smiled at him. “Bertoldo Strachetti was always a bad liar,” she said.

“Buttons?” Emilio asked. “I thought you just …” He
paused, and I guessed that he hadn’t meant to lead his grandparents back to the usual ending of the story.

Nonno waved his hands. “A lot more went on. I shorten it. I don’t want to bore my relations,” he explained grandly. “But Mia has never heard the story,” he added.

“I can’t think why not,” Anna Maria retorted.

“It’s a special occasion story,” Emilio told her. “Respect, my cousin. Respect!”

Nonna smiled at me and said, “This went on and on. Half the time, I didn’t even know who had gotten me the gift. My family wasn’t very good at passing messages, everyone always at work. But then …”

She shot her husband a look. I guessed that the end of the story was his to tell, that it was important to him still.

“Your mother got sick,” Nonno continued. “And you wanted to make a meat stew, you wanted a soup bone. And I saved up and went all over and got you the biggest piece of beef I could find, with a good big bone in it, and I brought it to your door. I didn’t say anything, I just looked at you. After a while, I found my voice and said, ‘For your mother.’ You took it and didn’t say anything, either.

“For four days, nothing. I thought of stopping by. I thought of sending a cousin. But I knew I should not. Something told me I should not. So I waited, and my heart did these flips—one … two … three … four!—all the time. I waited for news, but nobody mentioned your mother.

“Then on the fifth day, a note, from your mother. She told me to come to dinner.

“I had one suit, so I wore that, even though it was too tight; I’d put on a lot of muscle that year. It was winter, I couldn’t find any flowers, I brought half a bar of chocolate wrapped in a newspaper, and a bottle of wine. I stood on your doorstep again. I thought I must have worn a hole in the stone, I had been there so many times with something in my hand.

“Your mother let me in. She wanted me to see how well she was, on that soup bone. She had cooked for hours, I could see that. Hours. Risotto, two kinds of meat, a
contorno
of winter greens … I still haven’t figured out the secret ingredients. I ate everything, and you never said a word. I talked to your mother, your aunt, your grandfather, your grandmother, your big sister, your middle sister, your great-aunt, your niece … everyone but you!

“And finally, the Madonna smiled on me and your grandmother suggested we all go for a walk. It was freezing, but it was close to Christmas, everybody was out strolling around. They let me talk to you alone, your mother and your aunt walking ahead and everyone else behind, and everybody pretended not to hear. You kids have it so easy,” Giuliano added severely, looking around the table.

“Yes, but maybe we make more bad choices,” suggested Francesca.

Nonno shrugged and finished the story. “I will remember that night until the end of my days, the crispness of the air, the
lights near the Duomo, and the curl of your hair, sneaking out from under your winter cap. And the way you smiled at me, with those eyes that are still the most beautiful in the world, and thanked me for the soup bone.”

Nonna smiled at him then, and pinched his cheek.

I imagined that walk. Maybe it was like all the times I had had to go out surrounded by family. I hadn’t missed that in his list of her relations there was only one man, her grandfather. I had begun to comprehend the toll of war. For Nonna to have made a young man chase her was gutsy.

“You’ll have a good time with this young man,” Nonno told me. “Just remember to come in before eleven.”

Anna Maria rolled her eyes. “I never understood that,” she said. “Why the curfew? You can get just as pregnant at ten o’clock as at midnight.”

We were all used to her bluntness, but I noticed I wasn’t the only one who looked a bit shocked.

Nonna answered her. “It’s not for
that
, my self-centered niece. It’s so that we can stop worrying and go to sleep.”

Anna Maria stared at her and seemed to recollect herself. “Oh,” she said.

During coffee, I asked to be excused and slipped away to call Bernardo. He answered on the first ring, and his calm voice made my spine quiver.

“They say I may go,” I told him.

“Good! I’m glad,” he said.

“Me, too,” I said shyly. I heard him chuckle.

“And what kind of food do you like to eat?” He asked, solemn once again.

“Uh, I don’t know. I … good food. Whatever’s really good.”

He laughed. “Have they taken you out much? I know you will be eating well, at home.
Cucina tipica
. There’s no need to go out for traditional Milanese. Any kinds of cuisine you don’t like?”

“No … I haven’t really tried that many things, though. My town at home doesn’t have all that many restaurants. Not like here.”

“Yes, here we have everything,” he agreed proudly. “Okay. I will pick someplace good, and foreign. If you don’t like it we can figure it out.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank
you.…
I will see you then.”

He hung up. I stood looking out the living room window into the dark. A minute later, my phone rang again—just as I realized why he’d called back.

“Pronto,”
I said, trying not to laugh.

“Ciao,”
he said, not succeeding himself. “What night would be good for you?” he asked.

I wanted to pretend I had a life, and say I was busy tomorrow; then I remembered I really was, because we were all going to Aunt Brigida and Uncle Matteo’s.

“Thursday?”

“Excellent,” he said. “I will come for you at seven?”

“Um, sure.”

“That’s great. See you then. Good-night,” he added.

“Good-night,” I said, smiling into the phone.

So that was that.

I didn’t sleep all that well Wednesday night, and I knew it wasn’t because of Aunt Brigida’s excellent dinner. Thursday afternoon, I fell asleep over my books and woke long enough to go upstairs for a nap. Later, I tried on the five outfits I had planned, but nothing seemed to fit. My hair was a mess. One dress made it look like I was trying too hard; jeans and my blue shirt made me look like I didn’t care.

Finally, Francesca caught me standing in front of the mirror and said, “The brown dress.”

“But … that’s the nicest thing I own,” I said. “And it’s really an autumn-winter dress.”

“It’s still early spring, and you look good in it. Bernardo’s got style, but he’s not going to notice the season of the dress. He’s going to notice you,” she said. “Besides, it won’t be the nicest thing you own for long. We need to go shopping.” She grinned and patted me on the shoulder. “Go! Get ready.”

I went back into my room still in doubt. All afternoon, I’d waited to hear Signora Gianna offer her advice, but she was out or something, just when I needed her most.

I put on the brown dress, feeling exposed and frozen at the same time.

At seven o’clock, I was sitting downstairs, my hair as nice as
I could get it. Emilio, horribly, had just shown up, and he and Nonno were jabbering about the upcoming elections as if nothing were happening. I almost texted Bernardo and asked him to meet me at the corner of the Via Brera. I wanted to sneak off, not conduct my—well, it was early to call it a love life—in front of my entire family.

7:01. 7:02. 7:05 … I heard a
motorino
outside. It came into view, and passed our shop, ridden by a girl, her giant portfolio strapped onto the back.

At 7:07, I heard the sound of the engine I already knew was his, the
motorino
I had ridden on the night of Signore Strozzi’s exorcism. He pulled up and parked. He was wearing his chocolate brown leather jacket, a pale blue scarf knotted under his chin, beautifully cut, dark navy jeans, and a pair of well-made brown Oxfords. He pulled off his helmet and set it carefully on the luggage rack, running a hand through his hair. I saw the flash of his shirt collar and wished my whole high school back home could see him—he was so ridiculously handsome and well dressed. For a fleeting moment, I felt almost grateful for the circumstances that had brought me to Italy. If it weren’t for my demon, this first date would be happening at home with some guy who thought putting on a clean T-shirt was the most anyone could do for a girl.

I stayed at the table, watching him come to the door, my knees like jelly. Emilio and Nonno looked up as he entered, the bells ringing their bright greeting as if he were just anyone. He smiled in his calm way.

“
Buona sera
, Mia.
Buona sera
, Signore Giuliano, Emilio.”

Nonno waved a hand at him. “
Buona sera
, Bernardo. Wine?”

“Thank you, no,” Bernardo said. “Our reservation is at seven thirty. Thank you, sir, for letting Mia come out with me.”

Nonno made a gesture that looked like he was shooing him out.
“Va bene.”

My knees did not cave in under me. I turned to my cousins and said, “See you later.”

Emilio laughed.
“Ciao
,” he said.

“Eleven,” Nonno admonished, raising his eyebrows at me. “Have a good time.”

I smiled at him, and Bernardo opened the shop door for me.

“That didn’t go too badly,” said Bernardo, smiling at me as he held the
motorino
steady for me to get on. I rolled my eyes and forgot my nervousness for a moment, remembering the last two days. He caught my expression and said, “Oh, I missed the worst of it, did I?”

I nodded.

He grinned. “Families are a pain. Was it awful?”

“I know the details of the first dates of every
single
couple in my family,” I said, forgetting to blush. We might have been back on the scaffolding, or in the bar after work.

He threw his head back and laughed. “Perfect!” he said.

“Tonight, you wear a helmet,” he added, settling it on my head. “Then I don’t have to worry so much.” I hadn’t realized
he was worrying at all, the night we had chased Signore Strozzi through the streets. He climbed on in front of me, then turned to look me in the eye.