Free Power to Burn by Anna Fienberg

him. But then what did I know about my mother? Really know about her? I felt sick suddenly, as if I’d eaten too much and it was all sitting there in my throat like a cow’s cud. Chewing the cud. There was too much to chew over, and everything that had seemed stable and boring was suddenly moving, like dull old ornaments on a shelf coming to life. I couldn’t count on anything staying still anymore and I felt a wave of homesickness. Why I didn’t know, because everyone in my family was becoming a stranger.
    Nonno drew a comfortable old armchair over to the fire and patted the seat, inviting me to sit down. ‘Now, tell me about yourself,’ he said again, smiling.
    I was going to ask him which part should I tell him about, the part he doesn’t like or the part he doesn’t like? But then I looked at his face, really looked, and the smoothness I had seen before was really a hatch of fine lines like linen before it is ironed, and he looked suddenly vulnerable sitting there, tapping his index finger on the arm of his chair, waiting so expectantly for me to entertain him.
    So I told him about school and what I read and the fishing trips I’d been on, carefully editing out anything really personal or ‘unusual’. And he lapped it up, nodding away and ho! ho!ing when I made a slight joke and slapping his knee. It all seemed suddenly pathetic, and I thought that I was becoming like everyone else in this family – secretive and sly, and good at it.
    When he got up to go to bed I sat on, staring at the fire. Nonna had gone to bed, but Angelica was still opening and closing cupboard doors and running water in the sink. When she finally finished and headed toward the door I called out to her.
    â€˜Angelica? What do you make of all this? You’d heard Nonno’s little story before?’
    She nodded, and smiled. It was a broader smile this time, and benign, as if she tolerated all us lesser beings, and we even kept her amused.
    â€˜This is like one of those “Choose Your Own Adventure Books”,’ I said, more to myself than to her, ‘except you and I never even got to choose. I keep wondering what life would have been like if I’d turned to page five instead of six, and grown up with my twin sister in Italy instead of alone with a couple of guilty parents in exile.’
    Angelica came over and sat beside me. We looked into each other’s eyes. I thought, we’ve done this hundreds of times before, she was once like another part of me. How could I not remember? Her expression wasn’t blank now. In fact she looked quite determined and she gave me the feeling she wanted, or expected something from me. She stood up.
    â€˜Well, now you will have the chance to choose, Roberto. As Nonno said, your time has come.’
    And she walked out of the room, leaving the house silent, the fire whispering.

chapter 6
LUCREZIA 1966, Winter in Limone
    I watched the young man pull off his mittens and inch closer to the girl sitting next to him.
    â€˜Hey,
signorina
,’ he called over to me now, ‘we’ll have two hot chocolates and a piece of that
tiramisù
for the lady, please!’
    I nodded and saw the smile the girl gave him.
Dio
, I thought, look at the pair of them, staring at each other as if there were no one else in the cafe. She’s as fat as an egg, and she cackles like a clucky hen, too.
    â€˜Lucrezia, have you got lead in your boots? Move,
presto
!’
    The boss glared at me from behind the counter. I glared back at him. I’ll fix you too one day, I said under my breath, you hairy old goat.
    I took the
tiramisù
out of its glass container and cut a mingy slice off the end. When the hot chocolates were ready I set them down on the tray next to the cake.
    Porca miseria!
How many hot chocolates have I poured in the last two years? I put this silly uniform on every morning, cut the cake, rinse the plates, watch giggling boys and girls