Matelda was pleased that Nicolina knew how to make the dishes Agnese had taught Netta. Maybe she hadn’t done such a terrible job of sharing the past with her daughter. “Speranza enjoyed his visits here after the war. My grandmother would make all his favorite dishes, as Agnese had taught her. He appreciated that his wife’s cooking hadn’t been forgotten after she was gone. It gave him back his ambition in a way.”
“Nonna Domenica told me that Speranza was talented and good-looking. Evidently many women in the Veneto set their caps for him, but he didn’t want another woman after Agnese.”
“She told you that?” Matelda asked.
Nicolina nodded. “Bisnonna Netta told Nonna everything and she told me.”
“I’m glad you talked.” Matelda was pleased that her daughter had felt close to her mother. “Around 1949, Speranza began cutting gems again. He and my grandfather even collaborated on some projects for the church. Speranza was like family. I remember when we went to see him in Venezia too.”
“What was he like then?”
“I was a teenager, and I wasn’t paying close attention. In the mid-1950s, our little country was suddenly popular around the world. Italy had the Ferragamos, the movie stars, the Agnellis, and the cropped haircuts. All I wanted to be when I was sixteen was older. I wanted to sit at an outdoor café and drink espresso and smoke a cigarette. Of course, I couldn’t smoke—my father would have had a fit—but I did have the espresso and the attitude.”
VENEZIA
1956
Silvio Cabrelli drove over the Ponte della Libertà into Venezia. The city seemed wrapped in silver lamé, so bright under the sun Matelda squinted and could only see the shapes of the palazzi on the canal as she leaned out the window. The water in the canals was so still, it seemed to be made of green marble.
The cars stopped on the bridge. Silvio checked the rearview mirror. His black hair was showing the first signs of gray at age forty-seven. “Your papa is getting old, Matelda.”
Matelda had just turned sixteen. Anyone over the age of thirty was old to her. “Papa, can I go for an espresso?” Matelda was slim and tall. She had cropped her hair short like the movie star Gina Lollobrigida, who had introduced the new “Italian cut” to the world.
The traffic moved. Silvio took the side streets until he found a parking spot in front of the bank. “Business first. You wait. And then I’ll take you for your coffee.”
“But you don’t need me, Papa.”
He smiled. “Go ahead.” Silvio knew better than to attempt to negotiate with a teenage girl.
Matelda crossed the street and took a seat at a café table under a canopy. She slid her dark sunglasses from the top of her head over her eyes.
The young want to be old and the old want to die, Silvio thought to himself.
Emos drove the old Fiat up to the bank. He got out and helped Speranza out of the car. “I will wait for you here,” Emos said.
“Silvio?” Speranza made his way up the steps of the bank to greet Cabrelli’s son-in-law. They embraced. “How’s my friend Cabrelli?”
“He drove my mother-in-law to see her sister in Sestri Levante.” Silvio bit his hand in the Italian style. “He said to tell you he’d rather be here.”
“He’s a patient man.” Speranza laughed.
Silvio followed Speranza into the bank. Speranza spoke with the manager. The manager brought the men into the vault room, where he unlocked a safety deposit box. Speranza lifted the velvet gem roll out of the box, placing it carefully on the table. He gently unwrapped the Peruzzi-cut ruby. The light in the room was dim, but the ruby caught all aspects of it in the facets of the shimmering stone.
“The best there is. Pigeon blood ruby from Karur.” Speranza examined the ruby through the loupe. He handed the loupe to Silvio, who peered at the stone. “Your father-in-law was with me in India. This was the last stone I cut before the war.”
Silvio gave Speranza an envelope with the payment for the ruby.
“Thank you,” Speranza said, placing the ruby back into the velvet sleeve. “I thought about this stone, and I couldn’t figure out what to do with it. It turns out it was my pension.” He gave the ruby to Silvio.
“My father-in-law thanks you for the purchase of the stone. He has big plans for it.”
“Cabrelli always has big plans. But unlike other dreamers I have known, he sees his vision through. He finishes what he starts. He’s a true artist.”
“That’s what he says about you, Signore. What are your plans?”
“Now that I’m rich? I’m going to make a future for my family. Agnese was close to her brother in America, who had four daughters. I’d like to leave them something.” Speranza smiled. “Agnese would like that.”
* * *
On the drive back to the farm in Godega, Speranza was quiet. Emos looked over at his boss, who had drifted off to sleep. Speranza seemed to have pleasant dreams. Sometimes he would utter a word in Italian; other times he had a look of contentment on his face. Emos took these as signs that his boss was ready to be with Agnese once again.
“Life is a list, Emos. One by one, you check off the things you want to do and have to do, and soon you come to the end of the list. There’s nothing more to do, you’re finished, and it’s time to die.”
“You’re tired today, Signore. That’s all.”
The sun set as Emos drove toward home. He pulled on the headlights in the old Fiat as he drove through twisting lanes of the Venetian countryside. The fields fell away in rolling blue folds from the road.
“Slow down, Emos. These farm roads are terrible.”
“Forgive me, Signore.”
“We’ve no reason to rush. The news won’t get there before we will.”
“I’m not going to let you do what you want to do.”
“It’s my money, Emos.”
“But we’re not your family.”
“But you treat me as family,” Speranza insisted.
“There must be a cousin, or a relative somewhere.”
“I wired money to Agnese’s nieces from the bank this afternoon. The rest is going to you and Eva. I deeded the farm and its contents to you. There is a copy at the barrister’s office in Treviso, and one in the drawer of the nightstand in my bedroom.”
“I can’t accept your gifts. You have already done too much. You gave me a job and a place to live. My family is thriving. We have enough. You could sell the farm with me as the caretaker.”