Date: Mon, 13 Jul 1998 08:10:10 -0500 From: Phanny Subject: [WRITERS] SUB: CONTEST: Of Mushrooms and Fireflies (fwd) Of mushrooms and fireflies. You know you are getting close when you see the green sign on the highway: USCITA- Fosso'- Fiorile But you do not want to stop at Fosso', that is not high enough. You must whiz through it in a few minutes, without looking back. Men in felted hats will turn around trying to recognize who you are; let them be, they will go right back to chatting. The place you want to reach lays higher, perched on the top of a small hill. The road, now but a slow byway, winds up fiercely between pine trees, Mediterranean bushes, and mushrooms. Once we had to pull over on the side of this same road, for one of those damn mushrooms. Nonna Peppa had spotted it amidst the dried pine needles, and insisted that it was a sin to waste such a beautiful mushroom. Senses of guilt and sin settled immediately and the little gray FIAT, already gasping for breath, made a hasty stop on the side of the steep road. Nonna Peppa, freshly out of the hospital for cardiac trouble, clasped her purse and charged into the woods like a soldier on a mission. At the time cataract forbade her from reading the paper or even shelling peas, but by golly (she would never say God) she could still spot a good mushroom from a moving car. She emerged from the thicket with a good size edible something, which she proceeded to praise all the way home. It was, indeed, quite beautiful, in a garish way: a large read head covered a white stem. We all shared it for dinner. Nonna, glowing with satisfaction for having once again provided for the family, did not even have a slice; her point was already made. You should not look at the mushrooms, on the way up; just follow the road and keep your eyes on the horizon. Do not pay attention to the noise the car makes either. It will not break, it never does. It is just braving gravity and the incline. Once you see the belfry, thunderous and majestic in the distance, and the little houses spread around it like a slightly burnt pancake, you will know. For a brief week, life will be in balance again. People love a good cry in this part of the world. Happy to see you, sad from missing you, just plain surprised that you reached safely. You walk into the house, and go straight for its center. The stones by the fireplace are warm in the winter, when the fire crackles slowly, and cool to the touch in the summer. You cannot but love it here, where the musty smell of burnt wood meets the wine, the stories, the tears. People are all around. At any hour of the day, you are likely to see someone come through the patio door in the living room. Locks and keys are optional here; visitors just open the door, stick their head inside, and call. If nobody answers, they close the door and come back later. Unless it is urgent, of course, in which case they sit politely outside, waiting for your return. Main Street is dedicated to Cola di Rienzo, a young revolutionary of yesteryear. Indeed, you need to be young and have a revolution in your heart to face the main street. It is a wickedly steep incline, or at least that is how it feels, while you attack it with the confidence of hours of stairmaster. The street is, of course, tougher than your buns will ever be, and it catches up to you halfway. It takes a whole summer to finally reach the top without panting. In the meanwhile people stare at you, so flushed and so out of place, until they finally figure out who you are. Then again it is a sequel of ooh's and ahh's and mostly ehh's -- it's been so long, how have you been, and tears and kisses until someone else comes by. Kids run around holding slices of pizza rossa, with tomato and olive oil, folded in two and neatly wrapped in brown paper. All you really want is a piece of that pizza and to run around with them. Sometimes, in the summer, they invite you to go and catch fireflies along the side of the hill, after dinner. Fireflies are small and magical everywhere. In this part of the world, they are tiny, white, and wealthy little creatures If you catch them, you are supposed to leave them under a glass on the kitchen table. They will free themselves during the night, leaving a few coins as ransom. While the children catch fireflies, the adults sit on the stone benches in front of the houses for a chat before retiring. If you close your eyes, you can hear them. Sometimes they talk about you, wondering how long it will be before you pay them a visit.