Taking Tuscany (11 page)

One might read my journal someday, after I am long gone, and wonder:

“How can her highlights also be her lowlights?”

“How could all of this happen to the same person on one short holiday?”

“Doesn't this kid ever learn?”

To you I would have to say this:

I am a risk taker. Some people might choose to spend their holiday with their feet on the ground, lying on the beach, and playing it safe. But is that truly living?

The true thrill seeker often appears to be the idiotic one in life, but one must ask, “What is more important in life—feeling safe and bored out of your skull, or being fully and vibrantly alive?”

I say, go big or go home. I can honestly say it was all worth the risk to taste an instant of “Yikes!” I went big. And that, my friend, is one grand old hallelujah.

9

Chutes and Ladders

No matter where you go in life, there is nothing quite as nice as sleeping in your own bed. Especially after a week on a cot. When you check into a place called the Grand Old Sea Palace, you kind of expect to be sleeping in a canopy bed made for a queen. Except when you have a sister like Adriana, who always pulls rank on you. But back at the castle, I am reinstated as Princess Dorothy, where no one can pull my name or rank. Up in my tower with
Paradise
hanging above my bed, no one is even allowed to enter without being summoned by the princess.

“Hey, A. J.!” J. R. bursts into my room. “We need to use your laundry chute.” Without waiting for me to extend my scepter, my three brothers tromp into my room, dragging a long knotted rope behind them. In the good old days they could have been beheaded for this.

“What on earth are you up to?”

“C'mere, we'll show you.” They head over to my laundry chute. “Okay, Benji, you're our man.”

Benji opens the little door, while J. R. and Dino unroll the rope. “Wait,” Dino says, “we'd better throw a bunch of clothes down first, in case he falls.”

“Good idea. A. J., toss down some of your clothes.”

“Wait—you're sending Benji down my laundry chute on a rope?”

“Exactly.” J. R. helps load Benji onto the knot. “Just sit on that knot and hang on.”

I have only one question. “Why?”

“Because Fabrizia has locked us out of the kitchen again. She does that every time mom and dad leave, and we want to know what she's up to in there.” The chute opens into the kitchen on the second floor, then continues on down another floor to the laundry room.

“But it's three stories down to the bottom.”

“So?”

“So—what if he falls?”

“That's why you're throwing clothes down there.” J. R. and Dino both hold the rope and start to lower Benji down the chute. “Benji, once you get down there just crack the door enough to see what Fabrizia is up to, then jerk on the rope and we'll pull you back up, okay, buddy?”

“Okay.”

I quickly toss my pile of dirty clothes from the trip down the chute.

“Hey, that's my head your stinky clothes are landing on!” Benji yells.

“Shhh!” I hiss down the chute. Fortunately Fabrizia has Italian opera music playing and is trying to sing along. “Sorry! Drop them on down below,” I whisper back.

Fabrizia is our very heavyset housecleaner who comes once a week to dust and mop the villa. She's supposed to clean the whole villa, but for some unknown reason, she always gets sidetracked in the kitchen.

The boys are letting out the rope foot by foot. Leave it to Benji to be their man—he has been “their man” for every experiment they've ever done. The little guy has no fear. He's always the one who gets sent up on rooftops, treetops, anything involving heights, and he never complains. He'd be a fearless candidate as a Hollywood stuntman. The only problem is he's kind of a klutz, which worries everyone but his brothers.

I stick my head down the chute to see how he's getting along. It's too dark to see that far down. “Hey, Benji, where are ya?”

“Shhh,” he hisses back. He opens the little door and a crack of light shines into the chute from the kitchen.

“He's there,” I report.

We get the tug on the rope from Benji, and J. R. and Dino start to hoist him back up. Grabbing on behind Dino, I figure I might as well get in on this too.

“Okay, A. J., back all the way out your door while we drag him back up. We're reeling him in but coming up is a little tougher than going down.”

When I back out the doorway, my foot catches on the doorframe and throws me off-balance. “Hold on, I lost my grip!” The rope slides through my hands and we lose a good couple of feet before the boys can get a better grip on it. We all cringe, listening to Benji bang from side to side in the chute.

“Hey, what's going on?” Benji blurts out, in a loud whisper.

J. R. sticks his head down the chute. “Hold on, buddy, we got you.”

Inch by inch we pull Benji back up the chute to safety.

“So what's the story?” J. R. asks.

Benji has a big grin on his face. “Mystery solved,” he says. “She's got a whole pile of food lined up on the counter and is eating with one hand while she mops with the other. She has all of our pastries and cookies out, and was even gulping our milk from the jug.”

“So that's it.” J. R. nods. “Fabrizia the food fiend! Well, at least she's not stealing the silverware.”

“But no wonder mom's always getting mad at us for eating all the snacks,” Dino says.

He's right. It seems like we're always out of snacks—and Mom figures one of us is sneaking them and treats us like we're all guilty. “Now she'll know the truth.”

“I don't think so,” J. R. says.

“Why not?” Dino asks. “We have evidence.”

“That's the problem,” J. R. replies. “How are we going to tell Mom that we lowered Benji down a three-story laundry chute on a rope and not get in even more trouble than for eating the food?”

Hmm. Good point.
“Maybe we could just tell her our suspicions and she could spy a little herself to find out the truth,” I say.

“That might work.” J. R. looks at me. “Okay, A. J., it's up to you to plant the idea in Mom's head.”

When Mama and Daddy get home, Fabrizia is long gone. And so is most of the food in the house. Daddy unloads the grocery bags on the counter. Mama follows him into the kitchen and starts to put it all away. She opens the cupboard. “Okay, which one of you little oink-faces ate all the pastries this time?”

“Mama,” I say, “there's something you need to know.”

She looks at me with her
I'm listening
eyebrows.

“Well … when you were gone, we noticed that Fabrizia locked the kitchen door, which she's done before when you've left the house. So after she went home, we looked in here and realized that a whole lot of food was missing.”

Mama looks at me and blinks a few times. “Is this some story you and your brothers cooked up, so you could come in here and eat everything in sight, then blame it on the housekeeper?”

“No, Mama, we wouldn't go to all that trouble, and besides, Benji saw her eating all of it.”
Whoops.

Mama's eyebrows are back up. “Benji saw her—when the kitchen door was locked?” Mama looks at Benji. “Well, Benjamin, would you like to explain this to me?”

I quickly butt in to try and save the day. “I can explain it, Mama …”

Mama looks back at me. “I don't recall pulling your string, Chatty Cathy.”

That was the name of my doll who had a string you pulled when you wanted her to talk. Mama looks back at Benji.

“Well, it's because … I was … I was spying from the laundry chute.”

“The laundry chute? And how did you get into the laundry chute with the kitchen door locked?”

“J. R. and A. J. and Dino lowered me down on a rope.”

“You were lowered down the laundry chute on a rope so you could spy on Fabrizia?”

“Well, we didn't know what she was doing in there, which is why we needed to find out.”

Mama walks over to the laundry chute and jerks the door open. “So you're saying your brothers and sister lowered you from A. J.'s room down to here … on a rope?” She swings the laundry chute door all the way open and sticks her head in, first looking up, and then down, to emphasize her point.

Mama pulls her head back out and turns slowly around. Her eyes narrow incredulously. “You lowered your little brother down a laundry chute on a rope?”

I don't like the way she's looking only at me. “Well, it was J. R.'s idea—he just wanted to make sure she wasn't stealing our silverware or something valuable. And besides, we're all tired of being accused of eating all the food, when it's been Fabrizia all along.”

Mama looks from me to J. R. “Well, that is certainly worth risking your brother's life for, isn't it?”

“We … uh, we threw some clothes down there to cushion the fall, just in case.” J. R. fumbles the recovery.

“Well, pin a rose on you for being so thoughtful. Excuse me,
son,
but that little pile of clothing on top of a brick floor three stories down wouldn't do diddly-squat if your brother were to fall.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Mama sighs. “I hope you will say more than just ‘oh' the day you realize that your brother's life is worth more than a piece of silverware or a French pastry.”

“Yes, ma'am, I will.”

She looks at me.

“Yes, Mama.”

She looks at Dino.

“Yes, Mom.”

Mama calls Daddy to the kitchen. “I think I'll let all of you explain this one to your father.”

Two days later, when we're no longer grounded, Benji has a visitor. Benji is best buddies with a nine-year-old girl. Christiana lives just down the hill from us. They met when we first moved here, and have spent a lot of time up in trees together. Sometimes when I'm out wandering around the olive grove, I'll suddenly hear giggling up above me. Sure enough, when I look up, there's Benji and Christiana sitting up in an olive tree. It's really pretty cute. They come up with all kinds of games together.

On my way down to the pool, I find Benji and Christiana playing tetherball with an old ball tied to a tree. “Where on earth did you find that old tetherball?”

“Angelo found it out in his shed and gave it to us.”

While I'm swimming laps, I hear those two laughing, just having the time of their lives batting that ball back and forth. It makes me think back to running around Indian Island with Danny. There was something so nice about having a boy for a friend—compared to snobby girls. Dorie and Bianca are the only exceptions.

Headed back up the hill, I notice a ladder disappearing into the dense branches of a tall cypress tree and can hear Benji and Christiana howling from up inside the branches. Makes me miss Danny all the more.

I remember the time Danny rescued me when my dinghy drifted down lake in a windstorm. We warmed up by the fire he built, and shared what we wanted to be when we grew up. He's the only one I've ever really talked to about things like that. I'm glad Benji has a friend like Christiana. At least I can still write to Danny.

August 28, 1972

Dear Danny,

How are you and Sailor? I'm fine. Not really. It's the end of summer. That is always my saddest time of year. It was the time we had to leave our cabin on the island and head back to school. You're lucky you get to live on the island all year round now. I sure wish I could. Instead I will be heading back to my new school in a few days where I will be Alien A. J. again. At least I'll have my brother and some of his friends at this school with me. Three years at an all-girl school was long enough to know that boys make better friends. They aren't as tricky as girls.

I was wondering if you could do me a favor? Could you please send me some pictures of the island, and of our cabin, Papoose? And maybe one of Juniper Beach, and one of Sailor playing fetch in the water there? And one of Big Chief, and the Pitchy Pine Trail, and my critter cemetery? If it's not too much trouble, could you just check up on my dead animals now and then and make sure they still have little crosses on their graves and maybe some fresh flowers? And maybe send a picture of you with Sailor so I can remember what everyone looks like? I think I'd just feel a lot better about being here if I had some pictures of y'all back there.

How is your grandpa? Tell him I said, “Hey.” And say it with a Southern accent. I miss him, too. Could you also send me a picture of him?

Thanks a bunch!

A. J.

10

The Life of a Yankee

Journal of Seasons: September 1972

Fall + Autumn = Fatumn

Fatumn in Tuscany

Why do we need two English names for the same season? Dunno.

Settembre. September is known for its warm but shorter days, and slightly cooler, crisp nights. Vineyards are ripe with fruit, and the air smells like grape juice. Leaves turn to butter yellow and copper red, splashing color across the golden hillsides. One is tempted to forsake all other plans and spend the day wandering through the brilliant, changing countryside with a good book in hand. What could possibly keep a free spirit from embracing a day such as this at her own leisure?

“A. J., hustle your buns out the door or you're going to be late!”

Unfortunately today is the first day of school, otherwise known as Open Season on A. J. Day. I did not end last year on a very good note, thanks to Annalisa. It's still a mystery what she has against me.

I barely make it to lunch before running into her little swarm of drones buzzing around the beehive, also known as the popular table. I wish I could find Bianca and have someone to sit with. Instead I'm A. J. the sitting duck
.
Even though we wear uniforms, it is no secret where everyone stands on the social ladder. It all comes out at lunch. The rich kids buy lunch, the middle-class kids bring nice sack lunches, and the poor kids bring the same brown bag over and over. At this coed high school—
scuola media superiore
—the popular people rule one table with Annalisa as the queen bee. The wannabees set up camp one table over and look on longingly, and the social misfits sit together and yet alone, staring at the clock on the back wall.

Mesmerized by the mosaic tile pattern around the wall clock, I hardly notice when Dominic, a very,
very
cute boy I met last spring, wanders over from the popular table—and sits down beside me. This throws the entire caste system in the lunchroom out of whack. While I'm wondering how this unusual event will change the course of history, Dominic starts to tell me how his summer vacation went.

Meanwhile queen bee Annalisa and her little worker bees buzz their way over and decide to ruin my life.

“Buongiorno, Angelina,”
says the queen, in a voice that lets me know she's about to open fire.

Oh, just get it over with.

She flicks her thick, dark mane behind her shoulders, where it lands in a perfect line against her forest-green sweater.
“Lei è viene dalla famiglia greca con la villa blu
?
”
… Am I related to the Greek family with the blue villa?

“Più o meno.”
More or less.

“I hear you're pretty good at Greek dancing. Why don't you show us some of your moves?” Her little drones all laugh.

I'm about to say,
I'd love to, Annalisa, but it's probably too complicated—you have to be able to count to four.
But then I remember Rosa Bella. Instead I just smile and say, “God bless us, every one.”

“Huh?” Annalisa scrunches up her face.

“Never mind.” I get up and walk out.
Here's to you, Rosa Bella.

The day goes downhill from there. Bianca never shows up, no one else talks to me, and by the end of school I'm informed that I have a “Yankee go home!” note stuck on the back of my sweater. Walking out the front door of the school, I feel my head swirling. Someone added an extra shake to the snow globe today.

On my way home I stop by to say hello to Napoleon and Caesar. They're always good company when I need it. Napoleon gets excited anytime he thinks we're heading out on the range. Caesar just looks forward to the carrots I bring him. “I'll be back, buckaroos.” I plan to return for an afternoon ride after I change my clothes.

Mama greets me in the kitchen with some homemade
biscotti
and espresso—
biscotti
for me, espresso for Mama—the Italian equivalent of milk and cookies. “How was your first day of school, sunshine?”

“Worst day of life my life, and don't call me sunshine.”

“Why? What happened?”

“The entire school knows that I'm related to Uncle Nick, and thinks we're all a bunch of dancing weirdos from the blue villa.”

“Oh, A. J., every family has its quirks.”

“Yeah, well, there are
quirks,
and then there's just plain
weirdness.
Now I'm just waiting for everyone to find out that my mama is the Sofia Loren impostor from Rome.”

“I would think they'd find that somewhat impressive.”

“Then you don't know Annalisa. She'll use it to ruin me.”

“What does this girl have against you anyway?”

“I have no idea. Just the fact that I'm alive, I guess.”

“Why don't you let me have a little chat …”

“No! I can handle Annalisa myself. You would only make things worse—trust me.”

“Well, she'd better back off, or I may just show up on her lunch tray at school one of these days.”

“Mama,
please.
” I can just see that happening. I'd better plan where I'm going to run away to when it does.

Retreating to my tower, I plop onto my bed and recount the events of the day. My old troll doll on the nightstand reminds me of Annalisa with her scrunched up face.
I wonder if voodoo really works.
I tweak the doll's nose, then toss her across the room and watch her bounce off the windowpane before landing facedown on the floor. Not real mature but it felt kinda good.

Let's see, what to wear … my overalls, or my other overalls? I think I'll wear my … overalls. After changing out of my least favorite outfit into my favorite outfit, I slide down the spiral banister and head for the door. “I'm going riding—be back by suppertime!”

Dino and Benji are sitting at the end of the driveway and turn suspiciously silent when they see me. “Hi, guys. Was your first day as fun as mine?”

“Yeah, fun,” Dino says.

“Really fun,” Benji adds.

They look guilty as all get out. “Okay, out with it, or I'll tell Mama you're up to something.”

They look at each other and smile. “Swear you won't tell?”

“Yeah, yeah, what?”

“Well,” Dino begins, “I wanted to be in Benji's class because my best friend, Benito, is in his class, and Benji wanted to be in my class because his girlfriend, Christiana, is in there—”

“She's
not
my girlfriend,” Benji butts in.

“Anyway,” Dino continues, “at lunch, we agreed to switch classes and see if we could get away with it.” They look at each other and grin. “And it worked.”

“Really? No one noticed?”

They look so proud of themselves. “Nope, except I told Benito, and Benji told Christiana, but they both promised not to call us by our real names.”

These two really did come from the same mold. The only way I can tell them apart is by their cowlicks. Dino's is on the opposite side as Benji's, but no one outside of the family ever guesses them right. Mama's the only one who can tell them apart instantly. But she would know with her eyes closed. Mamas are just like that with their babies. “So are you planning to switch for the whole year?”

“No, just whenever we feel like switching. Benji doesn't like playing
calcio,
soccer
,
and I do, so we'll probably switch PE on Fridays. And Benji can have my art classes, 'cause he's better at drawing than me. Stuff like that.”

“Hmm. Well, hey, I'll see you guys at supper—I'm going riding.”
I wish I had a double back in Squawkomish who wouldn't mind living in Italy for the next four years. Maybe I could advertise in the
Squawkomish News Review
. For now, another spying session on the secret lives of nuns sounds like a good distraction.

When Caesar and I arrive at the stone wall, I peer into the courtyard, but Sister Aggie is nowhere in sight. Another sister spots me and comes to greet me. She says the reverend mother would like to have a word with me in her office.

“Oh … okay.”
Oh, great, she found out. Sister Aggie probably got fired, thanks to me.
I'm not sure what to do with Caesar, so I loop his reigns around the base of an olive tree and leave him to graze. The sister lets me in the front gate and tells me to follow her. I've always wanted to see the inside of one of these places, but not bad enough to be sent to the reverend mother.

I'm led down a long dark hallway. The place looks empty. No one is just
hanging out
around here. When we finally reach the office, the sister taps lightly on the door.

“
Avanti
,” a soprano voice calls back.

“La donna giovane col cavallo è qui.”
The young lady who rides the horse is here. She opens the door for me to enter.

“
Grazie. Gestiró la questione
.”

She'll deal with what matter? Can I be sent to hell for this?

“Buongiorno, signorina. Lei è amica di Suore Agastina?”

“Yes, Mother, I'm Sister Agastina's friend. I'm Angelina.”

She motions for me to sit down, then watches for the door to close. “Now then … Angelina, I must make you aware that here at the convent we have certain rules we must abide by.”

“Yes, ma'am.”
Here it comes … You fired her, didn't you?

But then she says she doesn't know of any regulations on horseback riding. “So I'm wondering”—she leans in closer—“if you might take me for a little ride sometime too?”

“… you … ride? I mean, y-yes, Mother, of course, I would be happy to.”

The reverend mother claps her hands like a giddy little child. “Oh,
perfetto
!”

We agree to meet on Saturday at dusk. She rubs her hands together like she just sealed the deal of the century.
Funny lady.

By the time I make it back to Caesar, he's cleared out every blade of grass in range and is about to take the olive tree with him to find some more. I hoist myself back into the saddle, and head off down the hill feeling completely baffled by my visit. What is it with these nuns anyway? There must be something in their pasts … Did they do acrobatics on horseback in the circus, or what?
È assolutamente sconcertante
. It's absolutely baffling.

When I return Caesar to Angelo, I ask him if it's all right if I come back for a sunset ride on Saturday. I figure that way I can just stay out until the sun goes down for the evening rendezvous with the reverend mother. Angelo says he goes to bed with the sun, so he probably won't wait up for me, but I'm welcome to ride. All the better. He won't worry when it gets dark out. He'll be asleep.

Back at the castle I run into J. R. out in the courtyard. He's talking to Nonna, who is talking to both him and Saint Francis—as though she's in a three-way conversation. “So, J. R., tell Saint Francis and me all about your first day back to school.”

“Well, school was uneventful,” he says looking at Nonna, then turns to Saint Francis, “but walking home was very nice.”

“Very
nice
?” I butt in. “Okay, who's the girl?” J. R. doesn't use words like
very nice
when it comes to taking a walk. There's something more to it.

He just smiles. “Someone.”

“Is it Celeste—that girl we saw in San Gimignano on my birthday?”

“Maybe.” J. R. is impossible to get details out of when it comes to girls.

“Well,
maybe
I'll have lunch with Celeste tomorrow, and
maybe
I'll ask her.”

“A. J., if you blow this for me …”

“Don't worry, I just wanted to confirm whom you're all gaga over. And now I know—so I don't have to ask.”

“Promise you won't do or say anything to make her think I have a weird family?”

“J. R., trust me, thanks to Annalisa Tartini, Celeste not only knows you have a weird family, she also knows you're related to the people in the blue villa. But if any of that mattered to her, you would have known it by now.”

Nonna looks back and forth between J. R. and me. “Listen, J. R.,” she says, “you just bring your little friend home with you tomorrow and I'll introduce her to Saint Francis. If anyone can help win her heart for you, it'll be Saint Francis.”

“Yep, that would do it, all right,” I tell J. R.

“Thanks, Nonna, I'll be sure to keep that in mind.” He smiles and gives Nonna a kiss on her cheek.

Mama comes out with a pile of fresh towels for the guesthouse.

“Expecting company, Mama?”

“Late arrival—they're just staying for the night and flying back to the States tomorrow.”

Maybe they'll have a girl I can swap lives with so I don't have to face another day at Macchiavelli High.