The Living
Beppina’s hand was smooth over the railings over the stairway. A stairway she had walked for many years, yet it felt unreal, almost foreign. Smelling the sweet scent of spring plants, she began getting to know her surroundings all over again, in a new way. A wonderful Tuscan archway was placed modestly above the entrance of the little stair case, filling her with homely warmth as she floated through.
Mrs Cippolini grinned to herself whilst sweeping the yard. She hadn’t seen Beppina so warm and whole for an unaccountable amount of time and had nearly forgotten what a true glowing beauty she was. The sun kissed the tops of their heads as they greeted in the tine yard, a haven surrounded by city.
“Ciao bella!” Mrs Cippolini threw down her brush and greeted the young woman with a warm embrace full of love, as they talked, a friendship was rebuilding itself and Beppina felt attuned to the wonderful humble yard with the flower pots and an old bike in the corner.
The walls, painted cream against green shutter windows, were old and flaking but full of life and character. Looking up at her bathroom window Beppina beamed, smiling. “Bella!” Beautiful!
She walked towards the back gate that stood below another arch in the wall and glided out, feeling a new sense of life rushing through her veins, making her seemingly glowing to all around her. Turning down a small street, she walked among the living towards the scene her sister had called ‘Il Sogno’, the Dream!
From the balcony you could see this scene and beyond, to the city and its beautiful church, architecture pouring from every little crack of stone like a beautiful creamy fluid from a jug. Couples walked through Il Sogno holding hands, kissing, and occasionally with a child or family and friends surrounding them.
Gliding down yet more steps, she admired the view with new eyes and ready for a new outlook on life. The stairs beneath her feet reflected how she felt; they were grand and opened out to Il Sogno from the little street behind. Below her were glorious restaurants, cafés and shops. They all stood together in a terrace of tradition, teaming with life, love and plants. Stunning Juliet balconies lay peacefully above canopies and extravagantly decorated shop windows, ivy and wonderfully bright colours plants dripping off them like treacle in honey.
A tear lazily rolled down Beppina’s fair cheek as she stood on a step, motionless, in awe of the world around her; the same, yet totally different to how she remembered. But still, in the back of her heart she felt like a child being given every treat, luxury and happiness possible in the whole world except the one thing it really, really wanted. She brushed the feeling away like a fly, it would do her no good to dwell on a though like that.
A young chef saw her as he walked from Il Sogno onto the stairway. He noticed she was far away but she was so beautiful in her white frock, her hair swaying gently with the wind, that he felt he must speak to her. Noticing then, the lazy tears on her cheeks he took the opportunity.
“Are you alright madam, it something the matter?” He inquired, in perfect Tuscan Italian of course. Expecting to hear a beautiful flowing answer, he was disappointed when she simply broke from her trance, nodded, and moved on. He kept his eyes on her as she walked away; only, she didn’t really walk at all, but swayed, not like a drunk on a ship, but like a swan on a lake.
He felt like following her, feeling what she felt, he felt like calling for her; but, coming down to reality he tore his eyes away from the swan and carried on his way up the tiny streets of Barga.
