The last day, a Sunday:

Half-past eight before Manuel and I both got up. I leapt right out into the shower while the lazy bum stayed under the sheets till his bed kicked him off. Downstairs, breakfast in the garden. Sunny, sunny. I began drawing the fairytale-fantasy-romantic piece I had planned for Annalisa days ago. (I had to give up my original idea of doing portraits of Serena and Alessandro cuz where realistic art is concerned, well, I suck.)

It feels odd having an audience of people commenting in a language you barely understand. All the Bellissimo, Bravo, Fantastico, et cetera, what could they mean? Heh. Okay, so I enjoyed the praise (if more than a tad embarrassed by the attention), so sue me. I could just imagine their reaction once they found out who I was doing it for.

Lunch was to be a barbecue. It looked like Manuel’s neighbours had exactly the same idea. He has been bugging me to write more about them so here goes nothing. Apparently, they aren’t what one would call the brightest bulbs in the world. The weird kid from Mass? He’s the son and this is his story:

The poor thing was almost deaf as a baby but his parents figured that he just didn’t want to talk yet. This dragged on till he was almost four before they took him to a doctor and took care of the hearing. Too late, he became a bit slow. He’s about 15 with the intelligence of an eleven-year old.

Now I’m not mocking him here, merely observing. I’ve got a younger cousin who had nearly the same story except his parents were a bit more paranoid (in this case, a good thing) and got the medics involved almost immediately. Enter a special school, tons of love and attention and now he’s a teenager in a normal school without skipping a single grade.

He’s a bit long-winded, like an old man sometimes, but easily one my favourite little cousin. He has a gentle soul. If I would shut up for anyone, it’d be to listen to this kid.

So, back to Manuel’s neighbours and their barbecue, or attempt at one. Manuel told me how they once dumped all the wood into the grill and placed it in front of their house with all the doors and windows open. No prizes for guessing which direction the wind was blowing. Judging by the amount of smoke that seemed to be coming from the other side of the fence, they weren’t doing much better this time either.

One of their daughters, the smartest member of their family (and extremely intelligent at that) came over to look at me drawing. She seemed impressed. Similarly so by the food barbecued by Franco. “They’re actually good,” she enthused, having given up all hope of her family not carbonising their meal. Oh dear.

Which brings us to lunch. Best barbecued meat I’ve had in ages. Steaks, spareribs, polenta and a pomodoro salad. Then fresh fruits and caffè for the adults. Jokes all around. I even managed to catch most of them without Manuel’s dubious translations. Bravo, Chenni!

I finished the drawing after lunch. I’m actually, surprisingly, rather pleased with it. As was Annalisa when I showed it to her and even more so when I told her it was for her. She immediately slipped it into a clear plastic glove, the same treatment my drawing for Manuel got. I enjoy people who appreciate near-works of art.

(I suppose being Italian helps. The rest of the world? Well, let’s just say there’s a painting of mine hiding in gallery somewhere in Tokyo that I plan to hunt down eventually. Long story.)

Time to go. Packed my things and said my farewells to this wonderful family. They even told me that they hoped to see me back, which, really, is more than I deserve. I love this warm, generous family.

Got into Manuel’s Renault Clio for one last time from the garage. We drove into the city and bought my train ticket. Called Claudia but unfortunately she couldn’t come out today. She really took the effort to assure me we would meet again, whether in Munich or in Italy. Deal.

Having hours to burn before six (when my train was scheduled to arrive), we hopped to Punta Lago again. Had enormous, mildly alcoholic gelato sundaes by the lake. We walked along the flesh-packed beach after. We talked a lot but didn’t really say much. Still, it was cool.

Manuel chose a scenic route for the trip back to the city. The green earth below shone as we took a slow drive along mountain trails. Our Italian roadtrip anthem, Patches by Clarence Carter, kept repeating. How many songs get to be sad, funny and soulful at the same time? Nothing beats 70′s R&B.

There were still forty minutes to go when we got back to the city, so we had lemon sodas in a café, under a vines-and-leaves canopy. Manuel suggested that I looked like I will miss Italy more than I will miss Germany. He’s probably right. Half of my friends from the past year are here after all.

And I have been truly happy.

Lightning flashes across a scorching blue sky. We stood on the platform waiting for the train that would take me away. Manuel said that it looked like hail. Fair enough, though coming from the tropics, that meant little to me. We only have rain. I suppose hail hurts a lot more. Pain that only comes on a brilliant summer’s day.

My train came but I won’t say more.

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Copyright © 2002 Kenny Mah Ying Fye.