Lure of the Grapes, page 9
“That’s great, Niccolò! And you painted?”
“Yes, and you can guess what I discovered? People, they only want to be told they are lovely. No matter who they are. If I see what is beautiful about them, they are happy.”
Rocco seemed intrigued.
“But if you are good at these things, Niccolò, why is your heart set on the vineyard?”
“Because it brings me comfort. In my heart, I want a place to call home. Plus, I envisioned the vineyard as my livelihood and the means by which I would be able to provide for a family of my own.”
“I understand you are doing the best you can.”
“It seems I must prove that I can provide for myself and also a family, that is what it all boils down to. It is not only to prove myself to my father or other people, but to myself.”
“I am sorry for the pressure, Niccolò. Is it possible that you might achieve success in a different area, not what society expects you to excel in? Like the creative endeavors you mentioned?”
“I do want the vineyard, but perhaps you’re right.”
“Is it possible that you are afraid to fail at something else? And thereby, you make yourself fail?”
Niccolò thought for a moment. “Everyone has a dream, even if the dream is buried. This is my dream, at least I think.”
“I see. I wonder what my dream is,” Rocco said, thoughtful as he sipped his coffee. “I’ve got it! Your dream is the vineyard, but it is also bigger than the vineyard!”
“Yes! It is true!”
More customers now came inside for their midday coffee.
“Niccolò!” Saverio shouted in the doorway, startling all the customers. Then Saverio laughed as Niccolò gasped and customers around them looked annoyed. “Please, I need to talk to you, buddy!”
Niccolò held his forehead and groaned.
“Saverio again?” Rocco asked. Soon, they finished their coffee and left the coffee shop in peace. “I have to work now, Niccolò,” Rocco called as he stepped down the sidewalk. “Please do a good job tonight!”
“I will!” Niccolò said and waved. Afterward, when Rocco disappeared, Niccolò turned to see Saverio staring at him. Niccolò jumped. “What are you doing? Why did you shout my name?”
“Actually, I am so sorry for doing that, but I want and in fact I need to talk to you,” Saverio said, seemingly sincere. “Come with me.”
“Wait!” Niccolò said. “Why did you leave Akala in the middle of nowhere? She was sitting in the rain when I found her.”
“I wanted to run the errand for you, Buddy! Besides, I assumed you would find her and take her the rest of the way. Come with me, please.”
Niccolò looked around and figured Zio would not approve of Niccolò holding a grudge, so he followed with hesitation. It seemed Saverio had become accepted as he was by everyone.
Saverio led him straight to the Taverna di Conchiglia.
To Niccolò’s chagrin, there was Biagio, with the Cavalieri, playing games again. The thought of board games tasted so bitter to Niccolò and he was eager to leave.
“Biagio, in front of all these people, I want to pay you the debt that Niccolò owes. This money is Niccolò’s,” Saverio said, as he handed Biagio a large wad of money.
Everyone stared, even the Cavalieri seemed astonished. Biagio raised an eyebrow at Saverio. Following that, Biagio counted the money.
“That is it,” Biagio said, and put it into his pocket. He looked at Niccolò. “It is here. Thank you.”
Biagio told the Cavalieri he would return later and left.
Niccolò looked at Saverio. “What is the trick?” he asked.
“There is no trick, Niccolò,” Saverio said, placing his hands on Niccolò’s shoulders. “We are family. I want to do this for you. It has nothing to do with the vineyard, right?”
Niccolò studied the gleam in Saverio’s eyes. Niccolò didn’t trust Saverio, especially with that gleam.
“Thank you, cousin,” he said, “I will pay you back.”
“Niccolò, there is no need to do that. We can address it later on, but right now, my main intention is to offer you assistance!”
Niccolò hesitated and as the board game continued, he left.
At the very least, he had the ability to settle his debt to Biagio and still had the excess cash from his statue job to cover rent and potentially rent a violin for street performances.

The air had a wet chill about it, although the day had been sunny.
In Fiorella again, Akala made her way down an alley and studied the hanging laundry above her. Surrounded by such beauty, her problems were easily forgotten.
Akala had bought a bright pink and blue top, with sleeves that fanned out at the ends. Colorful and artsy, she assumed the blouse would give her more credentials as an actress. The bottom of the shirt also fanned out and the long ribbon at the back was tied into a wispy bow. The shoes on her feet were black and embroidered with flowers, similar to the colors on the shirt. The only problem was they were a tad big.
She came to a window and looked inside. Gorgeous pottery filled the shop. She did not enter the pottery house but studied from the window, the delicate dishes and cups hanging with flowers wrapping around their edges. A quartet played soothing music down the street a little way.
As she listened to the beautiful music and observed the art, the same lump in her throat gathered as it did on the road when she met Niccolò. It was like every other beautiful thing in the world: it was so elusive, and it pulled other feelings out of her that were locked away. She thought of Niccolò and his kindness and smiled. Surely he was like Josephina’s husband and his father. She brushed off any notion that he’d be interested in her.
A man, who stood on the street selling dozens of beautiful purses and trinkets, looked her direction. Akala watched him roll up his sheet full of purses into a ball, then he slung the ball of bags and trinkets over his shoulder. The striped shirt he wore matched his long, gangly appearance. He walked up to Akala and put one hand out this way and put the other out that way as if telling her about something crazy that happened to him. He looked at his own hands and kept talking, then he turned his eyes to hers.
“I don’t speak… that language…” Akala said, haltingly.
Staring over her shoulder cautiously, she stepped away. He followed.
Now he spoke again in broken English. “You vant a purse?” he asked.
“No thank you, I’m broke.”
“I have cheap purses.”
“I don’t vant a purse,” she said, cringing at her accidental accent.
Akala stopped and turned to him and in the dim light of the streetlamp, realized it was the Fox-man.
“Oh, it’s you! Fareh!”
Akala smiled. He came close and smiled back.
“Cheyenne and Julietta are my friends! They told me you have connections with the Family Theater? I hoped for your assistance, that you might introduce me to someone there?”
The fox-man studied her. “You want to make a few dollars?” he asked, suddenly in plain English. “You can be my assistant for the evening and model these bracelets and watches to the Cavalieri of Damiano Club, and not only that, you can eat dinner! How does that sound?”
Fareh seemed to notice her hesitation. “Come on!” he insisted. He motioned for her to follow.
“Well, only if you promise to take me to the theater,” Akala offered weakly. But at least he was a good actor, so that was promising.
“Yes, I will take you there, I promise! But first help me, I need a model!”
“I have to take a risk,” she told herself. “He knows the theater people.”
They came to a restaurant. It was a hole-in-the-wall down a narrow alley where a rectangular sign with swirly borders hung from chains. It said: Taverna di Conchiglia. They walked inside.
Fareh led her to the main room where smoke clouded the air. It was cozy enough with the wooden tables and chairs and the big wooden doors. It was like something in a medieval storybook.
There were round tables lining what appeared to be a dance floor. Men sat at the tables and played cards.
“Are they gambling?” she asked him.
“Of course, not! These are the Cavalieri of Damiano you’re talking about!”
A beastly, bearded man came to her. He chewed a piece of bread. “The Cavalieri of Damiano were noble horsemen. They don’t exist anymore,” he said. Then he winked dramatically and walked away.
Fox-man sifted through the bowl of mixed nuts at an empty table.
“Why did that man wink?” Akala asked, “Is it because the Cavalieri of Damiano still exist?”
“That man has a twitch in his eye. It closes all the time, for no apparent reason.”
“Oh. I guess he was telling the truth then.”
“I guess. Come here.”
Fareh put so many bracelets on Akala they filled her entire forearm, and then he pushed her toward the tables. “Show them the jewelry!”
Akala walked up to the table, experiencing a peculiar and insecure sensation.
A beautiful girl with perfectly messy hair, set in place with two bejeweled sticks, sat at the left side of the table before her. The silkiness of the hair was evident from a far distance. She looked like a doll; like a beautiful, painted thing that seemed unreal. Perhaps if Akala went on a diet of coconut water and lemon juice alone for three months, she might attain such beautiful skin. The girl’s face was the flawless shape of a heart, with sparkling, almond shaped teal eyes that were quintessentially Italian, or Arabian, or Greek, even though by her accent she was also from the United States. Her long lashes gave the message that she was very smart, and others, well, weren’t…
There’s got to be something wrong with her, Akala thought, but from any angle, she was unable to perceive anything. Akala thought if she found something wrong with this immensely confident person, then she might better about herself.
Suddenly, a tall, skinny man stood beside her. He looked vaguely familiar, and Akala stared at him. She caught his attention all of a sudden, and his eyes widened. Then he turned from her. Perhaps he only resembled the strange imposter that dropped her off in the middle of nowhere, thereby traumatizing her.
“What’s happening Sheila?” the man said to the beautiful woman at the table, with a wave of his hand. He sat down across from her.
The woman closed her eyes and nodded vaguely, in her own careless way. “Saverio,” Sheila muttered in return. Another man sat beside Sheila. A man with style, with rock solid confidence and surety, and a seriousness that seemed so wise. Another small feeling washed over Akala. She named the man “Humphrey,” in her mind.
Akala wiggled her wrists around in front of them. The bracelets jangled. They regarded her boredly and then continued their conversation.
“Sheila!” Saverio blurted. Akala stayed as if fascinated by the conversation. “I saw Niccolò. Man, does he have it for you! He’s in love with you!”
Akala noticed Sheila’s eyebrows go up. “Your cousin?”
Akala assumed Niccolò was a common name around Fiorella.
“He told me so!” Saverio exclaimed. “Niccolò will give up life as it is, to make you happy! Can you just imagine traveling the world with a handsome guy like Niccolò?” Saverio coaxed.
“Saverio, I may not be happily married but I’m still married, you know?” Sheila answered.
Akala was now jangling the bracelets mindlessly while listening to the conversation.
The waiter brought a seashell bowl of hummus and some bread. Akala stayed.
“Who are you?” Humphrey gestured at her.
“Oh, I’m Akala!”
Sheila and the Humphrey nodded amiably to her.
“Do you live in Italy? I moved here to take an internship,” Sheila said. “What do you do?”
“I’m a study abroad student! I’m a poetry major.”
“Oh, I love poetry,” Sheila said dreamily. “My favorite era of poetry is Spanish Baroque.”
“Spanish Baroque?” Great, Akala thought, the girl is immensely intelligent, too, just like Trent.
Saverio got up and moved to a counter. At this, the Humphrey-man’s lips tightened as he took on a serious demeanor.
“Listen to me!” Humphrey said to Sheila. “Saverio is telling you these things, but he is lying to you. He barely speaks to Niccolò. And you shouldn’t listen to Saverio,” the man trailed off as he caught Akala staring even more intently at his hands, which had outlined a person in the air.
“I don’t even know him!” Sheila answered in a hushed tone.
The bracelets began to tumble off Akala’s wrists and roll about the table, two of them landing in the bowl of hummus.
Sheila and Humphrey jumped in their chairs.
“I’m so sorry,” Akala muttered and frantically reached for the jangling bracelets while more rolled onto the table.
Akala accidentally put her fingers and sleeve into their hummus.
Saverio had come back abruptly as Akala took one of their cloth napkins and tried in vain to get the hummus off of the bracelets and her fingers.
Saverio tapped Akala’s shoulder, and she took her eyes from Sheila and the suave man, who subsequently had leaned in to speak to Sheila more privately.
“Do you like to dance?” Saverio asked.
“Maybe.” Still, Akala strained to listen to the deep voice of Humphrey.
“Maybe?” Saverio said. “You either do or you don’t. Well, can you dance?”
“Maybe.”
“Come.” Saverio took Akala by the elbow and dragged her to the empty floor to dance. The Cavalieri at the card table viewed them. Saverio put his hands on her shoulders to show her how to gyrate.
“Come… look… don’t appear so clueless…” Saverio said.
Akala became even more paranoid with the smoke, the old men’s eyes, and Saverio’s scrutiny overwhelming her. Her widened eyes glazed as she spotted a grotesque glob of hummus still clinging to her fingers.
“That Sheila,” he said on the sly, “every guy wants her.”
“But she wants Niccolò?” Akala offered.
This seemed to annoy Saverio, and he didn’t answer.
The second song was more techno than the first and Saverio stood before her, his head floating left to right slowly.
With Saverio’s drowsy dance and the thumping of the techno music, Akala almost seemed like a part of it all, but as she looked around, she happened to see Sheila and Humphrey watching from their table and convulsing in laughter. However, before Akala even perceived a reaction, Saverio had taken her by the shoulders again, which brought her back to the shaking of reality.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Um,” Akala said, as she hadn’t realized she’d done anything wrong, except for bad dancing.
“Why do you wait?” Saverio asked.
Somehow Akala felt so transparent. “Wait?”
“For someone to tell you what to do, or for someone else to talk?”
“I’m not.”
“It is like you wait for someone to tell you who you are,” he said. “Because you keep looking to everyone else. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Perhaps it was the fact that this was the first time in her life Akala ever had to choose for herself about anything, or the first time her choice would matter.
Then Fareh came stomping toward her.
“What are you doing?” Fareh asked. “You haven’t even shown the Cavalieri your bracelets! What am I paying you to do here, dance?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. Saverio shrugged and walked back to Sheila’s table.
Akala stepped up to the Cavalieri table. The bearded man grinned at her and winked again. Then she remembered he had an eye twitch, so she didn’t think much about it.
She jingled the bracelets. “I… don’t know if you’re interested in one of these…?” she asked.
“Sure, I’ll buy a bracelet,” said one man.
“She’s cute!” said another of the men. Akala smiled gratefully as each of the five men bought a bracelet.
“Is that hummus?” said one man, as he studied his bracelet.
A man in a spotless white suit came into the room, with rings on his hand. His beard and hair were perfectly arranged. His presence seemed sensed by all, and he was obviously from the some type of law enforcement.
“Oh, no! It’s Biagio!” Fareh whispered.
“Fareh!” the man yelled, as he pointed to Fareh and also Akala. Akala’s eyes widened. “That jewelry is stolen and you two are trying to sell it!”
A murmur swept across the room.
“You’re on your own!” said Fareh, and he shoved past Akala to flee.
Akala gasped. She fled the opposite door of Fareh, for that was the door she had entered. A chase ensued, but Akala was unsure which door the officer would follow.
Taverna di Conchiglie Hummus
1 (15 ounce) can garbanzo beans
¼ cup of tahini
Juice from ½ lemon
2 cloves garlic
¼ teaspoon ground cumin
Salt and white pepper
Olive oil
Grind the chickpeas in a blender or food processor. Slowly add the tahini.
Add the lemon juice, garlic, cumin, salt and pepper.
Add the olive oil until the desired consistency is achieved.

The Taverna door faced the main street. After running outside, Akala found Fareh again.
There weren’t many shops there and mostly there were no people, only cars. The road made a circle around a statue amid the quaint brick buildings.
The cars honked and zoomed past them where they stood on the sidewalk.
“Sorry about that!” Fareh said.
They rested against the wall in a little ornate doorway.
“I can’t go to jail, I’ll fail my class,” Akala panted.
Fareh studied her with an amused smile.
“What class?”
“Literature.”
“Jail has nothing to do with literature,” Fareh said. “If you’re good at literature, then you can do it from jail.”
Akala blinked at him and cringed at the idea. “You don’t understand, the rest of my life depends on these classes, and I am doing poorly, and if I do poorly, I will never get the degree and I will be without a job, and I cannot go home to live with my parents, jobless and penniless and husbandless. I don’t know how anything will work out for me,” she cried.
