Meals with the Ortinos were magical in what felt like a perfect world. Until that night that Matteo and Tommaso got up from the table to get dessert. Bongo-bongo, a tower of cream-puffs, ice cream, and chocolate sauce was being stored in a fridge of their basement apartment. There was a commotion, panicked shouts. I didn’t need to understand their Italian words to know they found trouble. After several others jumped from the table and ran toward the clamor, Valentina and I stood, stunned. She translated, her face frozen in fear, “Intruders. Burglars are in the house.”
Laura, their mother, ran inside to call the police, leaving the two of us to wonder in a flash, Were we safe? Were the men armed? No questions would be answered until the chase came to a close and the brothers could report the details.
They had heard voices when they entered the kitchen and acted immediately. Matteo did the sensible thing: he called for help. Tommaso was fearless--some said reckless--as he ran to the upstairs floors to find office and bedroom drawers looted and jewelry boxes emptied. And one enemy dodged him in the hall, escaping down the back stairway to flee down the olive tree-dotted hill to the winding road where an accomplice waited in a running car and sped off. Valentina wept at the violation, and we were such kindred spirits at that time, I wept too.
Whether it was two or three in the house, professionals or rookies, it was never clear. Nonetheless, the invasion altered the perfect world indefinitely. And bongo-bongo will never taste the same.
Scary! What made you remember this tonight?
ReplyDelete