Tomato Rhapsody: A Fable of Love, Lust and Forbidden Fruit - By Adam Schell Page 0,107

Let me just have a look inside. Madness, yes, I know. Nonno would not approve. But how can I not? For Mari. Dear sister in heaven, bless me, he told himself as he slid the bolt and pulled the door ajar, just enough to peer his head inside. And then, out of the shadows, it came! Panic-stricken, Davido inhaled and sucked the burning oil right into his mouth. It blinded his eyes and burned down his neck. I am dead, he thought, I am dead!

Mio Dio, Mari gasped, I have done it a second time. She dropped the empty bucket of oil and ran to him with a purpose even greater than that which she’d heaved the oil. Ran and jumped into his oil-drenched arms. Pressed her lips onto his oil-covered lips, ran her tongue into his oil-covered mouth and kissed him.

I am not dead? Davido’s mind questioned itself as it sorted through that moment of confusion when one cannot distinguish the very cold from the burning hot. Davido’s oil-coated eyes opened and he saw the blurry figure of his attacker moving toward him. He felt a body lean against his chest as twice-familiar arms wrapped around his torso and twice-familiar lips pressed onto his. I am alive, every sense of his body affirmed, as his mouth opened in return and olive oil and lips and tongues commingled and danced for a third delicious time.

Ed il fiume deve fluire verso l’oceano, wrote Pozzo Menzogna in his eloquent and definitive treatise on drama. And the river must flow to the ocean. Menzogna was writing, of course, about the importance in a third act to narrow the action around the story’s main characters and their dilemma. To increase the narrative’s current and build a sense of urgency as the story flows toward its “ocean of resolution,” as Menzogna put it. Accordingly, Menzogna postulated, by Parte Tre, the audience should have a keen understanding of the inner workings and desires of a tale’s characters and therefore the time is past for elaborate asides, introspection and excessive detail.

And so, while it may be an interesting current to follow, Menzogna would in no way recommend we divert the balance of our tale’s current and dwell unnecessarily upon the procession of villagers en route to the river on this Tuesday morning of Tossing Crumbs. The reader will know in an instant that while Giuseppe’s pockets may have been filled with crumbs (as he trailed along with Mari’s crippled mother at the rear of the procession), it was only appearances he was keeping up and that he had no room in his heart or space in his mind to actually believe in such a foolish rite.

In a state of mind very different from that of Giuseppe, Cosimo di Pucci de’ Meducci the Third, Grand Duke of Tuscany in hiding, also walked the processional, cast his crumbs into the river and then surrendered himself to the Good Padre’s baptismal plunge. There, as the cool waters washed over him, Cosimo felt the final burdens of sadness that had plagued much of his life simply wash away.

His chef, Luigi Campoverde, still not of right mind from all the tainted wine he drank at the feast, was also amongst those walking the processional. He was walking out of sight of his boss, of course, but walking nonetheless. He had been unable to bring himself to leave the odd little town that he imagined to be so like the village of his birth, and he thought that a blessing from the priest might help restore his mind and ensure his job security.

Benito, feeling soiled and foul and likewise unstable of mind, did not obey Giuseppe’s orders to spy upon Mari. La Piccola Voce would not let him. Instead, he walked at the head of the processional—well away from Giuseppe’s sight— desperate to be rid of his guilt and the little voice that was ruining his mind.

Bobo, who was like a cat when it came to water, could not bring himself to be a part of the processional, and while he did not loathe the Good Padre as he had the last priest, he had too many secrets to hide and no place in his heart to forgive the Church.

Bertolli, the Cheese Maker, Mucca, Vincenzo, Signore Coglione (always hopeful that a miracle might bring back his lost testicle), Augusto Po and all the other villagers made their way to the river where their indescribable Good Padre waited for them in waist-deep water like