Tomato Rhapsody: A Fable of Love, Lust and Forbidden Fruit - By Adam Schell Page 0,42
and the hair on horses’ asses, to peaches and plums and off the tip of farmers’ thick thumbs. Bombard the marketgoers head to boot with the juice and pulp of an illicit, forbidden fruit. Rejoice, Benito, take your vengeance upon the crowd, do the deed well and make me proud.”
That was what Giuseppe had instructed yesterday evening, just before leaving Benito at the tavern with a full mug of ale, a purse full of coins and a belly full of fear. But as Benito, now perched upon the roof of the bakery overlooking the bustling market two stories below, opened up his leather satchel and peered into it, he felt his throwing arm go suddenly numb. There they were, thirty-six deathly and deadly Love Apples. Worse still, Benito had forgotten Giuseppe’s leather gloves, the only thing, he was certain, that saved him from catastrophe yesterday when he picked them from their vines.
As Giuseppe had instructed, Benito was to launch the Love Apples into the crowd as quickly as possible. Giuseppe felt it was critical for the bombardment to be rapid so as to create as much confusion as possible. Giuseppe suggested throwing them two by two, and although it would be a great temptation, he urged Benito not to take particular aim at any one person, as it would only slow the process; under no circumstance was he to throw one in the direction of the Ebrei. It had to appear that they were throwing them.
Slowly, with a nervous tremor to his hand, Benito reached into the satchel and pulled out a Love Apple. Instantly, its dreaded poison began to burn the tips of his fingers as if he’d just scooped up a handful of lye. He felt his pulse quicken, his brow break with sweat and his heart beat unnaturally fast. Good God, he thought to himself, I’ll be dead before I manage to throw all of these. Then he rose up onto his knees, still mostly hidden behind the bakery’s wide chimney, and gazed intently at the market below, searching for the perfect target. His hand still ached from where Mari had whacked it and he gave a moment’s thought to hurling the first one at her, but the little voice inside his head wouldn’t allow him to hurt what he loved so much. Who then, Benito pondered, entirely ignoring Giuseppe’s order. Quick, before this devilish fruit incinerates my hand. Mucca? Vincenzo? “Vaffanculo,” Benito whispered, “there’s the face of Bobo the Fool.” Feeling his upper limb suddenly come back to life, Benito cocked his arm and with all the vengeance a dozen years of snide comments and putdowns can instill, he hurled the overripe tomato at the slender, hairless face of Bobo the Fool.
Mari slid Signore Coglione’s coins into her apron pocket as they said, “Ciao,” to each other in near-harmony, though he always added bella. As the tavern owner, he was her best customer, and without any help at her stand, it took Mari nearly ten minutes just to put his order together: eight bottles of olive oil, six earthen jars filled with olives. The wine he ordered from her was delivered separately, usually on Wednesdays: one barrel of red, one half barrel of white. As Mari looked up to greet her next customer she noticed with aggravation the backup at her stand; at least ten people were waiting. She looked over her shoulder to see if her mother could help, but her poor mama was so exhausted from the short walk between her apartment and the piazza that she’d fallen asleep. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Her mother, once so beautiful, looked like a fat little toad as she sat there asleep on the half barrel, chin collapsed into her bosom, a thin stream of saliva drooling from the permanently numb left corner of her mouth.
Mari cursed Benito’s name silently as she took the next empty bottle before her and turned to face the large olive-oil-filled barrel to her side. She placed the bottle under the olive oil spout, turned the lever and watched for a moment as a thin line of green-gold oil flowed into the bottle. She estimated how long it would take to fill then lifted her head to look across the market in the direction of her curiosity, when something prodigious caught her eye and in an instant all the anger and heartache that pestered her mind vanished.
Whether it was the lone hand of the Divine or the gods acting in collusion