would never love him. Nonno thought about his grandson Davido, all the damage he’d just done to family and reputation, and about the trip he’d have to take to Florence to postpone the wedding. Cosimo thought about the absurdity of his life, about the reflection of his beloved courtesan that he caught in the tomato boy’s eyes and about the memories of a childhood playmate thought dead thirty years ago, now suddenly before him. Bobo the Fool thought about money and wine and how many coins his performance today might loosen from the tight fist of Giuseppe and how long those coins could keep him drunk. Luigi Campoverde thought about the Love Apples in his sack and wondered if his boss, who particularly enjoyed things that offended his wife and the Church, would like the fruit’s flavor.
With eyes set solidly upon the sweet-looking tomato boy, Mari thought about how much she’d like to be the one eating his Love Apples and about how she would manage to survive for thirteen days without his face to gaze at. And Davido, well, Davido turned to look at the splendid olive girl, her sturdy wrists and strong ankles, and thought not of the relief of a ruined wedding or the fear of an irate grandfather, but of love— love and tomato sauce.
OLIVES
In which We Learn
the Unusual History of the
Good Padre’s Pigmentation
The story of how the Good Padre came to be such a shade of eggplant purple begins with Fuka-Kenta, a witch doctor from a small tribe of natives located in the western jungle highlands of the Dark Continent. Because witch doctors were commanded to live alone in the highest regions to be closer to their ancestors, Fuka-Kenta lived on the mountainous slopes a half day’s walk from his people’s village. Upon each full moon, Fuka-Kenta would venture into the village for three days to cure the sick, depossess the possessed and relay messages from the recently deceased, especially those who’d died with a stone still on their heart.
At about the time Fuka-Kenta reached the height of his powers, when he had seen the monsoon rains come and go more times than he could remember, he descended from the mountaintop to discover that a group of men with skin as pale and pink as the underbelly of a hippopotamus had settled in the village. Fuka-Kenta had only been away for one cycle of the moon, but he was concerned by how much sickness had descended upon the village in such a short time. It seemed that the fire demon Wimba, in a form Fuka-Kenta had never before seen, had afflicted many of the children and some of the elders. The demon made their bodies hot to the touch and caused their flesh to break with small boils and their stomachs to retch yellowish bile.
Fuka-Kenta had never seen men such as these, and he’d never seen Wimba come when the moon was full; for as long as he had lived, the fire demon had only appeared when the moon was hiding. The pale men did not seem war-like, but Fuka-Kenta could not see the light of the Asase Yaa in their eyes and this troubled him greatly. He had never known a man, be he enemy or friend, who did not glow with the Great Mother’s light.
There was much about the pale ones that Fuka-Kenta found suspicious, from their heavy brown robes and the totems of two crossed sticks that they wore around their necks to their size, smell and behavior. They were enormous creatures, two heads taller than Fuka-Kenta’s people, yet their flesh appeared soft and tender, and their feet, though large and hairy, could not carry them about unless covered in animal skin and wood. They lumbered when they walked and grimaced when they sat. They moved awkwardly about the jungle, banging their heads into vines and branches. They jumped when the monkeys howled and scurried whenever leaves rustled. In general, they seemed ill conceived and ill designed. But how could that be? For as monkeys have tails from which to hang and birds feathers so they may fly, the Great Mother created all creatures with perfection. Perhaps, thought Fuka-Kenta, Anansi, the trickster god, had dropped the pale ones from the sky or belched them up from the swampy lands to the east.
Fuka-Kenta hid from the pale ones until nightfall allowed for closer inspection. He was amazed by what he heard, smelled and saw. The pale ones made noise in their sleep, like