Writing Historical Fiction | The Streets of Castronovo
PART SEVEN IN THE HISTORICAL FICTION SERIES: VARSALONA
Marisa received another call on her telefonino and told us that the Mayor needed us to come back to the Comune right away, but she needed to go in the opposite direction for another matter. So she sent me off with Zio Peppino to climb back up the hill against traffic to the Comune (Town Hall).
Walking hunched over but managing to leave me in his dust, Zio Peppino booked it up the hill with the confidence of a man that did this all day long, every day. And all along the way, people stopped him to chat, share cheek kisses, or just wave or say hi to him as he walked by. Several people eyed me and asked him who I was, but he responded to everyone with his hand in the air, palm facing backward, pushing back, which means “I’ll tell you later.”
We made it to the Comune and walked up the stairs to the second-floor offices. Zio Peppino asked a woman in the hall to let the Mayor know that we were there, and she went past two other people who seemed to be lined up outside the main office on the floor. When she opened the door I saw a large desk in front of a row of flags and there sitting at the desk, pointing to something on a paper to a young man standing over him, was Mayor Onorato. He looked up when the woman entered and then saw me behind her in the hallway and broke out into a big smile and got up and met me at the door where we did the Italian greeting of cheek kisses.
“You are back!” he said, smiling.
“Yes, and I’ve now met the famous Zio Peppino,” I said as I motioned to Zio Peppino who was slightly behind me. Mayor Onorato welcomed both of us into his office as the two people in line started to speak loudly to the Mayor, obviously upset, but he was already inside and he shut the door.
Zio Peppino and I took the two chairs facing the Mayor’s desk, and he sat down behind it and asked about our day and if Marisa had been helpful, and if I had everything that I needed. I gave him a rundown of the day including a glowing report for Vice-Mayor Gentile.
He extended an invitation to his daughter’s third birthday party that night at his home in the countryside and told me that he had transportation to and from the party arranged for me. Because I was staying at a hotel in Palermo, he suggested that I stay at the B & B in Piazza Pepi, “Casa di Gatto,” and then drive back to Palermo in the morning. With everything pre-arranged, how could I refuse?
