Sunday, January 8, 2012
Characteristically, Giuseppe walks up and down the street each day, hands clasped behind his back. He has about him the air of the classic European pensionato--the retired man. He once said that his son owns a fancy Italian restaurant here in town, and he himself is a painter. He can expound on the pleasures of food and wine. (Though you get that idea that if he actually imbibed in the wine these days he might fall of the wagon, if you know what I mean).
If you wave at him when he goes by, he will give a little up-nod of his head.
A few weeks ago as my son got off the bus, he discovered Giuseppe lying on his back in the someone's grass. "I'm dying," he said.
A neighbor had already called 911. An ambulance came and took Giuseppe away. I worried about him.
He is old and somewhat frail. I would miss him if he wasn't around anymore.
So, when I saw him shambling along a week or so later, I was glad.