Читать книгу Francesca's Kitchen - Peter Pezzelli - Страница 11

The librarian was gazing out the window at the thickening snowfall when Francesca walked in. A small, handwritten sign on the young woman’s desk announced that, due to the approaching storm, the weekly book club meeting had been cancelled for that afternoon. Francesca was not particularly disappointed by the announcement; she hadn’t planned to attend the gathering. Still, she could not suppress a sigh of consternation at the thought of it. The library, she guessed, would be closing early as well. The coat and pocketbook resting to the librarian’s side confirmed her suspicions.

“Hello, Rebecca,” said Francesca.

The young librarian turned to Francesca with fretful eyes. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Campanile,” she said, taking nervous note of the snowflakes on the shoulders of Francesca’s coat and hat. “It looks like it’s really starting to come down out there. Are the roads getting bad?”

“Treacherous,” Francesca fibbed. “My car barely made it up the hill to get here.”

Rebecca cast an anxious glance at the clock on the wall. “We’re closing in a half hour—at two—today,” she advised her. Then, worriedly, “Is it really that bad out?”

The mischievous side of Francesca wanted to string the girl along a little further, but she thought better of it. “No, honey,” she answered with a smile. “I was just having a little fun with you. Trust me, if an old lady like me can drive through this weather, so can you. You’re too young to be so worried about a few flakes of snow.”

“Ugh,” the young woman sighed. “I hate driving in the snow.”

Francesca set a cloth bag atop the desk. It was one of many she kept at home, in the closet by the front door. She had a sturdy bag ready for every occasion; this one she used to tote her books to and from the library. “I understand you have some new books for me,” she said, nodding to the bookshelf behind Rebecca.

Rebecca found the three items reserved for Francesca—two books and a set of Vietnamese language tapes—and placed them on the desktop next to her computer. She opened the cover of the first book and passed a handheld scanner over the bar code on the inside of the front cover. “Hmm, what are you studying this time?” she said, looking over the book’s cover with curiosity. “Perspectives on Vietnamese Culture,” she read. “Sounds interesting. Plus a Fodor’s guide to traveling in Vietnam,” she noted as she scanned the next book and then the language tapes. “Looks like someone is getting ready to take a trip to Southeast Asia.”

“Just in my mind,” chuckled Francesca. “Flying to Florida was far enough for me. I just like to study new things now and then, especially during the winter. It passes the time and keeps my brain from drying up inside my head.”

It was true. Francesca sometimes enjoyed watching television to pass the long, lonely nights at home, but more often than not, she preferred to put her mind to a more active use. She never quite understood why, but there was something about learning new things that gave her a warm feeling inside and always made her feel better about herself, especially whenever she was feeling a little down. For Francesca, to learn something new was to become a child again. Whether it was dabbling with a foreign language, or delving into ancient history, or struggling to understand the basic principles of physics, there seemed to be nothing that didn’t pique her curiosity. When she tired of one subject, she simply moved on to the next. Her son, Joey, had often suggested that she might enjoy taking some night courses at one of the local colleges, perhaps work toward a degree in some field of study that she found interesting. Francesca, though, had always decided against it. Why should she pay all that money to take a course when she could learn everything she could ever want to learn for free right there at the local library?

“Well, learning to speak Vietnamese should keep you busy for a while,” said Rebecca, handing her the books and the tapes.

“We’ll see,” said Francesca, tucking everything into her bag. “Not that I ever expect to use the language. It’s just fun to know a little about these things sometimes.”

“Hey, you never know,” said Rebecca. “There are lots of Vietnamese people living in this part of the city now. Maybe you’ll make some new friends.”

“Maybe,” said Francesca with a laugh. “I suppose there might be some old Vietnamese ladies around for me to talk to.”

“Or maybe a Vietnamese man,” said Rebecca playfully. “It won’t be long before it’s Valentine’s Day, you know.”

“Oh, please,” laughed Francesca. “That’s all I need right now.” She turned and nodded to the clock. “So I guess you’ll be chasing everyone out in a few minutes, right?”

“Sorry,” shrugged Rebecca, looking only slightly sincere.

“Okay,” sighed Francesca. She had collected her things and was just starting to go when someone called to her from the back of the library.

“Frannie, is that you?” came a familiar voice.

Francesca looked about and saw Peg, one of her library friends, beckoning to her from the little computer room in the back. The library offered seniors free classes in Word and Excel, whatever they were, but Francesca rarely set foot in that room. When she wasn’t taking out a book during one of her frequent visits to the library, she preferred to sit with the other library regulars in the periodicals section, perusing the nice variety of journals and magazines on display there. Now and then, though, she peeked into the computer room just to take a look at the monitors, which seemed to glow at her like giant square eyes. Though curious about the machines, she had yet to put her fingers on a keyboard. Francesca knew that everyone, even old biddies like Peg, were learning how to use computers, but something about even going near them made her uneasy. There was something threatening about the way they looked at her. Just the same, she nodded a thank-you to Rebecca and strolled over to talk to her friend, who had slipped back into the room.

“Come here, Frannie,” whispered Peg when Francesca stepped through the door. “You have to take a look at this.”

Francesca saw that Natalie and Connie, another two of her library friends, were seated at the other computer terminals. They both waved hello. The three old women, all of them bundled up in bulky sweaters despite the warmth inside the library, had their eyes glued to their respective computer screens while they pushed around a little plastic device that Francesca had heard them refer to as a mouse. That was another thing that gave Francesca pause. Why would she want to spend her time holding something named after a rodent? Nonetheless, she came closer to Peg and looked over her shoulder. Francesca had heard that people could find all manner of interesting things on the Internet; a world of information was right there at your fingertips, at least so they said. She was prepared to find Peg poring over an article about some new medical discovery, or perhaps reading up on investment advice for seniors. Instead, much to her embarrassed surprise, she found herself gazing at a full-screen photograph of Brad Pitt wearing little more than a pair of undershorts.

“Look at those abs,” enthused Peg. “Ooh, what I wouldn’t give to be thirty years younger!”

“Thirty? Try forty,” suggested Natalie. She tugged her knit hat down further over her ears to stay warm before turning her attention back to the chat group she had logged on to.

“While you’re at it, why not go for fifty?” added Connie, who was logged on to a chat group of her own. “I just told this guy that I’m blonde and twenty-one. He wants to do lunch.”

Francesca gave a little cough to clear her throat. “My,” she said, trying not to stare at the picture. “All this time, I thought you three were learning about word processing and spreadsheets and the rest of it.”

“Ayyy, forget that stuff,” huffed Peg. “It’s boring. The Internet is where all the fun is. You can find just about anything or anyone you want to look at. All you have to do is Google them.”

“Goo-goo?” said Francesca. “What’s that all about? Babies?”

“No, silly,” laughed Peg. “Goo-gull, not goo-goo. Don’t you know anything?”

“Afraid not,” sighed Francesca. “At least, not about these things.”

“You should give it a try,” suggested Natalie. “It’s a cinch.”

“What for?” replied Francesca. “What am I going to find out there with that thing that’s so wonderful? I’d rather read a book.”

“Don’t know what you’re missing,” said Connie. “Besides, what else is there for old bats like us to do? It’s fun, and e-mail’s a great way to keep in touch with people.”

“Ayyy, that’s what they invented stamps and envelopes for,” said Francesca. “There’s nothing like getting a nice handwritten letter.”

“Letter?” Peg laughed along with the other two women. “What century are you living in? Nobody writes letters anymore.”

“Yes, I know,” said Francesca grumpily. “That’s another thing I miss these days.” She gave another sigh. “Well, at least I know how to use the telephone whenever I want to hear someone’s voice.”

Peg pulled her eyes away from Brad Pitt long enough to give Francesca a thoughtful look. “What’s with the puss on your face today, Frannie?” she asked after a moment. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Francesca, giving a shrug. “Just feeling a little blue, that’s all.”

“What about? You just got back from Florida, right? Everything okay down there with your family?”

“Yes, of course,” Francesca replied. “They’re all fine. It’s just that…” She paused and looked away, her hands fidgeting with the straps of her book bag.

“What?” said Peg.

By now, Natalie and Connie had turned away from their monitors and were listening to what Francesca had to say. Francesca looked back at them, unable to suppress the glum expression on her face.

“I don’t know,” she finally answered, giving a shrug. “It’s just that I keep thinking about my daughters and my grandchildren. They’re all so far away. I miss them, even more since I just saw them. Who knows, my son will probably move away somewhere next. You’d think that after all these years, I’d be used to it by now, but it just seems to feel worse every day. Lately, I just feel useless.”

“Don’t we all,” sighed Connie.

“Don’t worry, Frannie,” said Peg kindly. “It’s just the winter getting you down, that’s all. It’s cold and dark outside, and we’re all cooped up inside. What, you’re supposed to be dancing a jig every minute of the day? But I know what you mean. It happens to me sometimes too, especially in January.”

“Me too,” Natalie added.

“Nighttime’s the worst for me,” said Connie, nodding her head. “Sometimes all I do is sit in my kitchen and think about my children.”

“It’s so strange, isn’t it?” said Francesca. “I can remember a time when I couldn’t wait for mine to all finally grow up and move out of the house and just stop driving me crazy. Now, a day doesn’t go by without my wishing that I could have them all back upstairs at night, sleeping in their beds. I’d pay anything to have them small like that again for just one more day, to see them wake up and come downstairs for breakfast in the morning.”

“Who wouldn’t?” said Peg. “But life goes on. You can’t waste your time wishing you could turn back the clock. You should be happy just for the time you do spend with your children because, let me tell you, no matter where they live, there are no guarantees. My kids all still live in Rhode Island, and I hardly ever get a chance to see them. I’m thinking about moving down to Florida. At least then, maybe they’ll want to visit me with the grandkids more often in the winter. You haven’t got it so bad. Besides, you still have your son close to home.”

“Ayyy, that one,” scoffed Francesca. “He might just as well be living on the far side of the moon. The only time I get to see him is when he’s hungry or he wants me to do his laundry for him. The kid needs a wife.”

“Yeah, but then what would there be for you to do?” asked Natalie.

“You know, you’re not being very helpful,” replied Francesca ruefully.

At that, the four women all laughed.

Feeling a little better, Francesca looked across the library to the front desk, where Rebecca was pulling on her overcoat. “Well, I guess I better get going. Looks like Chicken Little’s getting ready to throw us all out any second.”

“Bah,” huffed Natalie with a wave of her hand.

“Let her try,” Connie chimed in.

Francesca turned to go.

“Hey, Frannie,” said Peg, patting her hand, “try not to worry about it, okay? Before you know it, it will be spring, and things will look a lot brighter.”

“Sure, I guess,” said Francesca. “But what do I do in the meantime to keep myself from going crazy?”

“You have those,” said Peg, nodding to her book bag.

“And if they don’t do the trick?”

“Then you can always try what I do on those days when I’m a little bit down in the dumps.”

“What’s that?”

Peg smiled and nodded to the monitor. “I check out those abs.”



Later that evening, Francesca stood at the kitchen counter, beating some eggs in a bowl. She stirred in a little milk and some bits of cheese before pouring it all over a batch of ground beef and onions she had sizzling in a frying pan atop the stove. While everything simmered, she threw together a quick salad of lettuce and cucumbers, with a little oil and vinegar as a simple dressing, then she turned her attention back to the eggs, moving them around with a spatula to keep them from sticking to the bottom of the pan. When they were cooked, she pushed them onto a plate, added a splash of Tabasco sauce, and poured herself a little glass of red wine. The addition of the heel of a loaf of bread made it a simple but hearty meal, more than enough to warm her up a little on a cold winter’s night. Francesca put everything onto a dinner tray and carried it into the den.

Francesca set the tray on a TV table and sat down on the sofa, listening all the while to the intensifying storm. For once, the weathermen had gotten it right; it was snowing like crazy outside. In fact, it had already started to come down quite heavily by the time she had left the library earlier that afternoon. The snowplows had not yet cleaned the roads, and it was a slick, jittery ride home after brushing off the car; she had regretted being so smug with Rebecca, the librarian. The wind now had started to howl and to toss great handfuls of icy snow, which sprittered against the windowpanes like grains of sand. The sound of it made Francesca shiver, and she pulled a throw over her legs and feet. As she contemplated her dinner, her thoughts drifted to Florida and Oregon and Australia, all of them nice warm places far from the cold and the whirlwinds of snow that were spinning wildly across her backyard like drunken dancers. She looked up and let her eyes scan the photographs of her children and grandchildren covering virtually every square inch of the den’s walls. She gazed longest at a photograph from Christmas two years earlier. It was the last time that she had had everyone all together at the same time. It had been a wonderful day for her, and the memory brought a brief smile to her face.

Francesca reached over and popped the first of the language tapes into the cassette player on the table by the sofa. As the tape started to play, she lifted her wineglass to her family.

“Salute,” she told them. “Sleep tight tonight, my sweets.”

Then she took a sip of wine and began to eat her supper.