“Listen, the Fiat 500 is the most powerful car in all of Italy. I don’t believe in other modes of transport. The only thing I believe in is this gal. You understand, cuore mio? I’m Italian, and I’ll only buy Italian. They’ll never beat the Fiat 500 for performance. Here we are driving down to Naples for the trip of a lifetime, and all you can do is moan about it!”
“I'm not moaning, amore mio. In fact, I’m rather looking forward to getting to Naples and eating a nice calzone at Pizzeria Da Michele. It’s just that the car doesn’t…go very well. Don’t you think it’s time for a new one? One day it’s the oil, the next it’s the spark plugs, then it’s the engine. I don’t understand any of it. It must be every other week you’re taking her into the mechanic.”
“Of course I do, vita mia. A fine automobile must be properly taken care of – end of story. Maintenance, upkeep, and all that. We’ve had this gem for over fifteen years, and I have no intention of parting with her just yet! Do you understand, my dear?”
“With how much you pay to look after this car, you could buy yourself a new Lamborghini right off the line. Every time a part needs changed you might as well sell a kidney, never mind what the mechanic charges you for labour.”
“Renato? He’s stand-up guy! Always gives me a free coffee when I bring the car in. A true gentleman, and never cheats on his prices. Not like that butcher, selling you meat that’s half-turned.”
“What? The butcher always gives me the freshest Parma ham.”
“For all you know! When we get to Naples I’ll show you what real Parma ham tastes like. And I’ll never sell this car, not even for a Ferrari! Forget it, sweetie. I’m no fool. You don’t even realise that what I’m giving you is priceless. This trip to Naples is our fifteen-year honeymoon.”
“How about two dozen red roses? Now that would have been something.”
“Cuore mio, you’ll see – when we’re driving along the coast road down in Naples, you’ll understand that it’s not about money. We got married in this Fiat 500. And now we’re going to Naples to eat the best food there is.”
“Yes, dear. Are you finished filling her up? It’s rather hot in here.”
Alfonso finished at the pump. He sat back in the driver’s seat and swung the car onto the motorway. Graziella was hoping to get in another hour of sleep, and closed her eyes. Alfonso drove calmly, lost in thought. Evidently his wife did not understand in the slightest. He would never give up this car; she was part of his family. His father had passed it on to him, and Alfonso had even gotten married in his Fiat 500. Every time they travelled on Italy’s motorways, Graziella complained. The car’s too slow, we’ll never get there, and the like. He didn’t care. It was his Fiat 500 or his wife. She’d calm down once they were in Naples, and busy eating the world’s best pizza at Da Michele. What more could she want? It was one of the oldest restaurants in the country, and the pizzas were to die for. Alfonso would ask for anchovies on his margherita. He knew he could simply order a Napolitano, but he didn’t like the anchovies getting hot in the oven. He preferred to add them himself to the hot, melted cheese. The Fiat 500 passed a sign saying that Naples was just seventy kilometres away. Graziella was already snoring. Alfonso could no longer picture his first bite of that pizza, nor recall the first time he had kissed Graziella.
Alan Alfredo Geday
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