“Dear Mama,
As you can see, I haven’t forgotten you. I’ve been in Marseille for four months now; the time has flown by. I’ve had so much to do and learn and explore. It’s a huge city. I found it overwhelming at first, but there’s a magic about it as well. I feel so free here; not knowing anyone is a wonderful feeling. Livorno is just a village compared to Marseille. I think it would be impossible for me to live there again; I’d feel like I was shut up in a cell. There’s work to be had here; you can try to make something of yourself. There are lots of Italians in Marseille, so it hasn’t been too hard to fit in. We all live as a community in the Belle de Mai neighbourhood. The French call us the ‘babi’. You often see posters up in the street saying: “Italians out — French jobs for French people!” A few scammers have even offered me fake papers if I vote for the socialist party. But with my accent and my limited vocabulary, it will be a while before they stop calling me a macaroni. I guess those idiots haven’t tried our food if they think it’s an insult to call me that! I miss your cacciucco and our long talks.
Here I live with the Pacchianos, a family from Piedmont who’ve been in France for a long while now. It’s funny to see the two cultures colliding. We start our sentences in French, then finish in Italian. We eat spaghetti and we mop up the sauce with French baguettes. The French and the Italians are like cousins, I think. It hasn’t been too difficult for me to learn the language, especially since Maria, the Pacchianos’ daughter, gives me lessons at night. She’s very patient with me and makes me repeat things like a parrot so I can try to hold a conversation. My conversations in French are still quite basic, but I can go to the market or introduce myself without sounding like an idiot. Her brother Claudio has introduced me to some of his friends; we play pétanque together. It’s a game of skill where you have to throw metal balls as close as possible to a little wooden ball called the ‘cochonnet.’ Claudio said it means ‘little pig’ but didn’t know why they call it that. Even though I’m usually quite good with games, my first try was fairly embarrassing. I only scored one point, and even that was because I hit someone else’s ball with mine. Because I lost they made me do this old tradition called “faire Fanny.” I had to kiss the behind of this fat lady painted on a wooden board. Everyone laughed, and even though I was embarrassed I ended up laughing with them. After all, it wasn’t too big a price to pay to make some new friends. We drank pastis all night and sang in the street like happy fools. Pastis is a bit like the limoncello of Marseille. If you’d seen your Giogio drunk as a lord you’d have dragged me back home by the ear! But here, Fiora and Gustavo aren’t looking to teach me any lessons. Gustavo is the head of the family, and he spends all his free time drinking in the cafés. When his wife can convince him to stay at home, he gets bored and finishes all the bottles of wine or pastis. Fiora goes a bit too easy on him; she loves her husband, but the way her mother Domenica looks at him would turn you to stone. I can’t stand the old witch. Every night, she begs Claudio and me to play tarot with her, and when we’re too nice to say no we always regret it. She’s a snake, always cheating. It’s like an obsession with her. Luckily Claudio is a good friend, and we have a few tricks up our sleeves to get back at her. She’s deaf in one ear and she can’t see that well, so we use that to our advantage. Last night was our crowning victory; I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard! The poor woman thought she was winning, with a chicane in her hand and lots of trump cards, but she didn’t realise that Claudio and I had perfected a secret language: we pretended to be singing so we could tell each other what cards we were holding. She thought we were just humming tarantellas and we took her to the cleaners! She cursed us up and down and couldn’t understand how she lost! She was so humiliated she pretended to have a headache so she wouldn’t have to finish the game. Claudio and I celebrated by opening up a bottle of French wine and talking all night. It wasn’t easy getting out of bed the next morning! I work on a construction site with him and his father, and the days are long. We work with Armenians, Turks and Moroccans. You hear all sorts of languages; it’s like working on the tower of Babel! But we manage to understand each other; we share our meals and sometimes our wine. It’s very different from the lonely days on a fishing boat. Papa would have enjoyed the feeling of solidarity.
I hope that you are doing well. It will be Christmas soon; I wish I could be by your side. Life can’t be easy without Papa there. I hope that you’re managing to live without him. Please say hello to Valentina for me.
With love,
Your Giogio.”
Alan Alfredo Geday