After the tractor passed Luigi’s car, we continued
down to Gaminella, crossed the highway, and entered another uphill road. In
contrast to ours, the road to Pozzengo was wide, well-graded, and best of all,
it was paved! No skidding and spinning and swallowing screams. Except for the lack of elbowroom, the ride
was pleasant, and I looked forward to seeing another family with children.
Unlike Gabi, Pozzengo was a real town with many large and small houses, multiple streets, and shops. The children and I took in all the sights while George chatted with Luigi. When we arrived at a set of tall wooden gates, George got out to open them and Luigi drove through. Their courtyard was the same size as ours, but
instead of gravel, muddy ruts, and chicken poop, theirs was a huge swath of
clean concrete. I was impressed and excited to
see what could be done; the only thing we lacked was the money to do it. As we exited the car Luigi, a wine
merchant, pointed out their barns, which had been converted to a wine-making
operation as well as a storage area for the wine he purchased from local
vineyards. More on this later.
Luigi’s parents, and his wife and
her aunt, came out to meet us. (Luigi's mother, Zia Dina, was the sister of George’s mother.) His two boys wandered in from a side yard. They were a bit older than Paul, and Luigi's baby daughter, carried in the arms of her great-aunt, was just a bit younger than Margaret Ann and Matthew. I
experienced the usual blur of Italian words and double-cheek kisses as everyone was introduced, hugged and exclaimed over. It was
impossible for me to understand anything except "Ciao" when everyone spoke at the same time
in excited, loud Italian, so I smiled and nodded and hugged and felt the warmth of their welcome. We were ushered into the house, and their tiny living
room quickly filled as we crowded in. Even this very large two-story house had a small living room. This didn't seem out of the ordinary, and I wondered what had led to this custom of small common areas but huge bedrooms. Was it just in farm country or were the city houses like this too?
Theirs was an interesting household arrangement that
George said was not unusual for those parts. Along with Luigi's parents, his
wife's aunt also lived with them. We were introduced to them all, but while we sat
and talked with Luigi, his wife, and his parents, the aunt kept busy in the
kitchen cooking the meal we ate, and she cleared the dishes afterwards. At a
pause in her work, she scooped up Luigi’s baby to change her diaper. I found it
very interesting that the aunt acted like household help, so later I asked George
about it. He explained that just as it was normal in Italy for elderly parents
to live with their children, it was also quite common for an unmarried
woman with no education, and no other prospects, to live with a young family. I
thought it humiliating to be taken in like a stray dog, but George said it wasn't like that. The
aunt was not a charity case. She enabled Luigi's wife to work with him in their
business by taking over the burden of housework and childcare, and they had the
comfort of knowing that the children were close at hand and well-looked-after. Not only was she fed and housed, but the aunt
played a valuable role in Luigi’s household while enjoying the
comfort of family life. It sounded reasonable. The aunt had a defined role that
she seemed to fit quite well. (I asked if she was paid for her services, but George didn't know and wouldn't ask.) Although I couldn’t speak her language, I
watched her carefully to see if I could sense any resentment, but she smiled
often and seemed genuinely happy. One more puzzle on my quest to understand the differences between our cultures.
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