Page 104 - Folio Only

“She means well, but she cooks terribly.”

“I think it's sweet.”

“I only wish it were sweet. It tastes like plaster.”

“Quiet now, here she comes. Pretend to be surprised!”

Helen came tromping into the bedroom, proud as can be of a pair of
steaming grey mounds. “Ook, Mammina, Papino, ook what I maded for you!”

“How wonderful, Helen,” said Gaetana. “Good for you! Isn't it good,
dear, what Helen's done?”

“What do you call that, Helen?” said Vitale.

“This is cornetti I maded!” she said, beaming.

“Are you sure?” asked Vitale. “Cornetti are a little...browner, aren't they?
When Signore Burro makes cornetti, they're brown, aren't they?”

“I is maded mine special. Here, Mammina, eat one, eat one!”

“You have one, darling.”

“Oh no, Mammina, I'd never eated the ones I maded special for you or
Papino. No, I maded them for you. They're yours. Have one!”

Gaetana popped one into her mouth and made convincing mmm!
delicioso! sounds and a tasty! gesture with her fingers. Remarkable woman,
my Gaetana thought Vitale with adoration. Fine actress. Finest actress on the
Italian stage, if I say so myself. As fine a performance here for our child Helen
as ever she's given in a commedia. I fell in love with her then when I first saw
her perform with the Soldati, and I fall in love with her all over again every day,
every hour I see her. What a lucky child, our Helen, to have Gaetana for a
mother.

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