Page 105 - Folio Only

“Now you, Papino!, have a cornetto! Open wide, open, open!”

“Such a sweet gesture, my tesoro, my polpetto, my patatino, but Papino
has to get to work on his sculptures early-early. No time for cornetti for me!”

“Tomorrow, then, tomorrow!” burbled Helen, and off she galumphed to
the kitchen, narrowly missing the kitchen doorjamb, no, actually hitting the
doorjamb -- (a terrible thudding sound -- “I'm all right, Mammina! Oh,
whoops!” -- another crash -- “Don't worry, I'll clean that up! Now where's the --
“ another crash -- “I'll clean that up too!”).

Vitale often wondered where on earth clumsy Helen had come from. Her
mother was so beautiful, so talented, so elegant, and her father was one of the
most sought-after sculptors in all of Italy. Cuckoldry, the only possible
explanation. Except, well, Gaetana and I have never spent an evening apart
from each other since our wedding night, and she spends her days watching
over Helen. And of course, we're ecstatically in love with each other and have no
desires for anyone else, anywhere, so perhaps instead of cuckoldry, I don't
know, did I drop her on her head when she was tiny?

In the weeks which followed this breakfast scene, Gaetana began to grow
ill, and then violently ill, and then died. It was discovered that Helen had been
mixing her father's plaster in with the flour to make her special “cornetti”
which she force-fed to her mother. Gaetana had been ingesting plaster in
small amounts every day, and died of poisoned blood. Vitale had survived
because he'd eaten none of the cornetti after a first taste, and Helen survived
because she had also never eaten any of the special cornetti she'd “maded just
for Mammina.” And so it was that Vitale had lost the great love of his life, the
brilliant and beautiful actress, Gaetana.

Vitale was stricken with grief and would have ended his own life the very
morning Gaetana died if it weren't for Helen. He tried as best he could to

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