Gaudenzia, Pride of the Palio — Context and Discussion

Giorgio was only half listening; he was on a big-going horse, sailing right over the cone of Mount Amiata.

If the swineherd and his donkey had planted a seed in Giorgio's mind, it was the Umbrella Man who made it grow. He came yodeling into Monticello one misting morning three months later.

"_Om-brel-lai-o-o-o!_" His voice rang out strong and clear as the bell in the church tower. "_Om-brel-lai-o-o-o!_ I doctor the broken ribs! I patch and mend! Pots and pans, and china, too. _Om-brel-lai-o-o-o!_" And he strung out the word until it rolled and bounced from house to house.

Shutters flew open, heads popped out of windows. A crock of geraniums fell with a crash on the cobblestones below. Children danced for joy, old men brandished their canes like batons. Giorgio, who had been filling pitchers at the public fountain, ran for home, spilling the water as he flew.

"_Mammina!_" he cried as he burst into the kitchen. "He is here! Uncle Marco, the Umbrella Man!"

His mother turned away from the stove, smiling. It was good for a change to have Giorgio seem more boy than man. She took from the opposite wall, next to the family's hats and caps, an enormous green umbrella with a loose hanging fold made by a broken rib. "The tinker man works magic if he can fix this," she laughed.

In a flash Giorgio was at the door, umbrella in hand.

"Wait, son! Wait!" She looked at the eager boy and quickly counted in her mind the pieces of money in the sugar pot--the soldi and the lire. Yes, if she carried the big red hen and one or two rabbits to market, there would again be the same money in the pot.

She went to the end of the narrow room that served as kitchen, dining, and living room. Opening the bottom doors of a tall cupboard, she took out the broken pieces of a bake dish. It was the one, Giorgio saw, that he had clumsily dropped on the stone floor. Next she counted out a hundred lire.

"Now then," she said, putting the money and the broken dish into his hands, "go quickly. With the umbrella _and_ the bake dish to mend, you can ask more questions than anyone who brings just the umbrella. You are happy, no?"

Thinking of the cost, Giorgio looked at his mother in astonishment. Ever since the incident of the donkey she had tried in little ways to make up for his sorrow. She had fried crispy hot _fritelle_ for him when it wasn't even a feast day. And only last night he had found under his pillow the last piece of nougat left from Christmas. Now this joy! For it was Uncle Marco's rule that whoever brought him the most work could ask the most questions.

"_Si! Si!_" he answered, kissing her soundly on the cheek. Then he threw back his head, and whinnying like a King Horse ran joyously out of the house.

On the edge of the public fountain, where three narrow lanes come together, the Umbrella Man sat perched like some Robin Hood alighted only for the moment. He wore a brimmed hat with the tail feathers of a cock pheasant stuck through the felt. His shoes were brown leather curled upward at the toes, and the soles were of wood, rubbed shiny. When he lifted his arms one could tell that his jacket had once been bright green. Now it was powdered by dust--not gray dust, not brown, but tawny red--testimony to long days of walking the hills of Tuscany.

Yet with all his traveling the Umbrella Man showed no sign of weariness. His eyes, dark and beady, sparkled in delight, as if this were a day he had long awaited, as if it held a special quality, rare and magical.

"_Buon giorno! Buon giorno!_" He opened wide his arms to welcome his friends who came laughing and breathless to greet him. One other boy brought a sagging umbrella, and a girl carried a pitcher with a broken snout. They, with Giorgio, placed their crippled possessions at his feet, like precious offerings laid before a god.

Before starting to work, Uncle Marco looked from face to face, beaming. He was actor as well as tinker. He had certain little curtain-raiser habits to whet the excitement. First he made a ritual of taking off his hat, running his fingers over the bright glinting feathers, and putting it back on again at a rakish angle. Then while his audience watched in growing impatience, he took a copper mug from his pocket, and let the fountain water flow into it. He drank long and heartily, sucking the water through his ragged red whiskers with a loud hissing sound.