Graziella, a love story from Liguria

The moment she stepped outside of the car Graziella was enveloped in sensations of her childhood.

 She breathed in the sweet heady perfume of the mimosa tree that her grandfather had planted, mingling with the scent of the rosemary that her grandmother added to every dish of potatoes and chicken, the lavender that was always dried every year  and then wrapped in small cotton bags and placed in all the wardrobes and cupboards, then the basil used to make the delicious pesto sauce that was her grandmother's speciality and held all the richness of her Ligurian home.
The daisies that her grandfather never wanted to cut were curled up for the night, their pink tips a rosy glow in the silver moonlight.

  Graziella felt quite dizzy. She had spent all her childhood summers here with her grandparents.
 A great sadness came over her. She should have come back more often, she had stayed away too long. The news that her beloved grandfather was unwell had made her feel homesick and had reminded her of her roots.

She was a dancer and had travelled the world on cruise ships and tours.
 Dancing had been her passion all through her childhood and when she was offered a job with a cruise ship company she had accepted immediately. She had needed to get away, from all the reminders of her lost love Simone. He had been her childhood love, her one true love. Then he had broken her heart by going to work in America. It seemed right that she should leave too to start a new life.

 She'd seen the Caribbean, the Baltics, the whole of the Mediterranean from east to west, the Greek islands and once even done a tour of Thailand and China. she had worked with people of all nationalities and had friends from all over the world. The other members of the cast had become her family, but now she needed to see her parents and grandparents.

She had been back sometimes but only for brief visits. Her grandfather loved to hear  tales of other countries. As she left to join her cruise ships he always said the same thing.

' You are dancing round the world Graziella, the same way as the creatures in the wood, your footprints will leave kindness and grace wherever you go, but please make sure you come back.'

She looked across the valley which was glowing in the silver light from the moon.
An owl hooted from the woods behind her. How she had loved lying in bed looking out at the dark woods and listening to her grandfather's thrilling tales of the animals, elves and gnomes that lived in the wood.

'Now that you're in bed Graziella, they'll all be out dancing. Oh how they'll dance. Tomorrow we can go and look for their footprints. They are magic footprints, full of grace and kindness and if you tread carefully you will feel that magic.'

Maybe it was those stories that had made her want to be a dancer.

There was a scuffling noise behind her and something nudged her knee causing her to stumble. Then a large dog was jumping up at her and nuzzling her hand.

'Oh it's you Roco, you haven't forgotten me.' She bent down to stroke him and pat his back. She turned round as she heard footsteps. It was her father. She moved towards him, put her arms round his neck, and gave vent to the tears that had been threatening to fall all day.

'Thank you for coming so quickly Graziella. Nonno cheered up immediately he knew you were on your way. He looks better already. Come on in, your grandmother has been cooking all day for you.' He handed Graziella a tissue and she dried her eyes.

'Just tell me papa, is it serious? What happened? It was so lucky that my cruise ship docked at Genoa today, it's as though I was meant to come.'

They walked to together towards the old farmhouse.

'He had a heart attack last week and was taken to hospital in Savona. The doctors said it wasn't serious and did something, your mother understands it better than me, and now he's at home.  Your mother went home, she was exhausted but is so looking forward to seeing you.
The doctor said he just needs to take it easy and watch what he eats. We all had a fright though, he's never had anything wrong with him, not even a cold.

He's with the doctor now.'

 Her father hesitated, as though he was about to say something else, but carried on.'

 That's why I came outside with Roco. It was like market day in there. Your grandmother was fighting with the doctor about the dier.'

The door opened and a golden pool of light beamed into the courtyard. Graziella ran towards it as her grandmother came out and held her arms open wide.

'My little Graziella, how wonderful you are here. Oh but you are so thin, you must come and share the food I have prepared for the doctor.'

Graziella gently pushed open the door to her grandparents bedroom. The sight of the enormous wooden double bed with the painting of the Ligurian village behind it brought a lump to her throat and the tears welled up again. That picture was of the village where her grandmother was born, Varigotti. Her grandmother said it was called the most beautiful place in the world, there was no need to go anywhere else.  How many times had she crept into that bed in the middle of the night and snuggled down between her grandparents, and listened to her grandfather's stories.

She rushed across to her grandfather and laid her head on his shoulder, burrowing her face in the warm softness of his pyjamas and stroking his beard. She'd always loved his beard, it was surprisingly soft and smelled of his favourite aftershave. Her grandfather put his arms round her.

'My dear little Graziella, you are the best medicine that I could have. There, there is nothing to cry about I will be fine, the doctor has assured me of this.'

There was more of a hint of defiance and challenge in her grandfather's voice and Graziella turned her head to see who it was directed at.

The doctor was standing near the door and Graziella fell back on the bed.

'It's you Simone, I didn't know you still lived round here.'

 Her heart beat fast and she felt her face turn red. The sight of Simone after all these years still turned her to jelly. He had always had that effect on her. It was something about his earthy vitality, the way he held his head, the way his hair curled over his collar no matter how often he had it cut. She glanced at his hands. How she loved those hands, strong yet slender, she remembered the last time she had felt them on her skin. She wanted to touch his cheek and to pull him towards her. There was silence in the room. Simone moved towards her.

'I came back Graziella. I work here now in the village and your grandfather is one of my favourite patients.'

He winked at the old man. Graziella turned round and saw her grandparents were both beaming and looking expectantly from one to the other.

Graziella stood up and went towards Simone. In his eyes she could see desire, but she could also see something else, a longing, a fondness and it was like coming home all over again. She fell into his arms and amidst her tears she heard him whisper.

'There was never anyone but you Graziella, only you, I've missed you so much.'

She said the only thing he needed to hear.

'I love you Simone, I'm home again.'

















'

 

 

Towards the edge

Sometimes it felt like she was hurtling towards something, she didn't know what, it just felt really ominous. Maybe a precipice or the edge of a cliff. It was like a bad dream that she'd had years ago. One of those dreams that hang over you like a dark cloud all day.

 Ellie put on her coat and attached Buster's lead to his collar. He wriggled around trying to bite it in his excitement to go for a walk.

It had been a year now since Greg had left her. Traded her in for a new model was what her sister had said.  Just like that, she'd gone past her sell by date. Her mother was convinced he would come back. How could he not want her beautiful Ellie? Now though even Ellie had given up hope.
 Her days past in a blur, in a whirl of work, shopping and cooking, going to the gym with her sister and taking Buster for walks, anything that could dull the pain, but never did.

Ellie felt like she was on automatic pilot heading for a crash. She was going to topple over into oblivion.

 Buster tugged hard on the lead. He had seen a squirrel on the other side of the road. With one final pull his lead snapped and he broke loose and charged across the traffic.
 Ellie screamed and started to blindly run after him. Then strong arms grabbed her and she fell back. She saw a woman run after Buster and grab his lead then she turned round to see who had  pulled her back, who had saved her.
It was her new neighbour Brent.
 Her sister had told her about him. He was a doctor from South Africa on an exchange visit.
Ellie started to tremble as she looked into his eyes. It was nothing to do with the fright she'd just had. For the first time since Greg left she felt that something had tilted and she was back on safe ground, no more hurling desperately forward. Her world swivelled and came level.

She smiled warmly at Brent and the way he smiled back caused a warm glow of happiness to steal over her.

Brent spoke first.

' I think we both need a cup of strong tea after that fright, and your dog needs a new lead.'

New beginnings are always round the corner

Standing on a cliff edge you can get a whole new perspective and the glimmer of hope

Quando hai una Nonna Inglese

No sooner had Mavis entered the door than Marco hurled himself at her and threw his arms around her neck.

'Oh Nonna we've got a film to watch and mamma has made us popcorn and there's coca cola for me and wine for you.'

Mavis hugged him back. Her grandson's enthusiasm never ceased to fill her heart with deep love and a fierce desire to protect him from harm. She smiled at him.

'What film shall we watch Marco, you choose.'

Marco went into the sitting room. It was set out with the sofa pulled up close in front of the television. the lights were turned down low and the small table was laid with plates and glasses, a big bowl of popcorn and some chocolates. Marco picked up some DVDs.

'Mamma got us Shrek, but if you prefer there's Planes.'

' I'd love to see Shrek Marco, it's got lots of songs that I liked when I was young.'

Mavis's son Fabio and his wife Federica came in and kissed her.
Federica hugged Marco and Fabio stroked his hair.

'Be good for Nonna and go to bed as soon as the film has finished.'

Mavis and Marco settled together on the sofa and switched on the television. There was a loud noise of shooting and a picture of lots of smoke and people running about in tears.

'Oh Nonna I'm sacred, that's the News, put the film on quick.'

He buried his head in Mavis's lap and she pushed all the buttons on the remote until the reassuring sounds of Shrek started.

'It's alright Marco.  I'm here, come on let's try this popcorn that mamma's made. It smells delicious.'

With a bowl of popcorn and some coca cola to sip Marco was soon laughing at the film and cuddling up against Mavis.

A memory appeared before her of  watching the News when she was just a bit older than  Marco. The journalist was called Sandy Gall and he was dodging bullets in Vietnam. Her mother kept on saying how brave he was and how frightening it must be.

 Last year Fabio and Federica had gone on holiday to Vietnam and said it was a wonderful place. The people were gentle and kind and their photographs told of a country with spectacular scenery and magnificent temples.

 She sighed thinking of one of her father's favourite remarks when watching the news . 'Man's inhumanity to man' and her mother quoting one of her favourite folk songs, 'When will they ever learn, when will they ever learn.'

Mavis ruffled Marco's curls and he snuggled up closer to her.

'Do you think Fiona is going to end up beautiful or turn ugly like Shrek, Nonna?'

'Gosh Marco let's just hope they love each other whatever happens. Shrek's not ugly though is he? He's just different, I like big strong men, like your grandpa.'

Marco laughed.' I'll tell grandpa that he looks like Shrek.'

Mavis tickled him and they looked at each other laughing together.

She thought about the news and how frightening it always was, and always had been. When she was twelve about 1966 she had got a job on Sunday mornings delivering the Sunday papers. It was her friend Eileen's idea. She wanted to save up to buy a Beatles LP. They had delivered papers for a year and by the end of it they had both grown up and acquired a home spun philosophy of life's lessons learnt delivering the papers.
At home her father only had serious sort of papers delivered with articles about finance and politics. The papers that she and Eileen delivered were called 'The People, The Sun and The News of the World.'
They would surreptitiously open up the papers and giggle at the photographs of the large busty women, it seemed impossible that they could ever resemble those voluptuous creatures. They understood then how much power and also a  sort of danger there was in a woman's body and how carefully it should be used.

Marco grabbed a large handful of popcorn.

' Nonna I don't want Fiona to be fat and green like Shrek. I want her to be slim and pretty.'

'Oh Marco if she's nice and kind it won't matter what she looks like, as long as they love each other.'

Mavis had to smother a giggle. It was as though he'd read her thoughts.

She tried to think of all the main news in the papers that she had delivered all those years ago. There had been a horrible tragic disaster in a Welsh mining village: a coal slag heap had fallen onto a school. At home her parents were horrified and deeply saddened, they had talked about it for days in hushed whispers, her mother had cried. 'It could have been Mavis', she kept repeating.
Mavis had read some of the accounts in the papers on her round. Her heart had broken when she had read about a mother who had sent her child off to school in a bad mood. Mavis had vowed then to always hug and kiss her parents every morning, always and forever.
She'd also learnt from those papers that children should never go around on their own in lonely places and be wary of strangers. There were photos of children the same age as her or even younger that had disappeared. Until then she had often gone to the common on her bike on her own, she loved the beech woods that were near her home, especially in Spring time, but after reading things in the paper she had stopped. Tears came to her eyes, how fragile we all are and how vulnerable.

Her childhood and teenage years had been such a happy time for her really. Mavis adored her parents and loved spending time with them. Eileen was the best friend she could wish for and lots of nice things were happening around them. Mavis's dad had bought their first colour television.  He had always admired technology and gadgets. Once he'd bought a machine especially to peel their roast potatoes on Sundays and it had taken pride of place in their kitchen. Mavis's mother hadn't had the heart to tell him that she could have peeled them quicker and better with her old trusty potato peeler.

After the film she'd tell Marco about that. He'd think it was funny with all the amazing technology that he was used too even at his tender age.
 Then there was their music, all the new exciting pop groups especially for them it seemed. There were the Beatles of course, then the Pink Floyd and David Bowie. Eileen and she even liked Sandy Shaw singing 'Puppet on a String' and were thrilled when it won The Eurovision Song Contest.

Mavis's dad had taken them all up to London to see  a James Bond film, 'Thunderball' and it had seemed very daring and grown up. Mavis often thought how lucky she was to have been young in the Swinging Sixties, with Mary Quant and the mini skirt and all that wonderful music. Eileen's dad had taken them to see 'West Side story' and they'd giggled all the way through it at the thought of a boy breaking into song as he was about to kiss you.

The film was drawing to a close, Fiona had turned into a  female Shrek and they were playing 'I'm a Believer.' How Mavis and Eileen had danced to that, round and round the sitting room and collapsing in a heap, all buoyed up with dreams of romance.
Mavis picked up the bowl of popcorn and handed it to Marco so he could finish it.


'Come on Marco I'll show you how to twist. I did this when I was ten, not much older than you.'

When Marco was tucked up in bed, smelling of tooth paste and soap, clutching his panda his favourite soft toy, Mavis lay down near him and held his hand.

'Once upon a time Marco there was a panda called Chi Chi who lived at London Zoo. He was taken all the way to Moscow in an aeroplane to meet a female panda called An An.'

'My panda is called 'Pickles', papa chose it because he says that it's a funny name.'

Hearing the name Pickles one more memory came to Mavis from her paper round days. She dropped her voice so Marco would start to feel sleepy.

'When I was about twelve England won the World cup, it was wonderful, my brother and I knew all the names of the players and it was very exciting.  England won the trophy and then one day it got lost. No-one knew where it had gone. Then would you believe it? A dog called Pickles, just like your panda found it in someone's garden in London.'

Mavis saw Marco's eyes close and he turned over holding onto his panda, his breathing was soft and peaceful. Mavis kissed him gently and sat for a moment longer watching him her heart swelling with love. Life had taken her from the place where she was born but it would always be within her giving her love to pass on.

Quando hai la nonna inglese

Rosemary put the phone down and let out a sigh. Her son Fabio had rung to ask her to babysit for Leonardo her grandson. Of course she'd said she'd be delighted to, she loved being with him. 
Then almost as an after thought Fabio had warned her not to bring any presents for Leo, he said they had a house full of stuff and couldn't cope with anymore.
  Then in a kinder voice he'd told her that Leo loved her and didn't need presents to want to be with her.
The tears that were never far away since her husband Beppe had passed on trickled down her cheeks.
 She knew her son was right. She and Beppe had been very careful not to spoil Fabio and teach him good values about money. It probably seemed to Fabio and his wife that she was trying to buy Leo's affection.
Rosemary giggled to herself remembering something Leo had said when he was about four. They had been in the supermarket and she'd picked up a toy to buy him. He'd looked up at her in awe.
'You're rich aren't you Nonna. You're always buying presents?'
Rosemary had tried to choose her words carefully.
'Oh Leo you mustn't ever say whether someone is rich, or poor. These things are personal.'
Leo had been quiet for a moment and then asked, 'What's personal?'
Rosemary had answered that it meant something that only you should know about. Leo had immediately replied, 'Like going to the toilet.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rosemary pulled up a chair next to her grandson and peered over his shoulder at his exercise book. She had made them both a cup of tea, hers with milk and his with lemon the Italian way and placed it at a safe distance from his book. He had been swinging on the chair and playing around with his pencils, sharpening them all and scattering the  shavings all over the table.

'What are you doing  Leo? Can I help you?'

'No Nonna of course not, it's too difficult for you, you're old. I'm doing maths, anyway, multiplications.'

'That was my favourite at primary school, I was really good, top of the class.'

Rosemary sipped her tea and helped herself to a biscuit.

'Come on, give me one to do.'

'Ok Nonna, eight times nine'

'72, that's how old I am. You're eight so that means I'm nine times older than you.' She laughed joyfully remembering what fun it had seemed to chant the tables.

'Just think Leo we had to learn twelve tables because our money was very complicated then.'

 Leonardo put down his pencil and turned to look at her.

'Twelve? What sort of money did you have?' He took a gulp of his tea and swallowed a whole chocolate biscuit and leant back in his chair.


'We had Pounds, shillings and pence. the symbol used for them was £ S D, or L S D. It stood for Librae Solidi Denari, they're Latin words.'

 Leo was gazing at her wide eyed. She smiled at him and carried on.

'The plural of penny was pence. There were twelve pence to a shilling and twenty shillings to a pound. There were lots of different coins. A penny, a threepenny bit, a shilling, half a crown, and then the notes but I didn't have much to do with them, they were for the grown ups.'

 Rosemary carefully wrote it all down on a piece of paper so it was clear forLeo to understand..

'  My parents, who would be your great grandparents even had farthings, crowns, florins and guineas.  They had lots of slang names too. I was fascinated by the way your great-grandfather talked about money. He called a shilling a bob, a pound a quid, and a sixpence a tanner.
 I used to catch the bus to school and my mother would give me two penny coins. They were made of copper and sometimes I'd put them in a saucer of vinegar the night before and in the morning they'd be all shiny.'

 Rosemary stopped and closed her eyes. She remembered all those times at the bus stop, all her friends and cousins that shared the journey with her. A sadness came over her.

'Oh Nonna can we do that ! Please!'

Rosemary took some small coins from her purse and they went to the kitchen and put them in a saucer and covered them with vinegar. For a moment she was back with her mother.

'Go on Nonna, tell me more '  Leo tugged at her sleeve. His face was lit up and his dimple showed as he smiled at her.  Rosemary looked at his dear face and her heart swelled with love.

 ' My favourite coin was a silver sixpence. I felt as rich as can be when I had one of those. There was a little shop near our school that looked just like a bungalow from outside but when you walked in the door there was a huge display of sweets. They must have sold other things but all I remember is the sweets.  Most of them cost a penny and had names like Flying saucers and shrimps, sherbert fountains that cost threepence, oh but with a sixpence you could have a whole bar of chocolate.'

Leo took another biscuit, 'Mmmm' he said,

 'I love chocolate. I'd like to try a flying saucer and a sherbert fountain.'
'Next time we go to Britain we'll see if they still sell them',  Rosemary tossled his thick dark curls.

' But  Nonna the money sounds very complicated, no wonder they changed it.'  Leo took another biscuit, squashing it in his mouth in one go.

'It was in 1971,'  Rosemary had a dreamy look.' Lots of things happened then, I met Nonno Beppe and within two weeks I knew I wanted to marry him. he was so handsome and funny and kind, and now here you are.'

 Leo rolled his eyes. 'Tell me more about your old money Nonna. How did you add it all up.?'

'Well we had to know our tables like I said. It was fun. Every morning we would chant the tables, a bit like one of your rapper songs. Let's try it shall we?  We'll start with the twelve times table you'll see how easy it is. It's got a pattern. Once twelve is twelve, two twelves are twenty-four.'

 Rosemary started tapping a rhythm on the table with a ruler.

 Leo laughed and joined in.  Rosemary stood up and started swaying and clicking her fingers as she chanted the tables.

'So  Leo  if there are twelve pence to one shilling then how many pence will there be in ten shillings?'

'Easy' cried Leo and imitating a rappers voice chanted 'twelve times ten is one hundred and twenty.'

The  door opened and  Federica and Fabio came in. They smiled at the scene and Fabio winked at her.

 ' Hey what are you two up to ? It looks more like a break dance lesson than homework, and what's that smell of vinegar?'

 Leo ran to his mother and hugged her.

'Come and join us mamma e papà, we' ve put some coins in some vinegar to make them go shiny. Come on let's hear you say your tables like Nonna.'

Federica span her son round and the two of them started off with the tables, going all the way through to twelve. Fabio came close and whispered.


'I'm sorry about what I said, about the presents, but you and papa taught me so much about money, about how it's what you do with it that matters and to have fun for free,'

She laughed and hugged him and shoved him off to join his wife and son.

Rosemary watched them spin round together laughing.
 She thought of her friends and cousins that had shared her childhood days with her. She had lost touch with them or they were no longer here. She thought of how life had taken her so far away from where she had started.
 All those precious memories were in her heart and part of the rich mosaic of her life. She held them all close to her heart, all the love for the ones she no longer saw and all the love for those that were with her now. She looked at Leo, he held his head and walked just like her dear Beppe. the same masculine nonchalant easygoing movements, it filled her with joy and she felt the love of the years flow through her.
Rosemary decided that she would find out about putting money away for Leo for when he was older. That would be better for him than all the presents.

A story from Spain, Marko

There was complete silence when Marko awoke. It was even too early for the birds.
 He looked across at his wife's sleeping form on the sofa. He gently moved near enough to be able to breathe in her scent and feel the warmth of her breath on his arm.
 His heart felt heavy as he remembered the  row they had had the night before. It was about money. They had never disagreed about money before. They had the same values, considering it as a means to survive but never something to live for.

Yesterday afternoon his lovely Sofia had returned to the camp bearing an attractive bag from one of the fancy shops in the nearby small Spanish town.
 She had proudly pulled out a small garment, soft and pink and held it to her cheek. It was for their baby Jazmin, named after the lovely flowers that bloomed in pots around their home. The panic on his face had alarmed and then offended her.

'I bought it. I wanted Jazmin to look like the other babies at the clinic. I wanted her to be like them.' A tear had formed and he had brushed it away with a tender gesture.

They both knew what an effort it would have been for her to go into a shop.
  Sofia quietly described how she had counted out the money, all small coins and the other customers had recoiled from her. She had ignored their hostile stares and carried on counting, thinking only of how beautiful Sofia would look in the exquisite outfit. The young girl that had served her had looked at her kindly and wrapped her purchase in pretty paper with a ribbon.

Then later in the evening when Jazmin was asleep for the night Marko had told her she had been putting herself in danger and not to do something like that again.  Sofia had flared up at him in a most uncharacteristic way and told him that the money was hers to do what she liked with. Marko hadn't meant that and not used to arguing had shouted at her. Jazmin had woken up and cried and  Sofia had picked her up and turned her back on her husband.

Marko crept to the door and knocked over a photograph.  It was of his grandfather, taken a month before he passed away last year.
  Sofia had told him once of a people that were afraid that a photograph could steal your soul. Looking into his grandfather's eyes he thought it could be so as he gazed into their depth and felt the old man's love for him warm his heart.

  Marko  stood outside and breathed in the sweet, early morning air scented with blossom and the promise of Spring.
 His grandfather Alfonso would have been horrified to think of Marko arguing about money. He had told Marko that he was the luckiest man alive to have Sofia.
 Alfonso had been a great storyteller and many of his stories warned of the dangers of money. Marko and his brothers, sisters and cousins  would sit round the camp fire watching the flames rise up and the sparks join  the stars in the vast sky.

Their grandfather's voice held the wisdom of centuries. One of his favourite stories had been about a king who was granted a wish that everything he touched would turn to gold.  Eagerly the king had rushed round touching the trees, the flowers, the grass. But then he touched the bread on his plate and that turned to gold, and the water in his cup.  Grandfather Alfonso's voice would trail off at this point as he watched for the reaction of his listeners.  Marko's elder brother Javier had stared at his hands once during this story and then at his grandfather.
 They all knew then, Javier had healing hands, he had the power that appeared over time to certain people and this was Javier's turn. 
Many people from all walks of life, from footballers with turned ankles and knees to politicians with severe back pain came to be healed by Javier.

Marko went to fetch his accordion. He needed to play his music, to put the harmony back within him. He played both the violin and the accordion, his father had taught him. He knew he had won Sofia's heart with his music. He was at one with his music. He touched his accordion and his violin as he would a woman, bringing ecstasy and joy.

Marko decided to go to the small square on the east side of the town. There were many restaurants and cafes there and the owners were kind to him, offering him coffee and pastries at the end of their shifts. The money he made there seemed special to him, it was given in appreciation of his music and the feelings it had brought to the listeners.
Maybe when he came back the row would have been forgotten and Sofia would be smiling at him again.

As he walked through the town. still sleepy and quiet he thought again about money. One of the last stories that his grandfather had told was about two old men that had recently died.  All their lives they had competed with each other, united by a fierce rivalry over who could make the most money. they hoarded it in mattresses, behind cupboards, under floor boards, behind wall paper, inside cases. When their relatives went to search for all this treasure they found useless pieces of paper. That's all it was after all those years, pesetas, drachmas, lire, all worthless pieces of paper. His grandfather had sighed, his voice weak, as he reminded them that it's what you do with money that matters.

Marko's eyes filled with tears and his heart swelled with love as he thought of his Sofia buying the baby garment for Jazmin. That was an act of love. Jazmin would go to the clinic to be weighed and checked as fine as any other baby. Then she could wear it to the festival they were going to.  He couldn't wait now to ask  forgiveness for not having understood.

Marko walked around the square  going past the expensive restaurant ‘El Espejo’. The people dining there never had coins for him ,they only had plastic money, they pretended not to notice him or looked at him as though he was an annoying fly.

He went towards his favourite café ‘La Chata’ which was already humming with life. The waiter Alejandro smiled at him and nodded giving him permission to play his accordion.

There was a family at a table in the front and he bowed low towards the little baby clapping her little hands at him.

 Marko stood tall caressing his accordion with the same tenderness he gave to little Jazmin.  He played a few notes and was rewarded by the appreciative glances cast his way.

He was aware of people stopping in their walk across the square and clapping with the beat. His music flowed on reaching a crescendo and then fading away.

He closed his eyes and in his imagination he saw an audience giving him a standing ovation. His heart swelled with emotion at having given so much pleasure with his music. Flowers were thrown at his feet and the stage was covered with petals.

He looked up and took the money from  the smiling young blonde woman holding the baby.  She looked him in the eyes and said  ‘Gracias.’

These were the moments  that made him feel alive, that he mattered. He had made a difference to their lives by bringing joy with his music.

He carried on round the edge of  ‘La Chata’  admiring the gnarled trunks of the majestic plane trees.

His music always changed him as it flowed through him. He felt at one with his accordion. His fingers became part of his instrument. Just like his father and his grandfather before him. Music flowed through them, linking them together like a chain.

Tonight they would all be leaving for St. Marie de la Mer in the Camargue. He loved that festival. Every year they went.

Sofia was preparing to dance with her sisters and daughters. For them the dancing was like the music was to him. As the women danced they travelled from India to Persia to Egypt to Turkey following movements that their ancestors had brought with them on their journey west, as though they had danced their way here. Music, money, dancing, love, these themes played around in his head.

The swish of the colourful skirts of Sofia and her sisters,  as they moved in time to his music, always took him back to his childhood, his mother smiling at his father as he played her favourite  melodies.

 His first memory of their annual visit to St Sara was of heat and a little fear.  As he descended to the vault where St Sara was displayed he was overcome by the heat from the hundreds of candles. He didn't like going underground, he needed to feel the wind in his hair and the sun on his face.

Each year though he had enjoyed going there more and more, and now looked forward to it. The tourists would clap and cheer as the gypsy women broke into impromptu dance routines and the men let their music follow them, moving together. Then they would all go and sit at the little cafés and order plates of pommes frites and moules. They would form big, happy groups and the children would sit and join in with the banter.

There in St Marie de le Mer, he felt they must all look just like the clients of ‘La Chata’.

 He put the young woman's generous tip in his pocket. He would buy Sofia  a new bracelet to wear at the Festa.