The Story Torcello told Tomaso
The island was a patio door that opened into a thousand stories.
Rock pools laced the coastline, waters of plunging deep blue and silver,
brimming with all manner of exotic sea life.
The marble coloured cobbled streets would lure with the sweet smell of roasting chestnuts, freshly picked from Castagno dei Cento Cavalli (The Hundred Horse Chestnut).
In the summer, his mother would send him to forage for spices, sweet cherries, clove corns, peppers and the last of the warm weather’s apriocots.
Every Wednesday, multicoloured tents and tepees rose for Market. A weekly breath of life for the old town square.
Woman busy buying pastrami and fresh foccacia for their husbands, Men bartering a good price for local Arenaria (Sicilian sandstone).
To Tomaso this was hard to understand. Why buy rock when you are surrounded by honey coated cantuccini, coffee bread with crushed pistachios, gelato spheres in pastry cloaks.
As a child, he was tempted with his eyes and led by his stomach.
When he thought he could get away with it (and there was only one time he did not) he would sneakily pocket two warm nougat with jellied almond jam from the stall with the yellow sash posts.
One for him, one for his brother.
© elenaxtina.com, 2015