May 19th, 2024.
“Non pagare”, he was giving away some of his fruit to a couple for free. He was running his market stand like an opera. It was a performance. The way he moved through the stand, packed fruits, and shouted prices. This small piazza, on a Sunday morning, is his stage. People gather around to buy and wait for their fruit. His supporting actors, seemed to be two of his daughters, diligently packed fruit and handled money.
I buy grana padano cheese, prosciutto, and bread at a supermarket nearby and seat next to his market stand to watch the show. At the supermarket, the speakers announce the horoscope for the day. I hear “Vento in poppa”, and take it by heart.
I make an improvised grana padano and prosciutto sandwich, and with the first bite, I find bliss, watching this Sunday morning show at the piazza. Why does this make me so happy? It’s probably the obscene amount of cheese I put on the sandwich.
An old man sits at a bench in front of me. He has a distinguished look, with a nice shirt, blazer and shoes. I see him, looking at my shoes. They are on their last leg, hanging on, almost ready to fall apart, not unlike some of Naples buildings. I look at him, and I can’t help but wonder, Have you lived a full life? Are you ready to go when the time comes? I ask myself these same questions.
I continue walking and say buongiorno to more distinguished old men. They seem to be in abundance in this neighborhood. I stop by a newsstand and one of them, 84 years old, gets close. “E vero italiano?”, he asks me if I’m Italian. “No, Colombiano, parlo poco italiano” I try to say in broken and made up Italian. He likes my hat. “Good style”, he says in English. He tells me about a famous Italian brand of hats. Borsalino, and how my hat reminded him of them. “Grazie, è giapponese!”, I reply.
