UNDER THE BLOOMING TREES (March 1999)

"What a wonder our little trees in bloom are!" I exclaim, as I stroll with Mayra through the area of the nursery reserved for fruit trees.

"Yes Prins, they are so beautiful. The peach trees have such a strong pink, it's my favorite color."

"I really like apricot blossoms too, with that pale pink. It's a shame the almond trees have already finished flowering - they're absolutely my favorites: they're the first to bloom. When I was little, in February I would lie in the grass of my grandfather's garden under the almond trees and stay there for hours looking up at the white of those flowers against the blue sky. I loved it when their petals fell on my face like snow."

The sound of my own words suddenly strikes me.

"I'm pretty gay, huh Mayra?" I say laughing. "I express myself like a woman."

She shakes her head.

"But no, Prinsy: it's not that just because someone is male, they have to like war or trucks. There are also people like you, who like flowers and plants."

"Seriously, May: there is nothing more important in the world than vegetation. I've always considered them sacred. Without them life wouldn't exist, we couldn't even breathe."

"I know, Manu."

"And then they're so beautiful. Anyone who doesn't understand the beauty of plants can't understand any kind of beauty."

"You're right. And so you see, it has nothing to do with being gay."

"More than gay, I'm bisexual, May, but the truth is simpler: I fall in love with beauty wherever I find it. Maybe it's not normal, but I can't help it: it happens to me that way."

"You don't have to justify yourself with me: you are who you are and that's it. Even Bella is big and hairy."

"What does Bella have to do with this?" I say just to say something.

Her logic sometimes escapes me. I smile and don't comment. We turn toward Greenhouse C: now we have three greenhouses, and soon there will be four: one is meant to host exotic plants, Mayra's passion. Besides, orchids are also very popular with my mother's friends, who remain my best customers.

"In all honesty, Mayra, I don't know if I'm doing okay. I'm carrying on a clandestine relationship with a man who has a permanent partner: I don't even know how to classify my role with him."

"And you don't classify it: it's not a plant you have to put a price tag on."

I hesitate. "And then I'm worried."

"Why?... What's going on, Prins?"

"I don't know if I can tell you everything, May: you'd be scandalized."

"Why? Did you guys have sex in some weird way?"

"No, nothing like that."

"If you're worried, it's better you talk about it, Manu."

I sigh and try to tell her about it. "A few days ago we were taking pictures together for the new exhibition."

"Oh, good: the first one was very successful, it was even in the newspapers. Carlos showed it to me."

"Yes, Mayra, but... I don't know, it seems to me he's lost his inspiration. His photos aren't as original as before: they're flat and repetitive, with ordinary shots, like an amateur's. In short, he's no longer the photography genius I knew, and I don't dare tell him."

"But you mustn't tell him that at all, Prins: you would offend him. Maybe he's just a bit tired. If you tell him that, he might actually start taking bad photos. You know, you should never tell people they're not good at doing things: you should always encourage them to do better."

"I know: that's why I don't tell him. Massimiliano, his partner, already does that, and he took it very badly. But apart from that, he's been acting very strange, May."

"Strange how?"

"Well, strange! Anyway, at one point he turned to me and said: 'Please Giuseppe, pass me the other lens?'"

"Giuseppe?!"

"Yes, May. It was terrible. I reminded him that my name is Emmanuel, what else could I do? He ran a hand over his forehead: 'Oh right, sorry, how stupid of me.'"

"Okay, that's a bad thing, but there's nothing to be scandalized about. If anything, something to worry about."

"Wait, it's not over. After a while I asked him who Giuseppe was."

"And what did he tell you?"

"He answered me: 'I think he was the milkman's delivery boy.'"

She bursts out laughing.

"What?! But that's crazy stuff!"

"Yes, but listen to the rest: I asked him what the heck the milkman's delivery boy had to do with me, and he answered me… Mayra, I can't bring myself to tell you this."

"Come on, Prinsy! I'm an adult woman, not a little girl."

"Well, May… he answered: 'It must be because he was also very good at giving blowjobs.'"

Mayra's mouth falls open, her eyes wide: then she bursts out laughing again.

"Manu, I didn't know you were so good at those things!"

"Are you crazy?" I exclaim indignantly. "I'm not good at giving blow— I mean, at doing those things at all!"

"Oh, you're not good? Do you do them badly?"

Mayra's hilarity irritates me.

"I don't do them either well or badly, Mayra! Who do you take me for? My relationship with Gianni is certainly not based on… on that kind of stuff, for God's sake. I thought you knew me well enough to have figured that out."

Finally Mayra stops laughing, also because there's really little to laugh about.

"Sorry, Prinsy, I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that the idea was so funny…"

But thinking about it, what you told me is way too strange. That man is stressed, you need to make him rest more."

"I'll try, but I have a feeling the problem is much more serious. I mean, apart from the blowjob thing, it's absurd that he confused me with anyone at all. Damn it, he says I'm his great love, and then he can't even remember my name?"

"Yes, it's rather absurd."

"I told him 'But you never forget Massy's name, huh?' He looked at me surprised and answered 'How could I forget Massy's name?' But he understood that I was upset and tried to make up for it: he hugged me and held me like that for a while, continuing to whisper my name."

"That's a nice thing, Prins."

"Yeah, right: it would have been very sweet, if he wasn't doing it to imprint my name in his mind. He kept repeating it like a kid reciting the nine times table, with no emotion at all. Besides, he almost always calls me 'puppy', never by name."

"He didn't do it on purpose."

"I know, the worrying thing is precisely this: there was no intention, he didn't want to offend me at all. Maybe it would have been better if he'd done it on purpose. All this destabilizes me."

"I believe it, Manu."

"Fortunately, there's you and Carlos: with you I never feel alone. With Antonia it's different, I'm always a bit tense: we've clarified things as much as possible and she now accepts this situation, but I think it bothers her. Besides, it was she who rejected me."

"Indeed, Prins: the fault is not yours."

"I'm very attached to her and to the child, Mayra: they're part of my dearest affections. Martino can now tolerate me."

"What an effort!"

"Yes, I know, put that way it sounds depressing, but if you think that until recently he would shriek like a goose every time I picked him up…"

Mayra struggles to hide her indignation.

"Prins, if the little one treats you badly, he needs a spanking, but so do you."

"Me too?"

"Of course! You must not allow anyone to treat you like that, understand? What are you, a txibinhu?"

"A what?"

"A mat, you know, those things you put in front of doors to wipe your feet on."

"Ah, a doormat."

"You must not let anyone treat you like a doormat. No one! Understand?"

I laugh.

"You're right, Mayra: I'm not a kid anymore, I just turned twenty-one. Let's go back, I want to see our trees in bloom again: the splash of color the peaches make is beautiful, look what a sight from down here."

"The txieri flowers are also very beautiful, Prins."

"Txieri? Would those be cherry trees?"

"Yes. Sorry, Prins: sometimes I forget to pretend to say some words in English."

"You don't pretend, you speak English for real: you've improved a lot."

"I still make too many mistakes."

"Those are made by many English people too, May."

"And then I'm missing all the double letters."

I smile.

"Yes, that one is true."

We go back to strolling under that vault of colored foliage.

"If it hadn't been for you, I would never have come up with the idea of the nursery, you know?"

"Really?"

"I mean, maybe the idea would have occurred to me anyway, but I would have set it aside right away: it would have been one of many ideas that crossed my head and a moment later disappeared to make room for other equally inconclusive ideas. I wouldn't have realized any of them, I think. I've never known what I wanted to be in life."

"But you don't want to be just a nurseryman for life, Manu."

"Why not? I don't want to be only this, but I like being this too. And besides, things are starting to work out and give us a living. I mean, thanks to you and your idea, I found a job I like."

"Above all thanks to your brother, Prins: it's him who lent you the money to start."

"Thanks to both of you. Anyway, I'm paying back the loan."

"And in the meantime I even bought myself a car."

Mayra smiles proudly at the thought of her pea-green Panda. We've reached the end of the vegetable corridor, which ends against the north-facing boundary wall, with bricks covered in moss. I look up: the sky is clouding over, the sun appears and disappears between one cloud and another. A strange wind is rising.

I lower my gaze: Mayra, bent at my side, is busy straightening a pot that's dangerously tilting. Today she's dressed in a loose dress that hints at her generous forms, her rear end is as abundant as a big peach. I feel like giving her vigorous squeeze on the buttocks, but I'm afraid she might misinterpret my gesture. I opt for a simple pat on the backside.

"Hey, are you crazy, Manu?" she exclaims, turning around, but immediately, seeing my expression, she starts to laugh.

A sudden gust of cold wind hits us.

"Prins," she says, looking at the sky, "I really don't like that stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Do you see that white stripe under the black sky?"

"Yes, over the Alps. So what?"

"It means grogu, Prins."

I look at her bewildered.

"Grogu?"

"Hail."

"Hail in March? But that's never been seen!"

"Well, I think this time it will be seen."

Now it's no longer a gust, it's a gale that hits us, raising a swirling cloud of dust from the road, a kind of whirlwind that doesn't look very reassuring. The plants bend, some pots tip over. I try to straighten them, but Mayra stops me.

"It's no use, Prins, leave it. The wind will knock them all down, we'll straighten them later. Now run, let's go get the anti-hail tarp, before it gets here."

"We need to get Carlos to help us: I'll go call him."

"There's no time, Manu: run!"

She heads off running toward the storage shed where we keep our equipment, while the wind swells her dress and then plasters it against her body, ripping the scarf from her head. I follow her running, prey to great agitation. How is it possible? Ten minutes ago everything was calm, now the weather is really frightening. It starts to rain, a strange rain that the icy wind whips against us in intermittent lashes. We reach the tool shed; Mayra finds a thick-mesh polyethylene net at first try and takes the bag with the fasteners to fix it on the steel arch frames that we've arranged around the outdoor plants precisely in anticipation of hail, but which we haven't covered with the net yet, convinced as we were that the phenomenon was exclusively a summer one. We have to hurry.

As we run toward the little trees, the rain gets thicker and the wind more violent. We reach the area with the potted plants, now almost all lying on the ground, and we work feverishly in conditions of tremendous discomfort, with the wind threatening every moment to rip the net from our hands and cutting through us to the bone. We're soaked and shivering, I can barely feel my fingers anymore, but we don't stop for a moment from stretching and fastening that blessed net to the steel arches. We're almost done when a sudden barrage of hail as big as hazelnuts hits us like a whirlwind. A large chunk, more of a walnut than a hazelnut, strikes me violently right in the forehead, almost stunning me; I feel acute pain, but I don't stop working until we finish: there are still about twenty plants uncovered: the hail hits them head-on before we have time to cover them. I watch the flowers and twigs jump to pieces, along with my heart.