Flour #Wattys2016

CHAPTER 4 - FLOUR

Michele Ragusso planted both feet flat on the marble floor and stretched his arms up over his head. His underpants pinched underneath the weight of his bulging belly and the white t-shirt seemed two sizes too small.

He had thirty minutes to wake-up, wash, and have breakfast before heading out the door.

After the sudden death of his father three years earlier, he had taken over the bakery, his mother and had lost the little hope he had to make himself a life.

He lifted himself up off the bed, the old metal springs bounced back to their original form. Another stretch as he padded his way to the bathroom. The small corridor was dark but a small ray of light filtered out of the kitchen. His mother was already up and making coffee.

He stumbled into the bathroom. Flicked on the light as he headed towards the toilet, liberating his bladder in what seemed to be an endless stream. He pulled the cord that hung besides the toilet and a gush of water flushed the yellow out of sight. Once the pressure and urgency subsided he could get on with the business of washing hands, underarms, neck and teeth.

Peering up he caught his reflection in the old mirror...the same face he had seen yesterday and the day before and the day before that and the day before that...it was the same face always. The same face that for nearly 35 years looked back at him, clueless as to who this person was in front of the mirror.

He yanked at his hair and applied a bit of brillantina to tame its unruliness. As he headed back into his room he saw his mother at the kitchen door.

"E pronto...it's ready" her small,voice crept over the darkness of the hall.

"Coming" he entered his room, grabbed his work clothes from the hook behind the door and headed for the kitchen.

His mother was busy pouring coffee into a steaming bowl of milk and a plate of yesterday's bread laid cut up into chunks near the bowl. Michele pulled on his bakers pants, white as flour and smelling of yeast. A white button down shirt covered the tightness of the pants around his belly. He couldn't buy another pair. These were not even a year old and the button was already burying itself into his belly button.

He sat down at the table, dumped three spoonfuls  of sugar and a piece of the stale bread into the milk.

"What do you want for lunch?" his mother had seated herself across from him.

"I don't know" he replied as he shoved a heaping spoonful in his mouth, making the milk seep out from the sides as he swallowed.

"Don't eat so fast. You have time...now if I make a minestrone...va bene? ...ok?"

"Ma, it's like 100 degrees out there."

"Ok,ok, it was just a thought. We could always eat it cold....you like that no?" She fidgeted with the coffee pot.

"No..."

"Ok then, how about a polpetone with a nice salad?"

Michele wrinkled his nose and shoved another spoonful in his mouth.

"No?" Her voice had a bit of impatience "squid with a nice bowl of boiled potatoes...."

She hadn't finished but Michele was in no mood for this....whatever she would make would be fine. His mother was a wonderful cook.

Michele remembered as a child, when his father hadn't yet bought the bakery, how his mother had managed to make delicious meals with the little they had. They couldn't afford to buy meat very often but his mum had found a creative way to substitute the veal in veal cutlets...one of his favorite dishes.

She would use day old bread. Cut up in slices, passed in a beaten egg with a bit of milk, seasoned with salt, pepper and oregano. Then she would pass the slices through bread crumbs. In a large cast iron skillet she would fry them up until they were golden brown and crispy.... bread cutlets...the next best thing.

Those days were long gone.

They could afford meat whenever they wanted now but every now and then, he would ask his mother to fry him up a batch of bread cutlets.

"Ma, whatever is easiest for you to prepare is fine with me." He picked up the bowl and drained the last bit of milk and coffee.

"Gotta go"

"Si, si you go now. Don't forget to bring home bread for lunch and dinner and if you see Signora Rossi this morning, tell her to pass by. I finished her mending" She got up to get his work shoes.

"Ok ma" Michele pushed the chair away from the table waiting for his mother to plop the shoes in front of him. He bent over to slip them on reaching over his full belly. What a work out! Ok done. He lifted his bulk from the chair, kissed his mother goodbye and headed for the door.

It was still cool. The air outside hadn't yet conceived the heat of the afternoon and the darkness seemed to protect the coolness to the joy of those that still slept.

The bakery was not far and Michele always enjoyed this moment to be alone before having to face a day of people and an evening with his mother. He walked with his hands buried in his pants pockets, taking in the hush and tranquility that all to soon would vanish into thin air.

Turning onto Via Victoria, his eyes automatically gazed up to look at the third floor of a very old and disheveled building. The lights were out as every morning but inside in one of those rooms on the third floor, slept the girl of five rosette and three libretti

As he turned off Via Vittoria a light flicked on in a window of the third floor.