Just before Christmas last year, my cousin Marianna announced that she would be inviting her boyfriend Tierri in casa. She had been going out with him for a year and a half. They had been going to school together since middle school. He had been over innumerable times as a member of Marianna’s “compagnia,” or group of regular friends. But this would be the first time Tierri would cross the threshold as Marianna’s formal suitor. We were all supposed to be on our best behavior.
In order to understand the big fat formal deal of officially introducing a boyfriend in casa, one must start considering that Italy is essentially an outdoor society. There’s no room inside people’s homes for it to be otherwise. Perhaps that’s why it usually takes a few years for Italian parents to let their children’s boyfriend or girlfriend into the house. Young people usually have to walk about the piazza together for several months at least before they are “allowed” indoors. But they actually prefer it that way because, in this country, there is more privacy to be found on the street than in the home. Before the in casa introduction, if the young couple does come into the house, it is usually accompanied by at least eight other friends. Such compagnia is often the best way to ensure that involved parties remain anonymous and uninvolved. In Italy, times are changing, but traditionally, introductions that imply some sort of personal emotional commitment have always been considered quite an ordeal and are put off for as long as possible.
So it was Christmas and my cousin’s boyfriend was finally coming to court the family. I had been in Italy long enough to know that poor Tierri would already have several strikes against him before he even entered in casa. First of all, his name. What nationality was it? Certainly not Italian. What apostle was responsible for it? His name itself offered no guarantees. Second, Tierri’s father was rumoured to root for the soccer team from Torino. Like father, like son, they say, and what were we going to do with a Juventus fan at our table? Third, my grandmother had seen his mother at Gianni Ciccio’s, and she was apparently known for buying bruised fruit. What kind of woman would feed her men ugly fruit? These would be the main issues weighing on my family’s mind.
What I couldn’t understand, though, was that if Tierri was finally to be formally introduced in casa, couldn’t my cousin have chosen a more discreet holiday? Was it really necessary for this poor soul to be subjected to all of us at once and on such a momentous occasion? Mamma mia! All I could hope for was that he would leave before my relatives started commenting on the way his ears stuck out. Then again, maybe having Tierri in casa at Christmas was a good strategy. A ploy to tap into the Christmas spirit. Everyone would be full, benevolent, and preoccupied with winning at Bingo. I just hoped Tierri had sense enough not to win.
Despite my worries, the holiday in casa went well. The tortelli were tender and swollen with tasty broth. The boiled cow tongue suited everyone’s holiday taste buds. The tree’s flickering candles were beautiful, and no one but me was worried about the blatant fire hazard. The men happily offered their Vin Santo, and the women proudly brought forth their aniseed and almond biscotti. All the children were invited to stand on their chairs and recite Christmas poems. Applause was frequent. My uncle was allowed to turn on his Austrian yodeling carols and his sons swallowed their complaints. It was Christmas. The tablecloth was dusty with powdered sugar and all was right in the world.
Finally, at around ten, Tierri got up to leave the table. He had stayed for an appropriate amount of time. Now he and Marianna could leave, go out for some fresh air, and meet friends who had had to stand before similar juries.
As soon as their seats were safely empty, the table became full of animated conversation. My family sat exchanging dried figs and fresh opinions. He’s as good as bread, poor guy. Let’s hope he has a lot of bread, if he wants to keep Miss Marianna Monroe happy. Let’s hope he’s rich and stupid. Rich is nothing if she cannot persuade him. But did you see his ears? Their first child will be called Dumbo.
“Oh well,” I thought. “Welcome to the family, Tierri. You’ve passed the test.
They’re talking grandchildren.”
