116 / 145
116
Minor Major
me as my full name.
“Bene, Nono, bene”, I responded in my futile Australian attempt
at an Italian accent.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming, I would have prepared
some lunch for you”, he said in his thick Italian accent as we walked
into the kitchen.
“No, I’m not hungry. I ate before I came”. This was a lie, but I
recognised that a full stomach is of upmost importance to the
native southern European. He would feed me anyway, and brought
me one of his famous cappuccino. Surely enough, as I sat down on
the kitchen bench he brought out a plate of cold pasta that Nona
had made the night before and placed it in front of me.
“Nono, I really can’t I’m not hun–“
“Nonsense, nonsense, eat, my boy”, he said as he squeezed my
cheek with hands as tough as sandpaper. I was 22 years of age and
he still squeezed my cheek.
During the sixties, Australian authorities swept through Europe,
enlisting anyone who wanted to come to Australia by offering to
pay for their ship ticket and for their accommodation when they
arrived in Australia. A young Luciano was attracted by the promise
of this new great nation, and left his home country with nothing
but the clothes on his back and his family. He is a hard worker, they
all were, all the immigrants all their lives knew nothing but
persistence; those who did not work hard simply did not survive.
This incredible work ethic remained with him all of his life, and it
was his hard work and vitality that has allowed me and the rest of
his descendants to live comfortable lives where we don’t have to
wonder whether or not there’s going to be food on the table tonight.
“I have something to show you”, I said as he sat down. “I wrote a
song about you and your life”.
“My life?” he looked at me, perplexed. I nodded as I reached into
my backpack and grabbed my speaker. Perhaps he didn’t see his life
as anything worth writing about. For some unknown reason, I felt
nervous and uneasy. I pressed play. The song ended and Nono let
out a warm smile. He looked at me admirably and said “Donatello,
it is wonderful. Good job, good job…” I sighed in relief. Like the ice
in my glass, the smile on his face dissolved. “It’s just…” I inhaled
nervously yet again. “Why is it so sad if it’s about my life? My life has
been happy, maybe sometimes hard, but no sad, this too sad”. I
11