Chapter 102 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 102 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

I used to scribble like this while waiting for my dad to return from his fishing trips on the deep-sea fishing vessel.

Before dad bought me pencils, I, like this child, used to look for white-colored pebbles to scribble on the cement floor. It was easy to erase by rubbing with shoes.

Is this an elephant?

It looked like an elephant but with wings. The trunk even had a human hand at the end. A strange drawing, but cute, thinking a five-year-old drew it.

After glancing at the house where the child went in, I walked back towards the square.

Upon arriving at the small square, I spotted Mr. Augusto, whom I had seen yesterday. He was in the midst of opening the butcher shop shutter. I ran over to help him lift the shutter and said,

"Bon giorno, Augusto!"

Mr. Augusto looked a bit surprised but then recognized me and smiled broadly. The problem was, he started spewing rapid-fire rap-like speech again. I couldn't understand a word he said.

Realizing I couldn't understand him, Mr. Augusto gestured towards the restaurant and mimed eating.

'Ah, he's asking if I came for breakfast.'

I was going to eat anyway, and since this was the only restaurant here, I obviously had to eat here.

I nodded and gave him an OK sign. Mr. Augusto gestured to wait a moment and ran to the restaurant, opened the door, and offered me a good seat, inviting me to sit down.

Though a rapid-fire rapper, he was a very kind gentleman.

When I asked for a menu, he waved his hands and said something I couldn't understand, but I got the gist from his hand signals. It seemed there was only one breakfast option. I nodded vaguely, asking for it, and he brought a meal that included a stew-like dish served with bread.

Not knowing what it was, I dipped the bread into the stew, and oh, it was quite good.

But do Italians intend to dry up all the tomato seeds, why is there tomato in every dish?

And there's bread in the stew too?

As I mixed the stew with my fork and dipped the bread soaked in stew, it was surprisingly tasty. Monica was right about praising this man's cooking skills.

I gave Mr. Augusto a thumbs up, watching me. He seemed very pleased with my gesture of enjoying the food and went back into the kitchen.

I looked out at the peaceful morning of the quiet town while eating.New novel chapters are published at novelhall.com

In the 30 minutes I was there, I only saw two people. Both were ladies, one visiting the butcher shop and the other the fruit shop. We just exchanged glances, and they looked at me curiously.

An amusing sight of mutual curiosity.

I wish I could understand what she's saying.

I racked my brain for some Italian I had memorized and asked, feeling quite sure.

Che cosa?

Ah, I should have memorized the word for 'name' too. This means 'what is it?'. The child tilts her head in confusion. I pointed at the child again and repeated.

Che cosa?

The child pointed at herself and said,

Nome?

Hmm? That sounds similar to the English word 'name'. I nodded vigorously and asked,

si, si. Nome Che cosa?

Using Italian with a disregard for proper grammar. Luckily, the child seemed to understand and pointed at herself, saying,

Lea.

Oh, Lea.

Her name sounds like it's from a fairy tale.

I smiled brightly and pointed at myself.

Ban.

The child pointed at me and asked,

Van?

si, si. Lea, Ban.

As I alternated pointing between Lea and myself while saying our names, the child laughed. Such a beautiful laugh, she's like a real angel.

In this small village with few people, this morning I made my first little friend.

An angel named Lea.

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