Donna Bellissima

Matteo was sitting alone on a park bench in a semi-rural, southern Tennessee town. A visitor from a village not far from Florence, Italy, his English was limited, in spite of having studied the language for several years. He was feeling lonely. He came to Tennessee to visit Carlo, a cousin he’d been close to during their childhood years. The cousin had emigrated to the United States years ago to be with a girl he had met while she was visiting Italy.

Carlo was a successful businessman, importing leather, clothing, shoes and other fine Italian made goods. He and his wife opened a store in the fashionable Green Hills neighborhood of nearby Nashville and made a good living. Not having seen Carlo for almost 25 years, Matteo, a widower, decided to pay his cousin a visit. Carlo had been delighted by the news. He insisted that Matteo come and spend a few months with him. “I promise you that once you come to the US you will never want to leave,” Carlo said. “Plan to stay a while.”

Matteo had his doubts, but he dutifully studied harder to learn more English, feeling a bit wistful about it. Had he always known he would visit America? Might he, now nearing 60 years of age, move to America? After all, he had no children. He often felt lonely in his native village. At least in Tennessee he would have Carlo and his family. Perhaps he wouldn’t be as lonely there.

But as he looked out at the park with its empty baseball and soccer fields, he felt like he had become a burden to his cousin. He contemplated returning to Italy soon. He crushed his last Italian cigarette and stood up. He started walking the trail that surrounded the park. As he walked, his head down and one hand in his pocket he thought about his options. He was so deep in thought, that he almost ran into a woman who was walking on the same path in the opposite direction. She side-stepped him and laughed. “You look like you have the weight of the world on your big shoulders,” she said. Matteo was a muscular man, not so tall, but powerful from his work as a bricklayer when he was a young man.

He looked at the woman and smiled, his broad, wide-eyed grin made his eyebrows arch. “So sorry, I should be looking where I’m going,” he said. He looked at the woman. She had a delightful combination of dark brown hair with gray streaks and the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen. “Donna Bellissima,” he whispered to himself.

“You aren’t from around here, are you?” She asked.

“No, I come from a small town in Italy.”

“Oh! I have a friend I haven’t seen for a while who’s married to a man from Italy.”

Matteo nodded. What is her name?”

“Carleen Testa.”

Matteo shifted his feet, kicking at the tiny pebbles that dotted the trail. “She is the wife of my cousin Carlo.”

Surprised, the woman grinned and kicked a few pebbles too. “My name is Lana. I’ve lived in this town for my whole life. I’ve been walking this trail for years. Can’t remember the last time I ran into somebody I didn’t know.”

“I am Matteo. Forgive me for asking, but are you married?”

Lana laughed. “You Italians sure like to move things along. No, I’m not married. Are you?”

“I was. My wife passed two years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Matteo wasn’t sure what to do next. How exactly did Americans handle what Italians called datazione, or dating? There was something about this woman he liked. 

Lana sensed his uncertainty. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?” She asked.

“Si! I mean yes, that would be fine.”

She laughed again and already he loved her laugh. They walked to the town’s main street to one of the local coffee shops. The shop had a half-dozen ice cream parlor tables and chairs. He never took his eyes off of her, silently repeating, Donna Bellissima as they ordered coffee. “That will be $8.00,” the woman behind the counter said.

Matteo reached for his wallet, suddenly worried about how much American money he was carrying. He opened it and quickly counted six one-dollar bills. He was mortified. He wanted to run out of the coffee shop and book the next available flight to Rome. Lana sensed his discomfort immediately. “Please don’t worry,” she said, “Maybe you will take me to dinner sometime.” She took at ten-dollar bill from her purse.

“I would be honored to take you out to dinner. But you must let me pay for my coffee, please.” His eyes told her it was quite important to him. She nodded in agreement.  Over coffee, they sat and chatted. She was divorced and had two grown sons. She was also the town’s librarian.

Matteo told her about his visit with his cousin Carlo. He explained that having been Carlo’s guest for nearly two months, he felt it was time to go home. She listened intently, enchanted by his good looks. “If you’re going home, you’ll have to take me to dinner soon.” He laughed.

On Saturday night, he borrowed his cousin’s car. Carleen had assured Matteo that Lana was a good woman. He picked Lana up and took her to Nashville’s finest Italian restaurant. He made sure to have plenty of cash in his wallet. They sat at a small, candle lit table, covered by a white linen tablecloth. He ordered a bottle of Sangiovese, which the server poured. They raised their glasses. He looked into her big brown eyes and said, “Donna Bellissima.”