UPON THIS ROCK
just upstairs from you has an enormous balcony with an incredible view of Il Duomo, the cathedral, but it’s…it’s ah…empty. But, your place is-a very nice, very nice. Beautiful! So, no neighbors to bother you! You have the whole place to yourself. It’s very quiet. Ciao!” With that, Marco dropped two sets of keys in Adriano’s hands. He seemed in a hurry to leave the pair and get back to other beckonings. He also gave them three carefully typewritten pages with instructions on everything from where to shop, where to eat, and when to put out the garbage for pickup (the last being the most complex of all). “And don’t forget, come and check out my restaurant, Café Marco! It’s just off the Corso, near Piazza del Popolo. You meet my nonna! Welcome to Orvieto! I love Americans! USA! USA! Ciao! Ciao!” A concert of ciaos exchanged, Lee and Adriano stood in front of the massive wooden double front doors, regarding their new home as Marco disappeared quickly out of sight down a tortuously curved cobblestoned street. With the exception of a weather-worn plaque above and to the left of the doorway memorializing seven WWII-era partisans from Orvieto, their new home could have been the backdrop for a Renaissance tableau. One expected a Medici banker to pop out at any moment. Lee loved it. He could smell the past lives of the place. A perfect moment. They were alone—well, almost. An elegant gray cat paraded in front of them, purring rather grandly, before stopping to regard them with feline ennui. Then, with a flick of its tail, it continued on toward the center of town. “Well, here we go,” Adriano sighed with a smile. “As Brian used to say, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ And here we are!” “Indeed, here we are.” “Happy birthday, honey. Welcome to your thirties.” “Thanks, stud husband. You’ll be here in two years, so don’t get cocky. But, right now, you’re all the present I want.” Lee kissed his husband on the nose, briefly fogging up Adriano’s glasses. “That, and a sabbatical in Italy.” “Exactly, Signor Llata de Miranda,” Lee said, loving the sound of his husband’s melodically endless names, of which these were only the first two. “You do the honors. It’s your continent.” 4