The Italian Key Page #3

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- Who was she?

- That's what you have to find out.

- So you actually already know?

- My lips are sealed, bound by an oath.

To whom?

To her? You knew her?

She used to live here.

This is her house.

These are her things.

What did she die of?

Oh please, just this one thing.

She got sick in India.

Can't say more.

I was officially liberated,

but I stayed on for a mission.

If I compromise it,

I disappear, little by little.

Okay, okay. Say no more.

I'll find out myself. Just stay.

Dear Leo, I heard from Maria you go

up to Bronzini's house on Sundays.

Can I join you? Cabella.

P.S. Thanks for the apples.

Maria, this is what our mystery woman

Chiara, who lived in my house...

wrote to my uncle Max.

"To my dear Max."

"Thank you for

all your love and loyalty."

"May you take care of

what's most valuable to me."

"This book has everything

I want to pass on."

"So much love, Chiara."

Is it good? Read me something.

"Like a giant oak tree

covered with apple blossoms...

is the vast man in you."

"His might binds you to the earth,

his fragrance lifts you into space...

and in his durability

you are deathless."

"You have been told that,

even like a chain...

you are as weak as your weakest link.

This is but half the truth."

"You are also as strong

as your strongest link."

"To measure you

by your smallest deed...

is to reckon the power of ocean

by the frailty of its foam.''

"To judge you by your failures...

is to cast blame upon the seasons

for their inconsistency."

So, it means we're actually

better and stronger that we think?

I think so.

Her mom really wants her

to marry another man.

- And at the beginning they...

- Girls, I have to go. Bye bye!

Bye!

Get my hat!

It must be five to the bus.

Oh, I have to go to work, so I need to

go home and get ready.

Cabella, what are we gonna do

with these romantic fools?

- Nothing. I kind of envy them.

- Really? I don't.

I so prefer my peace of mind.

See you later!

There are deer in the forest.

And when she sits there very quietly,

they let her paint them.

Leo, my boy. How are you? Welcome.

And who's your lovely young friend?

Hello, I am Cabella,

just like the village.

Welcome Cabella,

just like the village.

So what brings you

to this edge of Italy?

This key.

It was given to me by my uncle Max.

Who wasn't really my uncle at all.

And have you found the lock

that fits the key?

Villa Rosa Dei Venti, near the castle.

I saw you at the cemetery

and I needed to ask you about the nun.

Please, I need to know.

It's quite important.

It is not so easy.

Ambrosia.

To me she was Ambrosia.

Later sister Ambrosia.

We were sweethearts.

We had the most beautiful summer.

And then...

Everything changed, she was

different, she wouldn't talk to me.

She was very religious before, but now

she was all the time in church.

So...

She was with child.

She told everyone that

Virgin Mary had appeared...

and that she, herself,

was a virgin.

And to prove she was

a true bride of Christ...

she gave up the child,

and took her convent vows.

Little Chiara was taken to

the convent orphanage in Genoa.

At that point,

I... gave up the village.

And came here, never to return.

Ambrosia, so proud, so stubborn.

Sometimes you just must accept

what you can't change.

Checkmate! I do it every time.

Everybody's lost someone or something.

Everybody's had a broken heart.

Bronzini, looking down at the village,

but never going there.

Lord Jai,

searching for a missing person.

And his friend, angry because

he may never walk again.

And me, living alone in a big house.

You can't escape it. What do you do

with a world full of sad people?

You're a good listener, Leo.

You must have planted this.

It will give food, shelter,

and a home to so many living beings.

Maybe that's how one can be happy.

One day and one tree at a time.

He would have to be quiet,

understanding...

and he should be able to listen.

And, he has to be independent

and has to help me.

I know this sounds very old style,

like finding the food and stuff...

but something like that.

That would be a perfect man.

What do you think of that, Maria?

- Giulia? Sophia? Are you all sleeping?

- Not anymore.

Maria, I would like to request your

presence at the party next Saturday.

As my guest of course.

Bring your sisters too, if you like.

Too short, too loud,

too frumpy and too floral.

- Where are all the evening gowns?

- Maybe she didn't have any.

Maybe she was like me,

not the outgoing type.

Suitcase! Hold this.

Maria!

- Try it on.

- But...

No buts, try!

Que bello!

An evening bag, to go with it!

Maria? Look.

It's the same handwriting.

See, it's her's! Let's read something!

- It's a diary, it's private.

- Not anymore.

It's in Italian!

Oh. I talked to Bronzini.

He told me that Chiara

was sister Ambrosia's child.

- But she was a nun!

- I guess that was the problem.

She was sent to an orphanage

and then to a boarding school.

So this might have some juicy secrets.

"Maybe it's

all the colors and smells of India...

but I find myself

oddly hungry for life.''

Every single morning of my life

in the convent...

I've gotten up at dawn and

hurried through the cold corridors...

to kneel on the hard floor

while Latin prayers were recited.

But one morning, I arrived to India.

To the smell of spices and incense...

to the sound of peacocks and the

distant echo of devotional songs.

The charity of the Holy Trinity

had organized a room for me...

at the residence of a

Mr. Featherstonehaugh...

who had previously rented

extra rooms at his palace to nuns...

who wished to spread

the Almighty's love...

by helping the poor in Jaipur's slums.

I had imagined

Mr. Featherstonehaugh...

to be the kind of old gentleman

who likes to sit in the evening sun...

while sipping his dry martini

and listening to ancient music...

and I was only mistaken about his age.

He was no older than I.

Maximilian Featherstonehaugh,

or Max...

never leaves his compound,

and only socializes with his servants.

They're used to his mood swings,

but they love him anyway...

and indulge him in

whatever seems to make him happy.

He is the strangest character

and hasn't paid me much attention.

Although I think he is secretly

observing my comings and goings...

and is probably just as curious

about me as I am about him.

He is an artist.

And when he's not reading...

or carrying the weight of the world

on his shoulders...

he whiles away the hours painting

only the things he is truly fond of:

Still lives, animals and

his most trusted servants...

as gods and goddesses

of the Hindu mythology.

He is somehow

tortured and fascinating...

and I hope I will get

to know him better.

Oh look!

This might be interesting: A drawing.

"On Tuesdays and Thursdays

we work in the slum."

"I have come to await these days,

because it is amazing to witness -

the sheer joy of these people

who own absolutely nothing...

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