Filippo and Teresina

A story of loneliness and special love.

Filippo spent all his life in his native village, first helping his parents cultivate two plots of land and then continuing on his own when his parents passed away. His mother was short slender woman with a sweet disposition. She wanted her son to become somebody when he grew up and began teaching him to read and write at an early age. His father was a brute with broad shoulders, large hands, a big head, and a violent temper against men and beasts. In more than one occasion, Filippo saw his father whip the mule when it stopped to take a breather after climbing a steep incline. His father was semi-literate and did not approve of his wife’s efforts to educate Filippo.

“You are wasting your time with books and pens,” he used to say, “they won’t help you plough the fields. They just help you become a sissy.”

Even in the village, Filippo was considered a strange child because he preferred to spend the evenings reading instead of playing outside with other children. This unusual behavior attracted taunts from children and grown-ups who viewed his love for reading as a lack of masculinity. His excellent performance in elementary school earned him the title of u prufissuri. Some villagers used this title as recognition of his superior intellectual capacity. For others, it was a mocking nickname. Even his father used that term as a put down when Filippo was unable to perform heavy tasks on the farm.

Filippo lived in the two-story house he inherited as an only child. The large entrance led directly to the stable in the back where his parents kept their donkey. On the right, three steps led to a set of stairs to the second floor which consisted of a room that served as kitchen, dining room, and living room, and two small bedrooms. The toilet was placed in an enclosed portion of the balcony and on the other side was a cement sink for washing clothes.

As his sixty-fifth birthday drew near, Filippo began making trips down memory lane. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember a single special birthday celebration. All he could recall was his mother’s sponge cake, sliced in half, filled with vanilla pudding, and covered with icing sugar. After her death ten years earlier, even the memories of that cake had nearly vanished.

“This time I want something very special for my birthday,” he said to himself aloud to show strength of conviction. After weeks of introspection, he settled for something useful. As his aching bones provided a daily reminder of his advancing old age, his daily trip to the land on the outskirts of the village became a painful endeavor. The trip, which took more time with every passing month, was even more painful when there was produce to carry back home. Shifting the load periodically from right to left hand balanced the weight but did not lighten the burden on his bones worn out by years of hard work.

“I need a donkey,” he said to his friend Saro. “Next month I want to go to the fair on the feast of Saint Nicola in Gualnieri and buy a donkey. Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” replied Saro. “We will go with my truck.”

Filippo started right away to prepare a comfortable place for the donkey. The stable on the first floor had not been used for a while but was still in good shape. He spent several days cleaning the entire floor, preparing the stable, and building a large shelf on the side to hold large bales of hay. He inspected the stable every day to ensure it was in perfect order, silently congratulating himself for a job well done.

On the Sunday morning marking the feast of Saint Nicola, Saro drove his truck to Filippo’s house and the two friends headed for Gualnieri. The village streets leading to Saint Nicola’s church were lined with cars and the church square was filled with street vendors and their customers. Saro drove past the church and turned left to reach the fairgrounds, parking his truck near the corral holding the donkeys. The two friends looked closely at each animal and made mental notes on their qualities. As they were going about their business, a female donkey moved slowly towards the front of the corral and stopped near Filippo. In the meantime, Saro had spotted a promising female donkey at back of the group.

“Filippo,” he yelled turning towards his friend, “I have found the right donkey for you. It is then brown one at the back.”

Filippo did not reply as his eyes were fixed on the donkey that had moved in front of him.

“Look at that donkey,” Saro kept yelling, “it is perfect for you: strong but not too tall, almost like a mule, but with the gentle disposition of a donkey.”

“What did you say?” Filippo finally replied.

“You have not heard a word I said,” exclaimed Saro. “I was pointing out the right donkey for you.”

“I have already made my choice,” responded Filippo, ignoring his friend’s advice. “It’s this one in front of me. I will call her Teresina in memory of my grandmother.”

“Are you out of your mind? That donkey is not good for you. Can’t you see she is too heavy and shows no sign of being worked? That’s a pet, not a donkey.”

“You don’t understand,” Filippo retorted calmly. “Look at her eyes, they sparkle like two pieces of amber. She is the one for me.”

Saro was totally frustrated but realized arguing with his friend was a waste of time.

Back in their village, Saro stopped in front of Filippo’s house, unloaded Teresina, and went home. Filippo guided Teresina to her new sparkling clean stable, stroked her back several times, and went upstairs to resume his Sunday night routine. He warmed up a bowl of noodles with two meatballs and washed it down with a glass of red wine. He completed the meal with a bunch of early grapes he picked the previous day. After washing the single dish and fork by hand, Filippo fetched a copy of Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso and sat down in his father’s old chair to read.

Next morning, Filippo got up earlier to get Teresina ready for the trip to the land. He planned to harvest some ripe fruit and vegetables to take home but felt uncomfortable to burden Teresina with the load.

“This is her first day in the field,” he mumbled to himself, “maybe she is not used to carrying a heavy load. I will let get used to the new routine slowly.”

On the way back home, they passed in front of the house of mastro Pietro, an old man nicknamed Luna on account of his shining scalp. As usual, he was sitting in front of his house to greet the paesani returning home from their daily farm toil and exchange a few pleasantries. Fillippo opened the conversation.

“Have you seen my new donkey, maestro Pietro? She is called Teresina. She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

“She looks like a signorina,” replied mastro Pietro with a smile, “but you are still walking, and she is not carrying anything.”

“This is her first day out. I just wanted to her to get acquainted with place. From tomorrow on she will do her part. I guarantee it.”

With these words, Filippo bid mastro Pietro good night and moved on. The same routine was followed the next day, but this time Filippo prepared for the encounter with mastro Pietro. In preparation for his return home, Filippo placed a blanket over Teresina’s back upon which he placed two large containers made of willow twigs, one on each side and joined by a rope with hooks. He put a few vegetables into those baskets, filled them with straw, and covered them with a blanket. When he approaches maestro Pietro’s house, Filippo prepared himself for the expected verbal exchange.

“I see that you are still walking,” quipped maestro Pietro. “This donkey has miraculous powers and has cured your aching bones.”

“You always joke, mastro Pietro. My bones are still aching, but I cannot overburden this poor donkey. Don’t you see she is carrying a heavy load?”

Mastro Pietro understood what was going on but did not want to offend Filippo with a sarcastic response. Instead, he wished him a good night as he started to walk away. From that evening on, there was no more mention of the donkey during the evening encounters and the conversation was limited to the weather.

At home, Filippo established a new evening routine that involved, in order of timing, taking care of Teresina, eating supper, and reading before going to bed. Initially, Filippo went to bed as usual after his reading stint, but he soon started checking on Teresina before retiring to his bedroom to make sure she did not need anything.

With each passing day, his evening visits to Teresina became longer and he began to have one-way conversations with the donkey. Filippo stood next to her and caressed her neck while recounting the daily events and confiding some inner thoughts. Sometimes Teresina turned her head towards her master as if signaling attention and looked directly at him with her big amber eyes.

“You understand what I am saying, ah?” Filippo would say with pride, patting her head.

After a while, Filippo realized he could just as easily read downstairs as upstairs. He bought a small desk upon which he placed a lamp and brought down a chair. Sitting next to the stable after dinner, Filippo initially read in silence, though he occasionally shared with Teresina a particularly interesting or amusing passage. At the end of each reading session, he walked to the donkey, patted her head, and whispered, “Have a good rest, Teresina. Tomorrow we have another hard day.”

As time went by, it occurred to Filippo that it was silly to have dinner upstairs and then go downstairs to read. Why not bring the food downstairs and eat at the table with the lamp? He could wash the single dish when he went back upstairs. And so, he did.

Filippo grew accustomed to the evenings of reading in the stable and the new dinner arrangement did not affect his appetite. He was not even affected by Teresina’s occasional discharges and waved off the smell with a fan movement of his hand as if shooing away a fly.

For a while, Saro continued with his weekly evening visits at dinner time and the two friends carried on their routine as if nothing had happened. But after a few weeks, Saro sensed a certain uneasiness on the part of his friend. Filippo appeared distracted during their conversation and glanced frequently at the clock on the wall as though counting the minutes until Saro’s departure. During one of those visits, which had become more infrequent, Saro caught Filippo seated comfortably downstairs and eating his dinner. Shocked, he stood silently watching for a few minutes. Then anger overtook his surprise and he blurted out his dismay before he even greeted his friend.

“What an earth are doing downstairs? Have you lost your mind? Eating in a stinking place and staring at a donkey’s a*s!”

He paused, bewildered, and tried to figure out what happened to his friend.

Filippo was disappointed with his fiend’s lack of empathy. “I don’t understand why you are upset, Saro. I don’t mind the smell, and I have some company while I eat my dinner. If it bothers you, we can go upstairs.”

That was not going to be good enough for Saro. He knew that he had lost his friend and was not going to hide that fact with temporary arrangements that both knew would be artificial and meaningless.

“I am going home,” he replied calmly. “I will see you at the bar Sunday morning.”

Filippo missed his friend’s visit and pondered on Saro’s comments.

“It’s easy for him to criticize my new arrangements. He has his dinner with his family. I eat dinner alone every night.” And in saying that, he realized something else. “This arrangement is not fully satisfactory. As long as Teresina is facing the wall, I am still eating my dinner alone.”

He thought about this problem long and hard and finally came up with a solution.

“I will turn the stable around. This way we look at each other when I eat.”

Filippo was very pleased with the new arrangements. There was a reduction in the foul smell and, more importantly, now he could have regular eye contact with Teresina.

The first evening after the re-arrangement, Filippo sat at the table and ate his dinner as usual but did not bring a book. He just sat there, staring at Teresina, and enjoying the sight of his remodeling. As time went by, his desire to read waned. Instead of reading, he sat at his dinner table often, still as in deep meditation and occasionally talking to Teresina and sharing his inner thoughts with her.

“What do think, cara Teresina? It’s a strange world, isn’t it?”

Filippo had finally reached a balance in his life. The visit to his land kept him connected to nature, his conversations with paesani during his trip back and forth to the land maintained his links with the community, the conversation with his friends and Sunday morning provided emotional satisfaction, his weekly attendance at Mass fulfilled his spiritual needs and, most importantly, Teresina’s companionship appeased his soul.

This happy life lasted a few more years. One morning, when Filippo went downstairs to prepare Teresina for daily trip to the land, he saw her lying on the floor. He checked her and found no signs of life. Devastated, he stared at her motionless body while tears began to flow along his cheeks. He soon realized there were practical matters to consider.

“Where am I going to bury her?” was the first thought that entered his mind.

“I will not give you away to be turned into glue, Teresina,” he exclaimed as he gazed into her lifeless eyes. “And I will not dump your body into a makeshift hole in the ground.”

Ho paused to control his emotions, and then continued.

“We will be together. I will make sure of it.”

 With that resolve, Filippo went upstairs, took off his work clothes, put on his Sunday clothes, and went directly to city hall to speak Doctor Firmani, an old school friend and major.

“Ernesto, I have a big favor to ask. I need a large burial plot at the cemetery.”

“You don’t look sick to me,” quipped Ernesto.

“It’s not for me. It’s for Teresina.” Noting a perplexed look in Ernesto’s face, Filippo lowered his voice. “She is my donkey. She died this morning and I want her to be buried in the same plot where I will have my final rest.”

Ernesto could hardly contain his laughter but replied seriously so he wouldn’t offend his friend.

“Filippo, you know the cemetery is only for people. We cannot bury animals there.”

“I know that,” countered Filippo, “but I think there is a way out. This morning I measured Teresina and realized that she would fit into a double plot. All you have to do is sell me a double plot.”

Ernesto reflected for a moment.

“I could do that, but how could I explain to the public that we buried a donkey in the cemetery?”

“Nobody needs to know,” replied Filippo. “I will ask my friend Saro to rent a backhoe and we will dig a deep hole at night. We will bring Teresina there in his truck under the cover of dark. We’ll bury her in the hole and fill it with dirt.”

Ernesto recognized the logic in Filippo’s argument and, realizing how much this meant to his old friend, agreed.

Despite his friends’ advice to buy another donkey, Filippo could not bring himself to replace in the stable what could not be replaced in his heart. He tried to continue his daily routine, eating dinner downstairs and spending time staring at the stable where his beloved Teresina would look at him with her big amber eyes, but his heart did not have the strength to continue. He lasted one more year and was then buried in the middle of the double plot. His friend Saro placed a marble slab over the tomb with the inscription: Here Lies Filippo Alfonsi, U Prufissuri.

This burial place became a curiosity, especially during All Souls Day when all the village families visited the cemetery. Every year someone would say, “I can’t figure out why u prufissuri needed such a large tomb.” Someone else would reply, “It’s a mystery. He was such a strange man,” and they moved along. One year, a teenage boy who had accompanied his parents to the cemetery stopped in front of Filippo/s tomb and asked his father,

“The man buried in this tomb must have been very big.”

“Must have been,” replied his father.

“I bet that he was a giant,” added the boy.

“He must have been as a big as a donkey,” quipped his younger brother as they slowly walked away.