A burly man suddenly slapped me on the shoulder. “Human, eh? Better than machina, bene! People mean something in this world! Scacci not for the machines. Signora, your husband is a hero!”
“I know,” my wife said.
“Will you find me una appartamento?” I asked.
“Manifici appartamento. Adeso, now! Which do you prefer, the one on the beach or anywhere else?”
“We want the one on the beach, please,” my wife said suddenly.
“Bene. You come back here domani, tomorrow. Cakes for our victor and familia!”
“You won’t believe it,” my wife whispered, “They are preparing the food packages. I overheard them talking about our kids, all the kids. How come they know?”
We got a decent place on the beach next day. At nights we could sit on the beach and look at the sea. It was a magnificent sunset when it hit me.
“Victoria,” I said.
“You speak like a native,” my wife said.
I looked at the promenade. Cars were moving in their eternal slow motion, the way buggies were doing that before for hundreds of years. Only this time they were even slower because of kids on every corner. Kids from the refugee families were licking that delicious, flavorful, multicolored ice- cream for the first time in their lives. And it was fun.
“Whenever we go we have no choice but to become natives. If not us, our kids will. Ice- cream has a great magic in it.”
“It is irresistible,” my wife said.
