Matteo/Bernard. Spring song.
Apr. 18th, 2007 12:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
actionreactionDay 18 of 31_days.
Reggio di Calabria was alive with the sounds of spring. In the Donatelli home around Easter, that meant three of four sisters were singing, a light round in Italian led by their mother, in a complicated round.
The fourth and youngest sister was upstairs in the bathroom throwing up. Spring was hitting her a little differently. Morning sickness.
It had been a long time since Matteo woke on Easter morning to the tune of the women of his family singing. Last time he heard it, his youngest sister was barely in her teens, her voice high and light. He could tell when she finally joined in, her voice deeper now, but quiet as though she were still feeling shaky.
Matteo looked over to see Bernard waking slowly, a confused sort of expression on his face as if unsure where the spring songs were coming from.
“Good morning, and Happy Easter,” Matteo said quietly in Italian.
In about half an hour – only ten minutes before his mother would have come banging on the door, Matteo and Bernard were downstairs, and his baritone added to the medley with a rich harmony Bernard was stunned to hear. He hadn’t known Matteo could sing, that his whole family could as evidenced when the Donatelli patriarch entered, his voice making it clear who his son inherited his own from.
By the time they were dressed for church – no escaping that on Easter – Bernard found himself humming quietly along, in his shy way joining the family in their spring song.
Reggio di Calabria was alive with the sounds of spring. In the Donatelli home around Easter, that meant three of four sisters were singing, a light round in Italian led by their mother, in a complicated round.
The fourth and youngest sister was upstairs in the bathroom throwing up. Spring was hitting her a little differently. Morning sickness.
It had been a long time since Matteo woke on Easter morning to the tune of the women of his family singing. Last time he heard it, his youngest sister was barely in her teens, her voice high and light. He could tell when she finally joined in, her voice deeper now, but quiet as though she were still feeling shaky.
Matteo looked over to see Bernard waking slowly, a confused sort of expression on his face as if unsure where the spring songs were coming from.
“Good morning, and Happy Easter,” Matteo said quietly in Italian.
In about half an hour – only ten minutes before his mother would have come banging on the door, Matteo and Bernard were downstairs, and his baritone added to the medley with a rich harmony Bernard was stunned to hear. He hadn’t known Matteo could sing, that his whole family could as evidenced when the Donatelli patriarch entered, his voice making it clear who his son inherited his own from.
By the time they were dressed for church – no escaping that on Easter – Bernard found himself humming quietly along, in his shy way joining the family in their spring song.