Excerpt:
I remember our game of Trust very well: It was the last time Nonna Eia seemed like herself.

It was awhile before I saw her again. Five days, if I remember right. The school year was almost over and the fifth-grade exams were coming up. Not that I was worried, but the tense atmosphere that took over the class pressured me to study more than ever. I spent whole afternoons doing homework, either alone at home or at Frencesca's house. When Saturday came at last, I went to Celestia.

I found Nonna in the shed, intent on her painting. She was using and old canvas; I recognized it because it was the largest one in the studio. It used to show two angels with goats' feet. It was a fun painting, kind of irreverent, but now the hooves, the wings, and everything else had disappeared under a layer of white paint. The canvas was set up on an improvised easel and Nonna Eia stood in front of it so that her back hid what she was painting.

"I thought you liked those goat-angels!" I exclaimed.

Nonna turned towards me. "Yes, but I needed a big canvas. And I was too impatient to go buy a new one."

She stepped aside so I could see her work.

It was a huge jumble of colors. Blue, dark red, yellow, black. And turquoise. No human figures.

"Are you getting into abstract painting?" I asked.

"Mm. It's not finished."

I stood watching her work for awhile. Bit by bit, every corner of the canvas was being covered by turquoise and violet. We were both very quiet. I knew from experience that Nonna didn't like to talk while she worked. I also knew that if I was there, in about ten minutes she would stop concentrating on her paintings and give me her full attention. So I waited.

She worked soberly, with leisurely gestures. She would dip the brush in the jar of turquoise, let it drip, and then, in no hurry, bring it to the canvas. She stood still for a moment, as if to decide which way to move her hand, then let the paint flow gradually over the surface, dragging the brush as if it weighed more than two hundred pounds. All her gestures were slow and deliberate.

About twenty minutes went by and Nonna still gave no sign of stopping.

"Nonna," I called at last, feeling bored. "I brought you some zaeti. I bought them. I had too much home so I couldn't cook." I knew Nonna had a weakness for those biscotti to dip in sweet wine.

She roused herself. She had the same absorbed, vulnerable expression I'd noticed when she was walking with her eyes closed. She put the brush in the jar of turpentine and wiped her hands on a rag. "That's very sweet of you Elisa."

Again I noticed how slowly she moved. It was like slow motion.

"This can wait," she said, with one last glance at her work. In those twenty minutes, she'd added some gray splotches to the turquoise parts of the picture. They looked weird, like mushrooms with lumps.

We went into the kitchen, and she made tea while I watched. I was a little disappointed that she that she didn't take out the bottle of dessert wine. Her gestures were sluggish, her back more bent than usual. She stood up chewing the biscotti for a long time, dipping them in the tea one by one. She ate greedily. It took forever.

Valentina, the hare, had brought me another gift: a tiny bracelet of beads, read as rubies. After I put it on my wrist, I recited the balcony scene from Rome and Juliet. Nonna gave me the cues-her Romeo was young and fiery, full of passion, but I got mixed up because I hadn't had time to go over my lines.

Before I left I drew close to give her a kiss and noticed how wrinkled her neck was. Her skin was chilly and sagging, it drooped in folds and pouches under her chin. I'd never really stopped to think about old people's bodies and how relentlessly they waste away.

"How old are you, Nonna Eia?" I asked.

"Over eighty."

"That's not so old," I declared. "Francesca's nonna is ninety-four."

"Then I'm just a kid," she said ironically, putting her hand to her head. "I have my whole life ahead of me."

She held the door open as I left and watched me from the doorway. She'd taken the tortoiseshell comb from her pocket and with an idle gesture passed its three teeth trough the white hair over her forehead. She smiled and said good-by waving her braid like a handkerchief.