80 february 2020
photo^courtesyof^ theauthorWe asked him out for lunch, but he
said he had to go home and relieve
the housekeeper who was watching
his wife. Aldo sent my grandmother
a message late that night. “There we
were, you and I, as if we had been
good friends for 68 years, helping each
other in sorrow and rejoicing together
in joy,” he wrote. “I thank God for al-
lowing me the chance to be with you.”T
hey met for coffee daily, during
the few hours he could get out
of the house. My grandmother
refused to be alone with him. “What
would people think if they saw us to-
gether?” she said. “It looks bad.”
At first I laughed this off as an anti-
quated sense of modesty. But every-
where we went Aldo seemed to runinto an acquaintance. “Aldo Spor-
telli!” a friend would shout from
across the street, making my grand-
mother cringe.
On one date he brought his daugh-
ter and grandson. I was worried about
what they would think of my grand-
mother, but all anxiety disappeared
when we met them. Sabrina, Aldo’s
daughter, pulled my grandmother
into a tight hug. My grandmother had
brought her a necklace, which she
put on right away. “Give Grandma
Marilena a hug,” Sabrina told Giorgio,
her 12-year-old son.
“It’s been a gift for Dad,” Sabrina
said later that day when I asked how
she felt about their relationship. “He’s
a victim of Mother’s condition.”
When we weren’t with Aldo andMarilena and Aldo in Polignano a Mare. “I thank God for allowing me the chance to be
with you,” he wrote to her.