Early November, and finally time for our departure. We traveled from Sarajevo to Italy, to La Morra in Piemonte, where Eduardo and his wife Monika were our hosts at their farm. The house, set amidst a lovely old garden, glowed in the late afternoon sun. The garden was framed on both sides by a grove of hazelnut trees, and Katherine breathed deeply the scent of new wine from grapes planted in the vineyard spread out below the back terrace of the house.
Eduardo and Monika offered us a welcoming drink of a fine Barbera produced from the vineyard; and Eduardo took us upstairs. The window shutters of the bedroom, open to welcome us, framed a breathtaking view of the surrounding hills and the vineyards below. In the center of the room was a large, wrought iron bed, diminished by an enormous, white, feather comforter and several pillows. Katherine quickly hinted to Eduardo that I, Renato, would require my own room since, after all, we were only friends. Eduardo's embarrassment showed visibly. He invited Katherine to make herself comfortable and rest before dinner, and guided me out of the room. In the corridor, he whispered into my ear: "We have twelve guests in the house. All we have left is a small daybed in the pantry next to the kitchen, but it's very cold, the pantry is not heated. What do you think?"
I shrugged my shoulders and explained to him that I had no other choice - "You can't imagine all the trials I have already gone through with Katherine. I'm happy if I don't have to spend the night outdoors. I wouldn't put that past her either!"
We all met in the living room for an aperitif before dinner. My heart leapt when I saw Katherine entering the room in long, white silk pyjamas. She was particularly beautiful in the soft lamplight. Eduardo whispered to me: "Now I know why you love this woman. She may be difficult, but she is stunning, she is extraordinary!" Katherine was taking my arm and chatting softly with everyone around us in her charming broken Italian. I decided that the pantry room might be worth it after all, in the long run, but I didn't bet myself any odds on success with Katherine this weekend.
During the evening meal, a professor of tartuffi lectured to the guests. Each course was either tartuffo or al tartuffo. After the fourth course, Katherine announced in an acid voice: "This is too much of a good thing - and the aroma will be with me forever, I think!" She held up the menu card, pointing out that the next ten courses didn't hold any relief from her plight!
I felt rather sick. Now this as well. You really can't do anything right for this woman, I thought. "What now? Should we go?" I asked with a sigh.
"Haven't you any manners? We can't just leave. What would your friends and the other guests think!" she hissed back.
I did, indeed, spend the night in the pantry, on the stone floor, battling the mosquitoes, and the icy air seeping through the cracks in the wooden beams, while Katherine luxuriated upstairs. On Monday morning, despite the pleasures of a weekend with friends in idyllic surroundings, I was pleased to be able to return to the relative comfort of my Sarajevo apartment.