““Is there somewhere Maria could go?” I ask in a very small voice. “Maybe”--I have a flash of inspiration--“maybe a nunnery?” Luca’s face goes blank. I have to explain “nunnery” to him, and that involves hand-waving as I describe the black clothes and white headdress, so I have to retrieve my hands, for which, on balance, I’m very grateful. When he finally gets it, he laughs, throwing back his head; he stands up and props his bottom against the edge of the bench, looking down at me with a great amusement in his eyes; Luca never stands when he can lean. “ Povere suore ,” he says, smiling. “Poor nuns. Maria would try to rule them too.””
