Celebration...Adults are often ambivalent about the dionysian impulse in children. But Giulia recalled one night when all reservation was cast aside and the celebration of joyous chaos and the child was complete. When Orlando was 18 months old and Sophia just conceived of, Giulia and Brett were on a tour of Sicily. They were travelling with a group: rich Milanesi, peach farmers from Verona, a Japanese diplomat based in Rome. On the New Year’s Eve between 1986 and 1987 they found themselves in Taormina. That night there was a special dinner
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at their hotel, the Perla Ionica. It was a large hotel and the dinner was splendid. Orlando was the only child present. Nearly everyone at the hotel was Italian, mostly from the south. Dark form-fitting clothes on both men and women, jewels sparkling and all the drama of a big New Year’s Eve party, streamers and balloons in abundance suspended from the ceiling.
The evening started sedately enough with aperitivi and antipasti. The full Italian meal followed. There was an orchestra. There was dancing on a glassy crowded floor. Midnight approached. It was the cathartic New Year’s celebration Giulia had been searching for all her life. Utterly excessive and unselfconscious. A hip-swaying, laughing conga line of dancers formed and snaked around the tables. Suddenly the head of the snake was at their table. Permesso [May we?], and they swept up baby Orlando in his best sailor suit, with his bib on, and sucking his dummy (which he called didi) in an ever-faster rhythm. Orlando was placed on someone’s shoulders and carried off in triumph. They put a wreath around his head. He was Christian and pagan, the Child, the New Year, Christmas, Baby Jesus, their children, hope, the principle of new life. Il Bambino, il Bambino ... [The Child! The Child!] they all chanted. Round and round they danced, ever faster. At midnight the noise became even more deafening and there was a key-change to a higher, more intense emotional pitch. Everyone embraced and kissed. The streamers and balloons were released onto the crowd. The musicians carried on wildly. Eventually, a wide-eyed Orlando was delivered back to his parents. Fireworks were announced. Giulia and Brett made their way back to their room with Orlando. From the darkened, heated interior they looked out at the exploding fireworks: flowers, cartwheels, stars, fireflies, pulsating waratahs.
Orlando, who had been standing in his cot, dressed now in his striped sleeping suit, suddenly remembered something: Didi? Didi? Where didi? Giulia and Brett looked at each other. This was the first night of his life that Orlando did not have his dummy. Giulia hurried back to the dining room. It was after 2 am. Swarthy, white-faced waiters were clearing up. In her best Italian she explained what she was looking for. They understood but could only shrug their shoulders, look at her curiously and point to the metre deep carpet of streamers. Back to the room. There was nothing for it but to explain the situation to Orlando as tactfully as they could. He listened carefully. He did not cry. He just looked very sad, which was harder to cope with than tears. The former Prince of the Revels turned the corners of his mouth down and accepted forlornly: Didi d...on. [Dummy gone]
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The evening started sedately enough with aperitivi and antipasti. The full Italian meal followed. There was an orchestra. There was dancing on a glassy crowded floor. Midnight approached. It was the cathartic New Year’s celebration Giulia had been searching for all her life. Utterly excessive and unselfconscious. A hip-swaying, laughing conga line of dancers formed and snaked around the tables. Suddenly the head of the snake was at their table. Permesso [May we?], and they swept up baby Orlando in his best sailor suit, with his bib on, and sucking his dummy (which he called didi) in an ever-faster rhythm. Orlando was placed on someone’s shoulders and carried off in triumph. They put a wreath around his head. He was Christian and pagan, the Child, the New Year, Christmas, Baby Jesus, their children, hope, the principle of new life. Il Bambino, il Bambino ... [The Child! The Child!] they all chanted. Round and round they danced, ever faster. At midnight the noise became even more deafening and there was a key-change to a higher, more intense emotional pitch. Everyone embraced and kissed. The streamers and balloons were released onto the crowd. The musicians carried on wildly. Eventually, a wide-eyed Orlando was delivered back to his parents. Fireworks were announced. Giulia and Brett made their way back to their room with Orlando. From the darkened, heated interior they looked out at the exploding fireworks: flowers, cartwheels, stars, fireflies, pulsating waratahs.
Orlando, who had been standing in his cot, dressed now in his striped sleeping suit, suddenly remembered something: Didi? Didi? Where didi? Giulia and Brett looked at each other. This was the first night of his life that Orlando did not have his dummy. Giulia hurried back to the dining room. It was after 2 am. Swarthy, white-faced waiters were clearing up. In her best Italian she explained what she was looking for. They understood but could only shrug their shoulders, look at her curiously and point to the metre deep carpet of streamers. Back to the room. There was nothing for it but to explain the situation to Orlando as tactfully as they could. He listened carefully. He did not cry. He just looked very sad, which was harder to cope with than tears. The former Prince of the Revels turned the corners of his mouth down and accepted forlornly: Didi d...on. [Dummy gone]
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