Chapter 7 Summer 7. Bento

The fun of that flat, round container called a bento is that it can be opened.Just the act of opening the bento lid can make people salivate, especially when one doesn't know what's inside, for example, when the wife prepares a new bento every morning.When the bento lid is lifted, you can see the food squeezed inside: small sausages and lentils, or boiled eggs and beets, or polenta and dried cod, just like the land and sea distributed on the globe, all Arranged in that circle, although there are not many things, it looks very nutritious and solid.The bento lid turned into a plate, so that there are two utensils for sorting food.

Marcovaldo, a small worker, quickly took a sip of the aroma of vegetables after opening the bento, and held up the knife and fork: Since he didn't go home at noon and changed his bento, his pockets were always filled with wrapped knives and forks.The first fork can wake up the dishes that have been numbed, making the food that has been curled up for hours to be as three-dimensional and attractive as it was just served.Realizing that there are not many dishes, he thought: "It's better to eat slowly", but in fact, he has already put the first few forks into his mouth hastily and greedily.

After the first mouthful, Marcovaldo felt the desolation of the cold dish, but immediately regained the joy, because in it he found the rare taste of an intimate table.Marcovaldo is now eating slowly: sitting on a bench in a boulevard near the company: since his home is far away, and returning home at noon every day is a waste of time and tram tickets, he brings his lunch with him. In the bento I bought specially, I ate in the open air, watched the pedestrians passing by, and then drank the water from the fountain.If it is a clear autumn, he will choose those places where the sun shines: the shiny red leaves falling from the treetops are his napkins; the sausage skins are fed to the wild dogs who quickly become friends; When people pass the boulevard.

As he ate, Marcovaldo thought: "Why do I enjoy my wife's cooking here, but I can't taste it at home, where every topic brings quarrels, tears, and debts?" Thinking, "Now that I remember, this is leftovers from last night." Feeling bad again, maybe because he was eating leftovers that were cold and stale, maybe because the aluminum bento box gave the food a metallic smell But what was going on in his head was: "Well, even if I eat so far away from home, the thought of Domitilla will still get in my way." Thinking about it, I realized that the bento was almost finished, and I felt that this meal was very rare and delicious again. I enthusiastically and devoutly ate the last leftovers at the bottom of the bento, the most metallic ones.Then staring at the empty, oily bento, he returned to frustration.

I packed everything and put it in my pocket, stood up, it was still early before work time, the knife and fork in the huge pocket of the jacket was clanging and knocking on the empty bento.Marcovaldo ordered a full glass of wine in a tavern, or sipped a cup of coffee in a cafe, and then went to admire the pastries in the glass window, the boxes of sweets and pralines, and he was sure that he did not really have The desire, in fact, is that he wants nothing more, watching a football game for a while to convince himself that he just wants to pass the time, not an appetite.Back on the road, the tram started to be crowded again, and it was almost time to go to work, so he left.

For some reason Marcovaldo's wife, Domitilla, bought large quantities of sausages.For three nights in a row Marcovaldo ate sausage stewed turnips.Now, the smell of those sausages, presumably dog ​​meat, scared his appetite away.As for the pale, thin radishes, they were the only vegetables Marcovaldo could never bear. At noon, it was repeated again: cold and greasy sausage stewed radish in the bento.Consistently forgetful, he opens his bento box with curiosity and eagerness, can't remember what he had for dinner last night, and then disappoints the same every day.On the fourth day, when he took a fork down and found that it was the same dish again, he stood up from the bench, holding the opened bento in one hand, and walked along the boulevard absent-mindedly.Pedestrians looked at this guy with a fork in one hand and a sausage bento in the other, seemingly unable to decide whether to take the first bite.

A child cried from the window:--Hey, you, man! Marcovaldo raised his eyes and saw a child leaning his elbows on the window sill on the mezzanine of a luxurious villa, with a plate in front of him. --Hey you!what did you eat? —Sausage and turnips. --you are so happy! — said the child. ——Hmm…—Marcovaldo answered vaguely. —Look, I have to eat fried brains... Marcovaldo glanced at the tray on the window sill containing the soft, curled brains.The nose wriggled. —Why, you don't like brains? …—Ask the child. —No, they locked me up here because I didn't want to eat it.I'm going to throw it out the window.

—Do you like sausage? —Oh, of course, like a snake? ...never had it in our house... —Then you give me your plate and I'll give you mine. --Long live! — the child was overjoyed, and handed the man the carved clay dish and the fine silver fork, and the man handed him his lunch box and tin fork. Both put their heads down and ate: the child on the window sill and Marcovaldo on the bench opposite, licking their lips and saying that they had never eaten such delicious food. Suddenly the housekeeper with the back of the hand on the hip appeared behind the child's shoulder. —Master!My goodness!what are you eating

--sausage! — said the child. —Who gave it to you? —the gentleman over there—pointing to Marcovaldo, who had stopped chewing his mouth full of brains. — Throw it away!What a smell!Throw it away! —but it's delicious... — Where is your plate?And a fork? — at the gentleman's place... — pointing again to Marcovaldo, who stopped in mid-air with the fork with the bitten brain in his hand. The housekeeper began to cry: — Thief!Thief!knife and fork! Marcovaldo stood up, took another look at the half piece of fried food, approached the window, put the plate and fork on the window sill, cast a disdainful glance at the housekeeper, then turned and backed away.Heard bentos rolling on the sidewalk, children crying, windows being impolitely slammed shut.Bending down to pick up the bento box and the lid, a bit broken; the lid doesn't close too tightly.Marcovaldo threw the things into his pockets and went back to work.