9/05/11 Ciccio Franco: Stone Eater

Although he remains well known in my mom’s hometown, Ciccio Franco moved to Canada a long time ago.  I haven’t seen him in years and probably wouldn’t recognize him if I passed him on the streets.  But passing him on the streets is highly unlikely; word through my parents is that he doesn’t go out much anymore.  I have few memories of him, but the ones I do have are strong.  Although my mom insists that he was a gentle giant, as a young boy under ten years old I always saw him as a menacing figure.  His head banging into the tops of doorframes, hands the size of tennis racquets, and a voice so deep I could only make out a series of basso profondo grunts when he spoke.

One memory stands as the strongest.  My mother had stopped in at Ciccio Franco’s house for coffee, my brother David and I in tow.  We were instructed to sit at the table; we didn’t need to be told to be quiet since there was a giant in the house and most certainly he would eat noisy children.  Things were running late and Ciccio Franco had not eaten yet.  He ducked as he entered the room and sat at the table on a chair that in comparison to his size looked like it came out of a dollhouse.  His wife (who my mother says has always been suspicious of other women) placed the biggest bowl of soup I had ever seen in from of the giant and gave him a ladle to use as a spoon.  At the table was an enormous piece of stale bread and the giant broke a piece off with his hands.  One at a time he alternated: ladle of soup, bite of bread, ladle of soup, bite of bread, and so on.  I distinctly remember the bread, so dry and hard that he didn’t actually chew it; it was more like he used his teeth to pulverize the bread.

The sound of the crunching rings in my ears to this day; the sight of the breadcrumbs flying across the table like shrapnel is still so vivid!  My brother and I sat there watching, mouths agape, but saying nothing…absolutely nothing.  The bowl of soup was nearly gone and the monster that ate noisy children didn’t look full.

I may have seen Ciccio Franco many times after that, but I can’t be sure; I have no recollection.  The impression left on me that day was strong enough to wipe out all other memories.