BOOK 1

AROUND TOWN

HISTORY OF BISCHERO

          There is an Irish proverb that says, “You must know where you come from to know who you are.” During medieval times in the year 1498, Bischero (Bee ska row) was born without a name in an enchanted land, where hounds were kings and horses queens. It was a place where no one died but passed onto the Other World, a place of shape-shifters and song writers. The Land of the Druids is where he was born, and at that time the druids were the most powerful people in the land. They served the community and administered justice. Some were doctors and lawyers, while others were craftsmen and peacemakers. The musicians were called Bards and traveled over the countryside singing the tales of ancient Celtic clans. Their history was told in the lyrics, and epic sagas were woven into song. They sang of how a people of old came to an emerald isle. The music they played, and the songs they sang nurtured and made sacred her soil. Today she is called Ireland. It is from these ancient folk, from so long ago, that Bischero descended.

        Bischero’s family was very noble, and they were embarrassed to have such a funny looking babe. He was small, wrinkled, and red, and for this reason they would not give him a name. By the time the babe was four years old he was still unable to speak, but he had grown into a very handsome child indeed. He had blond hair, and soft brown eyes that sparkled with a touch of gold and green that warmed a body’s heart just to look at them. The druid couple loved their child deeply, but could not find a way to make him talk so they sent him to live with an old friend of the family who resided in Florence, Italy, for he had special abilities.

          The day the child left Ireland he was dressed in the finest clothes made of golden threads. His mother gave him a sack of food, and a fresh round loaf of hot bread that she had just removed from the hearth. As he held it in his arms it warmed his small body against the chill of the ocean breeze. His father added some goat cheese and a bottle of warm fresh milk that came straight from the cow’s utter. Then sadly his parents handed Bischero over to the ship’s captain.   The captain was given strict instructions on how to care for the child, and was handed a small map that marked the way to the house of their friend Giuseppe. A bag of gold was placed into the palm of the sturdy sea captain, and the druids hugged their child for the last time as they said a tearful good-bye.

        Four nights later the ship arrived in Florence by way of the Arno River. The child was cradled and sleeping in the arms of the sea captain when he was delivered to his new home, unaware that he had arrived. When he awoke in the morning, he found himself in a warm bed with a cozy fire to greet him. The glowing embers popped and crackled a welcoming tune. Groggy and lost in sleep, it took a few moments for the child to realize that he was no longer aboard the ship. He was alone and frightened. He did not know where he was, but when his stomach growled from emptiness, he knew he was hungry.

        His hunger grew. It fed his courage, and aroused his curiosity. He slid down the side of the bed and stretched his toes long until they brushed the ground. When he was sure that he would not fall, he let go of the covers and firmly landed on both feet. The cold from the wooden floor touched against his bare skin and made him shiver. Quickly he looked around until he found a door. He had to stretch up high to reach the handle and he could barely get a finger hold on it. Down went the handle, and slowly he opened the door. Just a crack, to see the room on the other side, and then the door sprang open. The child saw nothing, and the next instant a fuzzy little cat pressed through the opening and spiraled around his feet.

              “Miscia (Me sha), Miscia (Me sha),” a man called in a soft voice.

        Following the source of the voice, the boy looked up and found himself face to face with an old man. He was stunned from the sudden shock of meeting the man’s gaze, and he could not move. The tension eased from the boy as he realized that he was staring into the kindest face he had ever seen. Like a clear diamond, the old man’s eyes twinkled with sparkling bits of blue. He had crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and a stubbly beard. He had lots of hair for an old man, too. It was white and fell into deep waves from the top of his head and stopped at his shoulders. He chuckled and smiled at the half sleepy little boy who had one eye opened and one eye closed, and whose hair was sticking straight up on top. The old man was filled with the kind of joy you experience when you wake up on Christmas morn and discover the wonderful presents Santa has brought just for you. In a stream of flowing melody, the old man began to speak in a strange language that the boy had never heard. It had a musical rhythm that enchanted him, and as time passed from days to weeks, and weeks to months, the boy was able to understand that this man was called Giuseppe Lorenzini (Ju zep pay Lauren zee knee).

      Those next few months were very hard on the boy because he had to learn to eat new foods that tasted spicy and tickled his tongue. Learning to eat spaghetti was particularly hard. Giuseppe had fun teaching Bischero how to twirl his spaghetti around a fork. Every time Bischero tried to lift the fork to his mouth, the ball of spaghetti would plop down onto his plate. He thought he would go hungry before he would ever learn how to get it into his mouth. He finally gave up and forked some long pieces into his mouth and sucked them in like giant worms. The tomato sauce went flying in every direction. Some flew over and hit Giuseppe on the nose, and some sprayed across the table and landed on Miscia’s furry face. She blinked and shook her head; she did not know what had hit her. Each time Bischero would suck down another noodle he and Giuseppe would laugh so hard that it took them an hour to eat their dinner. When Bischero was finished, he had tomato sauce all over his face and down the front of his shirt. Giuseppe understood how difficult it was to learn to eat spaghetti properly. Sometimes he would make macaroni for Bischero so that he could eat with a spoon. In time, Bischero learned how to spin his spaghetti to just the right size and just the right shape so that he could pop it into his mouth without a splash. But, he still liked to suck down a long string of spaghetti and lick off the sauce and Parmesan cheese mixture that gathered in a circle around his lips. It was fun! He was learning to be a real Italian!

      As the months passed and a year went by, Bischero became captivated with the Italian language and the music that lived in the rhythm of the people’s words. However, he still could not speak, nor could he understand all the words of this strange new language. For this reason the other children called him Bischero, which means “fool” in Florentine dialect, and that is how he got his name. Of course Bischero did not know what his name meant, but he was simply happy to have friends to play with, and proud to finally have a real name.

        One day, Bischero was feeling sad because he missed his mother and father. They were getting harder to remember. Their faces were blurred in his memory. He could not get them to shape clearly in his mind so that he could see their eyes, or their faces smile. It was hard to remember his old home. Then he would think of Giuseppe. Giuseppe made Bischero happy, and it seemed as though Giuseppe had loved him always. Bischero was adjusting slowly, and he was beginning to feel really happy in this new land. His parents promised him that they would be together again, so he tried to be brave and he dried his tears.

          Later that night Giuseppe had a surprise birthday party for him. He did not know how old he was, or what a birthday party was all about. Giuseppe invited all the neighbor children to their house for a spaghetti dinner, Bischero’s favorite, and the children brought him presents. It was December 15^th. Bischero was five years old and excited to learn the day of his birth, but he was more eager to experience his first birthday party. He was so happy that he did not know what to do, and so he tried to talk. When he opened his mouth to try and say “thank you” to his Papa, words sprang out like musical notes. “Grazie mille, Papa!” (Graw zee A mee lay, Pa pa!”) Everyone cheered, and then they sang “Happy Birthday” to Bischero:

“Tanti auguri a te,

(“Tawn tee ow gu ry aa tay,)

Tanti auguri a te,

Tanti auguri,

Tanti auguri,

Tanti auguri a te.”

          Janet Grace Milone (1958- ) was born in Inglewood, California, to the son of Sicilian immigrants, and to the daughter of a West Virginia coal miner. Her mother was of German and Irish decent, which inspired her to study Celtic folklore, as well as her concentration in Italian literature. While earning her degree in Comparative Literature, she lived in Florence, Italy for three and half years, and studied at the Università degli Studi di Firenze. Her proudest achievement is being mother to her two sons, Joshua and Zachari.

         While living, and studying in Florence, Italy, travelers would often ask, “What is there to see?  How do you distinguish one old city from the next?  My children are bored!”  My response was to ask, “How long will you be staying in Florence?”  The average answer was one to three days.  These questions circled in my thoughts like a blender for some time.     

         While walking through the streets of Florence, I kept seeing Pinocchios of all sizes throughout the city.  Everyone loves Pinocchio, and so I thought how wonderful it would be to have him as a tour guide during the Renaisssance.  Florence was home to Carlo (Lorenzini) Collodi for many years.  He created the children’s novel The Adventures of Pinocchio, and he is buried high on the hill at the church of San Miniato that overlooks the beautiful city of Florence.  As an homage to Pinocchio, I created his cousin Bischero!  Now the traveler can find the answers to their questions, and much much more!

          Bischero is for parent and child.  Historical facts, art, science, and much more are woven into each story.  Learn a little Italian, and follow his adventures city by city in a travel series and guide for the family by way of storytelling.  Experience the Renaissance through the eyes of a druid child.  Discover how he came from Galway, Ireland to Florence, Italy.  His only way home is with the help of Pasquale and Leonardo da Vinci, his foster father.