My brother Pasqualli always gave them to his favorite, Aunt Alda. She was the roundest of Mama’s sisters. Always feeding him and pinching his cheeks... They had been gathered from the garden and stored in a room next to the wine made by Papa. He enjoyed making—and tasting—the family’s wine. He especially enjoyed watching his children step on the grapes after the harvest, all covered in purple juice, it usually found its way into our hair and clothes. Mama always complained, and he would just. She had slid all the way across the bed, huddling under the covers."I think you are," I replied, grabbing him by the long hair he was so proud of and dragging him off the bed to his hands and knees. He moaned and cursed as I dragged him along, still on his hands and knees, until we got to the door, kicking him through it to sprawl naked on the floor. I then shut and locked the door. He'd have a bruise or two on his ass tomorrow, I hoped. His room was three floors down. It took him about fifteen. More

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