Dolci Gratis?

Ah, Halloween.  There comes an age in everyone’s lives when, despite the constant variable of costumes, the gastronomical association turns more toward libations than candy.  For Dinosaur and I, that time began with the commencement of college and has continued on through to the present.  Post college life, in the U.S., Dinosaur and I have always lived in apartment complexes not frequented by trick-or-treaters.  If we really thought about it, we would acknowledge that trick-or-treating happened, but it was not something that we witnessed or paid any mind. 

Here in Italy, it seems that most Italians know about Halloween, but only as an American holiday.  I knew that trick-or-treating was going to happen on October 31 at the base housing complex, but since we live off base, Halloween all but slipped from my mind once dinner was on the stove.

Then our buzzer rang.  When Dinosaur and I aren’t expecting anyone, the buzzer ringing is generally cause for nerves and unease.  Not because we live in a bad neighborhood or anything; quite the opposite, actually.  We live in a pleasant, friendly neighborhood, at the top of a very long, steep driveway, at the bottom of which is the gate where callers buzz the house.  When the buzzer rings, we can pick up a telephone and talk to the person at the bottom of the driveway, but 90% if the time, that person is Italian and solely Italian-speaking.  Hope as we might for a successful verbal interaction, Dinosaur’s or my response to whatever was spoken to us is inevitably, “Mi dispiaci, un momento” (“I’m sorry, one moment”), flip-flops thrown on, keys snatched, iPad grabbed, and then there’s the long trudge to the bottom of the driveway to see if a face-to-face interaction can be any more successful.

On Monday night, when I answered the buzzer phone, I heard kids on the other end, but couldn’t understand what they were saying (no surprise there).  My initial reaction was that kids were playing with our buzzer, and I didn’t want to bother putting shoes on and walking all the way down the driveway in the cold to tell them to go away.  (It should be noted though, that this scenario I fabricated in my mind has never actually happened, and since we have very nice neighbors who seem to collectively raise the few kids in the neighborhood, I cannot imagine that any of the kids would ever get away with randomly ringing our bell for fun.)  I hung up the phone, but the buzzer rang again within seconds.  “Well crap,” I figured, “I’d better just go see what’s up.” 

I pulled on a sweatshirt, shuffled into some sandals, grabbed my keys, and headed outside.  No sooner was I off the porch than I looked down the drive and saw two kids in masks outside our gate.  Trick-or-treaters!!  The first I’ve seen in over ten years!  Brightening considerably, I laughed out loud and waved my hands in a gesture that I hoped told the kids I would be right back.  As I did, I heard our neighbors’ peals of laughter from their third floor terrace.  I knew immediately that the kids at my driveway must be Jessica and a friend, and their parents were no doubt gathered together, enjoying dinner and the entertainment of whether or not the Americans would indeed pull through with free treats if kids rang their doorbell in costume.

I ran back into the house, mind racing – alas, I knew I didn’t have any candy!  Dinosaur and I love candy, and we usually have a bag of fun-sized something-or-other in the pantry, but not that day.  Fortunately, Dinosaur has a soft spot for individually-wrapped breakfasts, so I grabbed two Little Debbie coffee cakes and headed back out. 

I opened the automatic gate and the two kids met me halfway up the drive.  I noted with delight that they were wearing identical Scream masks and normal clothes.  I didn’t see the requisite grocery bags or pillow cases in their hands, so I figured I’d just hand them the cakes.  To my even greater delight though, the kids tentatively raised teeny tiny little girl’s purses to me, held open to receive their treats.  I pressed the cakes inside, and if it was not clear before, it quickly became obvious that this was our neighbor kids’ first trick-or-treating experience.  One girl pulled off her mask, revealing, as I had guessed, my vocal neighbor, Jessica.  The other girl pulled off her mask too, and I didn’t recognize her, so I assume it was a friend.  Jessica gave me the usual Italian dual-cheek kisses, and then the three of us stood there for an awkward second.  I said “Happy Halloween!” and the girls looked at me quizzically.  Jessica asked me something in Italian, and I cocked my head to the side before answering, “…si.”  (Surely her inquiry was some sort of rhetorical question in which “yes” was an appropriate answer, right?)  The girls smiled, shrugged, waved, and headed away down the driveway.  The parents cheered.