The carnival at grandfather's house

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Clutching the letter I had received only 2 weeks prior, I paused outside Nonno Montresor’s my palazzo. My fingers traced the scrawled ink of a letter from my grandfather. His shaky handwriting indicated that with time he was growing weak, and I knew that I had made the right decision to see him. I reread his request, “I perceive your university closes for the holiday and it would be of great pleasure if you could come see me” hoping this would not be the last time I would see him. My grandfather had always been introvert, reserved and modest with no desires. He had been helping with my education since I lost my father when I was still very young. He had a bizarre sense of nature. I could recall numerous times when he woke up abruptly at the middle of the night with a loud sound of cry only to stare at the vacant wall for several hours. Upon asked what the matter was, he simply would reply, “Nothing, really. Frances, would you mind getting me a glass of Oloroso?” He was a connoisseur of wines. I shuffled the letter into my left hand: my forefinger pinning the envelope, the bottle my hand already held. Using my right hand, I delicately knocked on the faded yellow door, recalling myself as a young boy who barged right in. After several moments, my grandfather swung the door open, ushering me inside. Francesco: Nonno, you look very pale, are you sure you wish to see me today? Perhaps I could come when you have gained some strength. Montresor: (firmly) I am fine. (Calmer) It is nice to see you Francesco. Tell me, how are your studies? Francesco: I am quite fond of Bologna. I have made many acquaintances there. Please excuse my heavy eyelids, grandfather. The city is indulged at the annexation by kingdom of Sardinia. Everybody is ... ... middle of paper ... ...unato, were you able to live a life in peace? Montresor: I could not have lived better dear! Francesco: I too have someone who belittles me. And I wish to continue my studies without the disruptions. A series of coughs overtake Montresor’s breath. Montresor notices blood on the tissue he coughed into. After several minutes, Montresor recovers his breath and is able to speak hoarsely. Montresor: Now, let us drink to Fortunato’s misfortune. I looked at my grandfather and decided I would ask no more questions. He has, I remarked, lived a peaceful life. Despite his actions, he, unlike many others, has lived a life of happiness. I look at the smile his sagging skin suggests, and realize that I too want to live a happy life. Just like Nonno, I shall eliminate the enemy and give his advice to my first or second generation of children. This man, I thought, is never wrong.

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