Memories of a Winter Morning in Modena
“Grandpa, grandpa, can you buy me Topolino?”
It’s a biting winter day of 1996. The sun shyly lights up my face—the face of a six-year-old boy.
In front of the historic Panini newsstand, right in the heart of Corso Duomo, I tug at my grandfather Italo’s heavy charcoal-colored coat with one hand, and with the other, I point at the wall of comic books, triggering the laughter of the newsstand owner: “That’ll be 2,800 lire!”
What joy—I loved Topolino! I don’t think I ever held anything else to my chest with such affection.
Guided by my grandfather’s knowing hand, we move a few meters down, stopping in front of the imposing façade of the Cathedral.
“Emmanuele, do you see those two big lions there, the ones holding up the columns with their strength? Well, they know whether you’ve been good or bad,” he says with a smile. “How was this week?” I open my mouth as wide as I can, making sure Grandpa hears me clearly: “Very good!”
“Well then, in that case, you may ride them!”
He lifts me up effortlessly and places me on the back of one of the two lions. The marble is freezing cold—I feel like I’m turning to ice—so I instinctively hug the column, pressing my cheek against it. My eyes look forward, admiring the Christmas lights already in place, ready to welcome the season.
Women wrapped in soft furs hurry past, chatting excitedly about who knows what. A trolleybus screeches its cables overhead. Grandpa Italo turns to greet a couple of friends riding tall, slim bikes with classic curves. He was always chatting with someone, Grandpa! It felt like he knew everyone in the city center. “Grandpa, I’m cold—can we go now?!”
We walk along the perimeter of the Duomo, down Calle dei Campionesi, opening onto Piazza Grande, the heart of Modena. I hop from cobblestone to cobblestone, trying not to step on the cracks. Patiently, Grandpa holds my hand, matching my rhythm, always smiling. How do grandparents have so much patience? Even today, I still can’t understand it.
My hopping stops when Grandpa encourages me to follow his pointing finger upward. I have to tilt my head all the way back to find the top of the Ghirlandina, the tallest bell tower in the city. “What do you notice, Emmanuele? What’s unusual about our tower?”
“It’s all white!” I say. Grandpa laughs: “Come, let me show you something.”
We move closer to the corner of the portico. He places both of his wise hands on my shoulders, positioning me next to a column, facing the Ghirlandina. “Now look—first at the column, then at the tower.” I squint, comparing the lines of the tower with the straight column.
“It’s leaning! The Ghirlandina is falling over!” I exclaim, thrilled with my discovery.
Every time Grandpa takes me on a walk through the city center, he helps me discover something new. Every time, it’s a different adventure—perhaps because Modena really is full of stories and wonders. So many peoples have lived here, after all! As we walk along Via Emilia, Grandpa tells me how the road was built thousands of years ago by the Romans. “Were the Romans really that clever, Grandpa?”
“Very clever—but also a little mean, because before them, the Etruscans lived here.” What strange names, I think to myself.
My head swings from side to side as my eyes try to capture every movement, every gesture, every color in a city that feels busy, festive, alive. Suddenly, Grandpa stops—and so do I, naturally attached to his arm like an extension of it. We’re at the intersection with Via Farini. I lean forward to glimpse the majestic lines of the Military Academy, which, on another walk, Grandpa told me used to house many famous people.
“See, Emmanuele? Right here, this is the exact center of the city. That spot—right there, in the middle of the crossing.”
“Grandpa, Grandpa! Can I jump on it?!” He laughs: “Of course—but watch out for the bikes!” I start hopping, as if pressing an invisible button hidden in the center of the city. And maybe I do press something—because a small snowflake lands gently on my nose.
Yes, Christmas is really on its way.
