Mauro and the Twins

(A short story to usher in ice-cream season in the Northern Hemisphere.)

“I couldn’t reach Mauro! His mother picked up the phone! It was lying in his bed! Under the blankets!” squealed Sylvia. “What now?” Dr Benedetti’s heart sank when he heard his secretary’s words. He covered the mouthpiece and gruffly cursed himself for his stupidity, Mauro for his negligence, and the Dutch for their punctuality.

His wife had phoned from Amsterdam, surprising him with the news that she was about to board the flight to Venice. She had missed the twins terribly and had decided to cut short her visit to her sister in Los Angeles. She would walk through the door of the apartment in two and a half hours. Dr Benedetti had precious little time to find the twins.

They had spent the past three days hanging around the house as Dr Benedetti tried to work on his paper for the conference. During those days, the doctor had discovered that his children had a great talent for finding pastimes that involved a lot of noise and movement. Strangely, this did not stop them bursting into his room every ten minutes to tell him they were bored. Eventually, the doctor could take no more. The twins had ruined dinner at his favourite restaurant on the Lista di Spagna and when he had eventually managed to get them to bed, the doctor had called Sylvia and poured out his tale of woe.

“I will send Mauro,” said his secretary. “He is very good with children.”

Dr Benedetti checked his watch. Mauro, Sylvia’s nephew, had picked up the twins an hour before. He had a sullen look about him, as if he was always just waking up, but a mischievous smile had spread across his face as Dr Benedetti whispered his instructions and handed over the list and cash. “Cool plan,” drawled Mauro. “The boat is moored nearby. See you later.”

The twins had accompanied Mauro without question. Like most ten-year-olds they were easily impressed by cool cats of a certain age, and they had been excited about the boat trip.

Time was ticking away. Dr Benedetti had already wasted twenty minutes calling Sylvia and waiting for her to return his call. He needed to locate the children, and fast. They would have left Alaska by now, concluded the doctor. Unless they had started at Ca’ D’Oro. It was only a short distance from the Calle Larga dei Bari to the Strada Nova. The doctor cursed himself for not making a copy of the list he had given Mauro.

“Dottore?” asked Sylvia.
“Is your computer on?” asked the doctor.
“Of course. Why?”
“I need phone numbers for Al Todaro on Sestiere San Marco, Paolin on Campo Santo Stefano, Nico on Zattere in Dorsoduro…” rattled the doctor, wracking his brain for the last two. “Of course! Il Doge on Campo Santa Margherita and…”
“Not so fast, not so fast!” squealed Sylvia.
“And Millevoglie Di Carolo Tarcisio on Sestiere San Polo!” sighed the doctor.

Once Sylvia had gathered all the phone numbers, they split the list and started making calls. As he dialled the first number, Dr Benedetti quietly hoped that Mauro had followed his instructions and allowed the twins only one scoop at each gelateria.