Two Gentlemen of Verona

A silent epic of youthful devotion

- A. J . CRONINI

AS WE DROVE through the foothills of the Alps, two small boys stopped us on the outskirts of Verona. They were selling wild strawberries, scarlet berries that looked delicious against the green leaves lining the wicker baskets.

“Don’t buy,” warned Luigi, our cautious driver. “You will get fruit much better in Verona. Besides, these boys …” He shrugged his shoulders to convey his disapproval of their shabby appearance.

One boy wore a worn jersey and cut-off khaki pants, the other a shortened army tunic gathered in loose folds about his skinny frame. Yet, gazing at the two little figures, with their brown skin, tangled hair and dark earnest eyes, we felt ourselves strangely attracted. My companion spoke to the boys and discovered that they were brothers. Nicola, the elder, was 13; Jacopo, who barely came up to the door handle of the car, was nearly 12. We bought their biggest basket, then set off towards town.

Verona is a lovely city, rich in history, with quiet medieval streets and splendid buildings of an exquisite pale honey colour. Romeo and Juliet are reputed to have lived there. Bombed in the recent war, it has lost its bridges, but not its gaiety or charm.

Next morning, coming out of our hotel, we drew up short. There, bent over shoeshine boxes beside the fountain in the public square, doing brisk business, were our two young friends of the previous afternoon.

We watched for a while, then, as trade slackened, we went over. They greeted us with friendly faces. “I thought you picked fruit,” I said. “We do many things, sir,” Nicola answered seriously. He glanced at us hopefully. “Often we show visitors through the town … to Juliet’s tomb and other places of interest.”