Brennero Trenazzi was called “Treasure” because it was the most frequent word he used. For example, Devid’s dog was called a treasure as some experts had offered money buy to it, which he refused because with his old age pension and inheritance he had plenty of money already.
His motor tricycle Hercules was a treasure too, because it is only manufactured in a few factories. His little grandson’s father was an engineer, sauntering around America and Russia designing rivers or lakes – or something – and maybe he will get some treasures too. Let’s just say, that everything in nature that for any reason entered the personal sphere of Brennero automatically became a treasure: from the multi-function screwdriver to the compressor, to the hearing aid, to the chair in the barber shop in which Liverio Lamonaca was sitting, to some friends and relatives whom no one had ever seen but who were all wealth holders. Brennero is 140cm tall, with a face that’s looks as if it had miraculously escaped from misfortune, except for the hearing problem. He looks sideways, facing the 10 o’clock direction, his face flushed due to the ever-handy wine bottle.
Agnes is not local, she was one of the group of ten that came from Abruzzo Citeriore. They were brought here in an ex-military car, led by an importer who brought the destined wives to the hopeless men who couldn’t find wives by themselves. One year, he came back and forth 20 times, but brought back very little. After that year he has been not seen. It was in this way that Agnes was married to Brennero.
The story I told in a soft voice is like a thorn in my flesh, but Brennero will not tell it. The only thing he will say is that Agnes is a treasure, but will never mention the trading price. To see Agnes and Brennero alone it is difficult to imagine them as a couple, in a spiritual and technical sense, in the procreative sense. The fact that none of the daughters resembled Brennero – apart from the red hair, but Agnes also has red hair – aroused much talk. These unfounded rumours sparked some moderate jealousies; I say moderate because everything in Bruglio di Brembio is moderate. When the whole family rode around the city on the motor tricycle the rumours would swirl. Look there, they would say, there goes Treasure’s girls and that little bastard. It was only moderate envy because in actual fact what we saw was a happy family: Brennero holding the handlebars of Hercules with a master’s authoritative look, Agnes holding his grandson close, and the four daughters in the back carriage.