Home Buying: An Insider’s Guide - Turning Tuscan: A Step-by-Step Guide to Going Native - page 30

Havingsatquietlyandmeeklythroughouttheentire,incomprehensible, excruciatingly bor-
ing reading of the contract, I was suddenly seized by an uncontrollable perverse impulse to
exact my revenge.
“I'm not sure”, I replied. “Could we read it all one more time?”
I managed to say it with a straight face, and I have to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed
watching everyone grow pale. Then I looked directly at the notary and cracked a mischiev-
ous smile. He looked at me for a moment as if I were an escapee from the local madhouse,
then he realized I was pulling his leg. He smiled and chuckled. Next, as if from a film scene
ofAlCapone andhiscronies, thechuckles rippled outwardand,onebyone,theothersstar-
ted to laugh, tentatively at first, then with hearty abandon. The mortal threat to their lunch
hour had passed; the American had just been messing with them.
In Tuscany, the expression commonly used for teasing someone lightly is prendere in giro ,
roughly equivalent to the English expression “to pull someone's leg”. Somewhat heavier,
and suggesting the possibility of serious annoyance is mi rompe i coglioni (“he's busting
my balls”) and the euphemistic version, mi rompe le scattole (“he's busting my boxes”).
Sicilian dialect apparently has its own equivalent in the phrase, non mi scassare i cabbas-
isi , which translates into English as “Don't wreck my capers!” (We learned this last winter
from watching the marvelous TV detective show, Montalbano , which is set in Sicily. God
only knows what they say in Piemonte or the Veneto or in Puglia; someday we may find
out.)
At the bank we finished signing papers, and I felt that I had acquitted myself admirably
after a shaky beginning. There's a certain chemistry that takes place when you show that
you can give, as well as take, a certain amount of ribbing. This kind of banter and teasing is
a deep and essential part of the fabric of daily life in Tuscany. Having grown up in Newark,
New Jersey, where we always insulted our best friends and called each other, “shithead”,
affectionately, I have adapted to this style of relating quite easily. Come to think of it, it's
quite possible that we all learned it back in Newark from the handful of adventurous souls
who had made friends among the Italians and imitated their style. We certainly didn't learn
it from our parents or in Hebrew School.
***
Pam and I drove back to Montesantini feeling elated. Buying our own place in Tuscany felt
like a major triumph. Occasionally, however, a nagging inner voice would quietly creep in
to ask us if we were totally nuts. We were now committed to paying a second mortgage and
maintaining a home in a foreign country six thousand miles away while running a business