Vittorio, who was a medical student, was what the Italians call a mammone. He lived at home with his mother and aunt.
One day, Vittorio, who had been studying all night, overslept. “Mama,” he said, calling his mother from his bed. “I am sick. I cannot go to university today.”
“That poor boy, he works so hard,” exclaimed his mother. She was still talking to her neighbour on the stairwell when she saw the nurse who lived in the flat above theirs.
The nurse was already on her way to work and dressed in her nurse’s uniform. She leaned over Vittorio’s bed and felt his forehead. She turned to his mother. “Non si preoccupa,” she said. “Suo figlio non muore. Ha la febbre.” “Don’t worry, Signora. Your son is not dying. He has a fever.”
The following day, having purchased some pipes from the local hardware store, Vittorio found some old lenses in a box full of trinkets belonging to his aunt. From these unpromising elements, Vittorio, who had always dreamed of becoming a boffin, fashioned a periscope, which he would soon be able to put to the test from his bedroom window.
After a night of intense anatomical study, Vittorio woke to hear the nurse in the hall talking to his mother. “Non si preoccupa, Signora,” said the nurse. “Sua sorella non muore. Ha la febbre.” “Don’t worry, Signora. Your sister isn’t dying. She has a fever.”
The front door closed. He heard his mother calling him. “Vittorio, are you up? The coffee is on the table.”
“Yes, mama, I am coming!”
When Vittorio pulled on his v-neck, he saw the note that had been slipped under his door. “Meet me at the bottom of Sea Road,” he read. “Don’t forget to bring your periscope.”
*
“It is not a question I have ever contemplated, but would you ask someone out if they had just put a periscope through your floorboards?”
“I’d be rather impressed by his ingenuity.”
“But would you ask him on a date?”
“He’s a teenage boy. Besides, teenage boys cannot handle their periscopes.”
“Mabel, I think that is about all they can handle.”