By George Savino
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It’s hard sometimes to impress Europeans with the natural beauty and cultural sophistication of the Chicago area, but Ravinia and the CSO are an impressive combination. And I’d promised that people really listen to the music instead of yammering the whole time, that it’s even enforced–sentries walk around the park wielding signs that read, “Silence, please.” That amused Bianco.
We got there early enough to find space on the lawn near the pavilion. It was a perfect night–high clouds in a clear sky, a gorgeous sunset, a cool breeze rustling through the elm trees.
“Yes, I think so.”
I realized she probably couldn’t understand him, or perhaps she was wary. “Take it,” I said. “Water, for your son. It’s unopened.”
“Darling,” she said, turning to her husband, “he’s from Torino!” Then she said to Bianco, “Where is Torino? My husband speaks French. Parlez-vous francais?”
It was Bianco’s turn to stare and blink.
