The short story this month has its roots in my past in East Africa. I grew up in Kenya and my father often drove us down the escarpment of the Rift Valley to the small town of Naivasha, passing the little Italian church. Sometimes we stopped and visited the cool interior, the solid walls keeping out the equatorial heat. I have a photo of a younger self, sitting on the stone steps clutching my teddybear.
Many Italian prisoners of war remained in East Africa after World War II and settled on the land. I would like to think that the fictitious Captain Malatesta was one of those and that Emilio got to climb Mt Kenya with Peter.