Singles Going Steady: Puccini's "Nessun Dorma"

Fibonacci's dad gave him a watch for Christmas. A very fancy antique watch, that Fibonacci's dad had engraved with a lovely, sentimental message about our wedding. It's a beautiful watch and deserved better than the cheap metal band that someone put on it some years before, so we went to Evanston to find a jeweler to replace the band.

The first place we went was all wrong: Full of gaudy-looking but expensive necklaces and rings. It smelled heavily of incense and cheap cologne. The guy wanted to put a yellow, faux-Ostrich band on the watch, which, along with his plum-colored polyester tracksuit, was also all wrong. We left.

The second place we went was a total time warp. As evidenced by the style of jewelry in the and the thin layer of dust covering some of the cases, it didn't look as though it got much traffic. It was way Spartan in décor, and on every available flat surface there were handwritten notes along the lines of:

Please Be Patient! When It Is Your Turn, You Will Get THE SAME EXCELLENT SERVICE AS THE PEOPLE AHEAD OF YOU. Thanks. Mgmt. May 1975

CASH AND CARRY—ONLY. NO Credit Cards. Thanks.

As Of Today, We Will NO LONGER Provide Free Appraisals Of Items NOT PURCHASED IN OUR STORE. It Takes Valuable TIME To Examine Jewelry AND WE CANNOT AFFORD To Offer This Service For FREE. YOU Would Not Give An HOUR OF YOUR TIME FREE To Your Employer, Would You? Thanks. Mgmt. June 1980

It was perfect. And I was glad I'd read that first sign first because sure enough, there was another couple there—looking for wedding bands—and the jeweler, a cute grandpa type, with a bowtie, didn't say anything to us beyond "Hello" for the first 15 minutes we were inside. I didn't mind; there were plenty of things to look at. Old ID bracelets just aching to be on the wrist of Johnny Jock, Anytown, USA, High School Quarterback of the Year, 1955. Delicate silver crosses destined for some young girl's First Communion, circa 1968. "Mother's Rings," with an assortment of birthstones from which to choose to commemorate a first or third or sixth child. An endless assortment of things to engrave—key fobs, coins, charms, pins, pendants, and so on.

And, fittingly, the local classical music station was playing fuzzily in the background. I recognized "Nessun Dorma" from Puccini's Turandot straightaway, as it's one of my most favorite arias ever in the world, period, no question. It's just spectacular. This wasn't the Pavarotti version, which was nice, because usually when you hear "Nessun Dorma," it's all him, all the time. I think it may have been Corelli, but I'm not sure. Whoever it is, it blows my mind every time. I was happily humming along—it's difficult for me not to bust out singing—when the jeweler, having completed a successful sale with the other couple, came over to us and asked what we needed. Fibonacci handed him the watch box and the jeweler inspected it with his loupe, adjusting and readjusting it, and then said, "Wow! This is the real thing! Where did you get it?" Fibonacci explained where it came from, why his dad had given it to him for Christmas. The jeweler whistled, "Well, you've got a heck of a dad!" (which is true, as Fibonacci's dad is one of the best people on the planet) and set about helping Fibonacci pick out just the right band.

The jeweler, Mr. A, went to work hammering and fixing and chatted with us. He asked if Fibonacci's dad had been in the service. He had been in the reserves, Fibonacci told him. Mr. A said he'd been in World War II. I asked him where he was stationed and he got quiet for a minute. I feared that I'd put my foot in my mouth, guessing that, like a lot of people who'd been in the war, he didn't necessarily want to talk about it. Mr. A said, "No, it's okay. I can talk about it now," and proceeded to tell us these amazing tales of the war and his travels, adventures, sorrows, triumphs, and injuries, which he showed us: shrapnel to the knee, a mortar to the elbow, more shrapnel to the head, and another mortar to his left foot. He said, "I'm in pretty good shape, for being 87." He kept fussing with the watchband, "But a lot of my comrades, friends, they didn't come back." He turned around and hunched over his desk. "Each time we have a reunion, the lot of us gets smaller and smaller. I took care of my men, we took care of each other, like family. You don't have anyone else when you're out there, you know. That's your family." Mr. A asked if Fibonacci was in the service. He shook his head no. Mr. A said, "Well, if you ever have to go, go to the Navy." He went on, "Soldiers today, those ones in Iraq, they don't know how easy they have it. And some of them complain about having to stay over there for a year? We were there for a lot longer. A lot longer..."

Mr. A finished working and handed the watch back to Fibonacci. The band he put on it was perfect, like it had been made especially for that watch. Fibonacci isn't used to having something so nice, so he was afraid to wear it. He put it back in the box. Mr. A wrote up the receipt and asked us questions: how we met, where we were from, when we got married. We told him the whole story and he smiled at us, "That's great! You should have long life and happiness together!" Fibonacci paid him we and thanked him for his time, his stories. Mr. A said he'd enjoyed talking to us "kids," shook each of our hands and said, "You know, this is a great country. You have to take care of it. It's the best place in the whole world, all right? Take care of it."

Puccini, "Nessun Dorma," from the opera Turandot
Heard on a recent Saturday afternoon
Mr. A's jewelry shop, Evanston, Illinois