I believed that my nonna had powers. In her hometown of Millesimo, nestled in the mountainous interior of Liguria, she was known as “La Bersagliera.”

There is a corps in the Italian army called “I Bersaglieri,” a high-mobility light infantry unit. Unlike the rest of the army divisions, they jog at a fast pace instead of marching. They are skilled marksmen and wear combat helmets decorated with long black feathers. With the same stamina of the Bersaglieri my nonna did not just walk places, she took each step with a purpose, rigorous and determined to get to her destination as a conqueror.

I went everywhere with her. I trailed behind like a duckling. She took me to the local market, to her special olive orchard at the very top of the hill behind her stone house, where we stocked up for the entire year’s supply of olive oil. She also took me to church on Sundays, to picnics along the Bormida riverbanks as we watched the water rush before us as we ate bread and caciotta cheese. She kept our food in a white crocheted bag that had a gold latch that snapped shut with a loud clack. I sat across from her in anticipation. Each time she opened it she pulled out a new delicacy like a magician pulls a white bunny out of his top hat with the same look of I bet you didn’t expect this to come out, did you?

On one particular day she just couldn’t contain her excitement. Before I could even finish my lunch she told me to close my eyes and open a small package she held out in front of me. I pulled on a string and the thin manila paper separated to reveal four Baci di Dama for us to share, four hazelnut sandwich cookies filled with dollops of rich dark chocolate that held the halves together. I held one between my fingers and inspected it closely. It was as light as a butterfly and as delicate as a lady’s kiss. I put the entire cookie in my mouth and savored every burst of sweetness that exuded from that little piece of heaven. I felt the sugar rush travel from the top of my head to my toes. After she finished her two, I asked her if I could save the last one for later and she agreed, so I carefully wrapped it and put it in my pocket. I opened my arms as wide as I could and put them around my nonna’s waist. My hands never reached all the way around her body no matter how much I squeezed. I felt my face press against her bosom, soft and billowy, like a feathered pillow, and listened to the sound of her voice reverberate through her body like a drum. When I sat on her aproned lap the world stopped turning and time suspended its ticking. I floated in a bubble of freedom and abandonment. I was safe, and if I could have bottled her sweet smell I would have carried it around with me forever.