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Parco delle Cascine

The Hummingbird

Parco delle Cascine is more than a Florentine landmark in the novel: it is a threshold to specialized worlds whose customs are learned through patient observation and personal introduction. At its racecourse, the teenage Marco Carrera and Duccio Chilleri study horses and place bets; decades later, a railway-modeling association near the park becomes the possible destination for Probo Carrera’s intricate creations. The two episodes give the setting a recurring association with expertise practiced out of public sight, and with communities that outsiders can reach only by finding their way in.

The Racecourse and the Young Bettors

At the Mulina racecourse in Parco delle Cascine, Duccio, still a minor, finds a place where age does not bar him from betting: the people at the entrance do not ask for identification. He skips school to spend mornings watching horses and learning the intricacies of trotting from older regulars. The racecourse is therefore a school of its own, where knowledge comes not from formal instruction but from repeated attendance and the advice of experienced bettors.

Marco increasingly joins him. The friends watch horses during morning training, return to the racing rooms in the afternoon, and come back to the Mulina for evening meets. They bet both on horses they have observed themselves and on those expected to win in combination races they have heard about. Their growing familiarity pays off: they win far more often than they lose. The park’s racing world is a practical extension of their friendship, but it also reveals a difference between them. Duccio uses gambling to break from the bourgeois future his parents have laid out; Marco joins him while keeping his other friendships, sports, and interest in girls, and conceals the activity from his family.

A Hidden World of Model Railways

Years later, Parco delle Cascine provides a point of reference in Marco’s account to Giacomo Carrera of what happened to their father’s railway models. Marco remembers that Probo had spoken, before his condition worsened, about an impressive model railway in the basement of the Dopolavoro Ferroviario, near the park and its tennis club. The recollection sends Marco back to a place he had not visited in more than forty years, looking for the people who might value the models rather than see them destroyed or treat them merely as obstacles to selling the house.

Finding the modelers proves difficult. They have no fixed meeting days or hours, and when they are absent the basement is locked; other club members know little about them. After a month of trying, Marco encounters Beppe, president of the modelers’ association, playing rummy with fellow members. At the mention of Probo, Beppe leaves the game and takes Marco into the closed basement. There he starts up a room-sized urban railway, complete with scaled buildings, streets, cars, and figures. The visit confirms that Marco has found a community capable of understanding his father’s work, though the modelers initially have not seen the pieces themselves.

The Models Find Their Keepers

When Beppe later visits the Carrera home, he is especially astonished by the model depicting the Porrettana railway’s Piteccio hairpin bend, and the association agrees to take all three models. One, which Marco’s brother had never seen, is considered suitable for the association’s school, where young people learn to build model trains. The offer gives Probo’s work a future as both a valued craft and something that can be passed on.

The transfer takes time: Beppe disappears for two months before calling to say he has found a van. When he arrives with the other members, all over fifty, they handle the models with conspicuous care and respect. They protect them with adjustable supports and bubble wrap; one large model cannot pass through the doors, so they lower it from a window on ropes. The association’s careful removal turns the park’s initially elusive modeling circle into the custodians of Probo’s life’s work. Its discretion echoes the reserve with which Probo himself had treated his craft, while the members’ reverence makes visible the recognition he rarely sought.