Walking in Italy
Claudio Ruggeri
Translated by Joyceline Sherwood
“Walking in Italy”
Written By Claudio Ruggeri
Copyright © 2015 Claudio Ruggeri & Cavinato Editore International, Cover Image: ©Daniel Yara (www.danielyara.wordpress.com)
All rights reserved
Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.
www.babelcube.com
Translated by Joyceline Sherwood
“Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Index
Index
Tuesday, July 27th 2010
Sunday 16th August 1992
Monday 17th of August
Tuesday 18th August
Wednesday 19th August
Thursday 20th August
27th July 2010 (evening)
Tuesday, July 27th 2010
I’ll start telling you this story not from the moment in which it began nor ended, but since the moment it’s been told me.
It was one of those Summer afternoons, and the heat was 35 degrees in the shade and nearly half the city was on vacation; I live Grottaferrata, one of those towns that are usually described in leaflets as ‘delightful town of the Roman Castles’.
Life is flowing gently in tows like mine, where you can still find many people’s workshops and families leave on Sundays for day trips.
I don’t clearly remember why, as a chronic weariness fell on me and I was assaulted by a headache, something rare happening to me, probably the fact that in that particular lapse of time I wasn’t working and I just couldn’t understand the reason of that sudden dreariness of feeling so run down, then I started to acknowledge facts and memories.
Halfway through the afternoon I realized that my cigarettes were running out, considering that in my neighborhood shops close at eight and it just wasn’t the right moment to lose too much time, so I changed my shirt and right away I got out of the house.
Usually, when I’m in a rush I avoid going to the Cafe Sport next to my home, It’s nothing to do with the guys at the bar, it’s only that normally people there sit for hours on the chairs outside in a kind of tribune-like round and it’s so easy so meet someone you know who offers you a coffee, asking you questions and involves you in debates... and then the whole situation makes you forget that at the same time you should have gone to the post office to pay off a couple of bills, and you’re in the Cafe, crossing your mind the thought of buying some bread for dinner...
My mother also knows by now, when I tell her that I’m going to the Cafe she really doesn’t wait for me for more than fifteen minutes, time remains indefinite.
When I got my cigarettes and ordered a coffee I soon spotted a copy of a rare newspaper you happen to find in those kind of Cafes.... ‘Corriere della Sera’, I was waiting for my coffee, so I sat down reading the news.
I didn’t get to the third page that I soon found out who owned the newspaper, he was an old friend of my dad, he was called Massimo and he was an Alitalia pilot who was enjoying some days on vacation finally at home.
‘Sorry, can I...’ pointing the chair, he had his own kind of way, a bit like Raimondo Vianello and Luca di Montezemolo, he could always make you smile.
‘Hi Massimo, good to see you...’ I replied.
‘I’m on vacation for a few days and...’
‘Well, aren’t you at the beach, the heat is high...’
‘Well, no...’ he said stubbornly, ‘When someone like me can spend some days on the sofa or at the bar, he sure is a lucky man...’
‘On the last flight...’ he went on, ‘It was a blow, I’m nearly 46 and I’m not that fit anymore to fly across the Ocean for 15 hours and then fly back just like that...a piece of cake...’
‘I see...’ even if it wasn’t very true all in all.
After some nice, gentle talk we started to talk about some matters a bit more engaging, the divorce just happened, the children that by now consider him a stranger and so on, in a few words all of those ‘side effects’ coming out as soon as two people decide they can’t stand each other no more and they go their own way.
He asked about me, of how I was and if I had something good going on...well, to be honest I didn’t have that much agenda, and I told him, we talked of just how the truly important thing in the end was, emphasizing that special something that makes you fall in love of a woman, it’s not about making a big impression, either may be her career advancement or a fine and attractive body or similar.
The only thing that matters never to forget her, is the heart of the matter, she could make you feel emotional.
Massimo had a laugh at such sentences we were on about, suddenly seemed to spill out from our lips in such a natural way, we could have been poets or patients in a classical position on the typical sofas of psychologists.
‘Didn’t you know the last time a woman has this hold on me?’ he said.
‘I don’t know, tell me...’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Sure! You got me curious...’
‘I was nearly your age now...’ this was the beginning of a tale dating back twenty years ago, started and ended in only a turn of a week; it was incredible , what struck me and stuck me on that chair till dinner it was his own way of telling it.
It was really hard believing that all those years had gone by, the memory was so alive...it seemed he was talking about just yesterday.
The story he told me was very fascinating even if the ending just was not the classic ‘happy end’ like a ‘finale’ in American movies, it’s a lovely tale as it’s about something that each one of us would like to live, a way to discover who you really are, what you’re really looking for ‘so far away from the madding crowd’ and clichés that just overwhelm us.
I tell you the story in same way in which it has been told me , I’ll be the narrator and I’ll try to remember everything, hoping emotions arise in you like they did in me on that Summer afternoon at the Sports bar next to my home.
Sunday 16th August 1992
‘Riiiiing....Rriiinnng’, so I woke up on a Sunday of Midaugust in 1992, it was half past five in the morning and I had to accompany my sister at Fiumicino Airport to catch the first flight to Palermo on that day.
She was going on a week vacation in Sicily, lucky her, while me, instead, I would have spent the Summer at my place, or stretching out a little visiting my uncle in Umbria on the classical occasion of the tomato picking in the countryside that rolls out during that time of year.
I still wasn’t a pilot, instead, in January that year I got fired by the company where I’ve been working for two years, and in which I built for myself a little position, everybody respected and treated me as if I was a veteran already, instead of a new employee.
Then the crisis struck, some firms were closing and others cut the staff, one day it was told me that having seen how young I was and that I wasn’t married and had no child to feed they pointed out that I was just the right kind of employee to fire.
‘Only a number’, so they stated; in the end we are only numbers, in companies, just as in life, sometimes.
I tried to come to grips with that and move on.
After a couple of months, as funds were running out, I was forced to look for another job and I found it straight away being hit by mere luck.
I was a delivery man for a little company based in Casilina Street, the salary wasn’t that good just as the job.
On that August morning when I passed in front of Fiumicino’s Terminal and I left my sister I couldn’t avoid passing by and stare a while in front of those enormous windows, so man
y times I got across them to head somewhere, so many planes I caught and so many adventures I knew where waiting for me just before boarding.
When life gets harder I don’t know why, you always come back to those wonderful moments you lived and you come to terms with and the result... is always a downhill of your motivation, and also some gloomy feeling creeps across your circling mind.
So I decided to remain still and calm for a few days, and for the first time in my life I decided to take my vacations in August, just like everybody else does, as a ‘ normal’ person would do..
You know it’s a nightmare when you start off like that it’s because you want to get ready and prepare yourself to a life a bit low, a bit more sad; the same grey life lead by many people, and what do you do? Nothing other than start to behave like them.
I didn’t want to go back home straight away , so once I got on the motorway I decided to head for the sea, I would have spent a morning in heavenly peace sunbathing, have a dive and then , calmly I would have made my way back home.
So It happened , and by lunchtime I was already in my garage trying to park my grandfather’s Fiat Uno in that very tight space fit only for Fiat 126s, but leaving it under the Sun meant making it equal to a crematorium.
As the Fiats of past times, you know, were made of true metal, and when they got warm were able to keep the heat inside for hours and hours...
I spent the afternoon on the sofa watching some tv until the phone rang , it was Emiliano calling, a friend I met the year before when he decided to open a bar here in my area, together with the guy who was at the time my sister’s fiancé.
‘Something going on tonight buddy?’ he asked me.
‘Nothing Emilia'...nothing planned for tonight’
‘What about go hunting for that famous steak that for a week has been a dream haunting us... let’s fulfill the dream...?’
Clarification: we went for three times eating out that week , every time we asked for a steak or any kind of meat the waiter told us very kindly it had run out, or it was already booked by other customers or they just didn’t serve it in that time of year.
‘Great idea’ the thought of a steak was enough to wake me up from that dizziness and made me forget the hour I woke up that morning.
‘But this time let’s go towards Rome ...’ my friend suggested.
‘That’s a good one’, I don’t know why but my friend has always great ideas.
‘I’ll come to pick you up at seven, Is that fine with you?’
‘Yes, great ...’
‘Catch up with you later then’
‘Ok, see you later’
Exactly at seven and two minutes we were ringing at home, I looked out of the window and I recognized Emiliano’s Y10 parked below, so I took my fags , some money and I got out.
Driving with my friend was never boring I must say, not because we talked about who knows what, but no, for the opposite reason, we just didn’t talk at all, we often were silent, listening to the radio and some comment about this or the other song spontaneously that came out of our minds.
On that evening a revival music show on the past decade was on air, and those melodies , those sounds and those authors protagonists of the 80s, I believe, just can’t be replaced.
What music...
Not that soon after...music still on our minds giving us rhythm , we were walking along Corso Street.
We were glancing inside those side alleys finding a little inspiring place , that could give the impression of cooking edible meat and it wasn’t too costly, just over twenty thousand liras.
In this vane searching at this point in time a voice, seeming to speak out caught my attention.
It was trying to talk to me , It was directed at me. It was asking a question, here’s why that tone of speaking, so different from what you would expect when walking along the street.
She was a blonde girl, around 35 trying to ask me some information , I think on directions, in a Spanish never heard before, a kind of mix with some Italian word with a French accent to make a lovely melting pot in a single person....
In all of that language ‘melting pot’ I could single out something familiar , the girl was American, I knew It as I lived in the States for some time and I could recognize her trying to communicate in a language other than English...
‘I can speak English...’ I replied in a cunning way to make her at ease.
At that point she explained that she has been trying to reach Trevi Fountain for half an hour, only that every time she found herself at the opposite from where the signs told to turn right from Corso Street.
In America the streets are all a perfect intersection of horizontal and vertical straight lines, they surely can’t be used to our historical arts cities, that don’t have a definite street length, where streets curve without a clear reason, but where the number sequence continues and it seems done on purpose to make you feel bewildered.
We didn’t have a definite destination, I thought about it a few seconds before answering pretending It was hard keeping up English after a few years. I was wondering, really, if it was the case to accompany them a Trevi Fountain, after all they were two just like us, and they surely seemed lost.
The girl I was talking to was called Corinna, she was Californian and seemed very chatty, the other instead appeared shy, a little on her own, she was called Gail and came from Seattle.
In the end what convinced me were all those nice thoughts on what it could be, something good coming ahead is always the best incentive appealing you to get curious in life.
I started talking to Corinna along the way while my friend, who didn’t speak English at all, was pleased to talk in gestures with Gail.
We got to Trevi Fountain and we shoot the typical pictures with nonetheless that the launch of the coin, in turns we improvised to be photographers and so on with many smiles delighting our faces.
While talking, Corinna told me that we were looking for a place nearby where to have a beer without spending a fortune, and having seen that we were also looking for something to eat and all us four decided to look for that place together.
We spotted it glancing at the thousand alleys leading to Corso Street and we sat down.
I talked to Corinna for such a long time, also because Emiliano didn’t have a lot to say to Gail, and I must say it seemed to be a feeling between us, with the typical American blonde next to me I felt like Marcello Mastroianni in that movie of many years ago.
‘So what, also tonight no steak...’ Emiliano picked up on while he was finding only hamburgers and hot-dogs going through the menu.
‘Ok, amen, we’ll try again tomorrow to look for our steak ok?’ I answered, I didn’t want to lose myself in culinary discussions at that moment, also because I became a kind of simultaneous translator that could make everyone communicate, also I knew American girls, and I knew you had to be aware to what you were saying, word wise.
In fact I knew, that if they had their way they broke the ice not being used to our ways, at the allusions and malice we had round here on the other side of the Ocean; in fact Americans are not like us, they don’t lose time in kind ways or in cares as us Italians are masters in.
Let’s say that for the American man looking for sex it’s an equation to finding a good help more that an insurance, a cold deal let’s say.
In the moment the two girls got up and told us they were going to the bathroom I started talking with Emiliano the same kind of talk the girls soon did.
‘What about Massimo?’
‘Well, I don’t know what to tell you, everything seemed to flow so even, I’m curious to see where the catch is..’
‘Why there should be one?’
‘I remind you that it’s been two hours we were on that road...’ and I pointed to Corso Street that appeared behind us ...to look for something to eat, and here we are with this ease sitting at a table with two beautiful American blondes...let’s wait to laugh about it my friend’
�
��What do you think’ Emiliano followed up ‘What do you think if they are on about there...?’.
I stared in an inquisitive and surprised way.
‘Should we let go tonight to them two?’, ‘Here is what they are on about Massimo, don’t guess...’
‘Wait wait Emilià...’
It was hard to reckon but I believed to go along with his thoughts, that my friend rattled off with great calm, while he finished eating that mayonnaise broth where the chips now were floating nearly drowning....
And there they were and watching them sitting down; a thought crossed my mind to what my friend just told me, after all a night with them wouldn’t have been so boring, I realized in the end that some hours of fun didn’t engage me a lot and it could do me some good.
We’ll have a room here close to Campo de' Fiori, we’ll stay there till Tuesday, guys if you want we could grab some beers and drink them at our place...’
When I translated this to you could imagine the answer just looking at his face, so I tried to translate it back to the girls”making it more soft” and so we went.
Our Y10 was parked round Venezia Square, it was in front of a drink peddler with whom we made a deal , we bought a 24 box of beer for thirty thousand liras, if he asked us for a hundred sure we would have gave him...anyway.
Here we are then, all tight in the car laughing madly, just imagine an Y10 packed to the limit on Roman cobbled streets, and with a box of beer jumping from side to side...do you get the idea?
We found a parking easily in one of those streets leading to Campo de' Fiori, Rome is like a desert in that time of year so we took what we needed and made our way to the third floor of this somehow run down building , in which it seemed something of really exciting was waiting for us, we were all thrilled.
A loft, here what they called it, a room, with a sloping and didn’t make easy to step on the space we saw, but in return there was an appealing perfume when you entered and the window disclosed a wonderful view.
The first seven or eight beers were gone in half an hour while we were trying to get to know each other, after all we just met a couple of hours before and here we were all in the same room.
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