Training in Love

by Manuela Pigna

  The two girls, the ones who once asked me if he was my boyfriend, have spent a couple of euros each and now they’re still laughing, all red, while they count their change on the table. To see them kiss him, to be honest, wasn’t as fun as seeing Miss Letizia prepare her twenty-euro note.

  When Nic arrives at nine-thirty, accompanied by Linda, I note that Andrea has still not come back to his post.

  “Where’s the Sleeping Beauty to awaken with a kiss?” Asks Nic, laughing.

  Linda and I greet each other with a kiss. “He went to the bathroom… more than a half-hour ago.”

  “Go and call him, tell him his prince has arrived,” says Nic with a small, amused smile on his lips.

  I glance around the cafè, which at this hour isn’t too full, and go to the men’s bathroom. I enter with caution to avoid any embarrassing situation, but no-one is there and it’s silent. “Andrea?” I call hesitating.

  “Andrea?” Now my voice is more steady. No answer.

  I begin to worry. “Andrea, is everything ok?”

  I still don’t get any answer.

  I tap a finger on every door and when I don’t hear anything I slowly open one. I find him in the last stall at the back, sitting with his legs splayed on the closed toilet, with his elbows resting on his knees and his head bent forward. He knows I’m there, in front of him, but he doesn’t move. “Andrea?”

  He looks up when I call him softly, with a terribly sad look on his face. “Do you hate me Olly?”

  “What? No!” I exclaim, shocked. Instinctively I crouch down near him. “Are you crazy? Of course I don’t hate you! Why?”

  “Because today,” he gives his head a little shake, looking at me, “today is really horrible…”

  I regard him for a second, looking straight into his eyes with my mouth slightly open, realizing suddenly that maybe it has been a nightmare for him. Now I really feel guilty. I jump up with my heart beating a mile a minute. “Enough! Enough!” I exclaim, very agitated. I feel like a jerk. “Let’s go take down that thing right now. For today you’ve finished.” I don’t have the courage to look him in the eye while I say this. And without waiting for a response I turn and walk quickly towards the door of the men’s bathroom, but he stops me before I get there, taking me by the wrist and making me turn towards him.

  I wait for him to say something, but he just looks at me.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask anxiously.

  “Is that all?”

  “What?”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “It was enough to say ‘it’s horrible’ to make you go back in your tracks?”

  “But…” I say without understanding. “You aren’t having fun, it seems obvious that we should stop right now…”

  He looks at me without speaking. I don’t know what’s going through his head. He’s really serious.

  Suddenly I remember something and wrinkle my nose. “Can you handle giving one more kiss?”

  He raises his eyebrows, surprised, and stops, straightening his back. He’s perfectly immobile, alert, as I’ve seen him be only one other time. “To who.”

  I make a face. “To Nic.”

  “Nic?” He asks, shocked, letting go of my wrist.

  “He just got here, and he told me to tell you that your prince has arrived to awaken you.”

  He rolls his eyes heavenward and sighs.

  “There would also be…” I let out an innocent giggle, “Linda and Miss Letizia. You can’t not give one to Miss Letizia, Apollo dear, she would be too hurt… she came all the way just for this…”

  Andrea sighs again. “Of the three you’ve named, I’d only keep Linda.”

  I exit the bathroom laughing and hear him following me. “You’re asking me to kiss Donato Poggi’s grandmother, you realize that?”

  I frown. “Good grief… put that way, it’s really horrible!”

  “If I have to do Miss Letizia too, I need an incentive…”

  “What sort of incentive?” I ask over my shoulder.

  He stops me before turning the corner and going back into the main dining room and I turn around. He looks me in the face for a moment, without speaking, then says it all in one breath, “Before taking that thing down, the last kiss of the day will be yours.”

  I’m left speechless, breathless, without a coherent thought in my head… I feel a light tremor run through me without warning and I’m afraid he can sense it from the hands he is resting on my arms. I break away taking a step back and attempt to breathe. I’m mostly concentrating on bringing oxygen to my lungs, when I realize that I can’t stay there like a post forever without giving an answer. I nod, looking away, and turn the corner.

  “There he is!” I hear Miss Letizia say when she spies Andrea behind me.

  “Oh my God…” I hear him murmur.

  To get him to see the glass half full I say, “And to think that Miss Silvia convinced her not to use that twenty-euro note she had ready in her hand, ready, I think, since she left the house…”

  I hear him groan.

  He goes to sit himself behind the former theater, as before, and I accompany Nic towards the colored façade, pretending to give him instructions, “Listen, no tongues and keep your hands to yourself!”

  Nic chuckles. “Can’t we do it so that I give my kiss and Linda’s to you?”

  “Hey, you’re already the second person today who’s said something like that!” I tell him gaily. “I’ve already had two interested buyers!”

  “Actually, a group of office employees said the same thing this morning…” Interrupts Andrea.

  “Really?” I ask, astonished. “Wow!”

  “You’d have a good deal more than two, dear Olivia!” Says Madame Barbieri.

  “Yes, really…” Comments Linda.

  “Well, nice!” I exclaim with satisfaction, then I turn towards Nic. “Go on. Be brief and concise.”

  “I have to give him two – one for me and one for Linda – otherwise my brother will kill me.” He nears Andrea, puts two euros in the can and then turns one last time towards me. “I can’t give one to him and one to you?”

  “I’m the one sitting here, so give both of them to me and shut your trap!” Says Andrea.

  Nic rolls his eyes, and then he kisses him on the lips quickly two times.

  Linda claps her hands laughing, Miss Letizia exclaims with a blissful look, “Aren’t you gorgeous!”

  Madame Barbieri and Miss Silvia laugh silently, while I give a wolf whistle.

  “What’s going on here?” Asks Leo, looking out of the kitchen door.

  “Nothing, we’re warming up the atmosphere,” I reply with a smile. He shakes his head and returns to the kitchen.

  “My turn!” Cries Miss Letizia happily. “I have to give you three!”

  Andrea goes pale.

  “One for me, one for Silvia and one for Elisa!” She counts out while the three euros jingle into the can.

  Miss Letizia comes closer, delighted, and stretches with difficulty towards the opening of the little theater. “Come dear Apollo, make me dream!”

  A noise makes me turn around and I see Nic, nearby, who is weeping with laughter as he watches the scene. The image makes me smile and while Andrea stoically suffers the kisses of Miss Letizia, Nic puts an arm on my shoulders, in a pseudo-embrace, while he dries his tears with the other hand. “Ah, Olly… I adore you…”

  I just have time to turn around again and Miss Letizia has already finished, and I know what I have to do now…

  Sighing, I quickly free myself from Nic’s arm, thinking that, as always, the faster it is the better it will be. I’m tremendously embarrassed – also because of the public we have here – but it must be nothing compared to what Andrea has been through up to now.

  “Okay,” I begin, clearing my throat and turning to all of them, who have slowly formed a circle around the little theater. “Miss Letizia was the last one-”

  “Olly…” I hear a warning behind me.

  “The next
to last, that is, and then we’ll finish. Anyway,” I lift the tin can and rattle it, saying ironically, “I think that already like this we’ll build a couple of wells…”

  Then I turn, moving as quickly as possible, and feigning to the best of my abilities an indifference that I don’t remotely feel. I dig into my pocket, take out a euro, throw it in the can and bend through the opening of the puppet theater. All this without looking him in the face even once. But Andrea pulls away at the last minute.

  At this point I look into his eyes, surprised. It was he who asked me to!

  He regards at me for just a second and then slowly, agonizingly slowly, he lowers his face and places his lips on mine, which for the first time feel the softness and warmth of another human being.

  15.

  I don’t think I can look him in the face this afternoon. I glimpse him standing beside his car. So what time does he show up here? He’s always here when I arrive… Ok, I’m always on the edge, but he…

  I roll my shoulders and take a good breath, trying to think about anything except that we kissed this morning. A little, tiny kiss. Brief, but which I’ve relived up till now – around six hours after the event – at least a billion times. I don’t know what number I’ll get to tomorrow with my mental rewinding of that moment. Maybe I’ll prove scientifically that, in the end, numbers are finite.

  “Hi Olly,” he greets me lifting his head briefly from his usual loose pages when he hears the sound of my steps. He smiles, not at all embarrassed obviously, and concentrates again.

  “Hi.” When I hear my voice, faint as a whisper, I do a mental shrug and clear my throat. That’s enough Olly, pull yourself together. Now! Don’t think about this anymore, that’s the end of the argument.

  “Well,” he begins, gathering the pages and arranging them on the roof of his car. “Shall we begin?”

  I nod, but he’s not looking at me. He’s opening the back door and putting away the pages. He closes the car and turns to me, still smiling. I glance at him just a few seconds, just enough to understand that his smile is gentile and polite, as always. He’s not at all disturbed by what happened this morning. It’s as though, for him, nothing had occurred. In the end, what took place? A very brief meeting of lips? Oh, Olly… it’s not anything, it’s really nothing. I try to get my feet back on the ground. Feet that will have to start running in a little bit. And thinking this, I sigh heavily.

  “What’s the matter?” He asks immediately, while we start to walk side by side.

  I huff, “I don’t feel like running today.”

  He doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, he hesitates for a little. “And what… what would you like to do?”

  I stop abruptly, in the middle of the road, and turn to him. “Are you saying that you, the Man of Steel, the Impeccable One, the Human Swiss Watch, would skip a workout?

  He furrows his brow, his mouth has a strange twist to it. He almost seems offended. “Human Swiss watch?”

  His expression makes me laugh and I finally manage to dissolve a little of the tension which has held me captive since this morning.

  He crosses his arms on his chest, cocking his head.

  I burst out laughing again. “What can I tell you? You’re too precise… It’s not normal.”

  He raises his eyebrows, surprised.

  I laugh again, then I take his arm and push him towards the track. As soon as we’re walking again I drop it.

  “Won’t you tell me what you’d like to do instead of running?”

  “No,” I reply quickly. “Let’s run, it’s better,” I mutter to myself, still audible, and he doesn’t comment.

  I follow him, as always, waiting for him to start running. We don’t speak. I don’t try to converse, I wouldn’t know what to say.

  For a while he doesn’t speak either, then he suddenly says, “You’re so quiet today…”

  “Hmm.”

  I hear from his breathing that he is disoriented. As much as I lack oxygen when we run, when he speaks, I try to answer in a decent sort of way.

  “Is there something the matter Olly?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t seem yourself,” he comments with a touch of frustration.

  I glance at him and notice that he’s staring at me. He has an almost worried expression on his face. If I weren’t completely unsettled, confused, undecided, insecure and embarrassed, I’d find it adorable. I roll my eyes and go back to looking straight ahead. “Everything’s fine, apart from the fact that you always want to have a conversation when I’m dying from lack of oxygen.”

  “But you don’t seem your usual self…” He insists.

  “I’m thinking,” I say, just to cut him off from any verbal approach and go back to my beloved silence.

  “About what?”

  Since telling the truth is out of the question, I get the idea to say the opposite. “About the horrible things in life.”

  I hear him breathe in sharply and, finally, for a while he doesn’t speak, but I’m not that lucky. “Why are you thinking of horrible things? Has something horrible happened?”

  I feel like laughing, but my pre-death running state saves me by depriving me of my breath and the strength to do something like that. I manage to shrug my shoulders, without answering anything and unbalancing myself.

  I feel him getting agitated for a little bit – he’s never agitated. For him to run with me is like drinking a cup of tea at five in the afternoon, lying on the sofa at home. “What horrible thing are you thinking of in particular?” There - as I said.

  I puff theatrically without turning towards him. “Listen Andrea, I’m about to die, I don’t want to talk. And why don’t you talk? Tell me about the most horrible moment of your life,” I conclude, almost desperate. Desperate to take my mind off a certain insignificant event.

  He stays silent for a little. When he answers, we are already headed back, walking. I don’t know about him, but I’m looking at the ground under my feet. “The most horrible moment of my life was when my grandfather died.”

  At these words I look up instinctively, with a pang in my heart.

  He gazes at me with a serene but serious face.

  When he doesn’t speak, I sigh. “How nice to speak with men. Truly fantastic. If only they didn’t fill you up with words when you ask them a simple question and never stop talking for hours, it would be even more marvelous…”

  He chuckles, “What more should I tell you?”

  “I don’t know, who was this grandfather, how old was he, how did he die… stuff like that.”

  He looks away and begins to answer. “He was the father of my father. I was fifteen. We were very close and he was the only grandparent I’ve ever had. Everyone said that we looked alike and we were similar in character too. He was the sports nut of the family.” Saying this he turns briefly to me and smiles. “He took part in the Giro Di Italia and did several marathons.”

  I say nothing, catching my breath while we walk towards the beginning of the track, and try to imagine this man who was similar to Andrea but an older version maybe, and in another epoch.

  “He was sixty-two years old when he died, and only two months before he died he seemed fine. He complained of a little bit of stomach ache at times. He went for a check-up and they found his abdomen full of metastasis.”

  “My God…” I whisper.

  “Yeah.”

  We remain silent, while I think about what he just told me. I hug myself, because hearing these things always shakes me a little, even if I don’t directly know the person involved. After a few minutes I break the silence, “Why do you say he was the only grandparent that you ever knew?”

  “Because the others all died when I was little.”

  “Oh.” I think of ending the conversation, but curiosity gets the better of me. “What was his name?”

  “Amedeo.”

  A small laugh escapes me and he turns towards me. I shrug my shoulders. “What a nice old fashioned name…”
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  He smiles too. “I almost got called Amedeo too!”

  I can’t help making a face of horror and he burst out laughing. “Didn’t you just say a second ago that it was a nice name?”

  “I also said ‘old fashioned’!” I reply with vehemence.

  He laughs. The low and raspy sound of his laugh reverberates in me. The sight of his face, with his beautiful teeth and his eyes crinkled to two creases, makes my heartbeat go crazy again. What a pain, it was just starting to calm down!

  “My mother fought. She said she would choose a name that began with A, but not Amedeo.”

  “Well, if I were you I’d be thanking her every single day, first thing in the morning.”

  He laughs again, throwing his head slightly back. “What a drama queen! It’s not that bad…”

  “No, of course not. So I’ll call you Amedeo from now on.”

  “Don’t even try…”

  We reach the beginning of the track and sit on the ground to start stretching. Today it’s really much better that he doesn’t put his hands on me, but, I have to say, from his attitude he doesn’t seem to intend to.

  “And what is your moment?” He asks me suddenly.

  I look at him and reflect for a few seconds before answering. “I think… it’s not a precise moment, it’s more like a period. When I understood that my father would not be coming back.”

  “Ah…”

  We stretch out muscles in silence. Each in his own place, thank heavens.

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight.”

  “It must have been…” I hear him hesitate and I look up. He is looking at me with his cheeks slightly red. “It must have been really terrible.”

  I nod, noticing for a second the jab in my heart that even today, after years, I feel when I remember that part of my life. “Yes, it was. At the beginning, though, I thought he’d gone away for work, or for a short time. Only a little at a time did I get that he wouldn’t be coming back. And when I realized that…” I shake my head without finishing the sentence. I swallow. “I thought lots of things. Sometimes I was convinced that it was my fault because I hadn’t been a good girl. Other times I was really convinced that it was my mother’s fault.”