Louvre, Sunday
The following morning I woke up soon myself and I filled the terrible void that there was in my stomach with a buttery croissant bought in a boulangerie next to my hotel.
I was beautiful, fresh and rested. A rigenerante shower had made its duty and a rapids trimming you/he/she had given me a younger and less dejected aspect. It almost seemed that all the thoughts had slipped down for the I unload.
I had thought for a long time about Enrica during the night, fixing the usual stain of mold illuminated by the weak lights of the cities.
I didn't make sense of me thing yet he/she wanted from me that girl, to that game wanted to play and because you/he/she had chosen really a depressed desperate as me.
Definite that was not the moment of I handed some questions, as you/he/she had said her: if I had presented to the appointment, it meant that I had given my consent.
The taxi deposited me near the Jardins des Tuileries, next to the panoramic wheel. I crossed all the gardens crossing every now and then some Sunday walkers. They raced hidden behind their mirror glasses, without never dissuading the look from that imaginary destination that you/they had, before that you/he/she could be the loss of weight, the I unload of some stress or simply the desire to make some movement.
The air in Paris was hardly dirtied by a light pluvius perfume and the Sunday traffic he introduced less weapon and noisy in comparison to that of the week. I walked on the pads of unexpected joy, totally unexpected in comparison to the plan that had brought me until there.
The Pyramid detached in the mean of the classical complex of the Museum of the Louvre. Inaugurated in 1989 by the president François Mitterrand, some gossips canters I attribute to that construction of the strange esoteric meanings. It is enough demons. Up to that moment I had seen until too many of it to Paris.
For the time being, despite I/you had looked with accuracy, there was no trace of Enrica yet. I also thought that you/he/she could be everything one joke.
I made a pair of turns around that monumental pyramid of glass and really in front of the entrance that brings to the museum I felt a hand touch me the shoulder.
«Good morning. You have come today also. You don't joke then.»
«Good morning to her, mademoiselle. An appointment never misses I.»
«But who tells you that this is an appointment?» ironizzò while it was throwing me for an arm. «You come, we go.»
We entered the Pyramid and we went down the mobile staircases that bring to the entrance of the museum.
We turned for the immense rooms of the Louvre, almost at random, crossing ancient heirlooms Egyptians and etruschi. We knew from near the attractive Venus of Milo and the imposing Nike of Samotracia. Enrica studied Love and Psyche of Anthony Canova turning around us, with the look to focus every smaller detail. I studied her his/her immense blonde hair that framed that face. With that serious pout, assembled, on the face. You/they would have had to put also her in a museum to make free to his/her beauty. It photographed the statue from different anglings and it also photographed me.
«Tiè, so you learn» it said aiming me the flash in the eyes.
It smiled at me and I would have liked it always served him/it as that moment in then, because it was never enough for me.
Enrica liked to be there, it seemed that it was to his/her ease in that world. He/she asked me opinions, opinions and me I joked and I always took around the funny faces of the Japanese with the photographic car in hand, ready to go off to each work that he introduced him before. You laughed and me he/she anchors I could not believe us.
Wandering about we arrived in a room where about ten people were assembled to look at a wall that to the appearance it seemed empty.
«But excuse, Enrica. Because those people look at that wall?»
«You/they are looking if it smiles.»
«If it smiles? A wall?»
«But no. Do you know who is there before, true?»
«A wall?»
«But thing you are saying? There is the Joyous one!»
«Ugh, the Joyous one, caspita» I said, putting some derision among my words.
Smiled Enrica me again and it struck accomplice my shoulder with his.
«You come, we go to see if it also smiles at you.»
«But thing you want that I/you/he/she smile at me...»
«Ugly sulker menagramo that you are not other, comes» and it shook its hand in mine.
Monna Lisa was in front of us, in a reliquary thick different centimeters to avoid that some malicious could deface her/it. I don't know what the people can find in that painting. But it seemed alive and it looked me.
«It smiles?» Enrica asked me.
«Mah. boh... don't seem me. Seem me more incazzatas how happy.»
«It is because you don't smile at her. If you look at her/it with that serious sulker it will never smile at you. It is already so much that has not escaped. You see, you have to do so» and it turned his/her mouth into the most radiant smile that was able.
«Here it is, sees, you/he/she has smiled at me. It also tries you.»
«There is no danger, it doesn't exist that I/you/he/she smile at a picture.»
«Test!» it told me in so authoritarian tone that nobody left me choice, if not to favor his/her order.
This way I deformed my face in a malefic sneer, that more than a smile seemed a grimace of pain.
Enrica looked at me and then the picture. Then still me, then still the picture.
«No, it allows to lose Francis. You are not her nice» and a kiss stamped me on a cheek.
We went out of the Louvre; she held me sottobraccio and for a second I desired not to find me there. I was not for that there. I had not gone to Paris to fall in love me.
I wanted to commit suicide me.
Enrica held my arm as if he/she wanted not to make to escape me, never. He/she spoke, it told something that my ears didn't succeed in feeling, because the past he was done too much deafening at that time.
I shook the head, as ago a just fallen dog in the water, to raise me every single thought from the head.
In the business center under to the Louvre we sheltered there in a megastore of music. Enrica made me see a harvest of Edith Piaf and lifted the thumb in sign of approval. I showed her a copy of Bring It All Back Home of Bob Dylan: I adored Subterranean Homesick Blues, I had incessantly listened to her in the three months that I had passed a few years in New York before.
We ended to overdo us of caffeine in a Starbucks. Did hot coffee twist me the guts and Enrica it said: «you are nice, do you know?»
«I don't believe really.»
«Yes, instead.»
«Because you have chosen me Enrica? How have you found me? Me. The don'ts succeed in understanding.»
«There is no anything to understand. Did you have need to be saved only, it is not true?»
I remained in silence to fix the vapor of the hot coffee that went out of my glass of cardboard. Enrica was perhaps right: in an ideal world I had to have saved from the destiny that I had foreseen it waited me. Enrica owed to have noticed my silence and probably my embarrassment to that question, tant'è that for some second she was hissed also. It trafficked in the purse, and it extracted a yellow post-it on which he/she wrote something of it.
«For me it is time to go.» he/she left the attached ticket to the glass of coffee that you/he/she was drinking and it got up from the chair. I didn't even try to stop her/it. Everything was so unreal. Everything so strange that owed for strength to have a sense. I saw her climb the mobile staircases and to disappear from my view. Enrica: it is perhaps the second name of the angels?
I detached from his/her glass the post-it that had left.
10 AMs. OUR LADY.
E.
Notre Dame
I, as if you/he/she had not been me other to be done. I ended with absolute calm my hot coffee and I returned in the hotel of it, not before having bought a postcard of
the Monna Lisa that I attached to the mirror of the room.
Out of the window, in a frame of clouds pluvius loaded grigie, a crow ate a dead pigeon. Because the life, to survive, eats who of life doesn't have of it more.
The war is over Page 10