My husband, after reaching the peak of Corniglia Italy, was very exhausted and had felt unwell and quickly returned to the hotel room, where he had gone to bed shivering and with nausea. I saw him prostrated there in bed and I couldn’t avoid to feel sorry for him. I, on the other hand, was full of energy and in good spirits. I was ready to keep going, but he couldn't, he was sick as a dog. The long walk throughout the town made me very hungry. I could not wait for him to wake up and join me for dinner. To calm down this hunger, I had decided to eat something fresh, perhaps few of those delicious nectarines we bought from a local grove.
The hotel room was pleasant and well decorated with an elegant European style. A piece of art of a reclining nude girl by Amedeo Modigliani was embellishing the wall next to the fireplace. The ambience was sensual par excellence. In contrast to the voyerish portrait, there was another piece of art on the oposite side of the room of a Christ sustained by angels. While eating my fruit I took my time to contemplate the painting. The word "compasion" came to me, reminding me of my own weaknesses. "It will be nice to have at least one of those fellows...when I'm in my lowest point".
In addition, an intriguing ceramic plate with a painting of a dog was hanging by the main entrance. Painted by hand, I found the words in Italian: “Attenti al cane”. Who in their right mind will have this warning in a hotel room?" I thought. Smiling and disregarding the silly decoration as a simple oversight, I headed to the bedroom to check up on my husband.
I’m always cold but this place was different, mystical, warm and arousing. Thinking about the passion this place enticed me into, I started paying close attention to my inner tendencies. Instincts of a rare abandon for love making. Love making without restrictions. He was laying there with his cold back facing me. It seems to me that he has not change that position in ages. I was frustrated with his lame excuses at night: “Is late and I have a board's meeting early tomorrow morning”, or his famous puritan question: “Is this permissible? Sorry, Gabriela, my conscience does not allow me” as if kissing his wife in erogenous zones was a mortal sin. Everything with him was so predictable, mechanical as a swiss clock. “According with the calendar, we do not suppose to be together tonight, are you sure?" As if intimacy had a frivolous label stating "Please procreate like rabbits only on these days". Oh well, this time I should be content with this nectarine and forget about my "fantasia di amore".
I had noticed how the years had passed by him so fast. Instead of lingering for a warm touch, I gave him his pills. At the mid time, I could not stop thinking about this awesome place called the Italian Riviera. The limits of this basin intensely cultivated with vineyards remind me of what true romance should be all about. "Oh Rapallo, your high cliffs makes me feel incredible".
Back in the hotel, he seems to go to sleep as soon he took the drugs. Maybe it was the exhaustion after climbing over steps all the way up to the peak of this marvelous place. To reach Corniglia, it was necessary to climb the Lardarina, a long brick flight of steps composed of 33 flights with 377 steps. Poor thing, I didn't wait for him to reach the peak, I was in awe looking at the spectacular view of the ocean.
I decided to keep quiet, and the best means of achieving this and not be tempted to make a noise was leaving the room. I was bored and probably the best way of get out of boredom, was entertaining myself watching the local people pass by. Our hotel room was protected from the street's bustle by a terrace, right below our balcony.
So, off I go to the balcony to look out and see the interesting faces and ecentricities of the local people. The Corniglians - if there is such a word for this jovial individuals - were different from the families of Manarola, the previous village. The distance between these two places was relatively short. The neighbors of Manarola where layback, full of tourists enjoying the sun, but in Corniglia everything was fast paced. I did enjoyed how they interacted with each other. They were very friendly and passionate people. On the street, although the distance between the street and our hotel room was very short, I heard no more than murmurs.
Regardless of how beautiful this place was, inside of me I felt empty. I looked around without seeing; I was a numbed wife trying in desperation to taste a little bit of joy. There he was, right behind, but so far away at the same time. I was looking outside the room but my mind was examining the most hidden places of my heart. In that state of mind, I picked a person out. My attention was drawn to this stranger on the street because unlike the others, who walked past for a moment then disappeared, this person remained motionless where he was. He was a man about forty, perhaps closer to forty five. He was wearing a semi transparent white full linen shirt and Italian cut jeans with wide brown belt and with casual Bruno Magli shoes. He was wearing a sophisticated beige blazer. Yes, it was an elegant Fusco’s sport coat but it was not extravagant for my taste.
I, an admirer of a man well dressed, could not take my eyes off him. He had well-form shoulders and partially unbuttons cuffs. This man standing tall looked successful but not pretentious. What attracted me the most about him was his confidence. He portrayed a sense of security and stability without complications. He had caught my attention as nobody else has ever done before. In my view, he was not necessary handsome but intriguing. He had dark hair with obvious Latino features. Perhaps Italian by his fine tailoring, however he’s was unique in his own style. I was standing from the balcony savoring the scene and a smile escape from my lips while wondering how easy to achieve was he. “A fine Italian stallion for sure” I caught myself thinking. And with that simple thought my mind rushed to a point of no return. My body, mind and skin responded so vividly as if he was here in front of me. He -in my mind- was custom made for me. My blood ran throughout my veins with an incredible speed, like a fall, like a crescent river. “Remember Gabriela, ‘Attenti al cane’. "No...No this time" I said to myself.
It was getting dark, and the gradual loss of light made him look more and more lonely, more isolated and condemned to wait in vain. His date would not turn up. How in the world somebody like this can end up alone? He remain in the middle of the street, he did not lean against the wall as people who are waiting usually do so as not to get in the way of those who are not waiting. So he had problems avoiding passers-by. Someone, a beautiful girl, yes, a working girl from the street said something to him, but he was not interested. He responded with a look that could kill a thousand men showing some unheard moral character. That was impressive and I felt even closer to him. Still he remained steadfast, solid, unmoved. Then, it happen. I was not even expecting it but for the first time he noticed me when he looked up towards the second floor where I was. He peered, as if he was short-sighted or had dirty contact lenses, he blinked his eyes a little to see better.
“Is he looking at me?” I was perplexed. It seemed to me that I was the person he was looking at. “Is this guy drunk or blind?” Why is he staring at me?” I did not know anyone in Corniglia, he do not know me for sure. What is more, it was the first time I had been in this part of the world, with my unemployed husband spending his severance pay in me. My husband still was behind me, ill. I was hoping it was not serious. Let him sleep soundly, he needed the rest. I heard a murmur, perhaps a snoring coming from the bed, but I did not look back because I was so used to listen to that noise that could bend the roof of any wooden house. You see, after so many years of boring nights, one learns to make out right away the sounds made in his sleep by the person that one sleeps with.
Now he had taken a few steps in my directions. He was crossing the street, dodging the cars without looking as if he wanted to come quickly, and closer to see me better at my balcony where I stood. However, his walk was uneasy and slyly, as if he was unfamiliar to the road. He was walking like he was coming down from a stairway attempting to sustain himself. He could not distinguish the distance between each vehicule, but he ventured anyway.
The mysterious man on the street had just crossed over, now he was closer but still at a distance, separated from the hotel by the broad terrace. He still had his eyes raised, looking towards me, a stranger, but of appropriating and recognizing, as if I was the person he had been waiting for a long time. I think he believed I was his date. Poor fool.
It was as if with the rapid fluttering of the hands -so characteristic of an Italian guy- he was trying to grab hold of me and saying: “Come here, you’ or “Where the hell have you been?” At the same time he shouted something that I was unable to hear, nonetheless from his facial expression I was able to figured out he was speaking with indignation. He kept coming nearer. Now he touched the front right side of his jacket, like preparing himself to argue with me. It was then when finally I was able to hear what he was saying: “Venire qui”. Now I can see his face clearly. He was a handsome man indeed. His dark piercing eyes were penetrating as dark arrows. My whole body reacted when his eyes met with mine. His fleshy lips, his nose and nostrils flared in determination. He must have been waiting a long time, much longer that the time that had passed since I had single him out. He walked clumsily and stumbled and fell to the ground on the terrace, immediately dirtying his shirt but brushes it off to prevent an embarrassment with the woman with whom he had made his date. He fixed his nice blazer and shouted: “What do you think you are doing over there? Why didn’t you tell me you’d already gone up? Can’t you see? I’ve been waiting for you for the past hour". I believe this is what he said tranlated into English from his rustic and sexy Italian accent. And while he was saying this, he once more made the grasping gesture, a sudden movement of both hands saying: “What are you waiting for?” “Why did you invite me this Friday to see you, for now to stay away looking at me from a distance?” This time he shouted so loudly and he was already so close that I feared he might wake my husband up.
“What’s going on?” said Michael in a weak voice. I turned around and he was sitting up, with fright in his eyes, like those of a sick person who wakes up and still cannot see anything and does not know where he is or why he feels so confused. The light was on.
‘It’s nothing, go back to sleep’ people just talking on the street” I replied, trying to minimize the adventure. But this time I did not stroke his restless legs as I would have done under any other circumstances. I simply could not leave the balcony, and scarcely look away from that man who was convinced he had a date with me. It was the most exciting and terrifying experience I have ever experience in a foreign land. Making believe to this stranger that I was interested in him, that I was his date was fun and crazy at the same time. I continue playing along as the naïve tourist that could not understand a thing.
Now he could see me clearly, and I was in his mind the person with whom he had arranged an important rendezvous, the person who had made him suffer while he waited and who had offended him by my prolonged absence. "Didn’t you see me waiting over there? It’s been two hours. Why didn’t you tell me that you were not committed?" he was now shrieking agitated, having come to a halt in front of my hotel room and beneath my balcony. "You just wait, I’ll teach you a lesson in what we call love.” And he once more made the gesture with his hands, gesture that was grabbing hold of me. I need to admit, I loved the impetuous spirit of this man, so unique and inviting and I do not even know who the hell is he.
"With who are you talking to?" My husband asked again, bewildered from the bed. At that point I stepped back and pulled the balcony doors to closed them, but before I did so, I saw the stranger suddenly disappear from my sight. Shit! Where is he? Then it hit me like a lighting bolt! "Is he entering the hotel, ready to come up and look for me?" My mind went wild thinking on what I could say to my sick husband to explain the intrusion that was about to happen. “I didn’t do a thing; I was just looking from the balcony”. “Nah, it cannot be”.
My husband dosed off again unable to fight the effect of his pills and I turned off the lights and quietly took off my shoes. The fire, the passion, the fragrance, the hunger, the running, the rushing, all came together at once. Everything was there in front of me, seconds away, just a door between us. I did not care about the sick ‘cane’ at this moment. I was waiting for another type of bite, from another type of savage frenzy. Then, I heard the steps in the hallway getting closer and closer. Each step was an eternity. My heart was about to jump out of my chest in anticipation. My mind was racing like an unstoppable train. I can feel the presence behind the door charging towards me. While I was hearing the whispering of my own heavy breathing, I looked at the door knob intensely. One more step, one more. Leaning forward to touch the knob with the intent to open the door, I had this weird feeling that somebody was observing me from behind and at that precise moment the tile hanging from the wall fell down hard on the floor, breaking into millions pieces while I scream from the top of my lungs. In a devastating timing I heard what I didn't want to hear.
“Honeeeey, what was that?” “It’s scared the Jesus out of me!” groan my sick husband. I did not replied to his stupid comment. Disoriented, looking at the floor as a mad woman, I drifted away with my hands on my face thinking in my inability of puting back together all the scattered pieces. Not only the ones on floor, but those inside of me. A million tiny pieces of never ending dreams and hopes of real love.
A breeze entered the room quietly, unannounced.
"Welcome back" I said. "It lasted a little bit longer
this time, isn't?". “Yes, it did”. Slowly approaching
the door with my trembling hand, I locked it for
good. It is done. Facing now towards the bulk in the
bed, a tear drop came down my cheek and I was cold
once again.
The End
* Lesson 5: A study on plgrsm