That was us
He hurried past the full bars and restaurants on the main streets of Trastevere, clutching the paper bag tightly. A car swerved past, just about avoiding hitting him. The driver honked. He did not care, and ducked into the side street.
He finally came to the house he was looking for. Number 28. Two girls in summer dresses were standing outside the door, having a smoke while holding a glass of wine in the other hand.
“Buona sera,” he said.
“Sera,” they replied.
He pressed on the doorbell.
“Hallo?” came her familiar voice, somewhat distorted over the loudspeaker, but nevertheless clearly hers.
“It’s me.”
“Come in. Third floor, if you still remember.”
A buzz signaled the unlocking of the door, and he pushed it open, nodding to the two girls as he entered.
Of course he remembered that it was the third floor, the apartment on the left. How could he forget?
She was standing at her opened door, her head resting against the doorway. She was sporting a bob now instead of the long tresses from two years ago. But her smile when she saw him appear at the stairs was the same Chiara smile that he knew.
“Come stai?” she asked.
“Bene. E tu?” he came to her.
“Bene.”
They hesitated, laughed, and embraced.
“Come on in,” she beckoned.
“Sorry to have come at such short notice… but I was busy with work till tonight. To be honest, I wasn’t really expecting you to be free, let alone at home on a Friday night…”
The truth was that he had deliberated and hesitated before calling. Not just because he was afraid she wouldn’t have time, but also because he was afraid that she would have changed her number…without informing him. They have had so little to do with one another in the past two years that he was afraid he had ceased to exist in her life.
“Staying at home with a nice bottle of wine is nice too,” she said, without turning back.
“Alone?”
She shrugged, “Well, you are here now, so I don’t have to drink alone. But being alone is nice sometimes too.”
He surveyed the apartment. “Everything looks pretty much the same…”
His eyes fell on the side table. The photograph of the two of them on Castello Sant’Angelo with the setting sun over Rome as the backdrop was gone.
“Why should anything change?” she asked, turning around. “So are you going to drink with me? What’s that in your hand?”
“Oh,” he remembered the paper bag he was clutching. “Mochi cream.”
“What’s that?”
“A Japanese confection. Mochi filled with ice cream. I saw the shop on Via Nazionale, and remembered I had it in Kobe, and it was delicious. So I decided to get it. Can’t show up here empty-handed, right?”
“No, you can’t,” she laughed. “Some wine? We can have the, what do you call it? Mochi cream? We can have that after the wine.”
“Sure. What do you have?”
“A Chiaretto.”
“Chiaretto? Chiara e Chiaretto,” he laughed.
“What? Even after two years, you are still stuck on that joke.”
“Sorry. The wine just suits you somehow, no? If someone were to ask me what kind of wine would Chiara be, I would have answered Chiaretto.”
“Why?”
He shrugged and smiled. “Somehow? But it’s a good comparison. I love a good Chiaretto.”
“Well, you loved me,” she said, handing him a glass.
“Thanks,” he said. “Cin cin.”
“Cin cin,” she touched her glass against his.
“There were two girls outside the door, with wine and cigarettes. So much like you.”
She laughed, “Except that I have quitted smoking.”
“What?”
“Why are you so agitated?”
“Well, I tried so hard to make you quit. And now you tell me you quitted, just like that,” he glared at her.
And they both laughed.
“Those were the days, huh?”
“Indeed.”
“So, what brings you back to Rome?”
“Work. They are letting me handle the partners in Italy, because of my Italian.”
“So finally you have some use for it again.”
“Yeah.”
“So you said you are leaving tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s fast.”
“Pity, huh?”
She nodded, sipping her wine. “So…Are you still fighting alone?”
“Unfortunately, yes… I was seeing someone, but it didn’t quite work out…”
“Was she Italian?”
“Why must she be Italian?”
“Well, remember the first time we met, I was asking you why you were learning Italian, and you said-”
“Perché amo una donna italiana.”
She laughed. “Esatto. So was she Italian? Or have you sworn off Italian women because of me?”
He laughed, but answered with a question, “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing serious in these 2 years. I was focussing on work…and I picked up cooking.”
“Really? I am so proud of you! You couldn’t cook at all.”
“Well, the next time you come to Rome, I will cook for you.”
“That’s what you say.”
“Of course. You know I always mean what I say. More wine?”
“Another glass. And then basta. I have a plane to catch in the morning.”
She refilled his glass, then hers.
“Are you still painting?”
She nodded. “But I am more into portraits now. The look in the eyes. It captivates me. I want to capture that gaze. The gaze tells a story.”
He smiled, “Have you done any self-portraits then?”
“No...”
“You should. I think it would be interesting. It would be beautiful.”
“Hauntingly beautiful?”
“Hauntingly beautiful.”
They laughed again.
“You know I love your eyes. I fell in love with your eyes.”
“And I fell in love with your mouth. What a glib tongue you have. Are you sure you are not Italian?” she laughed.
“Maybe, who knows?” he shrugged and walked over to the large window in the living room.
“More wine?”
“Just one more glass. One last glass.”
“You said that just now,” she said as she refilled his glass.
“Well, you keep asking. Are you trying to make me stay?”
“Why should I?” she laughed. “You don’t belong here.”
“But I love this area. I love the atmosphere. The narrow streets, all the buildings so close to each other, the bars, the restaurants, the shops. This place has so much character,” he said, looking out of the window to the street below. He could make out the two girls below, still outside, enjoying the lovely night.
“I know. That’s why I am living here. That’s why I was born here.”
He laughed. “Is the Cigarini bookstore still around?”
She nodded.
“Still going strong at eighty. Amazing. Signor Cigarini. What do you think you would be doing when you are eighty?”
She shrugged, “Well, maybe dead and buried in the cemetery. We all have to go some time. And if I have led my life to the fullest, I wouldn’t have any regret not being around at eighty. Probably for the better. I probably would look hideous at that age.”
He laughed, “I am sure you would look just as beautiful.”
“Thank you. That’s why I keep refilling your glass. So that you keep the praises coming in.”
“Well, I have no complaints. It’s a good wine. It really is.”
“Glad you liked it then,” she smiled. “But I have no more to offer now. Unless you want me to open another bottle?”
“There’s no need for that. Time for the mochi cream?”
She nodded and they went back to the couch. “Well, let’s see if they are really as fantastic as you claim.”
“So…” he took out the box from the bag and opened it. Inside were 6 ball-shaped pieces of the Japanese confection.
“What flavours are there?”
“Well, this is vanilla, chocolate, matcha, raspberry, milk tea and grape.”
“3 each?” she asked, looking at him with earnest eyes.
“3 each.”
“Matcha.”
“Ok, I will take the raspberry.”
She bit into the confection, and chewed carefully, her eyes lighting up as she savoured the explosion of flavour in her mouth. She raised a thumbs-up. “Superb. Absolutely superb. You are right.”
“Right? Right? Ok, next pick. I go first?”
She nodded, popping the other half of the mochi into her mouth. “Mmmmmm.”
He took the grape, and she took the milk tea. She offered him the other half of hers, holding it to him. He looked at her, before opening his mouth and she popped the mochi into his mouth. He offered his half, which she took with relish. He wiped the bit of ice cream that had smudged her cheek. She laughed, somewhat embarrassed.
“So, the last two.”
“I know which one you are going to take,” he said.
She smiled. “You know me well.”
She took the vanilla mochi.
“So, this is it,” she said when they were finished.
“Sadly.”
They sat on the couch wordlessly for a while. Then, he took a look at his watch, and announced, “I guess I should get going. It’s almost three now.”
“Should I call you a taxi?”
“I would like to walk a bit through Trastevere, and when I get tired, then I guess I will take a taxi.”
“You still love walking, don’t you?”
He laughed, “It’s really nice to walk in the night, listening to your mp3. It feels like you can keep walking…forever.”
“To where? Where does forever lead to?”
He stared at her for a moment or two, before breaking into a laugh, “You have to spoil it, don’t you? My last moments in Rome.”
She laughed. “Mi dispiace. But at least, you leave with a sweet taste in your mouth. From the mochi. And that, is sweeter than forever.””
He nodded and got up. “Ok, I should get going.”
She saw him to the door, and leaned against the doorway, her arms folded.
“I am glad we got to talk tonight. Just like old times. You know, talk and not just speak.”
“Siamo amici. Friends always have things to talk about,” she replied.
“Friends?”
“Friends,” she affirmed.
“Friends,” he repeated, and winked. “Arriverderci, Chiara.”
They embraced.
“Arriverderci,” she whispered.
He released her, smiled and turned, as she leaned against the doorway again, arms folded.
He took two steps and turned. “By the way, I love your hair. I am not used to it, but I think it suits you. Take care, Chiara.”
She smiled.
As he came down the stairs and stepped out of the door into the cool night of Rome at 3a.m., the girls were gone.
He finally came to the house he was looking for. Number 28. Two girls in summer dresses were standing outside the door, having a smoke while holding a glass of wine in the other hand.
“Buona sera,” he said.
“Sera,” they replied.
He pressed on the doorbell.
“Hallo?” came her familiar voice, somewhat distorted over the loudspeaker, but nevertheless clearly hers.
“It’s me.”
“Come in. Third floor, if you still remember.”
A buzz signaled the unlocking of the door, and he pushed it open, nodding to the two girls as he entered.
Of course he remembered that it was the third floor, the apartment on the left. How could he forget?
She was standing at her opened door, her head resting against the doorway. She was sporting a bob now instead of the long tresses from two years ago. But her smile when she saw him appear at the stairs was the same Chiara smile that he knew.
“Come stai?” she asked.
“Bene. E tu?” he came to her.
“Bene.”
They hesitated, laughed, and embraced.
“Come on in,” she beckoned.
“Sorry to have come at such short notice… but I was busy with work till tonight. To be honest, I wasn’t really expecting you to be free, let alone at home on a Friday night…”
The truth was that he had deliberated and hesitated before calling. Not just because he was afraid she wouldn’t have time, but also because he was afraid that she would have changed her number…without informing him. They have had so little to do with one another in the past two years that he was afraid he had ceased to exist in her life.
“Staying at home with a nice bottle of wine is nice too,” she said, without turning back.
“Alone?”
She shrugged, “Well, you are here now, so I don’t have to drink alone. But being alone is nice sometimes too.”
He surveyed the apartment. “Everything looks pretty much the same…”
His eyes fell on the side table. The photograph of the two of them on Castello Sant’Angelo with the setting sun over Rome as the backdrop was gone.
“Why should anything change?” she asked, turning around. “So are you going to drink with me? What’s that in your hand?”
“Oh,” he remembered the paper bag he was clutching. “Mochi cream.”
“What’s that?”
“A Japanese confection. Mochi filled with ice cream. I saw the shop on Via Nazionale, and remembered I had it in Kobe, and it was delicious. So I decided to get it. Can’t show up here empty-handed, right?”
“No, you can’t,” she laughed. “Some wine? We can have the, what do you call it? Mochi cream? We can have that after the wine.”
“Sure. What do you have?”
“A Chiaretto.”
“Chiaretto? Chiara e Chiaretto,” he laughed.
“What? Even after two years, you are still stuck on that joke.”
“Sorry. The wine just suits you somehow, no? If someone were to ask me what kind of wine would Chiara be, I would have answered Chiaretto.”
“Why?”
He shrugged and smiled. “Somehow? But it’s a good comparison. I love a good Chiaretto.”
“Well, you loved me,” she said, handing him a glass.
“Thanks,” he said. “Cin cin.”
“Cin cin,” she touched her glass against his.
“There were two girls outside the door, with wine and cigarettes. So much like you.”
She laughed, “Except that I have quitted smoking.”
“What?”
“Why are you so agitated?”
“Well, I tried so hard to make you quit. And now you tell me you quitted, just like that,” he glared at her.
And they both laughed.
“Those were the days, huh?”
“Indeed.”
“So, what brings you back to Rome?”
“Work. They are letting me handle the partners in Italy, because of my Italian.”
“So finally you have some use for it again.”
“Yeah.”
“So you said you are leaving tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s fast.”
“Pity, huh?”
She nodded, sipping her wine. “So…Are you still fighting alone?”
“Unfortunately, yes… I was seeing someone, but it didn’t quite work out…”
“Was she Italian?”
“Why must she be Italian?”
“Well, remember the first time we met, I was asking you why you were learning Italian, and you said-”
“Perché amo una donna italiana.”
She laughed. “Esatto. So was she Italian? Or have you sworn off Italian women because of me?”
He laughed, but answered with a question, “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing serious in these 2 years. I was focussing on work…and I picked up cooking.”
“Really? I am so proud of you! You couldn’t cook at all.”
“Well, the next time you come to Rome, I will cook for you.”
“That’s what you say.”
“Of course. You know I always mean what I say. More wine?”
“Another glass. And then basta. I have a plane to catch in the morning.”
She refilled his glass, then hers.
“Are you still painting?”
She nodded. “But I am more into portraits now. The look in the eyes. It captivates me. I want to capture that gaze. The gaze tells a story.”
He smiled, “Have you done any self-portraits then?”
“No...”
“You should. I think it would be interesting. It would be beautiful.”
“Hauntingly beautiful?”
“Hauntingly beautiful.”
They laughed again.
“You know I love your eyes. I fell in love with your eyes.”
“And I fell in love with your mouth. What a glib tongue you have. Are you sure you are not Italian?” she laughed.
“Maybe, who knows?” he shrugged and walked over to the large window in the living room.
“More wine?”
“Just one more glass. One last glass.”
“You said that just now,” she said as she refilled his glass.
“Well, you keep asking. Are you trying to make me stay?”
“Why should I?” she laughed. “You don’t belong here.”
“But I love this area. I love the atmosphere. The narrow streets, all the buildings so close to each other, the bars, the restaurants, the shops. This place has so much character,” he said, looking out of the window to the street below. He could make out the two girls below, still outside, enjoying the lovely night.
“I know. That’s why I am living here. That’s why I was born here.”
He laughed. “Is the Cigarini bookstore still around?”
She nodded.
“Still going strong at eighty. Amazing. Signor Cigarini. What do you think you would be doing when you are eighty?”
She shrugged, “Well, maybe dead and buried in the cemetery. We all have to go some time. And if I have led my life to the fullest, I wouldn’t have any regret not being around at eighty. Probably for the better. I probably would look hideous at that age.”
He laughed, “I am sure you would look just as beautiful.”
“Thank you. That’s why I keep refilling your glass. So that you keep the praises coming in.”
“Well, I have no complaints. It’s a good wine. It really is.”
“Glad you liked it then,” she smiled. “But I have no more to offer now. Unless you want me to open another bottle?”
“There’s no need for that. Time for the mochi cream?”
She nodded and they went back to the couch. “Well, let’s see if they are really as fantastic as you claim.”
“So…” he took out the box from the bag and opened it. Inside were 6 ball-shaped pieces of the Japanese confection.
“What flavours are there?”
“Well, this is vanilla, chocolate, matcha, raspberry, milk tea and grape.”
“3 each?” she asked, looking at him with earnest eyes.
“3 each.”
“Matcha.”
“Ok, I will take the raspberry.”
She bit into the confection, and chewed carefully, her eyes lighting up as she savoured the explosion of flavour in her mouth. She raised a thumbs-up. “Superb. Absolutely superb. You are right.”
“Right? Right? Ok, next pick. I go first?”
She nodded, popping the other half of the mochi into her mouth. “Mmmmmm.”
He took the grape, and she took the milk tea. She offered him the other half of hers, holding it to him. He looked at her, before opening his mouth and she popped the mochi into his mouth. He offered his half, which she took with relish. He wiped the bit of ice cream that had smudged her cheek. She laughed, somewhat embarrassed.
“So, the last two.”
“I know which one you are going to take,” he said.
She smiled. “You know me well.”
She took the vanilla mochi.
“So, this is it,” she said when they were finished.
“Sadly.”
They sat on the couch wordlessly for a while. Then, he took a look at his watch, and announced, “I guess I should get going. It’s almost three now.”
“Should I call you a taxi?”
“I would like to walk a bit through Trastevere, and when I get tired, then I guess I will take a taxi.”
“You still love walking, don’t you?”
He laughed, “It’s really nice to walk in the night, listening to your mp3. It feels like you can keep walking…forever.”
“To where? Where does forever lead to?”
He stared at her for a moment or two, before breaking into a laugh, “You have to spoil it, don’t you? My last moments in Rome.”
She laughed. “Mi dispiace. But at least, you leave with a sweet taste in your mouth. From the mochi. And that, is sweeter than forever.””
He nodded and got up. “Ok, I should get going.”
She saw him to the door, and leaned against the doorway, her arms folded.
“I am glad we got to talk tonight. Just like old times. You know, talk and not just speak.”
“Siamo amici. Friends always have things to talk about,” she replied.
“Friends?”
“Friends,” she affirmed.
“Friends,” he repeated, and winked. “Arriverderci, Chiara.”
They embraced.
“Arriverderci,” she whispered.
He released her, smiled and turned, as she leaned against the doorway again, arms folded.
He took two steps and turned. “By the way, I love your hair. I am not used to it, but I think it suits you. Take care, Chiara.”
She smiled.
As he came down the stairs and stepped out of the door into the cool night of Rome at 3a.m., the girls were gone.
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