Training in Love (21 page)

“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…”

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.”

He
regards me without speaking.

“Most
of all, I missed him. There were moments when his absence was almost… physical.
I don’t know how to explain it.”

He
nods. “No, no, I understand. I know I may seem strange, but it was the same for
me with my grandfather.” He looks away while he stretches into another position,
which I quickly copy. “Even if we were always informed about the state of his
illness when he was in the hospital, and even if the doctors told us we
shouldn’t continue to hope – in fact they didn’t even want to operate – I
became conscious of his sickness, his death, only months and months after he
was gone. I don’t know. It’s as though your brain were slow…” He shrugs. “I
felt worse afterwards than I did when he was in the hospital.”

I
just nod.

“And
for me… For me his loss was devastating.” He swallows and doesn’t speak again.

I
don’t add anything, but he starts to speak again spontaneously. “Now that we’re
talking about it, I remember certain images…” He laughs and shakes his head. “I
spent lots of time with him when I was little. He made me laugh and have fun because
he was physical with me. We were always moving.” He looks at me with a sad
smile, a sad look. “‘Mens sana in corpore sano,’ he always said.”

I
move my eyes away from his because I suddenly have the desire to get up and go
embrace him. Didn’t I start out talking about horrible things? How is it that I
find myself like this? Desperate because I can’t throw myself on him and hold
him tight?

He
takes a deep breath and sits with his legs bent in front of him. He hugs them
around the knees and I see that we’ve finished, but he has no intention of
getting up and dismissing  me. “However, let’s talk about something nice every
so often…” He says with a different tone. “Tell me about the most beautiful
moment of your life,” he urges me with a smile.

I
look at him and on the tip of my tongue are the words “this morning, when you
kissed me,” but clearly I can’t open my mouth and let them out, so I think
furiously for some alternative. “Maybe… when I saw that I had lost weight
without doing a real diet.”

He
raises his eyebrows, surprised.

“What
is it?” I ask, already anxious.

He
shakes his head, “No, it’s just that… I’m happy to have been there, but was
that really the most beautiful moment of your life?”

I
immediately feel uncomfortable, inadequate, and I realize how much this answer
says about my life. I feel stupid. Why have I lived like this? My God…

I
redden, lower my gaze to my crossed legs and answer, stuttering, “You can’t
understand. For me it was a victory… after battling for years… and then… there
are other moments,” I conclude, playing with my shoe laces.

“Like?”

I
shrug my shoulders without looking at him, “Like…” I think quickly and finally something
comes to me. “Like the first pyjama party with Linda.” I smile at the thought, without
meeting his eyes. “I was twelve years old and we stayed up all night, eating
trash and watching some cartoons and some videos of Bon Jovi’s concerts.”

He
is quiet, and finally says, “But you aren’t all wrong… it’s hard to pick out
the most beautiful of all…”

I
glance at him quickly and I’m happy to discover that his eyes are turned
towards the trees which line the track.