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Trizia dinner and shooting stars
August 10
The afternoon she remained in the apartment. The sun and the bathrooms had exhausted. She had been woken up at six to the sound of barrels and now he felt sleepy. She fell asleep right after lunch and did not get up for the dinner hour. The restaurant was in the building near the central atrium. The round tables were laid with taste. On the tablecloths and napkins damask tone perfectly ironed navy shining silver cutlery and crystal glasses a polished. In the middle of each table was a candle in a lie tiled with painted designs of flowers that recalled the name of the apartment.
She recognized the bougainvillea and approached the table; the waiter pulled a chair and sat her down. The choice of dishes from the daily menu was tempting and the wine list extensive. It was decided for a risotto with seafood and grilled sea bass; also chose from a list of dry white wines was a wine of ninety, excellent year, according to the sommelier. She completed the meal with appetizers at the table of refreshments, the outline of zucchini scapece and the dessert of strawberries with whipped cream and chocolate cake.
She ate of taste and appetite. The sea air and the physical activity they had an appetite. She was the last spoonful of dessert, when the waiter came by with a flute and a bottle of Italian sparkling wine of excellent brand. Trizia hastened to say that he had ordered, but the waiter, with an almost imperceptible movement of the index in the white glove, pointed it offered the two elderly people across the table. She was dumbfounded.
The waiter made it clear that the couple celebrated Fifty years of marriage and had wanted to toast with the guests who were sitting at the tables around them. She lifted the cup as a sign of greeting and smiled, she thought, so many years together, a life, but he could not help but remember that her marriage had not survived beyond seven. She would have celebrated fourteen. She remembered with a touch of bitterness. Maybe she and Duilio would reach a tourist destination for the occasion. Things had gone differently.
Tart expression was in her eyes, when Marco came up to his table to invite entertainment on the terrace in front of the sea. It was the night of San Lorenzo and everyone expected to see the stars fall. "The shooting stars, no," she said. He narrowed his eyes and stared at him. Anyone that looks would have given up, but Marco was not one of first refusal to surrender. Used with grace and charm persuaded. At the end Trizia failed to reject the invitation.
After all, the evening had the sea breeze in the air. The memory of Duilio had put melancholy, and the strong wine and sparkling wine had put the heat. She agreed. "Okay." Rising from the table stared at the meeting on the terrace. Trizia arrived and Marco was waiting for sitting on a rocking chair equipped with a small table. There were other places swings in a semicircle in front of a space reserved for the dance and orchestra. They were occupied.
That evening they performed guitarists. They reworked classic ballads and Neapolitan songs with a touch of flamenco. They ranged from as deep and tragic hymns joyful overflowing of love and passion. At that time, played and sang a haunting melody. They reclined back on his swing, his eyes to the stars and your feet moving to the rhythm of the waltz earthenware decorated with acanthus leaves. The lights of the terrace had been adjusted to avoid dazzling the eyes and to give accent to the brightness of the stars and constellations. There was no moon. Trizia found himself enveloped in semi-darkness and surreal environment that had been created. It was not a good idea to accept that appointment.
This was the case in a hurry to find an excuse to take leave without offending anyone. She did not have time. Marco approached her and handed her his arm smartly, made her sit on the rocking chair that had reserved. The bench swayed slightly and she sank back. Marco sat down beside her. He saw about whether the stars emerge from the background of the clear sky and the dark. For a moment she felt part of the sky. She attracted by meteor showers and the mysteries of life. The waiter came to take the order. Mark advised her to try the lemon liqueur. The waiter offered to bring a cocktail lemon. They accepted.
"Trizia, we saw the sky tonight; does not believe that it is beautiful?" He spoke as if he were at the premiere of which he was the director. He adjusted the collar of his shirt behind his bow tie and kept talking. He had a low tone impregnated with gentleness that she would not have given. "You know, the stars of the constellations appear to look at them closely and in reality are far apart?" He tried to make a good impression and did not notice that the lady at his side was stiffening. It was not just because of the embarrassment of being romantically sitting on a rocking chair next to a stranger, but for an unfortunate fact. The situation reminded him of it.
It had happened many years before. It was the last time to watch the shooting stars. One summer, she went with Duilio to the observatory, but found it closed. They stopped on a hill equally enjoy the evening. They sat on a boulder at the edge of the pine forest of plaster. All of a sudden, she told him the legend. The desire expressed while watching a falling star, would come true. She wanted a son. She wanted to be around her and a man she loved, and wanted him right away. His life was supposed to be filled with a new life. He felt incomplete. She worked hard and did not like to do it just to make itself felt selfish. Duilio also aspired to become a parent. They waited a shooting star. After midnight, the stars fell so numerous as to exceed all expectations. She peeled off twenty-two. Unfortunately, the expressed desire was not fulfilled. Did not ever look at the stars, but only what was dictated by reason.
The waiter made it clear that the couple celebrated Fifty years of marriage and had wanted to toast with the guests who were sitting at the tables around them. He lifted the cup as a sign of greeting and smiled, he thought, so many years together, a life, but he could not help but remember that her marriage had not survived beyond seven. He would have celebrated fourteen. I remembered with a touch of bitterness. Maybe she and Duilio would reach a tourist destination for the occasion. Things had gone differently.
Tart expression was in her eyes, when Mark came up to his table to invite entertainment on the terrace overlooking the sea. It was the night of San Lorenzo and everyone expected to see the stars fall. "The shooting stars, no," he said. He narrowed his eyes and stared at him. Anyone that look would have given up , but Mark was not one of first refusal to surrender. Used with grace and charm persuaded. At the end Trizia failed to reject the invitation.
After all, the evening had the sea breeze in the air. The memory of Duilio had put melancholy, and the strong wine and sparkling wine had put the heat. She agreed. "Okay." Rising from the table stared at the meeting on the terrace. Trizia arrived; Marco was waiting for sitting on a rocking chair equipped with a small table. There were other places swings in a semicircle in front of a space reserved for the dance and orchestra. They were occupied.
That evening they performed guitarists. Reworked classic ballads and Neapolitan songs with a touch of flamenco. Ranged from as deep and tragic hymns joyful overflowing of love and passion. At that time, played and sang a haunting melody. They reclined back on his swing, his eyes to the stars and your feet moving to the rhythm of the waltz earthenware decorated with acanthus leaves.
The lights of the terrace had been adjusted to avoid dazzling the eyes and to give accent to the brightness of the stars and constellations. There was no moon. Trizia found himself enveloped in semi-darkness and surreal environment that had been created. It was not a good idea to accept that appointment.
This was the case in a hurry to find an excuse to take leave without offending anyone. She did not have time. Mark approached her and handed her his arm smartly, made her sit on the rocking chair that had reserved. The bench swayed slightly and she sank back. Marco sat down beside her. He saw about whether the stars emerge from the background of the clear sky and the dark. For a moment she felt part of the sky. She attracted by meteor showers and the mysteries of life. The waiter came to take the order. Mark advised her to try the lemon liqueur. The waiter offered to bring a
cocktail lemon. They accepted.
"Trizia, we saw the sky tonight; does not believe that it is beautiful?" He spoke as if he were at the premiere of which he was the director. He adjusted the collar of his shirt behind his bow tie and kept talking. He had a low tone impregnated with gentleness that she would not have given. "You know, the stars of the constellations appear to look at them closely and in reality are far apart?" He tried to make a good impression and did not notice that the lady at his side was stiffening. It was not just because of the embarrassment of being romantically sitting on a rocking chair next to a stranger, but for an unfortunate fact. The situation reminded him of it.
It had happened many years before. It was the last time to watch the shooting stars. One summer, he went with Duilio to the observatory, but found it closed. They stopped on a hill equally enjoy the evening. They sat on a boulder at the edge of the pine forest of plaster. All of a sudden she told him the legend. The desire expressed while watching a falling star, would come true. She wanted a son. She wanted to be around her and a man she loved, and wanted him right away. Her life was supposed to be filled with a new life. She felt incomplete. She worked hard and did not like to do it just to make itself felt selfish. Duilio also aspired to become a parent. They waited a shooting star. After midnight, the stars fell as numerous as to exceed all expectations. She peeled off twenty-two. Unfortunately, the expressed desire was not fulfilled. Do not ever looked at the stars, but only what was dictated by reason she got up from the sofa and took a sip of the cocktail the waiter had brought. The hammock swayed slowly.
"You know that Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, you can see from almost every place on Earth and are the fainter meteors to make shooting stars, and that the luminous trail of dust is?" "Oh, it is really?" Trizia swallowed and smiled to disguise the bitterness and the fact that he had not heard a single word of what he had said. "And this exquisite cocktail" and added, pushing the umbrella of colored paper from the glass, sipped the other straw mixture with a pleasant sweet flavor. "I'm glad you like it, and I was saying, that, in speaking of the constellations, that of Aquarius, for example, was so named by the Sumerians, in honor of the god An" "Ah, yes, the Aquarius is my sign" and sent down yet another sip of the alcoholic beverage aroma of lemon. "It is a sign of his creativity," added Mark and he drank the cocktail. There was silence for a moment. Then the enthusiastic astonishment of those present burst out on the terrace. The great spectacle of the stars of the night it started: as fireworks, launched from the vault of heaven, a multitude of paths of light in the darkness, consumed before any reflection on the universe.
The musicians had distributed the tools and craft had started the show with a lively melody. They asked to be accompanied to the rhythm. They were involved too. Trizia had a triccaballacchio made up of many small plates that rattled opening and closing hinged wooden slats on which were nailed.
Marco had the putipù , a kind of drum. The hollow sound came out moving a stick stuck in the middle. All together beating the rhythm with instruments and singing fun. They even tried to pour their shots with the strange objects and tried to go in time. She could not tell if it was the effect of the cocktail or the warm atmosphere, but in any case he was having fun. After a long festival of happy songs, there was a pause of silence. Trizia her cheeks burning and head were spinning. She was not used to drinking alcohol. He realized that the cocktail hiding under the sweet taste a lot of alcohol. She did not like to lose control of him, on any occasion, so he decided it was time to go away and this time would not yield to other proposals. "Marco, it's time for me to retire," told him placing the instrument on the table.
"Something is wrong?" He looked into her eyes sorry. "No, no, it's really late for me; tomorrow I will get up early to go to the beach." She pointed feet to stop the rocking." Stay the night is just beginning." He smiled and made more beside. He did not want to let her go just now beginning to be reached between them.
"Where you learned that way of doing, it reminds me one." The backslid was beginning to feel too close. She braced himself on his legs to stand without staggering. "Who?" The fine also talk to a stranger, provided that the evening did not end there. "Look," settled on his hips the long black dress by thin straps that left open the décolletage. "Marco, please, call me Mark, maybe, if I wanted to give you the" A gust of wind hit them warm scented sea in full. "Marco, you must know, was a pushy," she added in a low voice, her eyes narrowed.
Meanwhile, the music had started. The guitarists had urged those present to beat faster and more rhythm on percussion instruments. The substrate of voices, sounds and noises became more present among them. Mark was standing and he had put his hands in his pockets not to give in to the temptation to restrain him by the arm. "You know Trizia what I'd like to do now?" "No, I do not want to know, I salute you," she turned his head toward the staircase down from the terrace. "I'll take Trizia" made a last attempt to stay close. "No, thanks, I'll go alone."
He arranged the shawl with silver threads that had fallen from his shoulders. "Trizia I want to assure you that I spent a pleasant evening, it did not happen for a long time "The laid him on the neck hem of the shawl that was sliding down again."Me too, good night Marco." She hastened to leave the terrace. Marco waved from afar
Meanwhile, the music echoing between the Walloons and the garden: she sat down on the chair in cane on the porch of his apartment. She did not distinguish the words of the songs that were transformed by the distance and the sound waves in a gentle echo. She would not understand anyway. They were dialect. The Neapolitan language was incomprehensible. "This island is magical," said she, and was astonished that he could think of something, but she was beginning to feel just fine. She considered that the past was very far away and could not continue to provide her with pain. She looked to the future with confidence. She thought of Marco. He was just a nice man, a flatterer. Even graying hair gave him charm. Maybe he would have accepted the offer to go on a trip with him. She yawned, the warmth of the alcohol had evaporated, and she felt the dampness of the night on the skin. She returned.