“Ah, yes, Friday! Already!” Paolo said. He thought for a moment. “Maybe then we could go tomorrow?” Sally thought, Yes. I should go. I'll say goodbye to everything and everyone and get it all over with forever.
“Maybe,” Sally told Paolo.
CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO
In all her time in Rome, Sally had never been to an Italian cemetery. But she already knew that they were different from those in the United States.
This small burial ground was on the outskirts of the city and was best known for its winding promenade flanked by rows of tall and lovely umbrella pine trees.
Paolo parked the car and the three of them began the walk down the narrow path between the file cabinet drawers of tombs stacked one on top of the other. Most of these file-like drawers had a little ledge where flowers, a votive candle, and usually a picture of the person inside were displayed. Walking down the narrow aisles was an eerie experience of visiting those who were dead but seemed alive.
The variety of faces looking out at them as they passed proved that death, indeed, had an even hand. There were hundreds of photos of men, women and children of all shapes, sizes, and ages. Some photos were solemn turn-of-the-century portraits of people who, to the modern eye, seemed to be dressed in costume. Very few of these ledges had flowers. Probably everyone who knew the people in the photos was gone too.
Sally wondered if the pictures of pretty women and handsome men indicated that they were in their prime when brought to these strange shelves. Or if, like old movie stars that die, these were the young faces they were best remembered by. It occurred to Sally that when they got to his grave, there would probably be a picture of Tonino.
“We're almost there,” Paolo told her.
Suddenly Sally was sorry she had come. All day she had managed to avoid reality. By sleeping late. By lingering over coffee in an out-of-the way cafe. Putting her face up to the sunny sky and thinking of nothing. But now she was about to offer herself up to yet another blow to the heart. She would be pulled back into the pain she had been avoiding since yesterday, and pushed forward into the pain yet to come. She wasn't sure she could do this.
Sally lagged behind. The sympathetic Franca went slightly ahead, while Paolo walked with Sally. Then the three of them stopped. Sally's eyes searched for Tonino's face but couldn't find it.
“No picture,” Paolo said.
No, he wouldn't, Sally thought. How else could he bear it. To her surprise she was disappointed that Tonino was not visibly there. Paolo didn't even look at the grave, but took Franca's elbow and said to Sally, “We want to visit Franca's aunt while we're here. We'll come back for you in a little while.”
Dear Paolo, Sally thought and almost cried again.
But she didn't.
Not even for Tonino.
If only she had believed that Tonino would die. Imagine if she had acknowledged the truth. Would she have just left him there, looking at the floor when she said goodbye. Would she have left at all? Would she have given up their quiet moments alone together in that green Roman light, studying his stamp collection, where Sally would pretend the stamps were beautiful, and then be surprised they were.
She had known so little about these things: fathers, sons, and death. Now she knew that stamps are kept; it's love and death once done that cannot be saved.
Suddenly she could hear the sound of Paolo and Franca returning and this broke the spell of her difficult reverie. Sally hoped that now they could go since she could not remain any longer, but she knew she would probably have to wait. Paolo and Franca would no doubt want to stay with Tonino a little while at least.
As they approached, Sally could see Paolo's solemn face contort with a flash of pain. He did not look at the grave. He only put his hand lightly on Sally's shoulder and then walked straight ahead as the two women left the cemetery single file behind him.
“So, you're leaving tomorrow,” Paolo stated flatly as the trio drove back to Marco and Elena's apartment. Both Paolo and Franca walked Sally the few feet from the car to the apartment door.
About a half hour later, Paolo telephoned
“It occurred to me that you might need a ride to the airport,” Paolo said.
“I was planning to take a taxi.”
“Don't be silly. It costs too much. I can drive you.”
“That's not necessary.”
“I know. I want to.”
Sally thought that she had had enough of the three of them, but it would soon all be over. And she was very tired. Almost too tired to organize herself. The re-packing, ordering a cab, and fighting with her own bags seemed overwhelming at the moment.
“That would be very helpful. Thank you, Paolo,” Sally said.
CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE
The next morning after a deep sleep, Sally was feeling a little stronger as she packed. While most of her emotions were suspended for safekeeping until she could deal with them at a better time, she was at least comforted by the fact that she was going home.
How strange the last few years have been, she thought. First, leaving Rome to go back to a New York life that no longer existed. Then leaving New York for an old life in Rome that no longer exists. And now back again to a life of...what? To a life that would have to start again from where she was. Yes, she thought. Start again. The slow, bloody climb back to a better place.
And she wasn't going back entirely empty hearted. She had Tonino tucked away in there, riding softly on her last memories of him as a bright, talented, funny child who was her pal. She obviously had Paolo too if she would accept him in his new form. She would, for as long as she could stand it, and then maybe she'd be ready to let him go. Maybe she would never let him go. Maybe she would hear the voice of his wise love for the rest of her life.
Paolo came up to the apartment for her bags. Sally had already hugged Marco and Elena goodbye early that morning before they left for work. Together, Sally and Paolo did the busy work of counting bags, turning off lights, and locking up.
On the elevator going down to the car they were silent, but Paolo never took his eyes off her. Finally, he gently buttoned an undone button in the middle of her jacket that had gone unnoticed. “A woman who looks as good as you do, doesn't want to spoil it,” he explained, smiling.
The automobile was empty. There would be just the two of them. Ah! Sally thought. Of course. It's safe for them now. Sally pushed away the sorry thought that her departure was probably a relief for them, by being glad that at least one more time in her life she could enjoy being alone with Paolo. Even though all that could be said had already been said.
The finality of the trip relaxed Sally. She even laughed a few times at Paolo's strange wit. She and Paolo could always make each other laugh with their ironical, absurdist sense of humor. Sally had noticed that Franca never laughed at Paolo's droll observations. She was convinced that Franca didn't understand them.
When they arrived at the airport, they had some extra time and decided to park the car first, and then walk on this beautiful day to the terminal. They got a spot not too far away and Paolo carried the bags to check in. At the counter they processed the luggage without delay.
Now there was still lots of time so Sally suggested they get some more fresh air as she walked Paolo back to the car. They stood in the sun by the car door, but Paolo said it was too soon to say goodbye so he suggested that he walk her back to the terminal. On the way back they both laughed so hard they could hardly go forward.
But back at the terminal they saw that time was running out. They stood looking at each other. Sally's heart was pounding with longing and regret. She wanted to throw herself into Paolo's arms and cling there forever. But Paolo had behaved so strangely throughout this whole trip that she was totally confused as to what he would allow her to do. She didn't want to leave Rome with the indelible impression of Paolo pushing her away from him.
Paolo's face became very serious and his sad brown eyes began to get a little misty. Suddenly, and for the first ti
me in more than a year, he took Sally in his arms and enclosed her whole body against his chest. Her face was buried in his neck. She felt her lips on his familiar skin, and could smell the beloved combination of French tobacco and aftershave. She felt his body shake.
“Am I making a mistake?!” Paolo cried. “Should I stop you?! By letting you go, am I making a mistake??”
Sally couldn't believe it! It wasn't too late! She knew her instincts were right: he did still love her! They would remain together forever after all!
“Yes!” she said. “Yes! Yes! It would be! A big mistake. One we might never recover from!”
Paolo buried his face in her hair. He held her very tightly without moving. He was silent for a long time. Finally, he pulled himself together, moved back at arms length and put both his hands on her shoulders. His face had the same look as when he walked by Tonino's grave. He took a deep breath and in a hardly audible voice he said with teeth-gritting determination:
“Then I will have to live so that letting you go is not a mistake. I will have to make sure it is not a mistake.”
Since he couldn't stand to look at the now heartsick and dumb stricken Sally, Paolo turned and walked away.
THE END
(more)
EPILOGUE
“You look wonderful, Sally,” Franca said as she hugged her, “you haven't changed in all these....how many? eleven?... years!”
“Neither have you!” Sally answered warmly.
They were having lunch, just the two of them, in a small restaurant that was tucked away in one of Rome's many ancient alleyways. One of those neighborhood places that only the Romans knew about. Paolo would meet them later and then they would all go back to her hotel to pick up Brian.
Brian was on the phone with New York, trying to solve one crisis or another. Brian was always in crisis. But Sally loved his energy, the fact that he was into everything. That he felt he could do anything, and usually did. Brian had dreams and visions for himself and he made them come true.
They had been together now for nine years. Nine tumultuous years that ran the gamut between intense devotion and infidelity. Between broken engagements, trial separations, and new reconciliations. Between the excitement of always being in motion, and the loneliness that Brian's constant activity sometimes caused her.
“Well, you and I may not have changed in the past decade,” Sally declared to Franca, “but Rome certainly has.”
“Yes,” Franca said, “Isn't it terrible. So much traffic. So much graffiti and upheaval. You wouldn't believe how different Rome has become since you lived here.” One difference, Sally mused, was that divorce had become legal and now Paolo and Franca were married.
“But I have to admit, in spite of all,” Sally said, “It's still beautiful.”
“Rome will always be beautiful.” Franca pointed out, reverting to her true Roman character.
Sally and Brian would not be in Rome nearly long enough as far as Sally was concerned. They had so much to see. She wanted to take him through all her old haunts, to meet all her old friends. Marco and Elena were having them to dinner that night on their terrace overlooking the medieval rooftops of the city. From there you could just see the dome of St. Peter's Basilica in the background. Brian would love it. This was his first look at Rome, and Sally thought she knew exactly how he would feel.
Sally had not been sure that she wanted to see Paolo--and, of course, Franca--on this trip. But once she was in Rome it was impossible not to call him. For her, Paolo was part of Rome itself.
Paolo was obviously thrilled to hear from her and insisted the four of them get together. By the time they worked out everybody's schedule, it wound up that Sally and Franca should meet first and everyone else would catch up along the way.
“So tell me fast,” Sally said jokingly to Franca, “what 's been going on for the past eleven years?” Franca didn't laugh. Franca smiled, but seldom laughed.
“Well,” Franca started thoughtfully, “we have a little house in the country now. By the lake.”
“Wonderful.”
“And I'm working in a gift shop.”
“How nice. Are you enjoying it?”
“Very much. I meet people and it gives me something to do.” She paused and thought. “Paolo has been with our State Department.”
“Yes,” Sally said, “he told me on the phone. He said he went to Japan recently. That must have been fascinating. Did you go?”
“No,” Franca said.
Sally had developed a genuine liking for Franca, but they didn't have a great deal in common. And what they had in common was a little awkward. Still, Sally could see that Franca was not at all cagey with her, and sometimes even discussed Paolo as if he somehow belonged to both of them.
Franca added: “It's a shame Tonino could not have gone with him. He'd have been a grown man by now.”
Sally started at the sudden mention of Tonino. “You both must miss him terribly,” Sally said. “I still do.”
“We try never to talk about him anymore,” Franca said. “Paolo doesn't want to talk about him. He doesn't even like to be around other kids.”
“Did you ever think of having another child?” Sally asked hesitantly, thinking only that it might heal some of Paolo's wounds that apparently were still raw, even now.
“I was pregnant last time you were here,” Franca told her. “Do you remember that time?”
Sally caught her breath. Remember? How could she forget!
Pregnant! So that was it. She wasn't crazy. She was right. At the time Paolo still did want her. And maybe even would have taken her back, but Franca, the woman who had nursed his now dead son, was pregnant with his new child. No wonder he had behaved the way he had. “I will have to make sure it's not a mistake,” he had told her when he let her go.
All these years of wondering why he hadn't had the courage to do what she could see he wanted to do, suddenly became crystal clear to her. Sally got a sharp pain in her chest and took a sip of wine. She must have looked strange, which Franca confused with puzzlement, so she explained: “I lost the baby.”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” Sally said. “Could you have had another?” She fiercely wanted to have lost Paolo to something you could feel and see. Only a reason as important as another new life would do for her.
“Paolo doesn't want children. He never wants another child.”
“What about you?” Sally asked.
Franca shrugged,” He won't change his mind. He said he never wants to care about anything that much again in his life.”
Sally was sure she had seen that process begin the last time she was in Rome, and that she had been included in it.
What was supposed to have been an amiable lunch with the wife of an old friend was turning into a surprise emotional storm for Sally. Her head was spinning. Her insides were shaking. It was as though more than a decade had not passed. She was filled with “what ifs” and “if onlys.” Once more the ironies of fate had a stranglehold and they were choking her.
“Are you alright?” Franca asked.
“I was just thinking about Tonino,” Sally lied, although indirectly it was true.
“Try not to talk about him to Paolo,” Franca said possessively, which annoyed Sally.
“No, I won't.”
The waiter came with their pasta. Sally needed to get a grip, so she used the opportunity to change the subject. “Yum, this looks good! I told Brian he had never really tasted food until he ate in Italy. So far he's only had bad scrambled eggs in the hotel. But Rome will get him yet.” Talking about Brian eased her. After all, she had a life of her own now.
Still, sitting across from Franca it was clear that her stubborn belief that Paolo and Franca would never last had been wrong. This made her immensely sad, although she didn't want it to.
She was about to reach for another sip of wine when she saw Paolo enter the restaurant.
He was walking his long-legged walk in a finely cut dark blue suit that fitted his still trim
body perfectly. His thick salt and pepper hair was handsomely styled. He was smiling. He looked almost the same except for his sad eyes, which had become slightly hard.
“Sally!” he cried as he rushed to embrace her quickly, kissing her on both cheeks as the Italians do, and then let go. “How good to see you!” He meant it.
Sally wanted to scream.
Paolo went over and sat next to Franca, kissing her lightly on one cheek. “Ciao, cara,” he said to her comfortably. Both their rhythms meshed immediately as they discussed what Paolo should order. Paolo took Franca's hand, and then turned his full attention on Sally.
“So tell me fast,” he laughed, “what's been going on for the past eleven years.”
Sally did not know how she would be able to talk.
Yes, she thought, I see you have managed to live with your mistake after all. But dear God!, she implored to herself, when will I be able to live with mine........!??
#
CODA
So this
is how
I mourn,
who
went
on
loving,
though
once
you and
a now dead
boy
traced
my leaving
on a
map.
I mourn
with the tips
of my
fingers
through
blue
sun-
lit
shirts
as you
say,
“That
was
long
ago.”
In Rome
we
are ancient
history
our past
ignored
like
other
ruins,
even
by us.
#######
(more)
Dear Reader
Thank you for sharing this book with me. Please feel free to comment by sending an email to
[email protected] You may also go to the website www.poemshareandmore.blogspot.com to download FREE links to CHANGES OF HEART, five short stories of change that alter lives for better or worse. On the website you will also find FREE links to the complete poetry collection STAR ON FIRE, and a chapbook on what it is like LIVING WITH THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE.
Thank you and I hope you will enjoy.
Patricia Ryan
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