Two. Eva Forte
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Two
Eva Forte
Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Due/738756506137043
© 2018
www.laragnatelaeditore.it
Translated by: Giada Di Gioia
Publisher of the English edition: Tektime
To those who gave me the courage To begin this new adventure
Preface
Everyone has several stories inside related to one’s own
background but also one’s own imagination. Stories ready to come out on paper, to come alive under the beat of fingers on the keyboard ‘Two’ is born this way and, just like in real life, took shape day after day, getting to know the main characters and their desire to play and know each other going beyond conventions and standard love affairs that follow well-defined paths.
The rediscovery of the five senses, the ability to recapture your own past even in the present, the capability to go further, and the solitude sought after for a long time.
A journey through the city, the countryside, and faraway places to know what love really is. It arises from a glance that, every morning, offers a safe harbour.
CHAPTER 1
The countryside
There is no such thing as waking up early when the city is still sleeping, and the silence of the night starts to break under the motion of the first sounds of the day. In wintertime, it still seems to be cradled by the moon, with that coldness that surrounds you as soon as you step out of bed, leaving the warmth of the night and the perfume of the fabric softener on the sheets.
The warmth of the duvet, with all its smoothness, gives way to little shivers that help me to wake up while I am walking through the still dark and silent house. After turning the coffee maker on, my morning rituals start to unfold one after the other. The shower turns on, with the strong warm stream that chases the foam away. My bathrobe is already prepared nearby, to prevent the coldness to become bothersome and bitter. With the first news of the day, I taste the hot steaming coffee, freshly made while I am still not dressed; the little things that put me in a good mood, even before leaving the house and facing everyday life. As every Monday, there is a lot of excitement in seeing her again after spending two days fantasizing about her life and about what she could be doing in every single moment of her day.
During the last few years I've lost the enthusiasm of having a lasting relationship with a woman, given the last affair, the break period after every relationship is having its benefits. Since I met her, the idea of feeling affection for another one vanished, at least for now. This new adventure made of platonic encounters and stolen glances becomes more and more exciting day after day, almost in the hope that all
remains on this level without any actual contact, without knowing who she is and what she is doing in her life.
I overhear my neighbour’s dog barking and, as regular as clockwork, he opens his door on the landing for his usual morning stroll in Villa Borghese. An old lady took the job of taking that little dog for a walk, being as loud as possible and making it impossible to believe it is actually that little. A nice woman, now alone and without any interests other than helping the engineer by taking a short walk with that tiny dog for which she has no further interest. Wrapped up in her big mat coat, she took the leash and went down the stairs, one step at a time, dragged by the tiny dog dying to reach fresh air after a long night indoors. Before leaving my home, I always wait until I can no longer hear barking. The nice old lady has a special affection for me and always feels obliged to brief me about all her health vicissitudes without taking a breath, and when this happens, I always risk missing my morning rendezvous with my charming stranger, something that generally puts me in a bad mood. So far, it has only happened a few times where we didn’t meet at the café, or at least on the route that takes her away from the café, for it is that eye contact that energises me for the whole day.
As soon as I hear the front door close I am ready by the door, jangling the keys and with my backpack on my shoulder and with my jacket well buttoned under my warm scarf, without which I would be lost during the coldest months. I chump at the thought of what will she be wearing today. I often try to imagine her and I make bets with myself to see if we are also in touch on these frivolous things. I also tried to guess at least the colour of her trousers or what she would
generally wear. A childish game that makes me smile when I realise that I have guessed something about her. I step up the pace on the road, this morning the old lady lingered with the engineer who gave her a piece of advice on where to take his ‘furry kid’, as he loves to call it.
In the threshold of the café, I see her with her usual breakfast mate, sitting at the small table near the fridge with the display cakes. Every day, our eyes meet and when she doesn’t break the eye contact the warmth of our smiles becomes one. Then it’s over, our non-affair stops there, even if I always try to look at her without her knowing, to see how she moves, how she teases her hair. One of the first times I had a seat just behind her, for the curiosity of smelling what perfume she had and to be able to remember her all day long by more than just an image in my head. During these three months, after our first meeting, I have never heard her name and this makes it all even more intriguing and mysterious. About her, I only know that she is a real morning person like me and that she can’t help starting the day without a cappuccino and a plain croissant.
Sometimes I hide behind the fridge, which allows me to look at her unnoticed through the glass, between the soft colourful cakes in it. A few days ago, her friend must have noticed me, given the way she looks at me every time we meet. So I abandoned my new hiding place to come back to my usual position on the side of the counter, between her and the exit, so that I would not lose a moment of our rendezvous.
When I dared to confess this platonic love to Stefano, I had to wait for five minutes for him to stop giggling. I must have entertained him a lot, especially the part about me hiding between cakes and pastries in
the café. Knowing me and my easiness in approaching the female sex, he was very surprised by the fact that in these months I didn’t step forward. He doesn’t understand that the beauty of my feeling lies in the fact that I have idealised her. Going any further would make everything come to an end, especially the vibe of the unknown, which fills this story with mystery.
After a week of ceaseless rain, today the sun has finally returned, so I took the chance of taking a day-off to go for a stroll in the countryside of Rome. Therefore, after half an hour I am already far away from the chaos of the city, from the crowded highways, and from the tall buildings that concealed the sky. In my car, I don’t even turn the radio on, for so much of her memory is on my mind. For a few seconds I even had the crazy idea of showing up and asking her to come with me. I would have taken her to one of the gorgeous parks on the Flaminia to finally tell her all about me, if only to know her name.
In the end, reason had notched up and I am about to arrive at my mum’s in a little village with four houses in a row that got stuck back in time. You can still breath the scent of freshly baked bread in a wood-fired oven and the cold blowing on your bones as soon as you enter the main street. The wind wraps you up and accompanies you while it whistles in your ear, almost whispering advice on your life. I often come here to wonder in this surreal setting of ancient times.
My mother also seems like a woman who didn’t accept the passing of the time. Always beautiful, despite the wrinkles that mark the years, with the rough and gnarled hands of someone who didn’t even spare a second in the fields or in the kitchen. Her only step forward has been forcefully accepting the mobile phone that I gave her as a gift last
Christmas. Since my dad is gone, knowing that she is alone and so far away from the city makes me