Index
FIRST PART
Chapter
Page
1
……………………………………………………………………
An academic act …………………………………………..
The Eternal City …………………………………………….
2……………………………………………………………
A breakfast ………………………………………………
3…………………………………………………………
The Colisseum and Venezia Square .................
Popolo Square ……………………………………………….
The bridge of Guido ………………………………………..
4 ……………………………………………………………..
5 ……………………………………………………………..
6 ……………………………………………………………..
7 ……………………………………………………………..
8 ……………………………………………………………..
9 ……………………………………………………………..
SECOND PART
10 …………………………………………………………….
11 …………………………………………………………….
12 …………………………………………………………….
13 …………………………………………………………….
14 …………………………………………………………….
15 …………………………………………………………….
16 ……………………………………………………………..
17 ……………………………………………………………..
18 ……………………………………………………………
19 ……………………………………………………………
20 …………………………………………………………….
21 …………………………………………………………….
THIRD PART
22 ……………………………………………………………..
King Alfonso XIII ………………………………………….
23 ………………………………………………….………..
24 ……………………………………………………………..
25 ……………………………………………………………..
26 ……………………………………………………………..
San Marcos Square …………………………………………
27 ……………………………………………………………..
28 ……………………………………………………………..
29 ……………………………………………………………..
30 ……………………………………………………………..
FIRST PART
Chapter 1
An academic
act
Traffic, as usual, is quite heavy. To this
is added the circumstance that my daughter and my wife have perhaps taken more
care than necessary to groom themselves. But who can beat women in this
obsession with admiring their figure in front of a mirror!
At
an intersection we are about to collide with a small white sports car that has
stopped suddenly – although I admit that it was partly my fault: I lost
concentration when I turned to admire my wife, who has decked herself out in a striking
dress pink and a neckline that looks spectacular on her. The driver of the
white sports car signals me from his post. I sense that he is apologizing to
me. I respond with a gesture of my left hand where I express that there is
nothing to apologize for.
Up ahead there is a hellish traffic jam.
Their disgust can be read on the faces of the drivers. Some make signs with
their hands or resort to some verbal complaint. I, as life and experience have
taught me, arm myself with stoicism and simply wait calmly. My daughter and my
spouse, I suspect, are of the same opinion.
I am absorbed in the contemplation of the
daily spectacle when before me begin to parade, as in a film in reverse, images
from another era and other circumstances that my memory keeps with unusual
clarity. I see myself going through an intricate path, sometimes straight and
sometimes zigzagging, and whose provisional end could be said to be converging
at this moment. Now I am crossing a high mountain range whose vegetation
changes as I ascend towards a cloud ceiling. I have reached the domain of the
frailejón. In the vicinity of the summit, where the road begins to descend to
meet an immense savannah, needles of ice reflect the dim light of a sun near
sunset. ‹‹It seems like yesterday…››, I mused mentally as I turn my eyes and
gaze fleetingly at my wife. She looks out the window to an indeterminate place.
Will he think the same as me? Maybe…
Little by little the traffic begins to
move and the line of cars rolls very smoothly, but at a uniform speed. ‹‹It was
a good idea to have come early››, I tell myself as I get out of the vehicle and
check that we have arrived at a good time.
Today is a special day in our lives and in
Desirée's in particular. Soon you will receive your diploma that accredits you
as a bachelor. An achievement that will undoubtedly mark a milestone in his
existence. The doors of the university are already open for her. It is the
culmination of your effort and dedication to study. And it is not because it is
blood of my blood, but she has proven to be highly applied for research and
reflection. This has been proven with his academic index: number one in his
promotion. Alfonsina and Vladimir, son are overwhelmed by the happiness that
overwhelms them. Next year it will be he who will receive his corresponding
title.
The venue looks splendid. Autumnal faces are
confused with the young blood that begins its journey. After greeting some
acquaintances we headed to the place that corresponds to us. A quick glance to
my right allows me to see our daughter chatting with a group of young people
who have come to greet her. A small and fleeting prelude before the act itself.
Once we have taken our place I take a quick
look and manage to recognize some of those present. There are Mr. and Mrs.
Santiesteban, of old Basque origin. They have done very well in these lands
with their real estate business. Proverbial is the stubbornness of Mr.
Santiesteban. When I see it, the expression always comes to mind that,
according to a friend's account, the Romans used to use when they were faced
with a difficult hurdle to crack: ‹‹It is more difficult than making a Basque
go back…››
A little further on I see the Uzcátegui
family, whose greatest fruit is a true eminence in cardiovascular surgery. We
are united by strong bonds of friendship. In your company we have enjoyed
pleasant moments. The fact of being countrymen increases our mutual solidarity.
The Master of Ceremony has made an appearance.
With his baritone voice he greets the public and welcomes. The official
authorities have already occupied their respective posts. A large and orderly
audience, some perhaps prey to nervousness —as in my particular case— just
waits for the academic ceremony to begin.
An ancient tradition sets the guidelines for
the protocol that must be followed. I take my partner's hand and squeeze it
gently. She brings her face closer to me and almost in a whisper tells me:
‹‹Who can deny that life is full of surprises…>> I respond to her
expression with a nod and a fleeting kiss on the cheek. And while we wait for
the opening moment, my restless mind once again takes the opportunity to lead
me through various and lost paths...
I take another look at the place where
Desirée is while I reflect fleetingly on so many things. One of the things I
think about, while I syllable his name, is the fact that the figure and memory
of Napoleon Bonaparte had intervened in the choice of it. ‹‹What things…» I mused
as I plunged back into my memories.
The deep voice of the Master of Ceremony
brings me back to reality. This indicates that everything is ready. The time
has come to begin...
The
Eternal City
There are only a few minutes left before we make landfall. While the plane travels down the runway, through the window I perceive the fleeting images that pass through my vision as in a checkered film. It must be approximately ten o'clock at night local time. The lighting that borders the landing line makes me evoke the longed-for processions of my homeland. Hundreds of lighted candles sputter, stirred by periodic gusts of cold wind coming down from the mountain. For an instant I see myself next to my mother back in the distant days of my childhood... The speed of the ship is less and less; it is almost insignificant. At last it stops. To our left I see the control tower. ‹‹Now we have arrived at our destination…››, I comment.
‹‹We're here. Finally...››, expresses my
wife in words that sound to my ears as if it were the voice of resignation
itself. ‹‹Yes, we're here ›› I reply almost out of inertia. She squeezes my
hand, which comforts me. The passenger to our right raises his arms in a slight
stretching movement. I close my eyes and try not to think about anything. I
hear a faint murmur of voices behind us.
Although for a long time I have prepared
myself mentally for this moment, when it comes I feel fear; the fear of the
vicissitudes of the unknown…
My wife squeezes my hand tightly. I think I
clearly perceive the emotion that overwhelms her. The flight attendant informs
us that we can unfasten our seat belts, welcomes us and wishes us the best of
luck. ‹‹Thank you››, I reply mentally. At that moment I recall some words that
I had heard many years ago from my mother's lips: ‹‹Son, wherever destiny may
take you, remember that you will always be what you know››.
And although I was aware that perhaps my
mother was far from possessing a Madame de Staël-style intelligence, I had to
accept that her words contained a great deal of truth.
When we get to the checkpoint and
document review, we get a lump in our throats. And there was no reason. It is
the decisive point where, although recognizing that hypothetically it was not
very likely, reasonable doubt nevertheless existed. Because, what would happen
if at this point and after so many ups and downs the Immigration Department
denies us entry into the country? Plain and simple all our expensive projects
would have foundered, like the Titanic.
With cardiac tension at its maximum
expression, we await our turn. We are already close. A broad-shouldered, fair-haired
gentleman precedes us in line. It catches my attention because I remember
seeing him minutes before flipping through a small book with a black cover that
I thought was a bible.
Our turn comes. The official in charge of the
inspection, a good-natured young man with gray eyes, checks our passports with
what I consider excessive care. Because in all honesty it seems to me that he
spent a much longer time than with the broad-shouldered gentleman who preceded
us. Or maybe it's a misjudgment on my part. Perhaps it is nothing more than a
consequence of the famous theory of relativity of time.
I take a deep breath when that official
has returned our documents with a friendly smile and a ‹‹Welcome to Italy››.
‹‹We have crossed the Rubicon››, I say to
myself.
Fortunately for us, despite the time,
the train system is still in service. Heeding the recommendation of a gentleman
we met shortly before boarding the unit, we got off at a station where,
according to him, it would be easy for us to get a room at a reasonable price.
But it would not be as easy as the good
friend predicted. Even though our finances weren't exactly enough to overspend,
it was necessary for us to resort to the services of a taxi to achieve our goal.
The taxi that we boarded —and to whom we previously expressed our preference
for a moderately priced hotel— would take us to several of this style, but in
none of which we managed to get a room. The driver would tell us that this was
perhaps due to the presence these days of an unusual number of visitors due to
the religious festivities that took place at this time. It was then that he
told us that if we agreed he could take us to one, that although not so cheap,
it was an option that he recommended, at least for tonight. ‹‹I know it well
and I have taken many tourists who have been delighted, so much so that they
have even thanked me afterwards. Tomorrow, if it is your wish, you can search
for more accommodation according to your budget››.
We agreed and thanked him for his
suggestion. Minutes later the car stops in front of a hotel located in an
apparently quiet area, and according to what you already told us, it is very
close to the Tiber River and the Vatican City itself; This last question aroused
great emotion in my wife. ‹‹That means we could sleep near where the pope
sleeps!››, he exclaimed ipso facto. While we wait, the taxi driver enters to
inquire if there are rooms available; We already have an approximate idea of
the price because he told us himself. We took advantage of the waiting time
to detail the façade a little. It is a sober structure of about four or five
floors identified with white neon letters arranged vertically and horizontally.
Small trees planted in pots adorn its front.
Moments later the driver returns with
the good news that there is an empty room. ‹‹Well, my darling, at least for our
first night in the Eternal City we are going to live rich! This may be related
to what starts well... ends better>>. When we enter I notice a clock that
is to the side. Mark 10:27 p.m. ‹‹Good time to get to Rome››, I think. After
canceling we go up a wide staircase that will lead us to our room. ‹‹Wow!›› my
wife exclaimed as soon as she entered and was in front of the bed where we would
have to rest during our first night on Italian soil. ‹‹At least for tonight we
have a comfortable place to sleep and tomorrow when we get up we will have
breakfast served››, Alfonsina points out as she hugs me.
Despite feeling tired and wanting to take a
good bath, I cannot refuse your request that we go out for a while and have
something hot to help us replenish a little lost energy, as well as release the
stress accumulated during the last few days. ‹‹Could it be that we have a
chocolate? ››, I ask when we are already closing the door to leave.
"And why not a cup of tea instead?"
-answer back-. I think it's better relaxing than chocolate. Don't you think?
To please her, I exchange the chocolate for
the tea. I had to admit that he was right. In my particular case, I began to
feel more emotionally relaxed as soon as I took the first sip. It would also
help me to get warm, since the weather was quite cold on this spring eve.
Here we are now at the end of our first
day of exile, sitting at a table in a Roman café with not many euros in our
pockets, but multiple expectations in our heads. As the only point of reference
and support I carry in my wallet a small personal card in the name of engineer
Domingo Flores; and in the margin, written in black ink, the name of a citizen
whom I have never seen, Luciano Visconti, as well as an address that belongs
somewhere in Rome.
I am reading for the third or fourth time the
data written on the small white cardboard when I think of the words that
Domingo underlined when he put it in my hands: ‹‹Remember that Luciano may no
longer live there. The last time I had contact with him was about two years
ago, when he told me that he was thinking of moving from Rome because he had
the chance of a better job>>.
"First thing in the morning, we should be
looking for that address," Alfonsina advises as she sets the cup on the
saucer.
I nod at his words with a slight shake of my
head as I gently stroke his hand. She looks at me tenderly as she quietly
points out:
—Honey, I'm a little afraid of everything that
awaits us. Sometimes it makes me think that all this is just a dream. And you
are not afraid?
—Yes,
my dear, of course sometimes I also feel fear. But I am convinced that we will
succeed. And this triumph will be more guaranteed if we unite our efforts as
one person.
-Thanks, my darling. Your words
comfort me and encourage me to face the struggle that awaits us.
‹‹Friend Luciano: the bearer of this is a
close friend of mine. I would really appreciate anything you can do for him. If
you have any questions, you can call me. I enclose my number.
Sunday>>
Despite the hour, the clientele is numerous.
"Well, no wonder," I guess. It's Friday night and we're in Rome››.
What I find curious is the large presence of older people. Alfonsina and I
attribute it to some religious festivity that is common in the Eternal City;
perhaps a canonization or a beatification.
A young, athletically built couple sits
very close to us. They are accompanied by a boy between the ages of four or
five, very lively. I gather it must be his son. A piece of conversation that I
manage to inadvertently perceive makes me understand that they speak in
Spanish. I feel a nice sense of joy when I check this out.
Minutes later a small incident occurs that
would unite our tables. It all happens when the boy slips out of his hands a
ball he is playing with and ends up at Alfonsina's feet, who picks it up and
hands it over to him. At the moment of receiving it, the child gives her a
candid smile and a ‹‹thank you very much, ma'am›› in perfect Spanish. When my
wife answers and they listen, it is evident how pleased they are with such a
thing, especially in the young woman. ‹‹Did you hear, my love…?, they speak
Spanish››. From then on, just a few words of introduction are enough for the
four of us to find ourselves in a lively chat after a few minutes.
They are spouses, and the child, aged
five, is their son, as expected. They have just arrived from Brazil, where he
tried his luck as a soccer player in Rio de Janeiro. They are staying at a
nearby hotel. He is a native of Funchal, in Madeira. His partner is a native of
Uruguay and does not speak Portuguese, although he does speak quite fluent
Spanish. Born in the bay of Funchal, he was passionate about football from an
early age and a great admirer of the great Eusebio, his compatriot. Possibly
this predilection for the Mozambican was inherited from his grandfather, whom
he remembered as if he were seeing him when he exclaimed: ‹‹If you had seen
Eusebio at the World Cup in London! That was the pinnacle of Portuguese
football! Nothing more and nothing less than the first scorer of that World
Cup!››. His father's influence would give him a passion for Rio de Janeiro
football, when he heard him talk about the wonders of Vavá, Amarildo, Pelé,
Garrincha... When on warm afternoons he sat in ecstasy sitting in front of the
bay of Funchal, he imagined crossing that immense ocean and reach the shores of
the South American giant. ‹‹One day I will play there››, he repeated with
conviction.
His dreams of playing in Brazil would finally
come true. Precisely at this moment they came from that country, after
fulfilling an eventful campaign in their local soccer. This was due to the fact
that he had suffered a serious injury in the last championship, which even put
his sports career at risk. It was for this reason that his arrival in Italy did
not occur at his best moment. But he was an optimistic man. He had faith in his
recovery, which would allow him to get a good contract with an Italian club or
any other European team. Although his optimism did not prevent him from seeing
that it would not be easy if he did not manage to be in full physical
condition, which ultimately became his greatest obstacle. His priority at the
moment was therefore to undergo a good preparation and physical conditioning
regimen.
While we talk, some of my past
experiences linked to soccer come to mind, a sport in which I had extensive
experience both as a player and as a physical trainer.
I also fleetingly remembered some of my
mentors, including Eduardo Crespo, a coach in various disciplines including
basketball and soccer. Crespo would be the one who awakened in me the interest
in physical conditioning techniques that would give such good dividends in
Olympic competitions in Eastern Europe. It would be this same professor who
bequeathed to me his knowledge of the healing power of the hands through the
energy that they can emanate. In his words, the latter was an invaluable legacy
from his teacher, Thomas Krebs, a German who arrived on American soil after
World War II. According to his account, this Mr. Thomas had in turn met, in
post-war Berlin, an enigmatic doctor with whom he befriended. It was famous
that this doctor was a family doctor for well-known figures of the Third Reich,
a circumstance that he would have taken advantage of to save potential
candidates for the gas chambers. Thomas managed to assimilate innumerable
secrets from him that he would later deposit in Crespo.
I continue extracting images from the ark of
my memories when suddenly Adelaida makes her appearance to remind me through a
whisper: ‹‹Don't forget, boy, that your future, wherever you are, will always
be sustained by the knowledge you carry with you›› . This was undoubtedly the
spur I needed so that without wasting time and in long words
I could explain to that young Portuguese soccer player my knowledge in terms of
sports training, as well as my availability in case he thought it necessary.
‹‹Is it possible that as soon as I arrive on this earth I have a chance of a
job…?››
My words seem not to have fallen into a
void. After looking at me with a strange expression for a few seconds, he asks
me a few questions, to which I give a timely answer. Very useful to me on this
occasion are a group of sports magazines acquired at a street stall.
"Very
interesting, very interesting what you just told me," he emphasizes while
his spouse makes slight nods of approval. I liked you and you seemed very
sincere, so I would like to get in touch with you. I urgently need a good
physical trainer to help me in my recovery exercises so that I can get in shape
and have the option of a good contract.
Alfonsina has listened to this with
great interest. I can imagine what she would have thought and the joy that
these words would mean for her. I am almost certain that he should have assured
that this was nothing more than a consequence of his fervent prayers to the
Most High.
While we are chatting, the boy has begun to
show signs of physical exhaustion, a consequence, no doubt, of the heavy bustle
to which he was subjected during the last few hours. His eyes close on their
own. His mother then gets up from the chair and takes him by the hand; they
both walk towards a window where sweets are displayed. That's when I realize
she's pregnant.
I am already waiting for the footballer's
final answer about my proposal when his wife and son return to where we are. He
is going to say something when the lady's voice interrupts him. I don't quite
understand what he is saying, but I think I understand that he is saying that
the boy wants to go to sleep. ‹‹At a good time this child wants to go to
sleep…››
He responds to her as a boisterous group
of people passes by us. As it seems that he has not heard, the soccer player
gets up and approaches her. When he returns it is to say goodbye hastily; He
tells us that his son feels bad and that they need to leave. I dare not refer
to the point raised just a few moments ago. I thought it would be an abuse on
my part. <<There will be time for that; there will be time...>>, I
conclude.
When the young couple and their son are out of
sight, my wife squeezes my arm as she inquires in an almost reproachful tone:
"Why didn't you insist on your proposal?"
I thought you were going to remind him. I felt very optimistic when you
proposed it to him and he gave you that answer. It was understandable that he
had almost agreed.
"I was sorry you wasted more time."
I considered it a lack of consideration. Also, as you always say, God's timing
is perfect.
—‹‹God's
time is perfect!...» I'm surprised that you, who have always been an atheist,
say that. Remember that penalty is four letters.
"Well... what I meant is that we can
find him later and talk to him more calmly, at a more propitious time."
It is at this moment that I realize that
in the heat of the conversation I had forgotten their name, and besides, we
didn't even know where they were staying. ‹‹Well, I say to myself, there is no
remedy. Then I look at the clock and realize that it is time to go to sleep.
‹‹There have been enough emotions experienced today››, I comment.
-Yes my love. Let's go stretch the bones.
Tomorrow will be another day…
Moments
later we are back at the hotel.
"What a nice, quiet hotel."
Even the guests look friendly! My wife emphasizes when we have reached our
room.
-Yes. Too bad that our budget does not allow
us to stay here for a long time.
-Yes, it's a shame.
For a while we spent our time inspecting the
room. And we would both agree that no objections could be made to it either.
"When we go to celebrate our first
wedding anniversary, I would like it to be here and in this same room,"
Alfonsina says, smiling at a time when she is about to go into the bathroom.
Will you promise me...?
"Yes, my darling, I promise you."
The dawn of the next day was going to be
historic for us: the first of our new life. And despite sensing the difficult
circumstances that surely awaited us, we felt happy and optimistic at that
moment.
When I wake up there is a deep silence.
Extending my hand to feel Alfonsina's body, I see that she is not next to me.
‹‹He's in the bathroom››, I gather. For a few moments I dedicate myself to
looking towards the door through which he will appear. I take this opportunity
to put my ideas in order. I conjecture above all about what answer Luciano will
give us when we have talked with him. Moments later the bathroom door opens.
The waiting time seemed longer than it actually was.
"I thought you were sleeping,
honey," Alfonsina whispers as soon as she reaches my side.
-I just woke up. I slept soundly, as they
say, a dormouse. How did you sleep?
“Well, my darling, well. Bye thank you. What
time is it?
“Five forty-seven.
"Five forty-seven!" Wow, we have
slept... Wouldn't it be good for us to activate ourselves? They assure that God
helps the one who gets up early.
I'm
about to drop the blanket, but Alfonsina changes her mind in fractions of a
second. As she snuggles against my chest, she asks me to leave the start of our
sunrise routine for tomorrow. ‹‹It must be freezing cold outside,‹‹ he
whispers. I have no choice but to please her. A while later I perceive a slight
snore and I understand that she is deeply exhausted, something in which I would
soon imitate her.
When I open my eyes it's almost nine
o'clock. Alfonsina still sleeps like a baby, and although I long to get out on
the street as early as possible in order to locate Luciano's address and start
looking for cheaper accommodation, I prefer to let her rest. Meanwhile I take
the opportunity to remember bits and pieces of the conversation we had last
night shortly before sleep overcame us. She is, without a doubt, a fervent
supporter of prayer. ‹‹You are not going to believe it —he affirmed at a
certain moment with the same conviction of his days as a catechist—, but prayer
is a fundamental tool for the human being. ‹‹Have you not heard that faith
moves mountains…?; and even more so in cases like ours, where we will have to
fight in the very world center of Christianity››. He even told me concrete
cases in the field of medicine of patients with serious illnesses whose
improvement could only be explained in the light of spiritual faith and prayer:
—And just as prayer can have a positive
influence in the field of medicine, it cannot be ruled out that it can also
help a great deal in cases like ours. What happens is that you, with your
atheism, have never wanted to share this idea. If the two of us united our
requests, things would surely turn out much better for us; I assure.
That ‹‹I assure you›› has come out with such
conviction that it even makes me feel a kind of current that rises from the
lower part of my stomach to my head. ‹‹Could it be that this is true…?››, I
wonder even against my will.
After staying as still as possible for a
while, I look at a window next to the bed. I approach it with the intention of
opening it. When I do, I receive an impression that captivates me, just as it
would happen to Alfonsina when, minutes later, she also came over to enjoy the
panorama. The Tiber takes a turn there as it approaches an old bridge that I
imagine must be a thousand years old. ‹‹How much water has that bridge seen
flowing under its arcades!››, I mentally exclaim. You can also see an imposing
construction that must have been as old as the bridge. To the right, a tall and
majestic dome rises to the heights. According to the information from the taxi
driver, I conjecture that it could well be the very cathedral of San Pedro,
which although it did not have great meaning for me, I could not help but
recognize what it represented for my wife and for Christianity in general. As a
backdrop to this visual spectacle, there, in the distance, a dark blue
cloudless sky is projected in the distance.
Along a road that borders the river
on its left bank, I observe a couple holding hands walking very slowly, as if
they were in no hurry to reach any destination. I'm following them closely when
suddenly the woman lunges at her companion's neck and her mouth joins his as
one. It's an incredibly long and passionate kiss. ‹‹That woman must be boiling.
He's going to eat it…››, I'm thinking when I'm surprised to hear Alfonsina's
voice, who is standing next to me: ‹‹From here they will surely go to a hotel
to finish the job. Not even Tarzan's mother saves that woman!››, he adds with
evident mischief. I answer her by taking her hand and pulling her towards me.
‹‹Yes, my love, not even Tarzan's mother will save that woman, nor will she
save you...»
The couple has just finished their first
kiss and they are already engaged in the second. I have my gaze fixed on them
when suddenly Alfonsina turns her head towards me and grabs hold of my neck
while her mouth searches for mine desperately. I feel the rapid beating of his
heart in my chest. We then forget about those anonymous and ardent walkers.
Moments later we were back in bed. Two hours later, when we got up from there
and went to the window again, we would not find even the slightest sign of his
presence. We would only observe the thin bushes that grow on top of the
retaining wall, silent witnesses of everything that has happened and is
happening there... If those bushes could talk...!
‹‹The future is built today››, I mutter
almost unconsciously when, a little past eleven, we set foot in the hotel
restaurant in search of our breakfast. As soon as we've sat down, Alfonsina
squeezes my hand and asks me an unexpected question:
—My life, if today we had conceived a
child, what would you like it to be, female or male?
"I'd like it to be a boy." And
you?
-Female! He answers without hesitation.
Chapter 2
A breakfast
Over breakfast we broached the
subject of Luciano's address again, and by mutual agreement we decided to start
our search the next day. "One day more or one day less is not going to
influence the result much," argues Alfonsina at a time when she is about
to sink her teeth into some scrambled eggs with mozzarella cheese. We both also
agreed that at the moment it was a higher priority to get cheaper
accommodation, and preferable if we could cook. However, today we would
investigate everything we could for tomorrow and have some orientation
regarding where the enigmatic Luciano could live.
And
precisely the first person we would consult —obviously Alfonsina does— would be
the hotel receptionist, a man who gave us the impression of being a very
cordial person. And although it did not indicate the exact address, it does
provide us with very valuable information that would facilitate our search. He
also confesses to us that he was impressed by Alfonsina's mastery of Italian:
"You have had very good teachers," he asserts.
The
breakfast was unbeatable. It was even complemented with a honey that, according
to what the girl who attended us told us, was grown on a farm owned by the
hotel. A creamy cappuccino would be the complement to satisfy our appetite. We
were so full that we could then skip lunch, which would save us there. I
confess that I had never wanted a breakfast to never end. And not just me, I'm
sure. "I would like to have enough money to rent that room for at least
six months," Alfonsina emphasizes as she closes her eyes and takes my
hand.
—Courage, my life, if we keep our promise to
save and fight to get a job quickly, the war will not be lost! Maybe we will
lose some battles... but not the war," I sentence, appealing to an
expression that was used almost daily by one of my cousins, which is why he was
known among his friends as "the man of the lost battle."
Before getting up and saying goodbye for
the moment to that place, we have already decided that, in view of its
proximity, we would first go to St. Peter's Basilica; obviously it was a wish
of my wife. «My love, this is going to be the fulfillment of one of my dearest
dreams. One of the first things I will do as soon as I enter will be to look
for the tomb of John XXIII, my beloved pope, and ask him to fulfill our wishes.
To my question as to how he knew that John XXIII was buried in the Vatican, he
replied with a quick “because I know…”
"And is that gentleman a saint?"
I ask him on a sudden impulse.
"No, but to me it's like it is."
"And why are you sure you'll be able to
see it?"
—Damn, my love, but it seems that what you
want is for the tiger to eat me!
At the precise moment that we were already
going out into the street, three ladies make their entrance that make me think
that they are grandmother, mother and granddaughter, such is their resemblance.
The one I think is the granddaughter is so pretty that I think the pinch my
wife gives me has its cause in having stared at her perhaps in a somewhat
indiscreet way.
"Remember the promise you made me to
bring me here on our anniversary day," Alfonsina reiterates in moments
when she turns her eyes and takes a brief glance at the door through which we
just left.
"If I promised you, I'll keep
it," is my laconic reply.
The distance from there to the Vatican is not
really a big deal. Many people walk next to us, so the march becomes more
pleasant. Even the mere contemplation of those places so full of history is
already a true gift in itself. In a small souvenir shop we bought a small map
of Rome which highlights some of the main historical sites. We are interested
above all because, apart from allowing us a better knowledge of the intricacies
of the city, it could help us in the search for Luciano's residence.
In the store where we bought the map there
is also a small group of Spaniards who come on a pilgrimage from Galicia. When
they identify our language, a kind of sudden empathy towards us occurs in them.
They even invite us to join them so that together we can walk the remaining
distance to San Pedro, which we gladly accept. They tell us that they are
staying in a hotel near the Trevi Fountain and that they have come walking from
there to get to know and better enjoy the city, since this is their first visit
to the old imperial capital. Among them is a couple traveling with their son, a
lanky boy who is about fourteen years old. "He promises to be a soccer
virtuoso," his father tells us when he introduces us. He aspires to be
signed by Real Madrid or Barcelona."
Their
trip to Rome is mainly due to wanting to see the Vatican, which is why they are
extremely excited at the moment —something in which, however, Alfonsina
probably beats them; and it is that even I, who have never been a very devout person,
begin to get infected by his emotion. The magnificence of that immense dome,
which grows much larger as we get closer, contributes greatly to our mood.
There comes a time when one might think that this is a procession, such is the
number of walkers who go to the holy place.
"Wow…" comes from my wife's mouth
as we enter the square and approach the spot where stands a solitary obelisk
that I would later learn was already in Rome in Nero's time. People of all
conditions and color crowd the square. Laity and religious alike merge as one;
They are united by the common admiration for that imposing structure, unique in
the world for the place it occupies in Christianity. Alfonsina, always so
expressive, this time remains rather silent, as if overwhelmed by that
spectacle.
In the Vatican there are options for all
tastes. Unlike Alfonsina, who was more attached to the spiritual, I wanted to
see the famous statue of El Moisés, by Michelangelo. He had once read a comment
saying that he could teach an anatomy class with her. I wanted to check it out
with my own eyes—however, I couldn't fulfill my wishes; No matter how hard I
searched, I couldn't find it. Alfonsina tells me that she would like to attend
mass and wants to know if I would object to accompanying her. "No
way," I agree, to which she replies with a tender smile of thanks.
"Who would have thought that your first mass since you were baptized was
going to be in the Vatican, my heaven." I am going to explain to him that
I am not baptized, when a sudden impulse stops me. "This is not the place
to air these things..."
Yes, who would have thought...
On that occasion, although we would have liked
to, we could not go up to the dome of the great dome due to lack of time, since
we urgently needed to find accommodation. We had been motivated to go up when
we found out that from there we could enjoy spectacular views of the city and
its surroundings. Nor were Alfonsina's wishes to visit the tomb of John XXIII
fulfilled; According to what was later reported, that tomb is not part of the
places where public access is allowed. "Another day we will come and learn
much more about this wonderful place," he promises when, on the way back,
we cross the columns that guard the immense square.
Our walk back from San Pedro represents for
us a kind of paradox: it could be admitted that we did not know where we were
going. As far as we needed to know, our map was of little use to us. It is here
that Alfonsina appeals to her more than fair knowledge of Italian and begins to
ask about places where we could get affordable accommodation.
However, the task would not be easy.
Most of those whom he consults say they do
not know. Others cross their arms and shake their heads from side to side. One
or two there were that simply would not be taken for granted. There are also
those who answer us in an unintelligible language.
But nevertheless, we would manage to run into
someone who does give us a reference that gives us back our optimism. It is
about a vigorous grandfather whom we approach while jogging. He very kindly
stops his march and listens to Alfonsina's words. "It's not very easy
because everything is very expensive," he adds, but he tells us that we
could try a neighborhood called Trastevere, which we could easily access by
taking the road that borders the Tiber on its right bank. We decided to follow
his advice and we reached the river, which we practically did not know because
we had only seen it in the morning at a distance from the hotel, and although
we had crossed it the night before, obviously we could not see it.
The
Tiber is by no means an impressive river if we judge it from the point of view
of its dimensions. How many Tibers would not fit, for example, within a channel
like the River Plate, the Amazon or the Mississippi...? Its importance lies in
the fact of having been an auxiliary and silent witness of one of the most
impressive events in history. "How could a small primitive population
center become the head of one of the largest empires on earth and creator of
much of what we know today as the Western world...?", I wonder as we begin
to walk parallel to his course.
There is a large influx of people and
vehicles in both directions. And although we would have liked to have a drink,
due to austerity measures we decided to leave it for later. In addition, we
already knew, according to what our grandfather told us, that in Trastevere
there were plenty of places to eat and drink.
As we move forward it seems to us that
vehicular traffic is increasing. Some horns contribute to increasing the
feeling of congestion. We watch some pedestrians ahead of us crossing an old
bridge; momentarily it provokes us to imitate them and explore the other shore,
but it is only a fleeting idea. We stop for a while and approach a wall that
surrounds the river, where at that moment a barge is sailing transporting what
are undoubtedly tourists. A flock of pigeons fluttering very close to us also
enjoying the good weather in the afternoon. One of them perches on the wall,
very close to where we are. At a certain moment I imagine these same places
many centuries ago and I wonder if Spartacus would not have come to walk here.
Although I admit that perhaps such a thing would have been difficult for a
slave; it is more likely that Augustus or some other emperor had walked through
here. "Would Romulus and Remus be born in these parts...?"
We
are about to restart the march when I see on the opposite bank what gives me
the impression is a beggar, something that seems unusual to me here in Rome and
in this area. Although in all honesty it shouldn't have seemed so strange to me
if we take into account that when we arrived at San Pedro I had noticed the
presence of some people who gave me the impression of being in a state of
indigence. "Everywhere beans are cooked," I mused.
On
a kind of esplanade that communicates with the river, a man is sitting with all
the signs of using that space as his habitual residence. He would then be a
citizen belonging to the group of the so-called "homeless". This
makes an impression on me because sometimes, subjugated by the magical fame
that emanates from the Eternal City, we do not get used to the idea that these
cases can be common in these latitudes.
Apparently the individual's only company
are the pigeons that roam the river. Surely he does not need to have another.
It is likely that you intuitively put into practice the old maxim that
"better alone than in bad company." Will he be less happy than those
who live in sumptuous palaces surrounded by luxuries and comforts...? It is not
known. It seems to be true that some people have the rare quality of adapting
and conforming to whatever fate throws at them, if such a thing as
"fate" really exists. There are those who live in a slum, sometimes
with the sky as their only roof, with the same dignity and strength as an oil
tycoon, a nobleman or a criminal could do in their mansions who, disguised as a
"revolutionary", become the master and Lord of a Latin American
country like mine. It is possible that this is the reason that cases of
homeless people resorting to suicide as a panacea are not very common.
Likewise, the presence of that man would
produce in my spirit a reflection bordering on pessimism: were we absolutely
sure that our future situation could not be similar to his...? At least he was
surely an Italian citizen, a matter my wife and I were far from bragging about.
I find myself immersed in these thoughts
when Alfonsina's voice brings me back to reality:
"Shall we continue, my life?"
Further on, on the other side of the
river, we come across a beautiful building that draws our attention. In its
front there is a kind of square that is very crowded at that time. We stop for
a few moments to satisfy our curiosity. In a brief exchange of words with a
couple who is close to us, Alfonsina learns that it is an old Palace, called
Farnese, and that it is currently the seat of the French embassy; They also
tell him that in its interior it keeps many artistic treasures.
A few meters further on we are already
in the Trastevere neighbourhood. We are now in front of a building that excites
Alfonsina's curiosity; it is, of course, a church. Please give him a little
time to enter to pray and make a small request. “I don't understand how this
woman didn't become a nun…”, I surmise as I observe her unconcealed joy as she
heads inside the church. When she asks me if I want to accompany her, I tell
her that I prefer to stay outside to take a look at the environment. “Besides
—I think— entering two churches on the same day is too much for me; already
with the Vatican is enough».
Once he has come out and I ask him about
the request he made, he tells me that these are secret matters that only the
heart of the petitioner and God should know. "Those are big words," I
syllable under my breath.
That hotel was not what could properly be
classified as a marvel, but for our needs and situation it was more than
enough. What more could we want in those moments than to be sheltered by a roof
and four walls and to have a bed...? After a restorative bath we went out for a
walk to see the surroundings and eat something.
We really liked that neighborhood,
especially for its dynamism and the impression of popular warmth that it gave
us. Likewise, in the voices that we can hear, we perceive the presence of many
languages other than Italian. Taking advantage of the last vestiges of the
day, we decided to approach the river again. Once there we discovered that it
has an island. We couldn't find out his name because we left our map; but this
was an irrelevant detail. In front of her we were for a long time. And although
the island had bridges to access it or go to the other side, we decided to stay
where we were. "There will be plenty of time to cross," Alfonsina
says as she invites me to leave. Before arriving at the hotel we make a stop at
the previous church. My wife wants to find out the mass times so she can attend
as soon as she can.
The impressions of what we experienced
during the day, especially the visit to the Vatican, gives us a topic of
conversation to use up the time we have left before going to sleep. While
Alfonsina says her daily prayers, I amuse myself reviewing the map. In which of
these places will Luciano live…? I wonder as my eyes slide over that colorful
sheet of paper. In particular, I look at that figure located almost in the
center of the map and identified as «Colosseo».
"It's been a lot of emotions to be
the first day," I reason as I look at Alfonsina who sleeps peacefully. I
imagine she must have gone to bed very tired, both physically and spiritually.
Moments later I close my eyes and dedicate myself to reviewing the latest
events. I see myself debating with Alfonsina about the unsustainability of our
situation and the options for exile we had, as well as her emphatic "all I
know is that God's time is perfect, so God's will be done, damn it!" I
also see myself on the way to the airport with a thousand questions in my head.
"How many individuals have been in this same room with an existential
problem equal to ours?" I ask.
I certainly slept like a log. Alfonsina
would be the one to wake me up. I was dreaming I don't remember what when my
wife shakes me gently and says in a voice that sounded like a microphone:
"Up, gentleman, God helps the early
riser!" There is no doubt that Alfonsina has jumped out of bed early. He
smiles as he gazes at my face, which must have been the spitting image of
sleepiness itself.
—Very well, ma'am, but remember that
before when you called me it was because you already had a cup of hot coffee
with you… Ha, ha, ha…
—Yes, but that was in another time, when
we were happy and we didn't know it... So... get up because we have a pending
task. In the street we will have a very hot and delicious coffee.
The data provided by the receptionist of
the first hotel where we stayed had been complemented with other very valuable
ones; so after giving a good revision to the doodles that we had written down
we took to the streets of that cheerful neighborhood called Trastevere.
According to our informants, the
address we were looking for corresponded to a place located northeast of the
city. The reference point from where we had to start our investigation was a
small point identified on our map as Piazza Bologna. It is quite a considerable
distance from where we are. But thanks to modernism and the existence of the
Metro, which makes things much easier, we know that we can get there without
many setbacks. So after a typical Italian breakfast, complemented by a creamy
and hot coffee, we headed there. On the walk towards the subway station I seem
to be immersed in a fantastic journey through a time tunnel. In each corner the
scene is dominated by some old construction from the imperial or medieval
times. We even found out that the old Jewish quarter had its seat there. The
rush and the need we have to reach our goal forces us not to stop to find out
what this or that relic is about. «God willing, we will soon have time to walk
through these places with all the patience in the world; You'll see… »,
emphasizes my wife with great conviction.
Packed with passengers, the subway rolls
fast, unstoppable. Each of these citizens, I am sure, is an interesting story;
but a story that however most of the time makes sense only for its own
protagonist. Unintentionally, the memory of an old television series comes to
my brain where it was stated at the end of each chapter that there were
thousands of stories like the one that had just been broadcast, and that this
was just one of them.
As soon as we have arrived at the agreed
station, I already have a firm determination in my head that suddenly came to
me just a few moments ago: I am going to write a novel narrating the
vicissitudes of our exile and the circumstances that led to it. When we leave the
station we find ourselves in the presence of the great Plaza Bologna. Now
begins another important stage in our search. Walking and asking questions
—"By asking you get to Rome", goes an old saying— we arrive at a
beautiful and wide avenue known as Nomentana. Now we are standing in front of a
group of modern buildings that are characterized by having large windows; some
even have balconies from where I imagine it must be wonderful to contemplate
the daily routine of Roman life. I'm almost sure that Luciano must have resided
in one of these apartments, but in which one...? Finding out was our next task.
At least we already knew, according to the data provided by our friend Domingo,
that he lived on a 5th floor. "Well," we concluded by mutual agreement,
"what we have left is to find out on every fifth floor and pray that we
have luck." And although it was an arduous task, we managed to locate a
gentleman who knew him and he told us which building he lived in, but he warned
us that he had not seen him for a long time.
Once we identified the building, we took
advantage of the fact that a lady was leaving and we sneaked inside. Then we go
up the elevator and we are finally in front of the door. The rest would be to
call and wait… Nobody opens. We repeat the operation and wait for a longer
time; but again silence answers us. "Like there's no one," Alfonsina
murmurs with an air of frustration. "Try again, just in case." I'm
going to knock again when we hear footsteps. My heart suddenly races; Alfonsina
moves closer to me and squeezes my arm tightly. The door opens.
She is a middle-aged lady with piercing,
bright dark eyes. When he asks us the purpose of our visit and we answer him
—or more exactly, Alfonsina answers him, displaying her best Italian— he answers
that he does not know that Mr. Luciano whom we have mentioned. He also tells us
that he has been living in that apartment for almost a year. "Now it does
seem that our illusions have foundered," I think when Alfonsina translates
the lady's response for me. I scratch my head and take out my handkerchief to
wipe away a sweat that doesn't exist.
"Ask her if she thinks any of her
neighbors might know anything about him," is the answer that comes to
mind.
When Alfonsina asks her the question, the
woman remains silent for a few moments, as if she were analyzing the words she
had just heard. Then he says that the only neighbor with whom he has had a
somewhat friendly relationship is the lady from the apartment across the
street. Alfonsina insinuates to me whether it would not be too much trouble to
ask her to help us by consulting with said neighbor. She agrees but asks us to
wait a few moments while she goes to the kitchen.
The Signora at the front stated that she
had known Luciano by sight, but that she had heard that he had moved, although
she did not know where he had moved to. But, nevertheless, she points out that
if we agreed we could return in two or three days, that she would try to find out
from another neighbor, although she warned us that she would not guarantee us
anything; "Because Mr. Luciano during his stay here was not characterized
precisely by having been very communicative with the other neighbors."
We completely agree with your opinion.
After thanking both of them, we started our way back.
And how would it help us to know the
place where the engineer Luciano moved to...? It was a question we discussed as
we walked towards the station. Our opinion does not coincide because while
Alfonsina thinks that it could help us in some way, it seems to me that it
could be of very little use to us. “It could be that he hasn't moved very far;
and also we must remember that Rome is not Italy, “he concludes.
The news of the move of our incognito
character was without a doubt a hard blow for our projects; or maybe it was
that we had put a lot of hopes in that little card. But nevertheless we both
agree that this should not mean the end of the fight but, on the contrary, just
the beginning. The door still had a small crack open that could perhaps lead us
to the presence of Luciano. It was necessary to wait for the result of this
last option...
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