Yours, Melissa
23 May 3:14 P.M.
Where is Valerio? Why did he leave me without a kiss?
29 May 2002
2:30 A.M.
I weep, Diary, I weep with immense joy. I've always known that joy and happiness do exist. This is something I've sought in so many beds, in so many men, even in a woman, something I've sought in myself and then forfeited. And now I've found it in the most anonymous and ordinary of places. Not in a person, but in a person's eyes. Along with Giorgio and some others I went to the new cafe that just opened right near my house, about fifty meters from the sea. It's an Arab place with belly dancers who gyrate round the tables when they're not serving. There are pillows on the floor, carpets, candles, incense. It was packed, so we decided to wait till a table was free and we could sit down. I was leaning against a streetlight, thinking about a phone call from Fabrizio. It had ended badly: I told him I didn't want anything from him and never want to see him again.
He started crying and said he'd given me everything, by which he meant: money, money, and more money.
"If this is how you treat people, I don't have to take it. But thanks for the offer, all the same," he shouted ironically. I hung up on him. I didn't answer any more of his calls and won't ever, I swear. I hate that man: he's a worm, a scumbag, I won't give myself to him again.
I was thinking about all this and about Valeric I was frowning, and my eyes were fixed on some unspecified point. Then, as I was turning away from those irksome thoughts, my gaze met his: who knows how long he was watching me. He was gentle and sweet. I looked at him, and he looked at me, at very brief intervals. We would turn away, but our eyes couldn't help but pounce on each other again. His were deep and sincere, and this time I wasn't deluding myself by creating absurd fantasies about wanting to be hurt or punished. This time I really believed what was happening, I saw his eyes, they were there, staring at me, and they seemed to be saying they wanted to love me, wanted to get to know me better. I began to look more carefully at him. He was sitting with his legs crossed, a cigarette in his hand. His lips were fleshy, his nose slightly pronounced but impressive, and he had the eyes of an Arab prince. He was offering something to me, me alone. He wasn't looking at any other girl, he was looking at me, and not the way men usually look at me on the street, but sincerely and honestly. I don't know what motivated me to do it, but I let out a laugh that was too loud. I couldn't contain myself. I felt so intensely happy I couldn't limit myself to a smile. Giorgio was watching me, amused; he asked me what was up. With a wave I signaled he shouldn't worry and hugged him to justify my sudden explosion. I turned around again and noticed the prince was smiling, offering me a glimpse of his splendid white teeth. It was then that I calmed down and told myself, "Don't forget, Melissa, scare him off. Make him see you're an idiot, a defective, an ignoramus. And above all do it now: don't make him wait!
While I was thinking this, a girl passed by him and stroked his hair. He looked at her for no more than an instant, then shifted over a bit to get a better look at me.
Giorgio distracted me: "Meli, let's go somewhere else. My stomach's rumbling; don't make me wait any longer."
"Come on, Giorgio, another ten minutes," I responded. "You'll see, something will open up." I didn't want to part with those eyes.
"Why are you so keen to stay here? Got your eye on some guy?"
I smiled and nodded.
He sighed and said, "We've had a long talk about this, Melissa. Chill out for a while; nice things happen by themselves."
"This time is different," I told him like a spoiled brat.
He sighed again and said they were going to check out other places in the neighborhood. If they found a table, they'd grab it. I'd just have to follow.
"OK!" I said, certain they wouldn't find anything at that hour. I saw them go into the ice-cream parlor with the Japanese umbrellas over the tables. Then I returned to the streetlight, trying as hard as possible not to look at him. All of a sudden, I saw him stand up. I think my face must have turned purple, I didn't know what to do, I was mortally embarrassed. So I turned toward the street and pretended I was waiting for someone, looking into all the cars that arrived. My Indian silk trousers fluttered in the light wind coming off the sea.
I heard his warm, deep voice at my back. He said, "What are you waiting for?"
Out of the blue I thought of an old rhyme I read as a child. It appeared in a fairy tale that my father had brought back from one of his trips. In a way that was spontaneous and unexpected, I recited it as I turned toward him:
I wait and wait till the sun goes down, and open the gate when someone comes round. After failure comes success, why this is so he'll never guess.
We remained silent, our faces frozen; then we burst out laughing. He offered me a soft hand, and I squeezed it gently but with determination.
"Claudio," he said without removing his eyes from mine.
"Melissa." I don't know how I managed to get it out.
"What were you just saying?"
"What?… Oh, you mean the rhyme. It's from some fairy tale. I learned it by heart when I was seven."
He nodded as if to say he understood. Another panic-stricken silence. It was broken by my clumsy yet simpatico friend who had just run up, saying, "Come on, silly. We've found a table; we're waiting for you."
"I have to go," I murmured.
"May I knock at your gate?" He too spoke softly.
I looked at him, amazed at his boldness. He wasn't being cocky; he just didn't want everything to end there.
I nodded, my eyes teary, and said, "You can easily find me in the neighborhood. Actually, that's my room up there." I pointed to my balcony.
"Then I'll come and serenade you," he said with a wink.
We said good-bye, and I didn't turn around to look at him one more time, as I would've liked: I was afraid of ruining everything.
Giorgio asked me, "Who was that?" I smiled and said, "Someone who'll never guess." "Hunh?" was his response. I smiled again, pinched his cheek, and said, "You'll find out soon enough. Chill!"
4 June 2002
6:20 P.M.
He wasn't joking, Diary! He really did come to serenade me! People stopped to watch, burning with curiosity, and I was laughing on the balcony like a lunatic. A portly, red-faced man played a battered guitar, and the prince sang like sweet bells jangled, out of tune yet irresistible. Irresistible the way the song filled my eyes and heart. It was an old Sicilian song about a man who was left sleepless by thoughts of his beloved. The melody was at once delicate and agonizing. It went more or less like this:
I toss and turn and can't stop sighing, Every night I spend awake. Your beauty has me analyzing I think of you without a break. For you I gave up my reprieve, This tortured heart can find no peace.
It begs to know when you I'll leave- When my life ends and I surcease.
It was a grand gesture, a shrewd courtship, traditional, some might even say banal, but nonetheless full of charm.
When he had finished, I said jokingly from the balcony, "Now what should I do? If I'm not mistaken, I would need to signal my acceptance of your suit by switching on the light in my bedroom. If, however, I wish to refuse, I must go back inside and switch it off."
He didn't respond, but I understood what I had to do. In the hallway I ran into my father (I nearly knocked him down!). He wanted to know who that guy was singing in the street. I burst out laughing and answered that I hadn't slightest idea.