But she had wasted her time. Twenty past three. This was stupid. She began to collect together her bag, the magazine she had spread on the table for cover. Maybe it was for the best, she thought. After all, if this boy had turned up, what could she possibly have said to him? And besides -
“Hi.” He was standing before her, no sunglasses this time, that high forehead glistening with sweat. “I’m sorry I’m late. The damn bus broke down and I had to run.”
She was sitting there, foolishly clutching her bag.
He sat down. “But you know what? I wasn’t worried. I told myself that the Law of Sod wouldn’t let me down. Today was the one day in three weeks I am late, so today is the day you would come …” He grinned. “Sorry.”
She put her bag down under her seat, and in doing so nearly knocked over her iced tea. Daniel had to grab it. “Don’t apologize,” she said. Even her voice sounded awkward. “I’m the one who should be sorry. It’s me who hasn’t turned up for three weeks.”
“You had no reason to. You don’t know me.” He looked more serious. “Anyhow, I know you have difficulties. That bulldog of a sister of yours is very protective.”
“It’s not as simple as that,” she said defensively.
He studied her, his blue eyes wide.
A waiter in white shirt and bow tie slid past their table with menus. Daniel quickly ordered more iced tea for them both. The waiter smiled at them, and moved a little bowl of dried flowers from a neighboring table.
“How about that. He thinks we’re on a date.”
“We can’t be on a date,” she said clumsily.
He raised his eyebrows. “We can’t?”
“For one thing I’m only fifteen.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding. She thought he was masking disappointment, repositioning. “We can still be friends, can’t we? Even if you’re just fifteen.”
“I guess so.”
He glanced around the square, breaking the slight tension. “Look at that. It’s January, and they’re still stocking Befana dolls.” There was a stall stocked with them next to an old painted wooden merry-go- round, around which small children clustered.
Befana was the sister of Santa Claus. She wore a kerchief and glasses, and carried a broom. She had missed the Three Wise Men on their way to visit the baby Jesus. In recompense she brought presents for good Italian children on the twelfth day of Christmas — and for the bad ones, bits of coal.
“To me she looks kind of like a witch,” Daniel said.
“You don’t have Befana in America?”
“No. I grew up with the Coca-Cola Santa Claus. But that was okay.”
“We always had Befana, without Santa.” It was true. Christmas was celebrated in the Crypt; there were great mass parties in the theaters and meeting halls where the age groups would mingle, and games and competitions would be played. And there were presents, toys and games and clothes, even bits of jewelry, cosmetics, and clothes, commercially bought, for the older ones. But Befana, a woman, was the central figure, not Christ or Santa, and the great celebration was always on Twelfth Night, the Feast of the Epiphany.
The waiter delivered their tea.
Daniel said, “You mentioned we ? You mean your family? Let’s see. There’s you, and Pina, and your aunt from the Pantheon …”
“More than that.” She managed a smile. “We’re a big family.”
He smiled back. “It’s nice to see you look a little less worried. So, your family. What do your parents do?”
How could she answer that? I’ve never spoken to my father. My mother is a hundred years old … There was so much she could tell him; there was nothing she could tell him. He was, after all, a contadino.
He saw her hesitating, and began, smoothly, to tell her of his own upbringing. His father, as he’d told her, was a diplomat who had had a series of postings with NATO and the American diplomatic corps, culminating in his nine years in Italy. Daniel had seen a lot of the world, especially in his early years, and had decided he wanted to study politics himself.
“I always liked this square,” he said.
“Me, too.”
“It’s got the kind of depth of history I like about Europe. I know that’s an obvious thing for an American to say.”
“Well, I never met an American before.”
Reassured, he said, “It’s built on a stadium, put up by the Emperor Domitian. Did you know that? The stadium fell into ruin, and the stones were hauled off to make houses and churches and whatnot. But the foundations were still here, and the houses were built on top of them, so the square keeps the original shape of the racetrack.” He shook his head. “I love that. People living for two thousand years in the ruins of a sports stadium. It gives you a sense of continuity — of depth. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so,” she said seriously. She felt baffled by his rapidfire speech. How could she match such perceptions? She felt stupid, malformed, a child; she was afraid to open her mouth for fear of making a fool of herself.
He rambled to a halt, and looked at her shyly. “Hey, I’m sorry.”
That made her laugh. “You are always apologizing. What are you sorry for now?”
“Because I’m boring you. I’m a seventeen-year-old bore. My brother says this is why I’ll never get a girl. I always lecture them. I’m full of bullshit.” He used the English word. “But it’s just that I think about this stuff so hard. It just comes out … You know, you’re beautiful when you laugh. And you’re also beautiful when you are serious. It’s true. I think we should always say what’s true, don’t you? That’s what I noticed about you in the Pantheon. Your skin is pale, but there is a kind of translucence about it …”
She could feel her cheeks burn, something warm move inside her. “I like your seriousness. We should be serious about the world.”
“So we should.” He was watching her. The light was fading a little now, and his face seemed to float in the glow of the lights from the cafй ’s interior. “But not serious all the time. Something’s troubling you, isn’t it?”
She looked away sharply. “I can’t say.”
“Okay. But it’s something to do with your sister, and your aunt … Your mysterious family.”
She folded and unfolded her fingers. “It’s a matter of duty.”
“Are they trying to get you to do something you don’t want to do? What — an arranged marriage of some kind? I’ve heard of that in southern Italian families.” He was fishing.
“I can’t say anything.” She didn’t even know herself.
Suddenly he covered her hand with his. “Don’t be upset.”
His skin was hot, his grip firm; she felt the touch of his palm on the back of her fingers. “I’m not upset.”
“I don’t know what to say to you.” He withdrew his hand; the air felt cold. “Look, you may or may not believe it, but I’ve no designs on you. You’re a beautiful girl,” he said hastily. “I don’t mean that. Anybody would find you beautiful. But — there’s something about you that draws me in. That’s all. And now I’m a little closer to you, I can see there’s something hurting in there. I want to help you.”
Suddenly the intensity of the moment overwhelmed her. “You can’t.” She stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“To the bathroom.”
He was crestfallen. “You won’t come back.”
“I will.” But, she found, she wasn’t sure if she would.
“Here.” He produced a business card from a pocket. “This is my cell number. Call me if you need anything, anything at all.”
She held the card between thumb and forefinger. “I’m only going to the bathroom.”
He smiled weakly. “Well, in case you get lost on the way. Put it in your bag. Please.”