'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:
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:
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.
I dashed down the stairs, just as I was, in shorts and a pullover. Yet when I opened the door, I suddenly stopped in my tracks. Should I run up to him and give him a big hug or just smile and thank him with a handshake? I remained motionless in the doorway, and he realized I wouldn't approach him if I didn't have some sort of signal. So he gave me one.
'You look like a frightened chick. Forgive my in-trusiveness, but I was overwhelmed.'
He embraced me gently, while I kept my arms at my sides. I couldn't imitate his gesture.
'Melissa, would you allow me to invite you to supper this evening?'
I nodded my consent and smiled. Then I sweetly kissed his cheek and went back inside.
'Who was he?' my mother asked, supercurious.
I shrugged. 'Nobody, Mamma, nobody.'
12:45 P.M.
We spoke about ourselves. We talked about more than I had expected to say and hear. He's twenty and studies modern literature. His face has an animated, intelligent look that makes him incredibly attractive. I listened to him attentively; I liked watching him speak. I feel a flutter in my throat, my stomach. I feel as if I were bent back upon myself, like the stem of a flower, although I haven't snapped yet. Claudio is gentle, calm, reassuring. He told me he has experienced love, but it slipped from his hands.
He ran a finger around the rim of his glass and asked, 'What about you? What can you tell me about yourself?'
I opened up. A tiny gleam of light tore through the dense fog that enveloped my soul. I told him a bit about me, about my unhappy affairs, but I did no more than glance at my desire to find and uncover true feeling.
He gazed at me with attentive, sad, serious eyes and said, 'I'm glad you've told me about your past. It reinforces the idea I'd formed of you.'
'What idea?' I asked, fearful that he might accuse me of being too easy.
'That you're a girl-excuse me, a woman-who has gone through certain situations to arrive at what she is, to assume an outlook and absorb it so deeply. Melissa, I've never met a woman like you. I've gone from feeling an affectionate tenderness to experiencing a mysterious, irresistable fascination.' His conversation was broken by long silences, during which he offered me his eyes and then resumed.
I smiled and said, 'You still don't know me well enough to say that. You couldn't possibly have experienced all the feelings you've mentioned-maybe one of them, or none.'
'But it's true,' he said after listening to me carefully. 'I want to try to get to know you. Will you allow me?'
'Of course I'll let you!' I said, grabbing his hand from the table.
I felt as if I were in a dream, Diary, a most beautiful, endless dream.
1:20 A.M.
I just received a message from Valerio, who says he wants to see me. The thought of him has now receded into the distance. I know that all I need to do is make love with the Prof one last time to be sure of what I really want and what Melissa really is, whether a monster or someone who is truly capable of giving and receiving love.
10 June 2002
Fabulous: school is over! This year the results have been rather disappointing, I didn't apply myself very much, and my teachers didn't make an effort to understand me. Nonetheless, I did merit promotion. They stopped short of
