my report-and said, 'I don't recall your name.'
I felt like playing. 'I still haven't told you,' I replied.
He lifted his head a bit and said, 'Right…'
I smiled and watched him resume taking notes, pleased that he might be waiting for me to tell him my name.
'Aren't you going to tell me?' he asked, scrutinizing my face.
I beamed. 'Melissa,' I said.
'Mmmm… Your name is the Greek for 'bee.' Do you like honey?'
'Too sweet,' I replied. 'I prefer stronger tastes.'
He shook his head, smiled, and each of us continued writing on our own. After a while he stood up to smoke a cigarette, and I saw him laugh and gesture excitedly to another guy (who was also quite handsome). At times he would glance at me and smile, letting the cigarette dangle from his mouth. From a distance he appeared thinner, and his hair seemed soft and scented, bronze-colored ringlets that fell gently on his face. He stood leaning against the streetlight, shifting all his weight to one hip, which he seemed to be holding up with the hand in his trouser pocket. A green-checked shirt flounced out, disarranged, and round glasses completed his intellectual look. I'd seen his friend a few times outside of school, handing out leaflets. He invariably had a small cigar in his mouth, lit or not.
When the meeting ended, I was gathering the sheets of paper scattered on the table-I had to submit them with my report-and Roberto returned. He squeezed my hand and said good-bye with a broad smile.
'Arrivederci, comrade!'
I started laughing and confessed that I like being called comrade, it's amusing.
'Come, come!' said the assistant principal, clapping his hands. 'What are you doing there chattering away? Do you not see that the assembly has ended?'
Today I'm happy. I had this lovely encounter and hope it doesn't end here. You know, Diary, I truly persevere if I want to achieve something. Now I want his phone number, and I'm sure I'll manage to get it. After his number I'll want what you already know- namely, to inhabit his thoughts. But before that happens you know what I must do.
10 October 2001 5:15 P.M.
It's a wet, melancholy day. The sky is gray, the sun a faded smear. This morning there was some light rain, but now a few flashes of lightning would be enough to unleash a downpour. Still, the weather doesn't make a difference to me: I'm very happy.
Stationed at the school entrance were the usual vultures wanting to sell you books or to persuade you with leaflets, undeterred even by the rain. Roberto's friend was there, a cigar in his mouth, wearing a green slicker and handing out red flyers, a smile stamped on his face. When he approached to give me one as well, I stared at him, flabbergasted, since I didn't know what to do, how to act. I mumbled a timid thanks and dragged my heels, thinking that a golden opportunity like this wouldn't happen again. I wrote my number on the flyer, turned around, and handed it back to him.
'Why are you returning it? Why don't you just throw it away like everybody else?' he asked me, smiling.
'No, I want you to give it to Roberto,' I said.
Bewildered, he protested, 'But Roberto has hundreds of these.'
I bit my lip. 'Roberto will be interested in what's written on the back.'
'Ah, I understand.' He seemed even more bewildered. 'Don't worry, I'll see him later, and he'll get it.'
'Grazie!' I'd have preferred to give him a loud kiss on the cheek.
As I was leaving, I heard someone call me. I turned, and it was him, breaking into a run.
'I forgot,' he panted. 'My name's Pino, pleased to meet you. You're Melissa, right?'
'Yes, Melissa. I see you couldn't wait to read the back of the flyer.'
'Well… What of it?' he said, smiling. 'Curiosity is a sign of intelligence. Are you curious?'
I closed my eyes and said, 'Immensely.'
'You see, then you're intelligent.'
My ego appeased, sated with happiness, I said good-bye and headed toward the piazza in front of the school, a hangout that was now half-empty because of the nasty weather. I didn't start the scooter right away. The traffic at that hour is terrible,even on a motorino. A few minutes later my phone rang.
'Yes?'
'Ummm… Ciao, it's Roberto.'
'Whoa!… Ciao.'
'You surprised me, you know?'
'I like to take chances. You could have not called me. I ran the risk of getting a door slammed in my face.'
'You did the right thing. I would've come to ask after you one of these days. Except that… you know… my girlfriend goes to the same school.' 'So you're taken.'
'Yes, but that doesn't matter.'
'It doesn't matter to me either.'
'Tell me, what made you look for me?'
'What would make you come looking for me?'
'I asked you first.'
'I want to get to know you better, spend some time with you.'
Silence.
'Now it's your turn.'
'Same here. As long as you know the premise: I'm already committed.'
'I don't really believe in commitments. They end when you stop believing in them.'
'Feel like meeting up tomorrow morning?'
'No, not tomorrow, I have school. Let's meet Friday-the day of the strike. Where?'
'In front of the university cafeteria at 10:30.'
'I'll be there.'
'Ciao, then, till Friday.'
'Till Friday. Un bacio.'
14 October 2001 5:30 P.M.
As usual I arrived incredibly early. The weather has been the same for four days, an incredible monotony.
From the cafeteria came the smell of garlic, and from where I stood I could hear the cooks making a racket with the pots and badmouthing some coworkers. A few students passed by and winked at me; I pretended not to see them. I was more attentive to the cooks' conversation than my thoughts. I was calm, not in the least nervous; I let myself be swept away by the external world, and I didn't pay much attention to me.
He arrived in his yellow car, wrapped up in the most exaggerated way, with an enormous scarf covering half of his face, leaving only his glasses uncovered.
'So I won't be recognized, you know how it is… my girlfriend. We'll use the back roads,' he said once
I'd gotten into the car. 'It'll take a bit longer, but at least there won't be any risk.'
The rain beat harder on the windshield; I thought it might shatter. We were headed for his summer home on the slopes of Etna, outside the city. The brown, withered branches of the trees tore tiny cracks in the cloudy sky; flocks of birds flew laboriously through the dense rainfall, yearning to reach some warmer place. I too wanted to soar in order to reach a warmer spot. Yet I felt no yearning: it seemed as if I were leaving home to start a new job that was far from exciting-a dutiful, laborious job.
'Open the glove compartment. There should be some CDs.'
I found a couple and chose Carlos Santana.
We talked about my school and his university, then about us.
'I don't want you to think badly of me,' I said.
'Are you joking? That would be like thinking badly of myself. We're both doing the same thing, in the same way. For me it might be even more dishonorable, since I'm spoken for. But you see, she-'
