(continued from “The Genovese Connection“)

Catharina’s room gave to a large roof terrace, where her mother grew all of her herbs and geraniums. Ronald was installed in Catharina’s brother Pippo’s room for the night and I was supposed to sleep on a stretcher in Catharina’s room.

Pippo was a 9 year old, good humored boy, with an enormous quantity of comic books that seemed to fill the apartment. I took an immediate liking to this lively, smart boy. Before going to sleep I asked him if I could read some of them, and within minutes he came to our bedroom with a personal selection of books he recommended. Of course I didn’t speak Italian yet, and I still spoke English with Catharina, but there was no misunderstanding possible in his expressions and body language. (Years later I was devastated to find out that Pippo had died from a heroin overdose, at the age of 18.) Catharina’s mother spoke a kind of heavily affected French with us, so there were no real communication barriers during our stay in the small apartment.

I had never met someone with fewer inhibitions than Catharina. That first evening she came out of the shower and stood naked in front of the mirror, combing her long black hair, as if I wasn’t there. I had to admit she was a looker, and during our trip to Genoa, I noticed how people reacted as she passed them by. I pretended to be completely absorbed in Pippo’s comic books, but couldn’t help ogling her magnificent silhouette.

“Come and join me for a smoke”, she said. Walking out to the terrace, she casually draped a silk kimono on her and sat down on a wrought iron bench, next to a table packed with the largest geraniums I’ve ever seen. “You need to unwind a little dear, you’re so uptight and prudish”, she said sighing. “Well, I think my prudishness will not stand a chance to survive the extreme content of the comic books your brother selected for me”, I said with a chuckle.

Smiling back at me she said: “I’m glad you came along, my little star”. “So am I”, I heard myself say in a hoarse voice. She promised to show me around town and introduce me to her friends the next day. Looking straight ahead she flicked her cigarette butt over the railing of the terrace, and waited attentively for a few moments. “I always keep my breath for ten seconds when I do that, cause once I heard an awful scream protruding from the courtyard below, as my cigarette butt fell into someone’s neck, eh, eh…”. “Not funny”, I said, unable to suppress a smile completely.

“Buona notte”, she said getting up and walking to her bedroom. Suddenly she turned and kissed me audaciously on the mouth. A shiver went down my spine, but I managed to play it cool and say: “Goodnight Catia, sleep well”

(to be continued)

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