ONLINE WRITING MAGAZINE-GET READ-GET PUBLISHED-WRITING CONTESTS-BOOK PROMOTION-REVIEWS-INTERVIEWS-STORY AND ARTICLE SUBMISSION-ANGELICA PASTORELLI

Part one
1973 – somewhere in France

I was 17 years old, standing with my friend Ronald on the side of a national road and trying to hitch a ride on the hottest day so far that summer.

We left Holland the morning of the previous day, and even though we again started out early, we didn’t get very far. Nobody seemed willing to give us a ride. It was vacation time; most drivers weary and annoyed from the combination of heavy traffic and suffocating heat. It was getting dark, but a bright full moon turned the night into a surrealistic kind of daytime.

In the distance a car stopped briefly to drop a passenger off. The silhouette of a young female could be seen in the moonlight for a short moment, before it disappeared from sight, only to reappear from under the moon-cast shadow of a chestnut tree.  As she approached, we were both intrigued by this exotic young woman, who by then was smiling radiantly as she seemed to assess us.

After exchanging some introductory small-talk, she asked if we were acquainted with this particular locality. Of course we had no idea as we were on unknown territory ourselves, but I found myself unable to say something coherent at first because of the unforeseen effect she had on me. Her piercing eyes were on me, and I felt anxious but exhilarated at the same time…

“My name is Catharina”, she said disarmingly.
“Would you guys be so kind as to keep me company, while I figure out where to go from here?”
My friend Ronald, who is an introverted person with slight communicative difficulties, was obviously captivated by this woman and was rolling up his sleeves in an attempt to maintain his composure. (Years later, when I met Ronald by chance at a relative’s party, he confessed he had an ominous feeling about Catharina from the moment we had met her. I had to confess I had felt something similar…).

We walked onto the meadow bordering the road and the three of us sat down on the grass. Soon Catherina was asking me direct and personal questions, and I found myself unable to dodge any of them. In a way our first meeting had a hallucinatory quality. It was like being complete strangers and best friends at the same time.

In an attempt to make himself scarce, Ronald was fumbling with his transistor-radio, trying to find a news channel. This made the situation more intimate for Catharina and me, and our subjects became more focused on spirituality and matters of the heart. A nearby owl cried its oohoo into the night and in a reflex I looked in the direction of the sound. When I turned my attention back to Catharina, I noticed she had moved closer to me…

Part two
Feeling left out, Ronald wandered off holding his radio to his ear. I knew I should go after him; tell him to stay, because there was no reason he should feel rejected, but for some reason I didn’t. Catharina’s mesmerizing presence immobilized me and lulled me into a state of mind that made me somewhat indifferent to his feelings.

She told me she was Sicilian and lived with her mother and small brother in Genoa.
“Do you like boys?”  She asked all of a sudden.
I must have been blushing, feverishly thinking of what to say next, but somehow I couldn’t formulate a coherent answer.
Finally I murmured: “Sure I do, what’s wrong with that?”
“Just asking”, she said, gazing unfocusedly into the distance. “So you and Ronald…”
“Are just good friends”, I hastened to finish her sentence, wondering why this question made me feel uncomfortable.
“He’s a wonderful person and the best travel companion one could wish for!” I said.

“I see”, she said, with obvious disinterest. And after what seemed like forever, she said “Well, it doesn’t concern me anyhow…”
I felt inexplicably cornered by Catharina, and again at a loss for words. The most confused thoughts were running through my brain, but I felt that at least she couldn’t sense my insecurity while I managed a non committal smile, and said bravely “no, it really does not concern you.”

“Good, now we’ve got that out of the way, tell me… do you like girls?”

I somehow knew this question was a logical sequel, but there was no way I could have prepared myself for it. “Sorry, I’m not sure what you mean, I eh…, well…” I stammered.
“Of course you do dear”, she said softly, almost whispering, and leaning over to me, ever so slightly. “You are the reason I’m still here, and you just sent your friend off for a stroll.”
I started to protest, but the arguments never left my mouth. We just stared at one another in silence.

“I can see this makes you feel uncomfortable” she said. “It shouldn’t, you know, I can pick out a girl’s girl a mile away.”
“I’m not a girl’s girl!” I said with a tremor in my voice. Then my heart skipped a beat when she put her hand on my knee and looked away melancholically at the full moon.

Feelings of anxiety and sensuality overwhealmed me, and I said “You got me all wrong! Listen Catherina, I like you as a person, and I feel as if I’ve known you for ages, but I’m straight, really I am!”
Still I couldn’t bring myself to removing her hand, which still rested motionlessly on my knee.

“If you say so, Angie”, she said, her smouldering eyes looking deeply into mine.
“If you say so…”

Part three
The first bird sounds made me aware of the breaking of dawn. Ronald slept deeply, and out of earshot, rolled up in his sleeping bag. I felt a bit hung over from passing a sleepless night, and had an ominous feeling that something unexpected was about to happen. Still I felt mentally recharged from our long and intensive talks. Catharina, on the other hand, looked as fresh as a rose petal, as if she just had her 8 hour beauty sleep.

I woke up Ronald and we found ourselves a mini market and had breakfast in the open air. It promised to be another scorcher of a day and the temperature was rising rapidly. Catharina’s behavior towards Ronald was civil but with an undertone of indifference. Still she invited us both to come with her to Genoa, saying that we would have a place to stay in her mother’s apartment. Ronald looked uneasy about this suggestion, and tried to formulate various objections, but in the end agreed to come along, as we hadn’t decided upon a final destination for our travel, and agreed before our departure to see where chance would take us.

While Ronald and I were still munching our sandwiches in silence, Catharina suddenly got up and walked in her hip-swaying manner over to a telephone booth in the distance, where she spent at least 10 minutes in what seemed to be an animated conversation. Her gesticilations once more confirming her roots. When she came back she seemed somewhat subdued and didn’t speak for all the time we were packing our bags, getting ready to move on.

A Mercedes with a German license plate stopped with screeching brakes at Catharina’s first thumb-sign. A seemingly sympathetic middle-aged man got out and helped us put our bags in the trunk, and away we sped southwards, the sun as our beacon. He dropped us off in picturesque Montreux, on the Swiss Riviera. As we thanked him for the ride and said goodbye, he pressed a 20 D-Mark note in my hand, saying he had a daughter my age, and he wished someone would do her the same favor one day.

Things are looking up, I thought, as we used the D-Marks to buy enough provisions to last for days. We started to walk towards the highway to Italy, when suddenly we were surrounded by a swarm of enormous bees that seemed to come out of holes in the ground. They didn’t actually sting or attack us, but there were so many of them that, in a reflex, we started to run for safety. Ronald used a plastic plate he brought along as a bat to keep them at bay. Out of breath we reached a place in the shadow, while Ronald was still watching over us with his plate, and bashing the last giant bees to pulp.

Relieved to be safe again, we laughed apprehensively at one another, and Catharina, standing behind me, whispered in my ear: “That was fun, wasn’t it?”
With a jolt I realized that she had touched my earlobe with her lips…

Our next two rides brought us all the way to Genoa, and from there we took the subway to Catharina’s home. The concierge at the end of the entrance corridor of the apartment apparently knew Catharina, because she limped out of her booth to greet her with a grating voice and a smile that revealed a single tooth, while pressing the button for the elevator. Packed together in the small cabin, the three of us were noisily transported to the top floor, where the elevator stopped with a groan and a loud click.

Catharina’s mother, a small, kindly woman, was standing in the doorway wearing an apron. A rusty enamel plaque next to the entrance revealed a faded number5*. The mother embraced us like we were family and ushered us into her apartment. The air inside was pregnant with the wonderful smell of fresh Basil and Garlic, and within minutes we were seated around the kitchen table and eating the most tantalizing “Spaghetti Al Pesto Alla Genovese”.

(continued in: Chapter two – Latin Dreams)

Related Posts:

• The Genovese Connection – part one
• Chapter Two – Latin Dreams