JUST A MAN.
Bus was running late. I was only one on the covered bus stop, it took me longer to buy everything I needed for a dinner and for my kids. I knew that they were impatiently waiting for my return.
I did not feel safe standing there alone, guess I have been watching too many movies about mafia in the past. But evening was beautiful! It is impossible to describe Italian sky in the evening, full bodied, like an old wine, with the aroma of blooming lemon trees.
I saw car pulled over and man rolled down the window:
Can I give you a lift home? - He asked.
I did recognized his face - I washed windows of his beautiful caramel colored “Bentley” several times. Yet I have hesitated to say “yes”. I did not know him very well, how could I? What he has in mind? What if he want something from me? Not once I was approached by Italian man ( many of them were married and acted faceful to their wives only on Sunday morning, before visiting Church, but later their eyes were running around , seeking for easy prey wearing skirts). Most man were very direct and openly saying what they were wanted and how much they will pay. Others pretended that they need help to clean their office, or apartment, or… ).
But this man never asked me for anything. Her just simply allowed me to wash his car window, payed a mile or five and then he was gone. Yet I saw something different in him.
It is hard to hide intelligence, smarts. We did not exchanged many words, but by the way he looked at me, the way he smiled, coking his head sideways, as if he was too shy to look at me directly, I felt something pleasant about him. He acted respectfully.
Sure, most people that passed by my “work place” at the street crossing understood, that I am standing there not because I had nothing better to do. Many of them knew that I was immigrant with kids - city was small after all, they saw me many times on local mercato buying children's clothes, almost never things for myself.
I am Mario. - Said man in Bentley. - Can I give you ride home? It’s getting too dark to stay here alone.
His voice was soft and kind, and I said”yes”.
I think he was about forty years something. Not bad looking, didn’t had fat belly as many italian man, rather slim. Long eyelashes. Thin fingers, holding cigarette. Nose, also thin could of been a bit shorter. Not very talkative either. We ;listened some sort of jazz on the radio, while his wonderful car silently was taking me back home. I felt good, relaxed.
I have something for your kids. - Finally he broke the silence. - I saw you with boy and two girls, walking on the streets. I have some stuff that left after my grandkids visited and I would like to give them to you.
I did not reply immediately, and what would I say? That I have enough of everything? That would not be true. One of the reasons I was washing car windows - to get new clothes for my kids who would not stop growing oh so so fast! I nodded carefully. He saw it:
Not to worry, I do not expect anything from you in return. I have been watching you for the last few weeks. Oh no, please don't think anything… I have no ill thoughts! Just keeping eye on you, rather looking after you. I know why you working there. It’s not safe. Not safe for women to be on a road crossing alone.
His car turned to a small road and shortly pulled to a house. Rather villa of some sort. But when he opened car door for me and I stepped outside I saw a very old castle in front of me, must be built few centuries ago. Kind that I saw in movies about Medieval times. Walls covered with the wines, flugers on the towers…
I have inherited it from my father, and he is from his, and so on. - Explained Mario, walking me inside.
As soon as we entered I realized how hungry I was - my nose immediately recognized a wonderful smell of cooking food, and my mouth become watery.I guess Mario have noticed it and smiled:
May I offer you a dinner? It’s about to be ready. I have some very good wine and ragu for dinner, fresh baked bread too.
Wish he would not say that!! I felt deezy, I haven’t eaten anything since lunchtime, just a small sandwich with lettuce and slice of bologna. I was not really a wine drinker at those times, but I wish he would not say that magic word “ ragu”! I was not able to fight temptation!
I was feeling guilty, because I was warm, well fed, while my kids waiting for their dinner! But I needed to eat, so I would have energy to continue my mission - sole provider of everything for my family. Pure and sad true.
Mario was a wonderful host! He did not insisted of me drinking wine, but had couple of glasses himself and become very chatty and happy. From his conversation I understood that he was widower - his wife suddenly passed away two years ago. That he was a University professor, teaching sociology and something else ( my italian was still limited), that he is lonely and he liked me, and have noticed me while ago and changed his routes, so I would wash his car windows, even though they always were spotless. He knew it, and I saw it, and I washed them anyway.
I felt good around him. Somehow I felt very good around him, as if I knew him before, or for many years. I felt safe and easy and was jocking and telling him stories about our immigration adventures.
He was sitting close to me, may be too close… But never tried to cross the line - invisible line, that still was separated both of us.
And then I remembered: husband! Hungry kids!
Oh I am sorry, I must go! - I said, while everything in me was screaming: “don’t!”
I got up, he stepped forward, closer. He wasn’t very tall, just right. And he hesitated to give me a hug. I did too.
He walked me to my car and brought few packages with him:
For your kids. - He said. - hope it’s right sizes.
May I give you a lift tomorrow? - He asked, after he dropped me off next to our hotel “Fogliano”. - Not a dinner or anything, I don’t want anything bad happens to you. - he said quietly.
I did not answer. I just did not know what to say and walked away. I was afraid of myself more, then anything. I knew that I already like him too much.
Where have you been? - My husband's voice was cold and angry and sounded like a whip . I could tell that he was boiling inside. I knew why - it was after 9 o’clock by the time I got home.
I haven’t said anything and opened the bags that Mario gave me. Everything there was brand new, nicely packed in boxes from one of the most expensive stores in Latina Lido -sometimes I stood there in front of big windows daydreaming: nothing I could ever buy from there, and I knew that well. That was not his grandkids stuff. And everything inside of the boxes was right sizes.
I stepped outside on the balcony. Down below Mediterranean sea was pouring like a kitten. Air was fresh and smelled like a blooming lemon tree. And I knew that Mario somewhere right now looking at the very same sea at this very moment, holding cigarette in his thin fingers and thinking about… me.