52stories

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Carlo woke to the feel of the sun on his face. He smiled, took a deep breath, and stretched, his long legs swinging off the side of the bed. He had a full, perfect day with nothing to do ahead of him. The first in a long time. Today was going to be a good day.

He dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and sneakers and a shirt plucked at random from the closet. He shrugged into his jacket – it was still early enough to be cool out – and stuffed his money clip in his back pocket. No need for anything else, not now at least. He’d start the day by having espresso at his favorite café in the piazza. Nicoletta worked there on Saturday mornings, and her smiling face would make the morning shine even brighter.

He whistled a happy tune down the two flights of stairs, out the door, and onto the street. First thing first, he needed a paper to read with his coffee. He waited, still whistling, as a produce truck rumbled past on the narrow street, then crossed over to the opposite side toward the newsstand. There was a woman on the corner; she was reading a map and looking up with a confused look on her face. An American tourist, he was sure of it. He stopped in front of the small wooden newsstand, its racks filled with magazines and newspapers in at least six different languages. Piles of tabloids sat in neat stacks in front of the cash register, manned by the ever-present, rain or shine Gianni Verina.

“Buona mattina, Gianni” he said to the vendor with a smile. He grabbed a copy of Il Piccolo with his right hand while his left fished the money clip out of his pocket.

“Buona mattina, Carlo!” Gianni took the bill that Carlo held out to him, handing him several coins in exchange. Carlo pocketed the change and was about to say something about the beautiful day when he noticed the sudden look of alarm on Gianni’s face. He didn’t have the chance to turn around before he was pushed right into the stack of magazines in front of him. He scrambled to keep his balance, dropping his paper as he splayed his long arms out to keep the magazine pile from falling to the ground.

“Oh crap oh no oh my God I’m so sorry!” said the girl that had just backed into him. He was right – she was definitely American. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I can’t believe what an idiot I am!”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Carlo in English. “No harm done. Right, Gianni?” He winked at Gianni and turned to the girl. She was several inches shorter than he was, with light brown hair that fell to her shoulders in waves. She wore a long sleeved brown shirt layered with a black puffy vest, and the tight dark blue designer jeans that seemed to be a uniform for fashionable girls these days. She wasn’t his type but she was cute, and he’d made lasting friendships from encounters not much different than this one. He smiled kindly at her obvious embarrassment as he stooped to pick up his paper.

“Can I help you find something?” he asked. She stared blankly at him for a second. “You look like you might be lost,” he added.

“Oh,” she said, and smiled weakly. “Yeah, I guess you could say I’m lost. I’m trying to find the Piazza Unità d’Italia. Do you know where that is?”

“I think everyone in Trieste knows where that is,” he laughed. She looked embarrassed again.

“I thought I could figure out how to get there from the hotel down the street, but I think I took a wrong turn.”

“An easy mistake,” he agreed in a more sober tone. “But you are closer than you think; it’s only five blocks from here. I’d be happy to take you.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to trouble you. I’d be happy with a push in the right direction.”

“It’s no trouble, honest. I am headed there myself.”

“Well… in that case, okay!” she agreed smiling. Her teeth looked like they were made of plastic, they were so perfect and white. “Gosh, everyone here is so nice.”

He pretended to doff a cap from his head and made a half bow. “Allow me to be your guide, my lady,” he said. She hoisted a large brown bag onto her shoulder and followed him down the sidewalk.

“You speak really good English,” she said, working hard to keep up with his long stride. He slowed down a little so that she could keep up more easily.

“Ah well, most of us learn as children,” he said, shrugging. “But I also lived in the US for a couple of years, so it comes even easier to me.”

“Where?” she asked.

“Near Seattle. I was a high school exchange student, and then I spent some time traveling around to different states before I came back to start University.”

“Oh that’s cool,” she said. “I always wanted to go to Seattle, but I haven’t had the chance yet.”

“Where are you from? My name is Carlo by the way.”

“Mine’s Jill.” She smiled. “I’m from San Diego.”

“Ah, San Diego. It’s beautiful there, yes?”

“Oh yes,” she agreed. “Very. But not as beautiful as here. Are you from Trieste?” She looked up at him with evident curiosity.

“No, I grew up in Bologna, a little bit inland. I’m attending University here now. It’s my second year.”

They had reached the end of the first block. There was a flower stand on this corner, with twenty or so brightly colored plastic vases filled with carnations and daisies. Carlo called to the old woman sitting down behind the table. “Buona mattina, Maria!” She smiled a toothless smile and waved at him. They walked on, and turned left after the next block. This street was even more narrow than the one they had just been walking on, and the sun had not yet angled into the space between the tall buildings on either side. Shop owners were just starting to open their doors, preparing for the day ahead. August was prime tourist season in Trieste, and even though it was late in the month, everyone still opened just a little bit early to take advantage of the extra trade. Carlo greeted many of them by name with a smile and a wave.

“Wow, you seem to know everyone here,” said Jill.

Carlo shrugged. “It’s my neighborhood, I try. I’m sure you know everyone in San Diego, right?” He smiled down at her.

“San Diego’s a big place!” she said, her eyes wide. “But I guess I have my share of friends there.”

“So, are you on holiday then? Have you seen much of Italy?”

“Holiday?” she asked. “No. I mean yeah, it’s a vacation.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “I decided to take some time off school to travel Europe.”

“Alone?” he asked, surprised.

“No, I came with a friend. We went to London and Paris and Amsterdam and Vienna together, and had plans to see Venice next. She had to leave early though,” Jill grimaced. “Family emergency.” She said this in such an annoyed tone that it surprised him. He though it was a little cold of her to be so rude about her friend’s problems.

“I hope everything is okay.”

“She’ll be fine.” She didn’t offer any details.

“So what brings you to Trieste, then, instead of Venice?”

“I’m meeting a friend who lives here, he’s going to show me around the city and then I’ll head down the coast and hop over to Venice.” She was surprisingly brief; most tourists liked to go on and on about their various travels and plans.

“Who is your friend, maybe I know him?”

Jill paused for a minute and looked at him with a smirk on her face. “I wouldn’t doubt it. His name’s Giuseppe Vazzo. Do you know him?” She placed a mocking emphasis on the word “do”, and looked at him expectantly.

“Hmm… his name is familiar…” mused Carlo. Jill’s eyes widened in astonishment. “But no, I don’t know anyone of that name.” He wondered if he imagined the brief look of relief that crossed her face.

She looked at her watch. “I’m supposed to meet him in the Piazza at nine thirty.”

“Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”

They came to the end of the next block, and Carlo waited as another produce delivery truck inched out of an opening to the left, followed by a couple of young men on bicycles. “Let’s go here, it’s a short cut.” He grabbed Jill’s arm and led her across the street into the alley that the truck had just vacated. The sound of gates being pushed aside filled the space between buildings as back doors were opened by yawning stock boys and cigarette smoking prep cooks. Carlo pointed to the door coming up on their right, its opening half blocked by colorful boxes and wooden crates filled to bursting with produce that had obviously just been delivered. “That’s the back of Ristorante Serafina,” he said, bringing his fingers to his lips and flicking them away with his eyes closed in exaggerated appreciation. “Best seafood in town, and not too expensive. You should go while you’re here.”

“Maybe I will,” she said. He looked down at her. Her tone of voice implied that she had no such intent.

They were passing the back door to Serafina now, and a pleasant citrus smell wafted by, no doubt from the oranges piled high in one of the crates. Or maybe it came from the stacked boxes of lemons peeking behind the door. Carlo’s mouth watered as he eyed the round, juicy table grapes that were grouped at eye level, and the ripe pineapples and melons perched precariously at the very top of the pile.

“I wonder if they ever fall down.”

“I was just thinking the same thing!” They both laughed. They walked past a row of freshly watered flower pots, no doubt destined for the tables outside the front of the restaurant. Carlo could still smell the oranges, they must be in season right now. He looked down at Jill to say something, but stopped before any sound escaped his lips. Jill was intently peeling an orange as they walked, ripping off large pieces of the peel and placing them in the palm of her left hand. She must have felt his eyes on her then, because she looked up at him and raised her eyebrows, daring him to comment. He said nothing.

“It’s not like they’d miss one orange.” She said to his silent reproach. She stuck her tongue out at him and he idly wondered how old she was.

That’s not the point, he thought. No, this girl was definitely not his type. He’d be glad when his impromptu guide turn was over. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Her cavalier attitude towards petty theft made him wary. Maybe she hadn’t actually bumped into him by accident. His left hand surreptitiously checked his back pocket where he stashed his money clip. It was still there. Suddenly he felt ridiculous. She was probably just hungry. “No, I don’t think they’ll miss it,” he conceded. She held up an orange slice as a peace offering. He placed the fruit in his mouth and tasted the sun.

The street beyond the alleyway was considerably brighter and within another half block it opened up into the Piazza. Throngs of people were already there, enjoying the sun and their coffees and the view of the Adriatic. Jill gasped. “It’s so beautiful.”

“So where are you meeting your friend?” asked Carlo nonchalantly. He was used to the view; it was Nicoletta he wanted to see today.

Jill stood still and looked around for a full minute before responding. “Giuseppe said I should meet him by the fountain in front of the clock tower building. I guess he meant that one?” She pointed to the statue in the center of the square, the clock tower of the Municipio appearing to rise out of it from their current perspective. It was very close to Nicoletta’s café.

“Ah yes, the Quattro Continenti,” he nodded. “A popular spot.”

They headed across the wide square to the fountain. There were many people admiring it, taking pictures, talking, laughing, and looking round the square in wonder. As they got close, Carlo noticed an older couple standing in front of the fountain, each taking turns posing for a picture while the other played photographer. Carlo walked up to the heavy set grey-haired man who was carefully composing his next shot. “Would you like me to take a picture of you together?” he asked in English. The man looked up, surprised and grateful.

“Yes, please, if you don’t mind,” he said in heavily accented English, holding the camera out. “My wife would be very happy to have a picture of us together.” Carlo guessed he was German. He took the man’s camera and pointed to the small silver button on top.

“This one?”

“Yes, that will do it.” The man walked over to his wife and put his arm around her. They smiled, and Carlo took two pictures. As he handed the camera back the man’s wife wife flashed him a happy smile and said “Thank you so much!” Her accent was not quite as heavy. The couple started to walk away towards the Municipio building when Jill suddenly said “Wait!” as she dug around in her bag. The couple turned.

“Would you take a picture for us, too?” she asked as she pulled a disposable camera out of her bag.

“Of course!” The man walked over to Jill and took the little yellow camera, flicking the lever to be sure the film was advanced properly.

Jill looked up at Carlo. “Is that okay?”

“Absolutely,” he said as they walked to stand in front of the statue. He put his arm lightly around Jill’s shoulders, and she put her arm around his waist. He could hear the click of the shutter as the German took a couple pictures. Jill broke away quickly and went to retrieve her camera with a quick thank you to the man. She tapped the box in her hand. “Photo proof of the kindness of strangers.” She smiled up at him.

Carlo looked up at the clock tower. “It’s only ten after nine,” he said, looking down at her. “Can I buy you a coffee while you wait for your friend?”

“No, that’s okay,” Jill said quickly, as though she’d been expecting the question. “I want to make sure I’m here when Giuseppe shows up.”

“How do you know him?” he asked her, curious.

She blushed and looked down. “Promise not to laugh?” Carlo nodded, and she continued. “I met him online through a chatroom.”

Carlo smiled and shook his head.

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” she said.

“It’s not that, Jill. It’s just… I have two younger sisters, and I guess this brings out the protective older brother in me. I take it you have never met this — Giuseppe — in person before?” When she nodded, he continued. “So. How do you know he is who he says he is?”

Jill got defensive. “Because I know. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“True. But humor me. Let me stay with you until he shows up and we make sure he isn’t a crazy psychopath who likes to drool on young girls. Okay?” He looked at her with concern. These American girls could be so naïve sometimes.

“I don’t know…” she said.

“Look, he might be some fat old man and then you’ll be able to use me as an excuse to get away from him.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide in surprise. “Oh,” she paused for a second. “I hadn’t thought of that. I guess that would be okay then, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” Actually, he wasn’t thrilled about spending any more time with her than was absolutely necessary, but he wouldn’t feel good about it if he didn’t make sure she was in safe hands before he went on his way. As safe as internet chatroom hands could be, anyway.

“I’ll take you up on that coffee, then, but do you mind if I wait here just in case he shows up early?”

“No problem, what do you like?”

“Cappuccino. Lots of foam.”

“Done.” Carlo turned and walked over to the café on the corner nearest the fountain. It was dark and cool inside, and there was already a long line. Nicoletta was behind the counter, her black hair tied up in a spiky bun pinned haphazardly at the nape of her neck. She was tiny, shorter even than Jill, but her huge smile made her seem like the biggest presence in the room. He hardly noticed the wait as he watched her in action, pulling espresso and conversing with each customer in turn.

“Carlo!” she greeted his approach to the counter with the smile that made his heart jump in his chest every time. He really needed to work up the courage to ask her out soon. Perhaps today was the day. He considered asking her later, after Jill had found her friend. He hoped this Giuseppe was punctual.

“Nicoletta!” he grinned in response. He ordered his drinks and they made small talk in English while she worked. She didn’t speak the language as well as he did and she wanted the practice. She was going to visit some friends in New York in a month. She took great care with Jill’s cappuccino, and when she handed it to him he noticed an intricate leaf design in the foam. He grinned in appreciation, and reached to his back pocket for his money clip.

It wasn’t there.

He patted his other pockets quickly. Had he moved it? Misplaced it? When? Panic must have shown on his face, as Nicoletta immediately figured out what his frantic motions meant.

“Forget your wallet today, Carlo?” she smiled kindly. “This one’s on me – for the English lesson.”

He held up one finger. “I’ll be right back.” He ran out of the café, his eyes trained on the area around the fountain. Jill wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t there. He quickly scanned the square. There were even more groups of people milling around now; it got crowded here on weekend mornings. He knew he wouldn’t find her. He said a few choice words in Italian, under his breath. Looking down as he approached the fountain, he noticed a small pile of orange peels on top of a crumpled piece of glossy paper – the map that Jill had been reading when she first bumped into him. He picked it up. It was the type of map given to tourists, with only the main streets in outline and lots of pictures showing the highlights of the city. He turned it around. On the other side was a calendar – outdated now, the last event was on July 28th. There was a picture of a jovial middle-aged balding man, formally dressed in a tuxedo that would have clothed two regular-sized men. The caption above the photo read:

The Trieste Arts Council is pleased to announce a Concert in the Piazza with celebrated tenor, Giuseppe Vazzo. July 28th, 7:30pm.

Carlo had to laugh, he hadn’t been far off the mark. Giuseppe was indeed a fat old man. Ah well, forty euros were not going to get Jill very far. He wondered if she felt it was worth it. “What goes around comes around,” he said under his breath, resigned. It was only money, after all, and he was determined that this wouldn’t ruin his morning. He turned, smiled, and headed back into the cafe to ask Nicoletta if she was free after work on this beautiful day.