The Visit

Am in Il Bar, the creatively named corner bar on Via del Pigneto, where I had a tea the other day, the waitress remembers me with a smile. The wind has just sprung up and the stall holders have abandoned their merchandise.
But not before I search through to find something black to suit my Melbourne friend, who only wears that colour. I find, haggle, and still pay too much, but that's the market, rule one, you must leave the vendor unhappy!
The bar is popular with the Africans, some very spectacular in their colours. Later today at two thirty I am to go to the Tivioli Gardens, about one hour from Rome. I mistakenly thought I was to go there yesterday, my watch said 24th, but of course it was wrong and I had to change plans, go to the Coliseum instead, and 'by accident' instead visit my friend Silvana and her husband at Axa, right near a popular beach on the outskirts of Rome. They are still in abject mourning, having just lost their only son, Marco, whom I knew in Melbourne. He was killed in an awful motor scooter accident, in a coma for four days, and died just when Silvana who left Melbourne prematurely to be there, arrived in Rome.

I had phoned Silvana the day before but she was so upset she said she couldn't see me so I left it at that, thinking I would be in Tivioli yesterday. 

So at a loose end now, I took the Metro to the Coliseum, and saw that it went also to Palasport, where I knew Silvana lived, or nearby. I decided to go there, phone her and see if she felt better enough to see me, as I knew when I saw her mother, Pina, on my return to Melbourne it would be silly not to have seen her. So I tried to ring outside the suburban station, but the phone didn't ring, so I asked a passing man if the number I was using was OK, he said 'Yes, but use my mobile'. We did and this time Walter answered and immediately said to meet him on the Banco Populare corner in the next street in half an hour.

 We eventually made the rendezvous, and then went back to find a much better Silvana, having just returned from the hairdresser. I then found she had tried in vain to contact me at seven that morning when all the family in via Mercato were out, with no luck. But here I was, in spite of all, at their immense palatial home in Axa, one of the better suburbs of Rome.

Well, we did much talking, the tragedy, still fresh in their hearts was all through the house. Marco's Russian bride,married for just one year, was living in their apartment in the basement, but probably not for too long. Silvana was quite inconsolable, and Walter was doing his best.
We chatted for three hours over a cup of tea then they returned me to the metro on their way to collect two guests arriving for the Motor Cycle championships that weekend. Marco was a sports enthusiast and there were a thousand at his funeral, Silvana told me. He was thirty-six, and such a handsome boy.

We decided before I left that they would take me to the airport Fiumicino on Tuesday morning at nine, after sleeping at their house Monday night. I would be tired after my trip to Naples and would not have to get up so early. Iolanda would be happy to to have an extra day to prepare my room for the next guest.

The stories told about Marco were to much to relate, but suffice to say, he was a charismatic youth who was loved by everyone. We talked about life after death and we sang the HU together. Silvana was happy to receive a small book I had on all this stuff and she felt much better when I left. Amazing thing that sound, the HU!