Two - Eva Forte

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from how long I have not been thinking about myself and my actual life. A period spent only at work, without a lot of friends whom share something else with, and with few meaningless women whom spend some nights that don’t leave any emotion in me. A cold period, made more intimate by my photographs that however tell the life of other people and other places. There’s a bit of me in every shot, but it’s nothing compared to what a photographer can do if he puts his heart into it. I should start not to take commissioned pictures again, looking for myself inside of them, and maybe the daisy photograph is the first step to rediscover myself as changed and turning my life around, my life which now belongs only to others as a harlot that is only devoted to her job to please the others.

      I cross Via del Corso for a little section for then throwing myself in the little back street that leads to the always crowded Pantheon. In that moment, Stefano phones me. He works in an office just behind Corso Vittorio Emanuele and knowing about my meeting, he called me to order for a quick lunch in his areas. In a few minutes we are already together, going through Campo de’ Fiori to eat one of the delicious express sandwiches made in a little place without chairs or tables. My favourite one is the eggplants and mozzarella one and so, lunch in hand, we continue our stroll until we stop on a bench in Piazza Navona. I start to tell my friend about my morning starting from the Vittoriano and then I confess about the daisy. As soon as I start to describe the moment at the café, he stops walking and eating and totally taken by my story, ‘Now is up to her’ says without reflecting

      much on his words followed by endless silent minutes. ‘Finally, this absurd affair can work right, you should know each other and maybe you’ll find out that you have something true to share or simply that you don’t belong together. Leaving aside the morning look, you’ll start to think about building a life with a real woman who is not only a one-night stand’.

      The idea that I might have idealised a woman that I don’t even know scares me, and if she wasn’t really as I believe? It would be like losing her forever without ever having had her. It often happened to me to think about her outside the café, I gave her many names and I have imagined her in a lot of different situations. I’ve imagined her by my side while we live the places that I love the most. In my dreams I took her to my mother’s village, we’ve climbed mountains and we’ve made long strolls by the seaside. We’ve even kissed in the shadow of ancient trees.

      ‘Are you listening to me? If she’s not going to make the next move, enough… You’ll go there, and you’ll introduce yourself and it all happens the way it has to, once and for all.’ Stefano goes on, now completely caught up in my story and willing to arrive to a conclusion, whether it’s positive or negative. I agree with him, now I’ve realised that we must move on, we’ve been standing at the entrance of this non-affair from too long. I don’t even know her name yet. I say goodbye to my loyal friend, I go back to my way home completely wrapped in my thoughts, as much that I arrive home without even notice the miles travelled on foot. I didn’t even notice people I stepped by on the road, cars speeding beside me, fountain that were constantly streaming water, and thoughtless birds in the sky. I came back to reality only at

      the sight of my closed front door before my eyes like a silent and massive guard. In the distance, I discern the old lady with my neighbour’s dog, so I hurry up to enter, with not a great desire to remain stuck on the door chatting about medicines or about the dog potty spread in who knows what street of the district.

      As soon as I close the door behind me, I breath a sign of relief and I continue moving silently not to be overheard from the outside and I jump on the bed. When I woke up I am in a pull of sweat and I’m still wearing my jacket. It’s 7 p.m. and I have been sleeping for almost all the afternoon abandoned in a deep sleep. After a swift shower and with my pyjama already on I turn my laptop on and I start to work on the photographs taken today. The most beautiful are the one of the daisy and the one of the paddle with me inside… I start to recognize myself in what I am doing, and this provides me with the right energy to find the courage to turn around the story with the girl in the café.

      The day after, despite I’ve been awake until late to work on the computer, I woke up following my weekly routine so that I arrive at the café at the usual hour curious to see what she was going to do after my little gift of yesterday. When I enter, I see her already sitting at her table, as usual, prettier than ever. She gives me a look, blushing a little while she turns her farce towards her friends who stands still and stares at her. There’s something weird about their behaviour, they’re not immerged in the other mornings usual naturalness between their chats in a low tone. The counter is empty, so I sit at my usual corner waiting for the barman to come. I quickly glimpse at her again and as soon as she notices that I am looking at her, she turns away from me again.

      With my arm I drop an envelope that was probably laid on the sugar can in the corner. I pick it up and I notice that there’s written ‘For…?’

      and on the side there’s a little flower sketched. I stop for some moments without knowing what to do and then, caught up in curiosity, I open it, being the only one in the place. Inside of it there’s a little chocolate with a daisy sketched on it. The adrenaline is going, here’s her move, the envelope is just for me. I smile while I realise that there’s also a card inside, written in pen: ‘We have other senses beside the sight and today I’ll try to please the taste too. A.’ I read it three more times almost as if I wanted to learn by heart that sentence so short but meaningful to me. When I turn, I see that she’s gone as silent that I didn’t even notice. I start to unwrap the chocolate trying not to break the envelope that I store inside the wallet. I eat it as if I’ve never eaten chocolate in my whole life, tasting slowly the bitterness of cocoa and the sweetness of vanilla that wraps it up in its smoothness. I realise that I’ve closed my eyes totally caught up in its taste and only focused on the sense of taste, just as A wrote in her card that I read again for the fourth time almost looking for something between the lines. Then I store it in the pocket of my jacket where it’s ready to be read other more times, till death. The taste of chocolate is fixed in my mind and from now on I’ll never be able to eat something that has the same taste without thinking about this catching morning made of coffee and vanilla chocolate. With a dumb smile on my face, I say goodbye to the barman who in the meantime had offered me my usual coffee, and I go away a little bothered by the fact that I am not going to see my mysterious woman for the next two days, with the weekend just around the corner.

      In the past, Saturday and Sunday have always been a blessing but since I met her they have become the two days to live as fast as possible, craving for the oxygen that her next Monday morning look will bring to me. This will be even longer and heavier, even if this way I’ll have the chance to think longer about my next move. The game has been decided, I must focus on the five senses and decide if I want to follow what she designed to be the second or go on to the next one. I still taste the strong flavour of chocolate in my mouth and I hope it will stay longer to fix it more powerfully in my memory. It immediately comes to my mind Proust’s Magdalene, what he remembered eating that by a distance of years and I start to understand his writings more and more and the strong feelings evoked by a little and simple childhood sweet. I wish I could have a lot more of these chocolates, so that I could eat one of them every time the memory starts to fade or any time I want to keep alive the thought I have about her even when she’s not here. A taste that by now is linked to two deep and piercing eyes, her beauty, and black straight hair on her shoulders. It’s linked to that hardly evident smile framed by pink lips and clear and shining skin. Today she had a forest green dress with black high heel boots glimpsed under the table when I arrived. It’s a pity that I didn’t have the chance to see her going out in order to detect some more details of her perfect body too often hidden under coats and scarfs during this season. But today the sense is taste, so I stop my thought at the chocolate that I’ve found in the envelope. I wonder if she had tasted it too, in order to share the velvet sensation of taste. Going out, I noticed on her table that she took a coffee instead of the usual cappuccino, maybe just to taste the same experience that I had. I almost feel like

      I’ve kissed her, tasting the chocolate of her lips, tight in an embrace made of a wise mixture of perfumes and tastes. I take another picture of the card written in her beautiful tidy and full handwriting and I send it to Stefano.

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