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Past imperfect. Aderin Bran
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“Please keep your voice down, signorina! Judging by the ears pricked up around us, we risk triggering the fire alarm tonight," Giuseppe laughed.
“Totally secret, signor!” Lera said in a stage whisper, "So that's it! The ashes of the paper must be thrown into a glass of champagne…"
“Champagne?!” Giuseppe snorted in contempt. "Madonna mia! Drinking this French mockery isn't easy even without ashes!"
“Okay! Let's have prosecco, as long as it’s sparkling”, Lera got her bearings, "So! You need to stir the ashes and drink it all up before the last chime of the clock."
"Will that help?" The man arched an eyebrow doubtfully.
"I don't know," Lera smiled, "I haven't tried it, but that's reason to try, isn't it?"
The waiter brought a paper and pencil and stood by, intrigued as much as his boss. Lera ripped the notebook page into pieces and gave one to Giuseppe, who immediately scribbled something in small handwriting.
Lera took a pencil too and held it over the paper, but suddenly froze in confusion. Nothing coming to mind and the pencil hovering over the page without moving. She painfully tried to imagine what she wanted.
Now, sitting in the restaurant in the Eternal city, drinking wine and having fun, she felt like she had everything. Her favourite job, great apartment, good friends. But what else did she need? Giuseppe's words about a knight's heart touched her mind, but then they disappeared.
And suddenly, white packets of pills floated before her mind's eye. Lera hated the colour white because it reminded her of those damned boxes. They were a symbol of distrust, disbelief, and neglect. They were a symbol of Lera's constant fear. The fear that has not left Lera for twelve years.
For the first time in twelve years, that fear receded as she found herself in Rome. It seemed to Lera that in moving away from everything familiar and close to her, she had run away from her fear, and it was a great feeling. She felt a sense of lightness, confidence, and fun. Did all people feel that way all the time?
For the first time in years, Lera looked around with joy and curiosity, instead of suspiciously searching for who-knows-what. Lera resolutely lowered her pen and wrote in sharp handwriting, almost tearing through the page:
"I want to stop being afraid!"
“What now, mia bella signorina?” Giuseppe asked when they both were finished.
“That's it, signor! We are waiting for the last moments of the year, lighting the fire, drinking. If we don't do this before the clock strikes midnight, nothing will happen!” Lera said, quickly folding the paper in half.
“Then we need to hurry!” Giuseppe laughed.
Lera took out a thermocup from her bag, which had been filled with tea until recently, poured the rest of her spumante into it. After doing this, she grabbed a basket of food and a box of matches from the table and headed towards the exit.
"Happy New Year!" She shouted across the now empty room.
“And to you, Signorina! And you too! Please come again! You are always welcome here!” Giuseppe shouted, waving goodbye to her.
Smiling, Lera pulled on her coat and hurried to the bank of the Tiber. There, at the beautiful Fabricio Bridge, with her back to the Marcellus Theatre and her face to the Basilica of Saint Bartolomeo, she fought through the crowds of people. She wanted to get closer to the river.
Her watch said it was two minutes before midnight. Lera unscrewed the lid of her thermocup, which was lined with metal on the inside so it could serve as a miniature barbecue. Lera put a note inside, covered it from the wind with her hand, and taking out the matchbox began to wait.
“Uno!!!” The crowd shouted after a moment.
Lera struck a match and, without letting it flare up, poked at the piece of paper. The match went out.
“Due!!!” People burst out in chorus.
Lera got a little nervous and struck a second match. This time, she let the flame flare up properly and held the match to the piece of paper.
“Tre!!!”
The paper lit. Lera covered the tiny fire from the wind with both palms.
“Quattro!!! Cinque!!!”
Why did the waiter give her such a thick piece of paper?!
“Sei!!!”
The piece was almost burnt out, and Lera watched impatiently as the last slightly bluish light faded and extinguished.
“Sette!!!”
There it is! Lera slammed the lid with the ashes on the termocup, twisted it and began to shake so that the ashes would be mixed with wine.
“Otto!!!”
She snapped off the plug from a small hole in the lid and, almost spilling, began to swallow wine from the cup which turned out to be too much.
“Nove!!! Dieci!!! Undici!!!”
Lera pulled herself away from the cup, swallowed the last drop and shouted with everyone:
“Dodici!!!”
The sky exploded with fireworks. Shots and explosions rattled, shaking the bones. Lera screamed and cheered with everyone else, almost losing her voice. Fireworks reflected in the oil-black water of the Tiber illuminating everything around with fantastic colours.
Lera's heart filled with childlike joy. She had done it! What if it actually works? And although it was silly, Lera sincerely hoped that smoke from the burnt paper would fly directly to heaven and reach the someone it was meant for.
An hour later, she headed to her hotel, responding to constant shouts of "Buon anno!" Just before entering the building, an old pair of men's long underwear thrown from a window for luck fell on her head. It was the final straw. The girl burst into laughter.
****
In the early morning, a car pulled up to the back door of a restaurant in Sant'Angelo. Giuseppe hurriedly left the building and quickly walked towards it. The cold did not please him. As with all Italians.
One of Giuseppe's nephews drove the car. The man was serious about calling a bunch of guys. Vincenzo, for example, definitely was ready to meet some brava ragazza! His work will ruin him completely very soon. However, Giuseppe had married late and lived happily.
"Hello, Uncle!" said his nephew cheerfully.
"Hi, Vincenzo!" replied Giuseppe. "Thank you for offering to give me a lift!"
Vincenzo turned on the heating for his uncle's seat. Giuseppe sat down comfortably and looked out the window, smiling, looking forward to the long trip.
"Where's Aunt Chiara?” Vincenzo asked, looking at the back of the restaurant.
“O! Madonna mia! She's packed things on a trip for a week, even today! It’s four o'clock in the morning and my Chiara was late anyway! Women!”
Giuseppe threw up his hands and Vincenzo burst out laughing.
"I swear to you, nephew, men should be paid by the hour for the time they spend waiting for their wives to finally get ready.”
“Oh, I see you're cheerful today!" Vincenzo winked at him.
“Of course I am! Today a cute ragazza made me double my profits! And it only cost me a basket of food and two bottles of wine!"
“Really? How did you manage it?” Vincenzo was surprised.
“I mean that! A Russian interpreter. She played piano in my restaurant all evening. Can you imagine? The guests didn't want to leave.” Giuseppe was excited and waving his arms like a windmill. "And I told everyone, we need to hire a musician. Let him come at least once or twice a week. My guests were singing, with their arms around each other. That's why I run this restaurant.”
But