Italy = Pasta
By Alexandra Riera
© 2007 Alexandra Riera
After much secret planning, Maria was finally going to make her dream come true, she was going to the country where her grandparents and her grandparents’ parents had come from; she was going to Italy. She had never made her intentions known at home as she knew she wouldn’t be allowed to go; being eighteen and pretty didn’t leave many options. The idea to travel all the way to Italy on her own wouldn’t be something her family would allow without having someone going with her. Besides, if she went with one of her relatives, probably her big brother, she would be watched all the time and made to visit the long list of relatives. Maria wanted to go on her own and discover Italy for what it was not for what she was told it was. She was specially interested in meeting its young virile and sexy sun-tanned guys that plagued Italy in white t-shirts and boxer shorts or wore designer clothes when they went out.
Maria packed a few clothes and some toiletries in her college rucksack and went out of the house as usual but instead of taking the bus to school she took the bus to the nearest town where a train would take her all the way to the airport. The trip took her about 3 hours and she soon found herself at the boarding gate where she nervously handed in her boarding card. She was off, off to Italy. Butterflies swarmed her stomach and her hands were cold as she boarded the plane. She was lucky; she had gotten the seat by the window. The man sitting next to her was exactly what she had expected to have; a bolding fat man who fell asleep as soon as he sat down. She could see saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth. She hadn’t expected to start the trip with the luck of having a young handsome guy sitting right next to her and besides, she needed time to herself and adjust her thoughts and feelings which were a mixture of dread, anxiety and god knows what else. She studied the map and planned her trip. She would go to the coast.
On arriving at the airport she found that it was raining; not at all what she had expected. The streets were flooded with water and her feet got wet as she had to walk quite a bit until she found the bus that would take her down town. From there she’d take another bus that would take her to a little village by the coast.
The bus was crowded with tourists and locals and the smell of sweat invaded her nostrils. She tried to open one of the windows but it wouldn’t come down. By the time she got out of the bus she was soaked in sweat. Her shoes hadn’t dried up so she sloshed around until she found a sign on one of the buildings by the pier that said "pension". Funny enough she didn’t speak any Italian and she regretted now not having spoken it at home as she had been meant to. She just put her palms together on to her cheek, tilted her head on them and closed her eyes. She then pointed a finger upstairs and said: "Beda. Sleepahre"
The receptionist was used to tourists, he opened the guest book and handed it to her. "Please sign here, make sure you write down your passport number, home address and telephone of contact. You have to pay in advance. What kind of room would you like?" He told her as he pointed to a hand made sign on the wall with the pension’s rates.
"The cheapest one please; is breakfast included?"
"Yes, breakfast is between 7 and 8 in the morning and you have to vacate your room before 11 so that it can be cleaned."
"Alright, thank you." She told him as she handed him some notes to pay for the room. "I’ll stay for a week, here’s your money."
"Thank you," The receptionist took the money and put it in a box. There’s your key. Room 7, on the 2nd floor. You have your own bathroom.
Maria went upstairs, opened her room and was dismayed at the sight. The bed cover must have been some antique, the curtains on her window were a faded grey and the carpet less floor was pitted. She dreaded going into the bathroom but had to go as she hadn’t been to one in the whole day and her bowels were demanding a servicing.
The bathroom was as clean as her room but looked as if it belonged to a prehistoric scene. At least there was toilet paper and a clean towel even if it wasn’t soft.
The following morning, was a bright one, the sun shone brightly through the curtains and although she woke up with her back aching from the worn out springs of her bed, she felt it was going to be a positive day. She went down for breakfast and delighted herself in all the pastry offered to her. She even had a bowl of ice-cream. After breakfast, on her way back to her room, she saw her rucksack at reception so she went to the receptionist and asked him why her bag had been removed from her room.
"You only paid for one night"
"No I didn’t" she said angrily. "I paid for a whole week."
"Where is your receipt?" Asked impassive the receptionist.
"You didn’t give me a receipt; you just took the money and put it in a box."
"No I didn’t"
"Where is the manager? I want to talk to the manager and I want to talk to him right now." She demanded with her fists on her hips.
"I am the manager."
"No, you’re not; you’re the receptionist"
"No, I’m not. I’m the manager"
"Right, I’m going to the police" she said as she picked up her rucksack. "Good bye, but don’t think you’ve seen the last of me." And then, Maria went out into the street.
The street was full of people, she stopped a couple and asked them where the police station was. "police?, polizei? Por favore?"
They just pointed to the other end of the street and went away leaving her behind.
Maria managed to find the police station and when she went inside she was speechless. The man at the front desk was the receptionist of the pension.
"You! It’s you again!" she said.
"Sorry?" he said as he lifted his eyes from the documents he had in front of him. "How can I help you? Are you lost? Have you had your purse stolen?"
"You’ve robbed me, you bas…." She didn’t finish what she was going to say, after all, she was in a police station; she could get arrested.
"Oh, I bet you’ve been lodging at Mariano’s Pension, haven’t you?
"Mmm yes I have."
"Then you must have met my brothers Antonio and Andrea, we’re triplets, you see. Andrea is the naughty one, well, they’re both naughty..."
"Naughty? You call robbing me of my money and throwing me out of the pension naughty?"
"Come on, let’s go for a cappuccino next door, I’ll pay" he said as he came out of his desk. "I’ll explain everything."
Since Maria didn’t have anything better to do she agreed, they went to the trattoria next door, he pointed to a little table by the window and they sat down. He ordered two cappuccinos.
"So? You’d better start explaining then."
"I’m the only single man left in my family and they want to marry me, so every time they find a nice looking girl they make sure she ends up at the police station."
Maria felt flattered but at the same time she was angry because this was not the kind of holiday she had expected. As she was quiet, he went on speaking.
"I know who you are, you’re Maria Baretti and you’re a runaway.
Maria gasped. "And now what? How do you know anyway?" she asked him surprised.
"You don’t exactly have a normal surname; your family is a big one, an important and influential one. As soon as you didn’t turn up at college, the alarms went off."
"But how did they know I was in Italy?"
"It was assumed you’d come for a furtive visit."
"What are you going to do?"
"I should take you back to your family and report your finding."
"Yes, but what are you going to do?" she asked him impatiently.
"I could show you the sights and take you out for lunch and dinner; after all, Italy equals pasta."
"And ice-cream" she added with a smile.
"Yes, and ice-cream"
"So?"
"Fancy starting your sightseeing after the cappuccino and later on have some pasta? I could always report you in a few days. You might as well have some fun."
She got up, leaned across the table and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you! What’s your name by the way?"
"Elio."
The end
(1511 Words)
© 2007 Alexandra Riera
June 1-6
