Ешь, молись, люби

Chapter 28

           FinallyIlookup,onlytoseethatoneoftheAlbanianwomenwhoworkattheInternetcafehaspausedfromhernight-shiftmoppingofthefloortoleanagainstthewallandwatchme.Weholdourtiredgazesoneachotherforamoment.ThenIgiveheragrimshakeofmyheadandsayaloud,"Thisblowsass."Shenodssympathetically.Shedoesn’tunderstand,butofcourse,inherway,sheunderstandscompletely.

           Mycellphonerings.

           It’sGiovanni.Hesoundsconfused.Hesayshe’sbeenwaitingformeforoveranhourinthePiazzaFiume,whichiswherewealwaysmeetonThursdaynightsforlanguageexchange.He’sbewildered,becausenormallyhe’stheonewho’slateorwhoforgetstoshowupforourappointments,buthegotthererightontimetonightforonceandhewasprettysure-didn’twehaveadate?

           I’dforgotten.ItellhimwhereIam.Hesayshe’llcomepickmeupinhiscar.I’mnotinthemoodforseeinganybody,butit’stoohardtoexplainthisoverthetelefonino,givenourlimitedlanguageskills.Igowaitoutsideinthecoldforhim.Afewminuteslater,hislittleredcarpullsupandIclimbin.HeasksmeinslangyItalianwhat’sup.Iopenmymouthtoanswerandcollapseintotears.Imean-wailing.Imean-thatterrible,raggedbreedofbawlingmyfriendSallycalls"double-pumpin’it,"whenyouhavetoinhaletwodesperategaspsofoxygenwitheverysob.Ineverevensawthisgriefquakecoming,gottotallyblindsidedbyit.

           PoorGiovanni!HeasksinhaltingEnglishifhedidsomethingwrong.

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