A Roman victory

Angelo and Sarah met in Rome. They bumped on the steps outside the gelateria, one smothered in pistachio ice-cream, the other covered in cone scraps. A simple smirk from Angelo convinced her, despite his ice-cream covered face and his little gray tufts appearing in between his black hair. He looked dreamy, a modern day Romeo that came to life. She, on the other hand, was a lady of the Botticelli paintings, blue eyes and blonde curls of an angel, a lover of nature, animals, humans and life, in no particular order. And so their story began, slowly but steadily, two partners in crime becoming one.

On their first date, Angelo fed Sarah pasta carbonara. Sarah smiled and blushed and took his hand, while the whole evening was spent opening expensive bottles of wine and downing grappa shots. In between their whole evening fiasco, the lovers embodied an Italian painting. They talked about life, dreams and their wildest fears, all while clinging to each other perfectly, the beginning of something new. Sarah was a waitress, an actress in progress who dreamed about her financial stability and fame. Angelo was a business owner, a famous renowned maker of Italian shoes, whose pocket was fuller than it seemed to be and his generosity larger than it appeared. Angelo wanted a humble start with Sarah, a relationship away from his business, the limelight and fame. Sarah wanted someone ambitious, a mastermind to teach her how to make money and create a living with it. These two fit each other perfectly, a puzzle which is hard to solve at first, but afterwards cannot stop connecting.

Angelo approached the counter, his beauty dazingly appearing in between his charming smile and gaze. Whilst he made small talk with Piero, the boss, Sarah admired him, his whole ‘I will pay for everything’ attitude, his generosity, his charm, his ambition intertwined with his manly disposition; realizing she found the man of her dreams, she too approached the register gracefully, her pale, angelic face stuck on his, her deer eyes glowing with excitement and love. While Angelo kept on talking with the restaurant, Sarah started observing the little photographs stuck on the red and white bricked wall, the pasta, the cannoli, the wine, and herbs spread around in all corners of the room, a family business with palpable authenticity and love put into their products. She stared at the register persistently, captivated by its antique personality, its old nature preserved into the register of 1994. As these two occupied the table, talking and laughing and observing for a long time, so did the moon finally appear into the sky.

At last, with the moonshine alight and present, the lovers exited the taverna. They thanked the waiters, Piero, the chef and left.

----------------------------------------------------

That night was the night when the lovers were last seen.

It did not take long for Angelo’s face to be captured in every single newspaper of Rome, along with a mysterious insight into his love life that supposedly made him disappear. Police searched for them vigorously, dusting and turning every single rock of Rome, inquiring about them in each and every taverna of the city, but the lovers had left no trace behind, just disappeared into the night like two visions of a midsummer's night. Gossip soon spread that they never existed, that it was a fantasy of some sort, a vision imagined by locals to serve as a folk tale in Rome. A few weeks in, I decided to see for myself.

The next month, I stopped by the taverna. My stride was confident knowing that I will ask about the lovers, a topic that still occupied the minds and hearts of Romans. I met Piero and started to describe the lovers in detail, giving him all sorts of information to revive his memory of these two. I was determined to find them, unable to comprehend how a person can vanish so easily. On the left, I saw a cash register, or what remained of it for that matter, an antiquated, dusty machine which definitely didn’t belong in 1994. On the right, I saw the bits and pieces of herbs, cannoli, wine, and fresh pasta that were handpicked and carefully placed into all sorts of corners.

After a few wine glasses offered on the house, I mentioned their names.

“Angelo and Sarah; you know them?”

All of a sudden, I saw Piero’s face turning white. His pale face was overcome by sweat, his eyes alarmed and distressed, as if these two names posed a sound that disturbed his ears.

“Mr. Piero? Mr Piero, can you hear me?”

Piero was still distraught, his mind racing to a memory he seemed to want to forget.

Alas, he spoke.

Piero told me all about Angelo and Sarah.

How Angelo distracted them. How the ‘signiora’ took out all the cash from the register. How they presented themselves neat and witty, yet their plan was to rob them all along. How Sarah kept on fixating on their register, but talked about it with unjustified admiration, supposedly loving its antiquity and nature. How they walked out gracefully and undisturbed, the whole taverna in love with both their personalities and ways.

During our talk, I kept on asking questions, wondering if he would seem to know anything of their whereabouts. He could only let out what was left of him and his business.

‘ I don’t know where they went ,Signore. They liked the restaurant so much, they said they would be back.’

A precious voice and two innocent eyes distract me. I rest my cup on the table, my smile as wide as ever as she looks at me with anticipation. I give her the floor.

“So did you solve the case Pops? Were they ever found??”

I drink my tea before speaking, creating the suspense that my granddaughter so clearly seeks. My memory feels much alive, my golden days of solving crime shining bright in my mind. I reflect on the day I found them, the discovery of two notorious criminals soon spreading on the newspaper headlines. “Chief of Police Marco Conti captures Modern Romeo and Juliet”. As my granddaughter inquires about my police shenanigans, anticipating how mighty and strong I was back in the day, I let out a grin, wrinkles that carry all the pride in the world forming in between my eyes and mouth. I point my finger to the cells just behind my office.

“You want to see for yourself?”