Past imperfect

Chapter 3

While Lera was playing, only one guest left the restaurant, and he left at the very begi

Lera regained her composure and began playing all the Italian songs she knew. The atmosphere became fun and emotional. Il cameriere moved her glass from the table to the piano and poured wine into it. Lera thanked him with a nod, but her hands were busy.

By eleven o'clock, the restaurant guests started leaving with songs, drinks and leftovers. Lera stepped away from the keyboard and went back to the table. A plump man, Signor Giuseppe, immediately sat down next to her with a basket full of goodies and two sparkling bottles of wine beneath them. Lera didn't know who he was, whether he might be the owner, the chef or someone else altogether.

Giuseppe, with expressive gestures, began to praise la bella ragazza, who had at least doubled his earnings that evening. He was so happy that he wanted to hire Lera immediately for a permanent position. The man was terribly disappointed when he realised that Lera was foreign and would not be able to work at the restaurant regularly. However, he pushed the basket towards her, not listening to any objections.

“And why is bella ragazza here alone on a night like this?” Giuseppe asked, watching as Lera ate her tart and finished her wine.

“Bella ragazza is on vacation and escaped to the eternal city to be away from everyone” Lera admitted.

“Oh! What about suo damo?! Did he really let you go alone?”

"No damo, Signor Giuseppe," Lera laughed, "Only the strict boss who let us go with gnashing of teeth, forced and reluctantly having to obey the inexorable Russian law. If she had her way, we would have worked without interruption!”

“Oh, what a shame!” Giuseppe cried. “Beautiful girls can't be without il damo! It makes them angry. Oh, I could call my nephews! One word from you and there would be five ragazzi here ready to do anything for you!”

“No, signor!” Lera laughed back, “You'll condemn me to returning home with a broken heart.”

Giuseppe laughed kindly.

“And what work do you do for such a strict boss?"

“An interpreter! From Italian”, Lera replied with pride in her voice.

“Mado

Lera stared at him in astonishment.

“What are you talking about, signor? Of course not! I work for a private translation bureau. Oh-oh! The agency! The boss would slap me on the lips for using the bourgeois word "bureau." Lera giggled. “Our boss is really worried about our status. They say she had been thinking about a name for the agency for ages.”

“And what did she come up with? Some kind of masterpiece?”

“Hermes”, Lera said with a serious face.

“Gah! And here are the Greeks! She should have named it Mercury”, Giuseppe said indignantly.

“That's right, signor!” Lera agreed with a smile.

Giuseppe raised his hand and checked his watch.

“There is less than an hour until the new year signorina! You should definitely try to catch your luck with clock striking, mia bella ragazza! And next year you'll definitely meet him.”

“Who?”

“Il damo of course!” Giuseppe shouted.

Lera snorted at first, but the imp on her left shoulder suddenly perked up, and the girl looked mischievously at Giuseppe and said:

“You know, Signor Giuseppe? Let me tell you about one of Russian New Year's traditions. Maybe it will help you too. Could you bring me paper, a pencil and a matchbox?”

Giuseppe looked at Lera with interest and asked the waiter to bring what Lera had asked for.

“So, Signore Giuseppe, this is a sure way to fulfil all your wishes!”

"I am all ears," Giuseppe smiled.

“You need to take a piece of paper and write your most cherished desire on it. So that nobody can see what’s written. Then at the first chime of midnight, the paper must be set on fire, then you, fingers crossed, pray so that it burns quickly.”

“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. "Mado

“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 a

****

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! Mado

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.”