"Giovanni"

         “A------a  t------de arte?

         “Si,” I say.

         “Ah.... s----o d----a Panteon.”

         “No..noo, il Parthenon en Athens.

         “Ah... t---- ro----a?”

         “Uh, inglese?

So we switch to English. He had come up to me as I sat on the steps of the Colonnade of St. Peter’s. I had just pulled out my Art and Architecture Book. He had been there for a while, sitting a column or two over, but with someone else earlier. A girl...I think....I was studying after all. He wondered at my accent, asking if I was American...He didn’t think I looked it, more French or Dutch (a deja vu - it has happened before in the US and in Italy). Interesting conversation to have with a stranger.

         “I have asked you all the questions. I am very shy and modest, so I think you should ask some questions.”

         So I ask some. Later...


         “This is boring. You are asking boring questions. I would not ask you such questions. Let me try then. “

         He asked me what my sign was. “Scorpio” I say.

         “Ah, then you must be very strong. You look it. You will be in charge someday - the boss and will make yourself very rich.”

         “I hope so. It would be nice, because then I could stay in Rome forever...” I am still a sentimentalist even in this strange conversation.

         “Ah, but you could have your own jet then and have a lover from Brazil and one from Cuba.”

         “But Americans don’t get along with Cubans very well.” Am I really having this conversation with some Italian?

         “Of course, of course. You don’t have to have one from Cuba... You are a student here?”

         “No, from outside of Rome.”

         “Ah, you are about 20?”

         “Yes, how about you?”

         “Tell me what the limit is and then I will tell you my age.” All done with a wink.

         “Try below 45.” I am curious to know his real age.

         “Well, I am 28 then. Almost too old to come and talk to you. At 29 I will be, but then at 30 I won’t. I will be distinguished.”

         I laughed in my head at this...he could never be a distinguished looking man.

         “So what do you do for fun, do you come into Roma at night?”

         “Not really, just on the weekends...”

         “You should call me, I will bring my friends and you can bring your friends. Do you dance?”

         “Somewhat.”
         “Do you dance like an American girl or different?” By that I think he meant the inappropriate and dirty looking dancing like on MTV.

         “Um, not really. I prefer Spanish dancing.”

         “Spanish Dancing??”

         “Like the Salsa.”

         “Ah, do you know how to Samba?”

         “No, I’ve seen it, but never learned.”

         “If you come to Albano at night, we will dance the Samba..and I will dance it only for you.” There were undertones in that I chose not to acknowledge. “But I will give you my number, yes?”

         “If you would like...”

         “Are you one of those girls that will call or one that won’t since you are a girl?”
         “More of the second one, but if you give me your number maybe I will when I go to Albano.”

         He agrees to that, so I pull out one of my class notebooks and open to the last page. He seems pleased at that. “Ah, I will be the first one on your list. The next time I see you, you will have to show it to me, with all the Paolos and Marcos on it.”

         “So you will actually want to see it or will I have to hide it so you won’t be jealous” I teased.

         “No, no I will see it, and they will see that I am first on your list.”

         So he writes his name, number and email on the paper. The
conversation continues until the sun begins to dip behind Saint Peter’s and it gets colder. I prepare to go as does he. He stands up, looks at me and says, “Maybe you should stand up...as.......right?” I didn’t catch all of it, only that I should stand, so I did. He is again pleased. He is taller than me. He had been worried. He asks how tall I am. “5 feet, 4 inches.” He is 5'11.

         “I will tell you your height in Italian. You will be even more European then.”

         “Ok.”

         “Un metro, se--------o.”

         “Wait, slowly.”

         “Un metro, sesan...ot....”

         “Un metro sesan...?”

         “Un metro se-san-ta otto.”

         “Oh! Un metro sessanta otto.”

         “Yes, yes very good...” I will see you around Elizabeth.”

We shake hands and part ways....and as he walks off I checked my bags and pockets to make sure everything was still there.