Brief Encounters

I was at the coffee bar and had just settled down for my morning coffee when I noticed a young man seated at the table by the door. He couldn’t have been more than twenty with a mop of curly hair and smooth chubby cheeks. And he was big. After exchanging good morning greetings, he added that he was with the Music Workshop that was having its summer session in Orvieto. What’s your instrument?  I asked. Voice. He answered. Somehow that figured. He could have been a very young Pavarotti and was indeed a tenor. Also brought to mind one of the James Joyce stories in The Dubliners and the Christmas party where the tenor sang a song that so moved the young woman and the last scene where her husband was watching the snow quietly falling over everything. 

He finished his coffee and soon left. On second thought, I regretted I hadn’t asked him to sing something for me. What with my now having to use a walker, I couldn’t get to any of his recitals.

I turned my attention to the mystery book on the table before me. It was in English and hopefully with Antony we could manage another couple of pages, noting new expressions and unfamiliar words. A pen was slipped in about halfway through where we had left off a couple of days before. It all depended on how many customers showed up whether he would have a chance to continue reading and improve his command of the language. The trio of lawyers had already been for their brioche and cappuccino. Then I noticed a newcomer – not a foreigner, but clearly Italian. He was finishing off his coffee and, dressed in brown, looked sort of like a gaming piece, not very tall, certainly in what they call the third age, and with a grave expression. I had never seen him before but Antony seemed to know him as they exchanged a few words. The book could wait. Turned out they had been neighbors. How are things? Antony asked. The newcomer shook his head. It’s just me and my wife. She’s been bedridden for 15 years now and I’m the only one to take care of her. Tough luck, Antony said and then pointed to me and said, She’s my English teacher. Know her? Sure, he answered, addressing me, you had a shop opposite the Duomo. Before I got married I bought a ceramic Madonna there. Of course. Gensini. Brightly glazed figures, Madonnas and angels, you could put on the wall. But that was years ago. We shared a few thoughts of the past and his expression brightened. Want a glass of water? Antony asked as he began to move towards the door. No thanks, I have to get back home, and he left, almost smiling. Come back whenever you want, Antony called after him.

It doesn’t take much to make a difference. A few words and he wasn’t quite as alone as when he had come in.