Archive of Our Own

If I could I know where I’d be
In a little town in Italy
Close your eyes, come away with me
Tomorrow we will be…

Sitting by the seaside
Drinking up the sunshine
You’re here so why don’t we go
Dancing in Sanremo?

We can be there in a couple of hours
To the place with the yellow flowers
Somewhere only we know
Sunset in Sanremo

(Mika - Sanremo)

Sanremo, Riviera dei Fiori, Italia.
March 1961.

“Have fun at Nanna and Nonno’s, will you?”

Kneeling in the hallway, Carlos straightened Sofia’s coat once more, in which she looked so incredibly chic — like a real little Signora! — and gave her an encouraging look. “And when you come back tomorrow, you’ll tell me everything in detail!”

But the girl looked anything but fond of this plan. She only looked back at him with big, sad eyes like those of the doll in her arms.

“Why can’t you come with us, daddy?”, she asked again, and her child-like honesty — that bluntness with which they didn’t hide their feelings like all the grown-ups did day in, day out — gave Carlos a sting to his chest. It was obvious how much his daughter did not want to say goodbye to him.

“Next time, sweetheart, okay?”, he comforted her and softly tucked a strand of fine, dark brown hair that had come loose from her braid back behind her ear. “I promise.” - and he really meant that. Carlos wasn’t someone who carelessly made any promises that he wouldn’t keep in the end - and certainly not to his own daughter! No, he was a man who stuck to his word, no matter what.

But even if Sofia certainly knew that — or at least had she luckily never had a reason to question her father’s credibility —, the little girl didn’t really look as if that would help her much now - which reminded Carlos once again that children lived in the present and not in the future, in some vague “soon” or “next time”.

Something so intangible was of no concern to her - let alone comfort.

And for a brief moment, it looked as if Sofia was about to drop her doll and instead cling to his leg, in another desperate attempt to please please please beg him to come with them, that Carlos knew he would have barely brought it over his heat to say no to - but luckily, she didn’t get to do so:

“Daddy has to work”, Giulia suddenly intervened from above and abruptly reminded Carlos that Sofia and him were not standing alone in the hallway - or kneeling, in his case. No matter that his suit pants were new and the floor had apparently not been mopped yet for this week, he preferred to talk to his daughter literally on eye-level - even if she was a little person with only five years of life experience.

But now — as if that had been his unspoken sign —, he got up to face his wife.

In her case, however, it had nothing to do with meeting on eye-level, and that wasn’t even because Carlos — standing up — was still a good head taller than her, despite the heels on her silky stockinged feet, size 36.

No, even though Sofia’s face and hers were so alike, there was, as usual, this certain coolness in Giulia’s gaze, a distance that never felt to make Carlos feel small and guilty - and as a result of which he didn’t know how he should say to his own wife for goodbye.

So he just wordlessly pulled her into a hug that felt no less stiff and forced. His placatorily-meant  attempt of a kiss only landed on her cheek, and before he knew she had already pulled away from him and reached out her hand invitingly to their daughter.

“Come on, love. The taxi is waiting!”

The unspoken demand to leave was not to overhear, even not for a five-year-old.

Carlos lovingly stroked over his little one’s hair again, even if he thereby probably loosened even more hairs from the braid. Together with the wind that was already gusting through the streets outside (typically for spring here on the coast) and especially at the train station, they would certainly be completely disheveled before they even got to their grandparents - even if that probably didn’t bother Sofia as much as much as her mother, who had her own head of hair in the exact same shade of brown neatly pinned up as always and would certainly also touch up Sofia’s again braid before they’d got off the train-

But what made the little girl’s heart heavy was something completely different than ruined hairdos; and it was impossible to miss.

“Next time!”, Carlos assured her again in a whisper, as if his promise would get more weight the more often he repeated it, and gave her an encouraging nod - and next moment, she was already gone.

With resolute steps, Giulia pulled her along the hallway behind her, as per usual not tolerating any contradiction; her bag with her luggage for the short weekend in one hand, Sofia’s little hand in the other.

Carlos watched after them for a moment; waved quickly as the little one turned back to him once more on her mother’s hand, and tried to put on a brave front for her, with the widest smile - even if on the inside, he didn’t feel like smiling at all.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get to see whether he’d done a good job and managed to banish the worst disappointment from his daughter’s eyes and maybe even make her smile, too, just for a moment - because then they already were at the stairs and Sofia had to face forward again to avoid tripping and falling.

And then, in the next moment, they were completely out of sight.

Carlos kept standing there for a bit more, waiting, while the severe clack clack clack of Giulia’s heels became more and more distant, until the front door opened two floors below him and then fell shut again behind the two - then he went back into the apartment and quietly closed the door behind himself, leaned his back against it.

Done.

Now the both of them were on their way to the taxi that would take them to the station — Carlos had offered to drive them, but Giulia had refused — and admittedly, he was relieved this part of the day was now behind him - even if not completely, because what he unfortunately couldn’t shut out with the apartment door was the bad conscience that was hanging over him, as so often when he had been confronted so directly with Giulia.

This feeling of having done something wrong again and having disappointed his wife.

Whereas it really was the case that he had to work, very urgently even! After all, tomorrow was the deadline for his designs and there was still a lot Carlos had to do in order to be really finished and satisfied with them-

But still, in this moment he suddenly wished that he’d nevertheless gone with them.

Not because he was particularly keen to meet Giulia's parents - quite the opposite: From the start, these two had made it very clear that no matter how hard he tried to make a good impression, they didn’t think he was good enough for their daughter; and her marriage and Sofia’s birth hadn’t changed that for the better. More like it, the more serious things had become between Carlos and his wife, the more open rejection he had received from his parents-in-law - as if the marriage certificate had finally made it clear to them that they would not be able to get rid of him anytime soon.

Luckily that wasn’t the case for Sofia, because the Barbieris adored their granddaughter - even if they still held it against their daughter (and especially Carlos!) for that the little girl carried his surname. But fortunately, they never let her sense any of that - while for Carlos himself, they always made him feel as if he’d done the worst to them by marrying their daughter. As if he had downright ruined Giulia with his name, his company.

Inevitably, Carlos’ eyes fell on the photo of the two that stood opposite him in a thick silver frame on the hallway sideboard. They had Sofia in their midst for the picture, all three beaming broadly, and didn’t at all look like the nasty old people that they always acted like towards him.

So that when his gaze next spotted his own face in the mirror above the photo, he couldn’t help but pause for a moment and inspect his reflection closely — the full, black hair neatly parted, the clean-shaven cheeks, the shirt tidily tucked in, with the suspenders in muted colour —, wondering for the umpteenth time what provoked them to be like that? What so terrible thing they saw in him?

Was he just too smooth, too fine, too gentle for them? Not successful enough, not edgy enough, not enough of a man in their eyes? Just a wimp from the office who was as colourless as the paper that surrounded him all day? - After all, who knew what their daughter all told them about him when he wasn’t there...!

It was a vicious circle: Because although that should be reason enough for him to not let Giulia visit her parents alone so often, so that she couldn’t speak too badly of him, he at the same time shied away from every visit out of fear - the fear that Signor and Signora Barbieri could see through him whenever they pierced him across the coffee table with their looks like cold daggers.

Just the thought made him shiver and Carlos took a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in his chest, but he couldn’t quite manage it - even just from the picture frame, the unconcealed staring of the Babieris gave him hardly any air to breathe.

No, it certainly had nothing to do with a sudden onrush of missing his parents-in-law that he suddenly would have liked to go with his girls.

Not even with Sofia herself, who — he knew — would be quickly distracted from her sadness at the sight of her grandparents’ rabbits and chickens and would not really miss him anymore - at the latest when her Nonna would spoil her with her homemade apple crumble cake, which Carlos always only dared to take one tiny, tiny piece from at max under her grim gaze, although it really tasted fantastic -

But it had nothing to do with said apple pie either.

No, it was rather that in this moment, without Giulia’s ever-present, space-consuming presence and the sounds of Sofia’s merry playing, that Carlos realised how quiet the apartment suddenly was.

Far, far too quiet to bear only a minute longer.

So he quickly broke away from his reflection and went straight over to the music cabinet in the living room — his pride and joy — and just put on some random record. They also had a radio, but Carlos didn’t like to use that anymore ever since they’d started to interrupt the music every few minutes on the weekends for a newfangled advisory programme - and music, devoid of any distractions, was just what he needed right now.

And really: As soon as the first jazz sounds in their familiar, slightly scratchy vinyl sound were sounding through the apartment, he immediately felt something relax inside him. Much better!

Sometimes, when it was quiet, his thoughts just became too loud. But like that - yeah, like that he’d be able to work.

With swaying steps, he moved over to the drawing board and began fine-tuning the new station building he had designed. His first big project of his own.

It was only a draft at first, so not sure if he would actually get the contract - but still, it was a big deal. He still remembered the morning when his boss had come up to his desk and asked him wether he didn’t want to make a draft, too - and oh, how he did! What an honour that was! After all, so far he had only planned normal apartment buildings and a handful of office buildings - strictly according to textbooks, nothing groundbreaking, nothing special. Nothing to remember.

But a train station, a town hall, a theater - these were the hallmarks of a city! That was his chance to put his signature on the cityscape, for years and decades! That could give his career a real boost!

Giulia had not really been able to share his euphoria when he’d told her about it though and was still more reserved about the whole matter - but Carlos didn’t want to let that discourage him. He was burning for this project and could hardly await to ceremoniously place his designs on top of the pile with the others tomorrow! And — automatically, his gaze went over to the small sideboard on which their wedding photo was standing, a little dusty — if they actually accepted his suggestion, then perhaps his wife would also be proud of him after all.

Certainly.

* * *

For the next hour Carlos only moved away from the huge paper webs when he needed to switch over to his 3D-model, which he had effortfully built from wire and cardboard over the past few weeks and which made his work so much more tangible than just that sober sketches in graphite-grey. Sofia had eagerly helped him to cut out the many little cardboard people that were standing everywhere around the fictional train station; and what had really felt like that at first — a handicraft with his daughter — had now taken on such form and looked so real, so good, that Carlos couldn’t help but smile proudly at the sight - even despite the pencil between his teeth.

Seeing the fruits of so many days (and nights!) of thinking so concretely, so finished right in front of him filled him with such happiness that — the next time he had to go back to the drawing board — he caught himself practically dancing the few steps - swaying his hips from right to left to the beat and conducting an invisible orchestra with the pen that he had taken out of his mouth again.

And as soon as he realized it, his grin widened even further and he curtly put the pen down to the side to actually dance - and oh, as soon as he twirled across the empty space of the living room carpet, Carlos wanted to cheer loudly with happiness. He loved dancing so much!

Unfortunately, he was pretty much alone with that in his marriage. Giulia and he had only gone dancing together once or twice when they’d just been starting out, and then never again. She just never liked it much; not even in the apartment when it was just the two of them - and even less did she like it when he danced alone.

All too well Carlos remembered his wife’s embarrassed look on that one Sunday, when the three of them had been walking in the park and passed a group of street musicians. Normally, like most people lost in their own thoughts, Carlos didn’t pay much attention to street performers. But there had just something about this combo, that had played so… intoxicatingly and passionately that one just couldn’t resist their spell.

And together with the sun above their heads, which had stretched out its rays again that day for a last, late summer day; the view of Sofia, who had happily run a few meters ahead and had been playing with other children at the (also on this day probably for the last time switched on) fountain; as well as this overall peaceful feeling of a Sunday, Carlos had suddenly been seized with such a feeling of happiness that he had curtly pulled Giulia closer to dance with her to the music of the street artists; right there in the middle of the park, on the dusty path, just because he’d been so happy-

Unfortunately though, his wife had not been particularly fond of this idea:

“Carlos, no- don’t-”, she had just sighed and, before he’d known, had withdrawn her hand again in the same moment. Actually, Carlos had been married to her long enough to know that Giulia was hard to convince of something she didn’t feel like doing or did not like - but his high spirits could have not got brushed off so easily this time.

“C’mon, love, it’s fun!”, he had tried again and once more invitingly reached out his hand, moving demonstratively to the music in front of her — as if he wanted to prove to her how much fun it indeed could be — and letting the catchy melody take control over his body - because this tune was definitely far too good to just listen to it while walking past!

However, Giulia had seen it differently again, and oh, how differently!

All of a sudden her dainty face had hardened; and where there had only been an unpleasant surprise before, and perhaps a trace of irritation over Carlos’ spontaneous idea, a deeply bewildered, angry expression appeared in her eyes - a look that had unmistakably asked what the hell had gotten into him?!

“Carlos, please…!”, she had hissed out between her teeth and, when he hadn’t stopped immediately, nodded jerkily in the direction of some other park visitors who had also become aware of the band - and even if she hadn’t said it out loud, it was clear what she wanted to say: What should these people think?!

Well - what should people think after all, if they had seen the two of them — or rather him — at that moment? That he was in a good mood and enjoyed the music so much that he just wanted to dance to it? - Which wasn’t completely far-fetched on such a wonderful day in the park, when the birds were chirping and the sun was smiling down on them through the already thinned, colorful treetops and everything seemed to be bursting with joie de vivre. Or what else should people think?!

Almost exactly this question had slipped from Carlos’ tongue, as he was so angry all of a sudden. But while he didn’t find anything wrong with that, the fact of the matter was that men didn’t dance - or at least not alone. Men danced solely in order to get up-close with women, not for the sheer fun of the movement. And they certainly didn’t swing their hips like he liked to do.

No matter how “modern” they called the times they lived in, the role models and general expectations of how men and women each had to be were just as rigid as in all previous generations - and whoever fell out of character very fast got side-eyed wrong.

It already caused enough eyebrows to raise that Carlos loved his daughter so much and, so completely uncharacteristic of a man, enjoyed spending time with her. That he didn’t mind taking her to the playground on the weekends, or had no problem comforting her when she fell with her bike and grazed her knee - that he, in fact, he was happy to do so! Unlike the other men on the street, who practically only occupied themselves with their children if they couldn't avoid it.

Just like it was normal, apparently.

And because Carlos knew how important it was for Giulia to be accepted in the neighborhood, and at least the thing with Sofia was non-negotiable, in no way, he had refrained from the dancing from then on - for the sake of his wife and the peace at home. From then on, whenever music was playing somewhere, he only enjoyed it internally and for himself. Taking his steps a little more elatedly when Giulia wasn’t looking, or stealthily tapping his foot to the beat underneath the dining table -

...they were quite different people, Giulia and him, when he thought about it. And he often did. More than once during the six years that they had been married, he had wondered if he actually loved her.

In a way, yes. At least in the sense that he cared about her well-being and wanted her to be fine - after all, she was the mother of his daughter and he would be eternally grateful for that gift. There was no person in the world who meant more to him than Sofia, and that alone bonded them together forever.

But love as it was always portrayed in films — with wildly racing hearts and dramatic strings playing in the background —, it had never been like that with them. From the start, their relationship had been more… well, perhaps more matter-of-fact and settled than that of other young couples. Maybe they just weren’t the type for such big emotions, or the truth was that this kind of love only existed in movies - or that Carlos had been glad at the time that a woman had been interested in him at all. That one had been willing to stay with him for all her life.

But no matter why things were the way they were between them, Carlos knew at the same time that it could be a lot worse for him - based on what he heard from his colleagues when they met in the office or for a final after-work-beer in a nearby-bar and they would whine about their wives as if they were all younger incarnations of Signora Barbieri herself.

But even if he sometimes felt really bad because of Giulia, Carlos never took part in this himself and never contributed any stories of his own to this round - because inside, he was still too grateful to have her:

As said, she had gifted him Sofia and had no problem to stay at home and take care of the little one, the food, the laundry and everything else that came up during his working hours. She wasn’t one of those modern furies who desperately want to earn their own money - even if Carlos wouldn’t have forbidden her to do so. He wasn’t such a chauvinist like some of his peers to hate his wife going to work, but inside, he was still a little glad that it was the way it was. Because like this, he felt as if he was at least of a tiny use.

Most of the time, it seemed to him that he needed Giulia a lot more than she needed him. He didn’t even know how to brew a coffee, let alone prepare a proper dinner - which was why he was very glad that his wife had already left him a casserole of lasagna in the fridge for during her and Sofia’s absence.

That was another reason why he would never speak badly of her in the office: Their relationship might not be the most cordial, but she always made sure that his shirts were clean and ironed and that there was food on the table when he came home from work in the evening. Without a doubt, she was a good example for Sofia in her sense of duty, her discipline, Carlos had to acknowledge that: His daughter's mother was a strong woman, and beautiful as well - and she was still with him.

That in particular was a circumstance for which he felt he should be very, very grateful.

However, at the same time he felt something inside him really breathe a sigh of relief over that she wasn’t here right now and wouldn’t be until tomorrow afternoon, and that it was one of the rare occasions when he had the apartment all to himself. Without the feeling of being constantly under observation and without these critical looks that only seemed to be waiting for a misstep on his part. Without this deep feeling of guilt, even though he didn’t know about what he’d done wrong. Without the need to be someone else in his own home than he really was.

And what better way was there to celebrate the occasion than by dancing?

And that was exactly why Carlos now danced - not just the one song he had planned to do at first, but also the one after that and the one after that, because as soon as the first guilty conscience had left him, he didn’t want to stop anymore at all. He couldn’t stop. Only now, as he was dancing his heart out across the living room, from one side to the other, did he realize how much he had actually missed this - and how good it did him!

Therefore, it wasn’t long until he happily tore off his annoying tie and carelessly threw it on the couch, shortly afterwards also pulled down his suspenders and even — without pausing in his movements — unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt because, despite the rolled-up sleeves, he was gradually getting hot in it. And yet, even though he was sweating like a field worker and his hair was probably everywhere but in its original parting, it was the best feeling he’d had in a long time; and suddenly Carlos wished more than ever to experience this more often. Going out more often again, like he used to when he’d been young and unattached and had often met his friends at the local dance halls. Them primarily to meet girls, but Carlos already then rather because of the music.

Maybe he should try again to convince Giulia to give it another try - maybe in exchange for something she enjoyed doing. Heck, Carlos would even happily come with her to her parents the next time and the one after without hesitation, if she only agreed to go dancing once more! Maybe then, if he really tried, she’d even enjoy it, at least a little-

In his mind, at least, she was laughing heartily when he caught her from a spin and pulled her back to him - just like she had laughed at him back in the days, at the very beginning. That, too, was something Carlos missed: This first lightheartedness between them, when life had felt like everything was going to be fine for a very short time.

He didn’t know wether realistically they would ever get there again, but in his mind, at that moment, it just was. It had to be like this.

He imagined twirling Giulia across the colorfully lit parquet floor of a dance club, both of their laughter drowned in the sounds of the live band, which were just amazing, even better than the musicians in the park back then; and therefore him and Giulia danced and danced and danced, song after song after song - until suddenly his wife suddenly shifted her shape and it was Carlos who was spun around, surrendering completely to the guidance of two strong arms-

At one blow, all lightness was gone and Carlos felt as if he was simultaneously immersed in an ice bath and burning from the inside out. Before he even knew what was happening, he rushed to the record player in two quick steps and jerked the needle from the record with unusual roughness, causing the music to stop abruptly with an almost indignant croak - and only the wild pounding of his heart in his ears could be heard as he looked anxiously around the living room.

The wedding ring on his finger was burning like a foretaste of hell itself as his gaze strayed to the ceiling crucifix that had definitely seen it all - but what about the neighbors? Had they noticed something...?! Hurriedly, Carlos searched the windows of the houses across the street, scanning row by row for any reflections behind the panes of glass, for a curiously pulled curtain, just any indication that someone might have been watching him-

He could have slapped himself just thinking about it. Damn it, why hadn’t he used his brain?! Why had he been so careless in broad daylight, letting himself go so far without even closing the blinds?!

Luckily he didn’t spot anyone on a quick scan - and, as he tried to calm himself, the chance that just exactly in this minute (or however long it had been) someone had looked over at him was, on the face of it, rather low, too.

No, probably no-one had seen anything; and if somebody turned up and looked straight into this apartment, this window out of pure boredom now, there was also nothing to be seen anymore. The music was off, everything was fine, everything was very quiet and unobtrusive -

Even if that didn’t apply to Carlos’ insides, which were boiling so heavily that simply continuing to work was out of the question.

His head was spinning far too much for even a digit to fit in, and the cardboard people of his model all seemed to be sneering at him all at once, as if, like the depiction of Jesus on the wall, they had seen exactly what he’d been doing, what he’d had on his mind-

Just the thought that someone could have seen his thoughts from the outside made Carlos dizzy. While he (unlike his wife) might not find a man dancing to a good record in his own living room particularly objectionable, even he himself could not justify it if this man imagined himself… - in the apartment that he shared with his before God wedded wife!

The uneasy feeling in Carlos’ stomach turned into panic. He had to get out of here, into the fresh air, immediately!

Without thinking or turning off the light at his desk, he snatched his coat from the hook and literally fled out of the apartment.

* * *

When he was walking along the beach shortly afterwards, he already felt better. It was still cool, since spring was already within reach, but still a bit shy, as it was so typical of the coast - but Carlos didn’t bother.

More like it, he enjoyed the cool breeze blowing through his hair. The sound of the surf calmed his nerves more reliably than any after-work-beer, and he was once again glad to have won out on this regard when they’d planned their future for after the wedding: Originally, Giulia had wanted to move to one of the big cities — Bologna, Florence, Milan, no matter where, as long as it was a metropolis of the world! —, but Carlos had protested. One of the few times in their relationship that he, as a man, had put his foot down.

Giulia might not understand it (and might still be mad at him for that they were spending their lives in this little nest), but he needed the sea nearby. In the city, with all its narrowness and the many people and the permanent observation, he’d go crazy in the long run. He knew that still from his student days.

But Sanremo and its little yellow flowers all along the sandline calmed him down. The unique feeling of his feet sinking a bit into the sand with every step; the screeching of seagulls above his head - that grounded him.

The wind that came from far out from the sea and literally blew his head clear, driving away all the thoughts he wasn’t allowed to have. Who he felt others could read on his face like in a book-

Just like last month when he had been helping Giulia to do the dished after breakfast. He always did that on the weekends, because he felt so bad that he left her alone with these tasks when he drove to the office during the weekdays - even if she had never said anything or complained, let alone asked for his help.

Maybe it even annoyed her when he interfered with her routines, but until now, she had never said anything about it. They didn’t talk much to each other anyway, when Carlos thought about it, and especially not while doing the dishes, because the radio was on during that time and Giulia, unlike her husband, actually liked those terrible weekend advisory programmes.

And so on that one Sunday, Carlos had been standing in the kitchen as usual, unsure whether he was even wanted here or not, and Giulia and him had been working side by side in silence — her washing up, him wiping dry, as always — when the spot had come: “Dangers of homosexuality” had been the topic of the program for this morning and in the usual, tinny voice the speaker had listed all sorts of indications by which you could supposedly recognise a homosexual person - as well as given advice together with a doctor that was invited to the studio on what you should do if you believed that someone from your own environment could be affected, how they paraphrased it so gallantly - or what possibilities there were to get help if you were affected yourself. All discreetly and professionally, of course.

Luckily, Sofia had been playing in her room and hadn’t caught any of this, which Carlos had been incredibly happy about, because he really wouldn’t have wanted to explain what a homosexual was to his daughter, who was so curious for her age - let alone why his face had suddenly turned so red…? Because even without an inquisitive five-year-old in the room, his cheeks had been burning like from a slap in the face, and his heart had been beating faster than ever before while they had already played the next song on the radio and he had continued to dry the plates next to his wife and had tried so hard to not let anything show.

Officially, homosexuality was no longer illegal for a few years now, but basically that was valid only on paper: In real life, people still had a hard time accepting this whim of nature - and that was put kindly: The police still took great pleasure in doing spontaneous checks whenever someone seemed somewhat suspicious to them, or when two men were sitting only a few centimeters too close to each other at the bar - and the civilian population was no better:

Maybe it was just typically Italy, like, lived-out neighbourhood-culture and stuff - but the bush telegraph worked fast here. One careless moment, one thoughtless gesture, one casual remark;  no matter whether it was a terribly tasteless new dress, the misbehaved dog or… other things - and voilà, you were the number 1 topic of conversation for whispered talks at the garden fence or during grocery shopping. Luckily, it was also typically Italian that rumors went by as fast as they had come whenever a new, more interesting topic arose.

But nonetheless, if your professional integrity was important to you, you’d better be double and triple careful not to be accidentally observed doing something that could be seriously misleading some nosy neighbors - for example, when you were about to hand in your blueprints for the competition for the new station building…!

With an effort, Carlos resisted the urge to kick the sand in anger at himself and his stupid, careless behavior.

Damn, he knew all that! Since ever, practically! Why had he not thought that far before?!

If any rumors were to circulate about him — and everyone knew how quickly these could spread and how word of mouth could turn innocent things into something huge —, he could say goodbye to the station project!

Just the thought that all the work could have been ruined by such stupid recklessness terrified him; but now it was too late anyway, and he could only hope that really none of the neighbors had had noticed anything about his intellectual escape that could bring him to fall in the next few weeks - not to mention his own wife:

Because even if Giulia was right now kilometers away with her parents, Carlos could not help but wonder if she had not far already had her suspicions. Did she knew of the filthy thoughts that he was having? Of the dreams that felt so real and that made him disappear straight into the bathroom in embarrassment after waking up?

Was that the reason why she had withdrawn more and more from him…?

At the beginning of their relationship, she had still kissed him gladly and often - perhaps not least because it had been the allure of the forbidden, since her parents hadn’t thought much of him and, unlike their generation, they hadn’t got engaged with the first kiss, che scandalo! (What a scandal!)

But after their marriage, that had diminished rapidly. Carlos had also heard enough of that from his colleagues in the bar when they had complained that their wives hardly let them get close - but it seemed to him that it was a particularly extreme case with Giulia and him: He could count on one hand the number of times that they had consummated their marriage. Only once since Sofia’s birth, to be precise, and that had been years ago. Giulia didn’t want another child, she had said at the time, and that had been the end of the matter.

Not that Carlos was particularly sad about it, in fact he was even a little relieved - but still he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his duty as a husband, and he inevitably wondered if it perhaps was much less about the question of another child than about that Giulia might have noticed that he’d never really been mentally with her in bed…?

The questions occupied him so much that he barely paid attention to how far he actually walked. Only when it seemingly like out of of the blue was beginning to get dark and in front of him, where before there had been only water and vastness, the contours of houses peeled out of the twilight, did he abruptly return to reality.

Hu…?

Instinctively, Carlos slowed down his steps as he tried to see something in the approaching nightfall. Only a few hundred meters ahead of him simple, at best two-storied houses crowded up the hill, as if they were all threaded on a string of pearls. Lights were already burning behind some windows, faintly illuminating the darkness, and further down the beach long landing stages stuck out into the water with at least as many boats tied there, swaying gently on the evening waves. In between, the silhouettes of a few people could be seen, hurrying back and forth on the stage, getting the last of the unmoored boats ready for the night.

A typical evening scene in a harbor district, as it was so typical for this coastal region.

However, that didn’t mean that this district looked familiar to Carlos though - quite the contrary: He couldn’t remember to have ever been to this part of town before - that means, if this even was still Sanremo, at all? Or had he perhaps already walked to one of the neighbouring towns, or even further, across the border over to France? Obviously, fishing was also very practiced in Nice…

Even if it was rather unlikely, Carlos couldn’t rule it out entirely.

Cause when he turned and looked down the beach, he saw nothing in the gathering twilight that could have given him any clue - no landmark, no building, nothing, niente, that looked even remotely familiar to him, but neither a place-name sign nor a benvenuto-(or bienvenue)-a-banner welcoming him to a new town.

Nothing to suggest at all that they’d even want to welcome anyone from outside here - because, to be honest, this place didn’t look particularly inviting.

Only the yellow flowers, which bravely stuck their heads out of the sandy soil like a quiet hint that home couldn’t be too far away, seemed friendly-minded to him.

Part of Carlos wanted to turn around and head home - but at the same time he knew that that wasn’t an option, because his shoes — classic dark leather men’s loafers — were definitely not made for walking all the way back. Actually not even for the way here, as he was only now gradually realised, because unlike in the office, where he mostly sat at the desk with them, they were suddenly pinching quite a lot now after the spontaneous march and not so little sand had gotten into it as well, which crunched uncomfortably grainy under his socks.

Plus, night was still falling very fast here in spring and since he hadn’t thought to grab a flashlight when he’d left in a hurry, he would be on to just that in no time at all light of the stars and the moon.

And with all due respect, he had heard too many horror stories growing up, about people who, on similar endeavors, had found their wet graves in the dark because they had underestimated the danger of the tides - only to have been found two or three meters from the safe beach the next day. Or not at all.

The sea could be beautiful and Carlos loved it with all his heart, but it was also a primal force that you better did not challenge - and since Carlos was nowhere as overly self-confident as to casually brush aside all the cautionary tales of the elders, believing that nothing would happen to him, he said goodbye to this idea with the next breath.

He couldn’t do that to Sofia to become such a cautionary tale himself, and neither to Giulia.

So he decided to go and find a taxi in the unnamed port city instead. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea either, but what great alternative did he have?

So he straightened his shoulders and resolutely trudged the last few meters through the sand towards the settlement to look for a ride there; a taxi or a bus, he wasn’t picky - just anything that would take him safely on the road back to Sanremo - his Sanremo, as he corrected himself in his thoughts when after just a few steps through the large stone gate, he spotted a sign that identified the shop below as the Sanremo Pescheria. [Sanremo Fish Store]

Which meant that he was still in Italy, and even in his own city! And yet it seemed to him that he had stepped into another world, cause the buildings here — with their walls of dark, weather-worn stone — stood in strong contrast to the soft pastel colors which he remembered from the famous Casino, Sofia’s pre-school or the building where their apartment was located.

And somehow, he had to admit, this neighborhood fascinated him more and more the further he walked through the alleys and looked around. It had its very own, morbid charm - which probably only he saw as an architect, but still. Somehow… it had something to it. Something forbidden, secret.

Even the inhabitants seemed to be of a darker breed. There were still a few people walking on the poorly paved streets despite the late hour, but most of them, with their weather-beaten faces and rough clothing, looked so grim that Carlos — clearly recognisable as a stranger in his light-beige trench coat — didn’t dare speak to anyone nor ask for help. Maybe it had only something to do with the dim streetlights, but he wasn’t too keen on finding out.

So he walked on alone, keeping his eyes open for a taxi or something - but with every minute he continued to follow the winding course of the streets up the hill, his hope of finding a ride here dwindled: Cause no matter how closely he looked, nowhere did he see a taxi sign, nor one for buses - nor in general a car at all.

Which wasn’t really surprising, since the streets were much too narrow for a car to pass through, let alone a bus! - apart from the fact that nobody in this run-down part of the world could probably afford a taxi or a ticket anyway.

Carlos could have slapped himself when — sadly much too late — this thought occurred to him. If only he had noticed it a little earlier or if he had simply used his wits — he of all people, as a man of this profession, so to speak! —, he would-

... well. What would he have done then?

Would he have but walked back himself? Maybe if he had run, he could have made it before total darkness would have fallen, or at least to the nearest other settlement and he could have tried his luck there...?

Both options didn’t sound particularly good to Carlos’ ears, but it didn’t really matter anyway, because the fact was that he had not switched on early enough that his search would be an unsuccessful endeavor here, but instead allowed himself to be distracted by his fascination with this very different type of architecture and had just stepped steadily further up the hill.

And with that, he had blocked out any other options that he might have had before:

Because he didn’t quite know how long he’d been walking around here — ten, fifteen minutes maybe? —, but considering the twilight, that would already ten, fifteen minutes too long to now start the way per pedes. By the time that he would get back down to the beach, it would definitely be way too dark and too dangerous to make it; even only to the next settlement-

No, wether he liked it or not, for now, as Carlos fully realised only at that moment, he was stuck here. Shit!

With a frustrated sigh, he turned around himself as if he was looking for a signpost, a hint that would direct him on what he should do next - but of course there was nothing the like. Nothing but the steadily increasing darkness, against which the two dim street lamps around him could do less and less, the equally dark, narrow stone walls of the alley - and right in the middle Carlos, stranded in the strangeness of his own city and meanwhile all alone. None of the people who had been busy further down the hill before were to be seen anymore.

… and now what?!

Actually, when Carlos thought about it, the question was strangely easy to answer Since it seemed that he wouldn’t be getting back home before morning, it would be best if he looked around for a place to stay the night, semplice. [Simple as that.] Maybe there was a guesthouse here, or an inn with a spare room? These could actually be found everywhere nowadays, right?

Even a storage room would do, or a barn or something - as long as it had a roof over his head and four walls around him. Sleeping somewhere outside on the beach was not an option. Not only because of the rather hesitant spring-like temperatures, but also because he was too worried that he might be surprised and robbed while he was sleeping. After all, in his beige coat, shirt with tie underneath and fine slippers, he looked anything but like a tramp from whom nothing could be got…!

But admittedly, he didn’t feel fully comfortable with the thought of staying here for the night either. He would have preferred to somehow get back home, to his own apartment, where the desk light was probably still on; and did he actually lock the door when he ran out…?!

Just the idea, the apartment — the home of his family! — leaving Carlos so vulnerable made Carlos antsy. So he carefully weighed his options again, hoping that an unexpected flash of inspiration might come his way, something he hadn’t considered before, but which would be the saving idea to sleep in his own bed tonight - when all of a sudden a peaked cap appeared at the end of the alley and brought all his thoughts to an abrupt halt:

A hat with this unmistakable, golden emblem on the front, which was shining warningly even in these dim lighting conditions.

The main fabric as dark as the rest of the uniform.

The sight of the cop instantly made Carlos feel hot and cold at once.

Oh no, it shot through his mind along with a terrified rush of adrenaline. Oh no, no, no, no, no - please NO...!

Even if he knew that his reaction was actually completely exaggerated, since objectively he hadn’t done anything wrong — after all, there was nothing wrong with walking in a part of town that wasn’t your own! — and therefore actually had nothing to fear — but he couldn’t help it. It was like a reflex.

Because the magic word was ‘actually’:

Because Carlos was also well-aware that the poliziotti didn’t need a good reason to check him. Just an individual, no matter how small and trivial suspicion from an officer was enough. He had witnessed such scenes on the street often enough himself. And even though Carlos reminded himself every day that none of his thoughts could be seen by looking at him — that he didn’t have what he was written on his forehead — the idea that anyone could see behind his face was terrifying.

Especially when it came to cops.

Because as said - he had often enough witnessed such controls; and he only felt really safe from them in the presence of Giulia and Sofia, aka his unbeatable exculpatory evidence on his right and left hand - but neither of them were here now.

And that was why — presumably also as an aftermath of the first panic attack at home in the living room — a primeval escape-instinct took possession of Carlos from one second to the other and made him turn around and run without thinking; without even knowing where to go.

A voice in the back of his mind reminded him that if he wanted to go back to the beach — and objectively that was probably the most sensible idea to really escape the threatening danger! —, he had to run downhill - but that was easier said than done: Because in his anxious attempt to just please avoid the sergeant and somehow run around him in a large circle, Carlos ended up in a dead end several times and had to turn around and start all over again - and in connection with the relentlessly advancing dusk, which only made the already grey, unexciting facades of the houses look even more uniform, it took hardly a minute for Carlos to lose his orientation and become hopelessly lost in the maze of alleys.

…which didn’t particularly help his panic; quite the contrary, it rushed and roared so much in his chest that Carlos was on and about to just try to climb up a wall and then- …he didn’t know, just try somehow over the roofs to find his way out of this labyrinth, to just get away from here! - although it was pretty clear to him that as a desk worker, he really wasn’t the sportiest. But the policeman’s voice, which appeared as if he followed him on every step and which he could hear in every alleyway, got him so nervous that he was even willing to try it.

But he didn’t dare stop for such a climbing attempt, because-

Carlos had no idea how the policeman did it, or if he was simply acting totally stupid and it was him who was chasing the policeman actually, or if he was maybe only running in circles - or maybe it was just a hallucination, an overreaction of his from today much, much too overstrained brain - but the booming bass voice of the official, who seemed to be exchanging a word here and there with apparently the last inhabitants on his feet, really always sounded so close to him; and urged him not to stop, just keep running, just keep running!

Once, just as he thought that the officer was right behind the corner behind him, Carlos — terrified — jumped unceremoniously into a courtyard entrance, ducking into the shadows of the passageway and turning up the collar of his coat while he — heart pounding, breath hitched —waited and prayed that the policeman would please, please not come this way, or at least not see him…! But the only one who came was in fact the apparent owner of the associated house, telling from how the man — gnarled as a tree and a face as somber as the entire neighborhood — glared at him. He didn’t have to say anything, his gaze alone was enough to quickly shoo Carlos away - even if he still didn’t know where to go.

Meanwhile, he had finally lost his orientation. If this was only a bit of the right way, shouldn’t he have been down on the beach long ago...?!

But just when Carlos was about to have a nervous breakdown and was already debating whether he shouldn’t simply resign himself to his fate when the officer would for real come around the next corner; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad and he wouldn’t bother him for anything more than a buona sera and a lifted hat. After all he was alone and hadn’t done anything to arouse any suspicion-

Just then he heard it:

Music.

Carlos didn’t know how long it had been there and he just hadn’t noticed it — over the wild pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears —, but now he heard it clearly: A soft, hushed jazz melody floating through the dark alleys, which didn’t seem to fit here at all, but which immediately aroused Carlos’ interest. Because music, he thought, was a good sign. Music couldn’t mean anything bad.

Perhaps he only thought so because he was in a seemingly hopeless situation and had nothing to lose; like the proverbial thread that dangles down into hell - but thread or not, the soft sounds suddenly gave him hope again. Giving him at least a distinct direction to run into as he hurried to follow their trail.

Like magically attracted, he followed the sounds through the streets, letting them guide him through the twilight. Twice more, he came to a dead end, and a few more times he had to stop and listen to decide for the direction at a junction - but then, after another winding bend, he suddenly walked straight onto the building up where the music had to come from.

Like all houses here, it was only two stories high and just as squeezed between the neighboring buildings, with small, square windows on the top floor; just wide enough for a face to look down the alley curiously - that is, if anyone lived there at all, because unlike most other houses meanwhile, it was dark behind these windows.

However, below, there was unequivocally light shimmering behind the narrow window-slits of brown frosted glass, and through the massive door — as massive as the inhabitants here —, flanked by dirty gas lanterns, came the music - Carlos could hear it without any doubt now.

Taverna, it said in bold letters above the entrance, on a sign that could really use some cleaning.

Admittedly, like everything else in this area, the front of the pub didn’t look particularly inviting and under normal circumstances, Carlos would hardly have set foot in this place - but in this case, it rather seemed like a lifesaver to him:

A tavern! That meant folks! People he could ask about a place to sleep or maybe even a ride over to his Sanremo - but who, above all, would offer him the perfect protection from the policeman. He would do it like a herd animal: Blend in with the crowd. Cause the officer would surely not walk into a bar and check on all the guests, would he? Even they wouldn’t go that far, would they?

For Carlos the answer was clear, or at least he hoped it was - that was all he could do.

And before things would take care of themselves anyway when the policeman would have suddenly appeared behind him, he quickly followed another man, who was just heading for the entrance, and took the heavy door from him, slipping through behind him into the tavern.

The inside of the pub was warm, full of thick air and dimly lit, and a mixture of music and babble of voices were vibrating in the air - so it took Carlos a moment to acclimate in every sense when he found himself in the bar room.

It was full; busier than he’d thought, considering the empty streets - but well, maybe they were just so empty because the whole neighborhood had gathered here. Or at least the majority, because there were only men here.

But Carlos didn’t find that too surprising at first. In the bar not far from the office, where he sometimes was persuaded to have beer after work with his colleagues, the overwhelming majority of the guests were male, too. Women weren’t generally forbidden to come there though, but younger girls were more drawn to the dance halls and jazz clubs than a smoky bar when they wanted to go out - and once they have become wives and mothers, the vast majority of women — supposedly ‘modern’ times or not — did no longer have any time for such evening leisure activities, since they were more than busy with all their household chores.

So, again, it didn’t come as much of a surprise to Carlos at first that when he made his way through the crowd in search of a seat, that he was basically just pushing past broad backs and strong arms and the air was heavy with the smell of beer, fish and done work. Just normal pub culture, he thought.

And while he wasn’t wrong about that, it was different here:

He realised it — probably due to the dim light and his wild flight from the police officer — only a moment too late, though; just when he had finally got hold of a free seat at a table and had fallen exhausted onto the slightly worn stool and then let his eyes wander - actually primarily to take a look at the ambience of his surroundings, like, where he ended up here in the first place and whether it really passed as a safe place. Maybe he was also subconsciously scouting people, trying to figure out whom to ask for help with accommodation or a ride - and maybe another part of him was also looking for a waitress, without even knowing what he wanted to order cause he had only noticed the handwritten chalkboard at the entrance while walking past it - but while he was letting his gaze wander through the guest room, it suddenly struck him:

That really only men were here - and that women weren’t missed either:

Not at the bar or in the small booths where men sat engrossed in conversation with other men; some in small groups as if they were just here for a beer after work like Carlos with his office colleagues sometimes, but others only in pairs and in their looks and their gestures, their seemingly random touches so fond of each other that it had nothing to do anymore with a collegial exchange -

Not in front of the opulent jukebox, where a table had been pushed aside to make room for a small dance floor, on which a few young men had crowded and were dancing exuberantly to the music emanating from the newfangled box; in front of each other, with each other, laughing out loud and singing along to the English lyrics full of passion and with heavy accent -

And certainly not with the two who were huddling around in the dim corner next to the counter and whose hands — oh God...! — were in totally different places, while they were kissing like Carlos only knew it with a woman-

But even a normal couple had he never seen making out so open-heartedly in public, so completely unmolested by everything else around them, so passionately absorbed in each other; and the sight made him on the spot break out in a sweat in his coat, which was much too warm for in here anyway - while the world suddenly contracted around him and seemed to consist of only this pub anymore.

It all was — and Carlos was actually ashamed to think it — a bit like a traffic accident: Somehow repulsive, gross, scary, and at the same time so… fascinating that he just couldn’t bring himself to look away - although he knew he should. That, strictly speaking, he should even better get up and leave immediately! But he was far too spellbound to do so by this so new world that was presenting itself to him here.

And of that, he was even more ashamed - but he couldn’t help it:

Like magically drawn, his eyes roamed across the room, while he was unable to think straight or look away - at least not until he suddenly caught another pair of eyes that were fixed directly on him. It belonged to a muscleman in a shapeless, baggy overall sitting alone on a stool by the counter, looking straight back at him. In the first reflex, Carlos flinched heavily because he just hadn’t expected any eye contact - but when the man winked at him in the next second and raised his beer glass to toast his way, he looked away so hastily that he nearly pulled his neck.

His face instantly began to glow with embarrassment and Carlos felt as if he had been caught doing something very, very naughty. But before he could have recovered from the shock, a silhouette suddenly appeared at the edge of his field of vision that made him look up - and that is, really up: Because the man who had come to his table — “Buona sera!” — and was standing expectantly in front of him, an apron tied around his waist and a notepad in his hand, was so tall that Carlos had to tilt his head back not only because of his sitting position:

He was not short himself, but if they had stood side by side, the man — who appeared to be the waiter here — would still have been a head taller than him - which his slender build made all the more impressive. He was not a skinny beanstalk though, but muscular in an understated, subtle way, as Carlos could attest with his own eyes cause the waiter hadn’t buttoned his dark shirt all the way to the end, but knotted the ends together, baring a stripe of his flat stomach.

And the sight of that so unabashedly exposed, so sun-kissed skin, took Carlos completely by surprise. It was not as if he’d never met a non-high-neck-clothed man before - Sanremo was, after all, laying on the seafront, and even if Carlos didn’t enjoy swimming in it himself, he still went by the beach often to take strolls along the waterfront, where it of course was inevitable to see women and men in bathing suits - and yet this here was something different:

Because for one thing, when you went to the beach you expected to see some skin there, it would even be kind of funny if you didn’t - whereas here, in this bar, it was exactly the other way around.

And on the other hand, there was something wicked about that high-knotted shirt. The strip of skin seen was like an appetizer, a tiny foretaste that seemed to emphasize far more everything that could not be unseen - unlike on the beach, where little was left to the imagination. But here… anything could be hidden under this shirt, and it was probably exactly this anything, this mystery of the hidden that took Carlos so by surprise that he kept staring at it a tad too long.

What he only noticed when the man asked him in a velvety voice, like a purr: “Well, sweetie?”, whereupon his gaze shot up again like a rocket and he looked straight into the face of the waiter with wide eyes of shock. Apparently the man had not missed this tiny second too long, given the pomadey, half-smile that he gave him and how his eyes were wide as wagon wheels — probably due to the heavy makeup that was sparkling on his lids — as he looked at Carlos just as shamelessly .

“I don’t recall I’ve ever seen you here before… new in town?”, he asked while leaning down on the table in front of him and eyeing him up like an interesting flea market find. “...what good can one do for you tonight?”

And when he pulled out his block and demonstratively crossed his heels behind his back, Carlos also understood why the man seemed so incredibly tall: It was because of the wedge heels under his boots; higher than any pumps he had ever seen on Giulia. And combined with the long, obviously false eyelashes and the way they were battering at him in anticipation of his orders, it was all just too much for Carlos. Just. Too. Much.

He didn’t know if he really got the “Scusi” out loud or just thought it in his head as he jumped up from his seat, but he didn’t care; and neither about the waiter calling something after him that he couldn’t understand in the loud background noise and with his pounding pulse in his ears - a “Wait!” maybe? - but it only caused him to hurry his way all the more through the surrounding people, squeezing his way between them much too roughly, without paying attention to who he hit where with his elbows. Once he seemed to have hit a hand with a beer glass, because suddenly the sleeve of his coat felt wet and he heard an indignant “Ey, careful, idiot!” behind him, in a tone that only men who got their alcohol taken away spoke in - but Carlos couldn’t bother about that either.

In any other place, he would of course have apologised and payed for the drink, as it was proper, but now he didn’t think about it for the best will in the world. Screw it, he needed fresh air, just wanted to get out of here, just out!

But even when he had made it through what felt like an endless, tenacious stream of people to the door, immediately thrown his whole body weight against it and then finally, finally stumbled outside, the panic in him didn’t let up - it just let him look frantically over his shoulder and then run all the faster.

Helplessly, he fled into the darkness and after just a few turns he had no idea whether he had really come this way before or whether the winding streets all looked the same at night. But he didn’t really have time to make up his mind, too afraid that someone might follow him — the waiter, or that muscleman who had winked at him, or the guy with the spilled beer, or whoever else from this cursed place! — and that, the longer he stayed around, they would catch up and find him.

Just the thought made him shudder.

Damn it, now he also suddenly understood why the tavern was so far off! He had briefly wondered before why it wasn’t located on the main street, somewhere near the Sanremo Fish Shop and bakery and the other small shops he had seen at the very beginning - but of course he hadn’t thought anything bad of it. Had been far too glad of the sanctuary the pub had supposedly been able to offer him - ha, now that’s what he had of it now!

Never had he ever wished so badly to be able to undo a piece of the past - not even when his mother had caught him secretly playing with his sister’s dolls.

Nor when he had danced in the park in front of Giulia and all the other people.

Nor when Lucia Ricci had suddenly kissed him in the schoolyard once while they’d been playing catch, his friends had wanted to know very excitedly how it had been and he, to their confusion, had just awkwardly said something like “Well, it…- okay, I guess…?”

Nor when he’d caused even more confusion among them, when Fabri still hadn’t had a prom date and had said frustratedly that it must be because of his big ears and that he looked like a joke, no wonder no one wanted to go there with him - and Carlos, out of a stupid reflex — to rebuild his friend! — had replied that he found him handsome.

As much as all those memories terrified him until now and made him wish he could go back in time - even together they didn’t weigh against the magnitude of the misstep that he’d made just tonight. And yet it seemed to him that this one could be at least partially undone: If he just ran fast enough, just got out of here now, no one would ever need to know that he had ever been here. Not Giulia, not Sofia, not his boss, nobody!

That alone was a reason enough for Carlos to throw all his previous principles overboard. Screw the tide, he was going to walk back home now, no matter how stupid and dangerous it was! And if the sea would take him, then at least it would be certain that nobody would ever, ever find out about his disgrace!

Just everything was better than staying here, because even though there was nothing behind him, no voices or footsteps but his own, Carlos still couldn’t help but feel the warm, damp breath of his pursuers on the back of his neck. Feared that they’d grab him and drag him back to the bar any second as soon as they found him, now that they had revealed him as one of their own kind - and he also felt like they would find him if he slowed even briefly or stopped!

Which is why Carlos just kept running, despite the sharp pain between his ribs and the tightness in his calves. Running, running and running, down alley after alley. Dashing at a crazy pace between the houses that were much too close together, praying with every ragged gasp of breath that he was still walking in the right direction, because - cazzo! [shit!], he still had no idea whether he was on the correct way or running in circles again because every fucking corner in this goddamn district just looked the same!

With every turn that didn’t end on the main road with the view straight on the town gate, Carlos’ panic grew even more, and his tunnel vision blocked out everything that wasn’t the longed-for archway to the beach - so that the collision, when he rushed around the next corner, came out of nowhere.

It caused him to stumble violently and he gasped when the air was so abruptly pressed from his lungs, but somehow he managed to catch himself and avoid falling to the ground. For the blink of an eye, he admittedly saw stars and only after a second did he realize that he must have bumped into another person - no wall was so soft and appeared so suddenly in front of you; and above all, walls couldn’t speak:

“Well, well, buona sera, signore! Where are you going in such a hurry?”

A voice like a cannonball that made Carlos flinch before he could offer an apology.

And when he finally got himself back to his feet, he found himself face to face with the one person who he feared even more than all the people in the tavern.

Oh no - no, no, not that now, too…!

“Is everything alright with you? Can I help you?”, the officer asked with a caring look from under his eyebrows, which were as bushy and gray as his moustache. And while his question was probably well-intentioned, the mere eye contact alone — face-to-face with his greatest threat — made Carlos’ heart pound up to his throat; so intense that he was sure the official had to see it.

That he would surely ask at any moment why he had even run like that? Wether he was being chased? Or why else did he seem so rushed and nervous?

Or maybe it was just a ploy with his friendliness, and he had long since seen him coming out of the tavern. Was already in the picture about everything and would savour it to the fullest to confront him with it here, away from everything in the loneliness of the back-alley…!

Damn it, keep your nerves now!, Carlos harshly reminded himself, hastily dismissing the images of himself in the Sanremo Stazione de Polizia [Sanremo Police Station], of deadly embarrassing interrogations and of a disappointed but unsurprised Giulia when she’d pick him up - especially of Sofia’s crying children’s face, when her mother would finally use this occasion to part with him never to be seen again...

Don’t think about it! Don’t act more suspicious than you already are...!

And yet, even though Carlos knew what was at stake and tried his best to let his throat loose so the words could fit through, his voice trembled dangerously and sounded all squeaky and crooked as he muttered: “No, I - I’m fine, thanks, I get al-” abrang.

Get along, he’d wanted to say, but he didn’t get to do so:

“You’re not from here, are you?” the sergente just cut him off, without even listening. Warningly, he raised his index finger. “This is a dangerous patch here, especially at such a late hour! And especially for tourists!”

And his suddenly very serious look made Carlos sweat heavily and his heart beat even faster. He felt as if the older man would figure it out himself why he was here at any second if he didn’t give him a convincing explanation - figure out where he had been, what he had seen there!

It suddenly felt all so obvious to read off him like that he wasn’t from around here, with his stupid good coat and shoes that were way too fine, hands without calluses or furrows that he’d never gotten to dirty at work have to-

Think, think, think, Sainz!, he shouted at himself in his thoughts, feverishly combing his brain for a good excuse - but there was nothing. No flash of inspiration, no idea. Just sheer panic in opposite of the policeman’s critical, awaiting look, which pushed Carlos more and more into the open sea, with no ground underneath his feet:

“Yeah, but I- I, well- I was just-”

“Uncle!”, suddenly a third voice cut through the darkness and made Carlos and the policeman both turn around, in the direction from which the call had come - and from which a young man now came rushing towards them, determined.

His stature was lanky and he did look very young, was maybe 20 and not the tallest - but his uniform clearly identified him as one of those who toiled day in and day out at the port. A sailor.

And while he seemed as out of place in this desolate area in his light-colored clothes as Carlos himself, he certainly must live around here, cause he moved with such ease and naturalness as he hurried down the street toward them, arms raised effusively and a smile on his face like he was super happy to see them-

Or him, to be precise, because the boy was heading straight for Carlos.

“There you are!”, he exclaimed - and before Carlos knew it, he found himself enclosed in a tight hug, which he, as taken aback as he was, didn’t manage to return before the boy already let go of him and turned to the policeman instead:

“Oh, signor sergente, buona sera!”, he greeted the lawman, as if he’d only now noticed his presence. “Is everything alright? I hope there is no a problem?”

The policeman also seemed a bit perplexed by this sudden intervention in their conversation. He waved his gloved hand back and forth between Carlos and the stranger. “You- know each other?”

No, Carlos wanted to answer, thinking there must be a mix-up here - cause he didn’t have a nephew, and certainly not in this area of town where he had never been before until today!

But the youngster in the sailor’s uniform forestalled him; nodding so eagerly that his cap almost slipped off his head, under which a wild head of curls spurted out. “Ma si [Yes, of course], this is my uncle Gianni! - Yes, I know he doesn’t look like my uncle, we could rather be cousins, we really are always mistaken for cousins - but you know, we’re also only a couple of years apart. He is my mother’s youngest brother, she is the eldest. Of five!”

He spoke without a period or comma and at such a pace that Carlos — admittedly still completely taken by surprise by his sudden appearance — could hardly keep up, let alone had a chance to correct the apparent mix-up - but that was good also, because at a second glance did it dawn on him that there was probably no mix-up at all - but that the stranger, whoever he was and for whatever reason, had just come to his rescue and wanted to get him out of the awkward situation with the policeman!

“...and he’s coming to visit us this weekend!” he was proudly telling the sergeant, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Actually, he should have been there much earlier, I was already wondering where you’ve been up to!”

On the last part of the sentence, the young sailor’s eyes rested directly on Carlos for a brief moment, and despite the dim illumination of the street lamp, they seemed as deep as the sea itself. “Have you been distracted by the sea? You must know, Signor Sergente, he lives in Bologna. Best you see there is the canals there, but no sea!”

The boy nodded meaningfully, and the policeman’s bushy eyebrows rose in interest.

“Oh, Bologna?”, he repeated, looking at Carlos in a way that the said couldn’t quite interpret but that made him feel like he had to react somehow. So he quickly cleared his throat and nodded as well.

“S-si. Esattamente.” [Y-yes, exactly.]

Although it was only two words, his voice sounded unusually thin and he had to take another deep breath before he dared to continue: “And- I’m sorry I’m… so late”, he turned for the first time directly to the boy. “I took the last train, I had to stay in the office longer. I’m an architect”, he added explainingly to the policeman, and the stranger next to him nodded eagerly again.

“Yes! And a very hardworking one!”, he claimed. “That’s why mamma invited him so that he could finally get a break for once, poor thing, he’s always in the office! Look at how pale he is!”

Though he could hardly tell in the yellow light out here, as Carlos thought, the stranger shook his head in such exaggerated outrage over his not-really-pale skin that the flat cap almost slipped from his wild hair again - he managed to catch it just in time, before it could have fallen onto the pavement.

And for a brief moment, Carlos felt a wave of fear well up inside him that that might have been it: That the policeman would now see through them, because that had exactly the infamous little bit too much that had made her charade unbelievable - but the attention of the sergente was already on something else:

“And you didn’t take your wife with you?”, he asked with furled brows, pointing at Carlos’ hand - or more precisely, at the gold wedding ring on his finger, which was gleaming in the dim light of the lantern, almost eager to be noticed. Oh damn!

Stuttering, he racked his brain for a plausible explanation: “No, um, she- well-... she actually wanted to come with me, but…” His gaze crossed that of the boy, who jerked his head slightly forward, lifting his elbow - and luckily, Carlos understood what he meant immediately: “…but she didn’t feel well this morning. Exactly! It’s probably just a mild summer flu, but the doctor said she should better still take it easy for a few days. But she didn’t want me to postpone my trip - after I’ve been so looking forward to seeing my… nephew again, and my sister…! And, the suitcases were already packed. So…”

Completely out of breath from speaking so fast, Carlos just nodded instead of finishing the sentence. That’s why I went anyway.

The policeman also nodded, but probably more out of a social reflex. In any case, the skeptical wrinkles on his forehead didn’t really want to smooth out again.

“And your luggage?” he asked further, putting Carlos in a tight spot again. But this time, fortunately, the saving explanation came to him a little faster and without outside help: “That? Oh, I already sent that ahead with the taxi! It should have already arrived, is it?”, he asked to his supposed nephew, but didn’t give him any time for an answer - and neither the sergeant time to realise that no taxi had come here for years.

“But I wanted to rather walk, after the long train ride… take a look at the sea!”, Carlos added meaningfully with a vague gesture towards the beach (…or at least in the direction he assumed it was); and he himself was astonished over how easily each further lie came straight from his lips now. As if lying was just a muscle you could train.

In any case, the boy next to him seemed to have quite some practice at it: At least he didn’t show an ounce of insecurity or even discomfort - on the contrary, when he laughed, it sounded so genuine and heartfelt that Carlos could have believed for a moment that they were really telling the sergente here nothing but the truth.

“See, I told you so!” The boy grinned from under his cap. “It’s different than just the Reno [river in Bologna] day-in, day-out, isn’t it?"

This time it was him who didn’t give Carlos time to answer: “A proposito, you must be hungry after the long drive, aren’t you? Then you can be happy, mamma has especially prepared lasagna di spinaci for tonight, as you like it so much!”

At this point, Carlos barely had to exert himself to continue with their fib - spinach lasagna was indeed one of his favorite dishes. And he was indeed hungry from his trek!

So that it had to look correspondingly authentic when he let out a happy moan in response and a broad smile spread across his face. “Oh, and how much!”

But even greater than his enthusiasm for spinach lasagna was the prospect of dropping out of the conversation - because that was what the boy was trying to initiate here, if he understood correctly.

And really:

“Then come on, then we shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer. She’s so excited to see you again, she’s been up all day!”, the sailor announced before chaning his smile for a deliberately innocent expression, as if he couldn’t tarnish the water of the whole sea. “Or is there something else, signor sergente?”

The sergente admittedly still looked a bit skeptical though, as if he still wasn’t sure what to make of the whole thing, but the far larger part of him actually seemed to believe their story: After a moment’s thought, he shook his head and mumbled a “No-no…” into his impressive mustache. His eyes darted back and forth between Carlos and the boy, scrutinizing them both, and for a split second the law-officer seemed to hesitate again, like, wether there really was nothing else - but then he just straightened his stance and cleared his throat.

“Then… have a nice evening! Enjoy Sanremo, signore, but be careful!” He raised a warning finger. “This is a…"

“…a dangerous place, I know.”

Carlos nodded quickly, trying to put on a confident smile. One that said he was aware of the dangers and in total control. “But I’m in the best of company!”, as he explained with a nod in the direction of his pretended nephew. “Nevertheless, grazie mille for your attentiveness, signor sergente! It’s always good to know when someone keeps a close eye on the city and its residents. Makes you feel a lot safer then, don’t you think,…?!”

He involuntarily faltered because he had wanted to aim the rhetorical question to his nephew for him to agree with him, and realised too late that he didn’t even know his name! Unlike the stranger, however, he didn’t dare (quite quick-wittedly!) to just make up one for him as well, in case the policeman could know the boy and the whole story would blow up in the last minute - so that the sentence ended a bit abruptly.

But the effusive thanks — which made Carlos cringe inside, because in truth he didn’t feel at all comfortable with the thought of the police keeping such an eye on everything, quite the opposite! — served its purpose: The sergente was so flattered by the unexpected compliment that he didn’t even notice the unnatural artificial pause, but seemed to grow a head taller in front of the two supposedly related men, puffing himself up with pride like a pigeon on a cold morning.

Now at the latest beyond any doubt about their story, he tapped his cap again and nodded to both of them — “Always at your service. Gentlemen!” —, before he turned around and walked down the street with very swaying steps - even beginning to whistle a little tune! And before Carlos knew, the policeman had turned around the corner and disappeared down one of the many tiny side streets; just as suddenly as he had appeared from just there.

Only his whistling, which continued to sound through the otherwise quiet streets of the evening, testified that he had really been here and that Carlos had not just imagined the encounter.

Only when that could no longer be heard, did the boy and him both dare to breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Th-thank you”, Carlos gasped, suddenly breathless from the feeling of tension finally breaking away from him. “That- that was…” tight, he finished the sentence in his mind. A literal rescue in the last minute. He didn’t even want to imagine what would have happened if the boy — for whom the story of the from-far-travelled uncle had slipped of his lips with such almost playful ease — hadn’t appeared in the alley, or only later...!

But even if the stranger looked no less relieved — Carlos felt it as if his slender legs in dark blue navy pants were also a little trembling as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other —, he just waved his hand.

“No fuss.” He glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure the cop really stayed away. “They can be quite annoying. This is a dangerous pavement! Be careful!”, he mimicked the policeman’s instructions, rolling his eyes - a gesture that left no doubt that the police here often made life difficult for people - and yet the boy still grinned mischievously, as if it was more of a game for him. “You know… we just have to hang together, non è vero?” […don’t we? / Isn’t that true?]

The statement surprised Carlos.

“Hang together?”, he asked - and as if he had flipped a switch with his words, something changed in the boy’s expression. Suddenly, he didn’t seem as lively and sparking anymore as he had when he’d been talking to the sergente, but much calmer, much more grown-up. His voice also sounded a whole bit softer, quieter. Almost as if he was talking to a shy animal that he didn’t want to scare.

“I saw you. In the bar.”

And it was only now that Carlos suddenly understood who exactly the boy meant by we, and he immediately panicked in the face of his suddenly no longer kept secret - but before he could have denied it, or even sorted the words in his completely staggered head, the boy already continued:.

“You… kind of reminded me of me at my first visit.” He gifted him a sympathetic smile. “It can be a bit much in there, can’t it?”

Admittedly, even if the question was actually more of a rhetorical nature and the answer was clear, Carlos didn’t quite know what to say in reply - let alone where to look. Definitely not in the boy’s face anymore, now that he obviously knew about him what nobody else knew…! - so that his gaze twitched restlessly over the pavement and their shoes when he cleared his throat and, embarrassed and overchallenged, scratched the back of his head and managed to at least force out a low “Si…”.

He felt like he had to say something more though, explain himself somehow, justify it, apologise, just add something… of meaning - but that luckily wasn’t necessary because the boy just gave him another audible smile of sympathy. “But it’s getting better. At the second time.”

Carlos listened up.

“You mean I should… go back there? Again?”, he asked carefully, unsure if he had understood correctly - but when his eyes shyly grazed those of his counterpart, he saw the boy nod in confirmation. And he looked him straight in the face as he said: “Yeah. I think that would be really nice…”

And now, looking at his face for the first time for more than a quick sideways glance, seeking confirmation of their shared lies, Carlos recognised that his eyes were not only as deep and mesmerising as the sea, but just as blue. Maybe with a hint of green in it, but that could also have something to do with the yellowish light of the street lamp…

And might it be the look in those same eyes that accompanied the boy’s words; like a smile in his gaze, a confident goodwill, reassuring, warm and familiar - but whereas surely ten horses would not have gotten him back into that bar just a few minutes ago, the suggestion coming from the boy’s mouth now sounded, oddly enough, not in the least outrageous or even frightening to Carlos. Didn’t sound scary anymore… with him.

“I-I’d buy you a beer as a reward”, the boy continued quickly, as if he sensed that too and as if he really wanted to convince him at any cost. “And some cannelloni! I know, they say you shouldn’t have wine or hot food in a pub, but they’re really good. I know that because I often eat there after work and- well… I’m afraid my mom actually didn’t prepare any spinach lasagna…”, as he added with a mocked grinding of teeth, making Carlos chuckle.

“Well, how could she have known that her missing brother would turn up exactly today, hu?”, he said, and then the boy had to laugh too: “No!”

Their giggles were way too loud for the nightly silence and didn’t really fit in with those dark, weather-washed walls either, let alone the tricky situation they’d just escaped from - but at the same time it fit perfectly, and for a small moment, everything felt very light.

“By the way, I’m Carlos”, the said introduced himself when they had calmed down again. “Not Gianni.”

The boy shrugged with an apologetic grin. “Sorry, I had to improvise. That was the first one that came to mind.”

But Carlos immediately dismissed these concerns. “No problem.” - because it really wasn’t. It certainly wasn’t the wrong, questionably fitting suitable name, but something entirely else that made him suddenly bite his lower lip in nervousness and take a deep breath:

“And what’s the name of my… long-lost nephew?”, he finally brought himself to ask - and the boy seemed pleased that he did, because he smiled again. Smiling broadly, his ocean eyes sparkling all the brighter in the dim light from the streetlight overhead.

“Lando.”

Lando, Carlos immediately repeated in his mind. He had never met anyone with that name, but he had to admit that he liked it. It had such a smooth, somehow familiar sound, and it felt as light as a feather on his tongue as he repeated it in his thoughts - clearly the name of someone who you’d really like to get invited on some cannelloni from; and that even despite the fact that there was indeed a bowl of lasagna cold in Carlos’ own fridge...