The Church of Lost Souls 17

While she was brushing my hair, Sofia talked about herself for what seemed like the very first time. She was indeed a very private person.

She´d been raised by her Godmother in Romania. Her mother had had a passionate affair with a married merchant, who could not acknowledge Sofia´s birth. When her mother fled to work in London she asked her sister to look after Sofia and it had stayed that way ever since. Her mother would always return to Romania for two weeks in the summer and then leave again, year after year.

But, she said, the reason she was telling us all this was because she had just had a thought, sitting there brushing my hair, about how she was just like both her mum and her godmum. In equal measure she´d inherited traits from both. This was the first summer she´d spent with neither of them, travelling around Italy.

Her father she knew nothing of, never had and she still didn´t really want to. To her own mind was she a product of two females.

When she got up to put the hairbrush and water back in the tent Paolo and I sensed it was time to go. I said thanks to Sofia for brushing my hair but on the way to the taverna I started getting worried about it so I ducked into the public lavatories to use the mirror.

It was trying to look straight but getting more and more bouncy so I ruffled it up. I preferred it ruffled.

When I looked again into the mirror I could see the boy who´d left Hastings a ragged skinny wretch. Here I was, a fine young buck with ample meat on the bone, a brown tan and curly blond locks. And I was also about to meet the woman of my dreams.

At the taverna, which was already a little busy, I spotted Paolo and Sofia over by the oven. There was quite a hush as I walked across the room, maybe they knew I´d done the cartoon characters.

Paolo passed me a beer so I took it and looked out across the spread. The built-in concrete tables that ran either side of the room had been dressed in white cloth that lapped above the screwed-in wooden benches. Piles of plates rested alongside fresh cutlery and two large bowls full of green salad and sliced tomato were at the head of each table.

The oven was roaring and the chef was busy lifting pizzas in and out, a little lady slicing them up and passing them around as appetisers.

When the owner came in a large portion of the crowd started clapping. He welcomed us all to enjoy the festivities and then withdrew into a crowd of friends.

At a quarter past eight joke shop Maria arrived and Paolo raced across the room to greet her. They did seem like a very handsome couple as they walked back to us.

´Hi,´ I said, ´we met at the joke shop about a fortnight ago.´

She couldn´t recall. ´Isn´t it lovely here?´ she said, diverting conversation. ´Have you been staying long?´ she said pointedly to Paolo.

´About two weeks,´ he said. ´I´m heading off to Switzerland in the morning.´

´Well, see if I care,´ she said, laughing, before taking Paolo´s hand and asking him for a beer.

As he went to fetch one she turned to us and smiled. She seemed like an entirely different person to the one I´d met before. There was a distinct air of danger about her.

´So,´ she said, ´you´re the one who painted all these cartoon faces.´

´Yep,´ I said.

´What happened to Jesus?´ she said, looking up at the awful splodge above the oven.

‘You tell me,’ I said.

You could tell it was Jesus because remnants of the pencil lines were still there around his face but it was admittedly a sight for poor eyes. I´d hastily drawn the hair, eyes, nose and mouth in pencil over the coat of flesh tint but with the paint puffing up and curling over the cracks Jesus could only be forgiven for his heavily eczematic complexion.

When Paolo returned and passed the beer to Maria, we saw a fragment of Jesus´s cheek fall onto the floor and the poor thing looked like he was weeping. A short while later a man popped open a bottle of fizz, which spurted the lion’s share of its primordial load all over Jesus, causing yet more shedding of skin and inexorable blotching. While I was quite perturbed that I hadn’t been able to render him well The Italians didn’t seem to mind that Jesus was quickly turning into his own laughing stock.

Two large trays of lasagne were brought to the tables and I wondered whether I should eat before Maria came. Sofia said she´d wait a while, seeing as people had started to form a queue around the plates.

When we could resist no longer we went and got some lasagne and salad and ate together on the corner of a table.

Just before nine and still with no sign of Maria, a man with a guitar and a woman in black came into the room. It was really quite busy by this time. The owner led them towards the corner to the right of the oven and introduced them to us.

They started playing Toni Basil´s Mickey and a young couple leapt into the space in between the oven and the heads of the tables and bopped their heads like Toni.

Just as they were getting into it, a crash of thunder pounded in our ears and then we were surrounded by a brisk downpour of rain, which drowned out the music completely. In this space of time Paolo and I looked at each other and laughed, then Sofia laughed too. Maria wasn´t laughing.

It was then that I saw my Maria at the entrance. She was under a large umbrella held by a man at her side. As he went to shake the umbrella outwardly Maria came into the room and spotted me. She waved vibrantly and then walked over with her friend to join us.

´Hello James,´ she said, kissing my cheek. ´Sorry I´m late. This is my friend, Arturo.´

Arturo introduced himself and then I introduced Sofia, Paolo and Maria to them.

I couldn´t quite believe how beautiful she was, and it showed. When she held my hand and squeezed it, smiling directly at me, I couldn´t help averting my eyes away and towards Sofia.

As the rain had stopped the music started up again, this time with ´Oh Pretty Baby´, so we took our places around the table and listened.

I still can´t think of a time when I was happier than at that moment. Maria was sitting next to me and our thighs were dancing together in time with the music.

Her friend Arturo was getting along well with Sofia while Paolo and Maria continued to court happily.

After a few more songs the act decided to take a break and conversation started to flow around the tables.

´So,´ said Maria. ´Have you thought about what you´d like to do?´

´I thought that´s what we were going to talk about tonight,´ I said.

´James,´ she said, ´Would you like to stay here in Rome?´ I nodded affirmatively. ´And would you be a friend for Giovanni?´ I nodded again. ´Then I have a plan.´

Her plan was this, I´d spend three afternoons with Giovanni and sometimes be required to help Maria with shopping and to accompany her to one or two events a week. As her husband had not agreed to me staying at the flat she had arranged for me to stay at her own flat near The Spanish Steps, where I was free to do as I pleased. I would receive 300,000 lira per month. A cheque account would be opened at her bank in my name.

When I suggested that it all seemed too good to be true, Maria was defiant. ´Sometimes,´ she simpered with a slanted grin, ´ it is wise to believe it to be true´.

With all this whirring around my head, I accepted her offer and we kissed. I aimed for her cheek but she turned and planted her lips over mine, pressing momentarily before releasing with a laugh.

´James,´ she said, breathlessly, ´I do like you. You know that, don´t you?´

´Yes,´ I said. ´I feel it too.´

She held my hand under the table, sometimes brushing a little finger up against my crotch. My penis was alert to her and I pressed it onto her hand momentarily. She responded, opening her hand to take it over my trousers. Rubbing slowly and thoroughly, I guided her hand away and we kissed again.

´It looks like we have two sets of lovebirds,´ said Sofia, with Arturo smiling next to her as Paolo and Maria made out quietly in the corner.

Maria pulled me towards her. ´Do you want to come into Rome with me and Arturo?´