It was a short walk to the pensione, not morethan a few blocks, and really it was getting late for her, she'd had such an exhausting day sightseeing and wanted to get some rest for the wedding, she didn't want to look swollen or tired on her son's wedding day, so she quietly excused herself, it was such a relief, the dinner had been so long, so many courses! and she'd found it so unpleasant, once her son had gone off with hisfriends, to sit there at the table with her ex-husband "discoursing" (he hadn't changed at all since the divorce and the wine made him worse) though the rest of the company including Meredith's future daughter-in-law seemed quite entertained, they found him charming, simpatico, and had actually urged him on while Meredith had sat listening to the high-pitched Italian pealing across the table, it was all just a babel of sounds to her, an excited chirping, fading now as she made her way across the plaza (the piazza, as everyone insisted she call it, though she couldn't fathom the foreign pronunciation) listening to her own footsteps on the cobblestones, so hard on her feet, she winced at every loose pebble underfoot and her legs and back were terribly sore, yet, thankfully, she sensed herself unwinding now that she was alone, she found some sense of relaxation in the very fact of her body's exhaustion, noticed how the muscles in her face ached from the effort of smiling all evening and was satisfied now to revert to her usual self, the self she lived with, alone, in an apartment away from the family house, the self she didn't bother checking in the mirror anymore before she went to sleep at night, her self, not the elderly guest of honor the others politely indulged, pampered, kissed (always twice, Meredith) and comforted, they were just being nice to her she knew but she felt somewhat ill-at-ease among all that nicety and relished now her solitary stroll, not exactly alone but among strangers, anonymous, a tourist walking the quaint, ancient sidestreets back to her hotel, yes she was glad that she had left them behind and struck out on her own, independent and free to do as she liked, she imagined herself on a little adventure, imagined carefully the secret tryst she was about to fulfill, soft words uttered in soft lamplight, a furtive squeezing of hands, she let the possibilities flit through her mind though it was all mere play and fantasy as she was well aware and was considering this very fact when she heard a loud noise close behind her, it was one of those Italian motor bikes all the young people ride here, apparently it was coming toward her, from behind, she was stepping out of the way when she felt the pulling, the young man on the back of the motorcycle - there were two, she perceived that clearly - grabbed her purse and yanked it out from under her arm, she'd been carrying it very carefully too, concealed, close to her body, she didn't want the others to think she was careless, for her son had made a point of warning her about this very thing, about how young hoodlums drive by on motorini to swipe your purse, and it was happening to her right now! but she held on, even when the strap snapped she managed to hold on, it had somehow become so important for her to hold on, somehow everything depended on it though there was really nothing of value in the purse, her son's happiness demanded that she hold on and she grabbed with all her strength, felt her arthritic knuckles straining with the effort, even as she was falling backwards, dragged some feet along the rough cobblestones...she thought it was all over when she felt a tugging at her collar, her neck, the strap had gotten caught and she was being strangled! - but no, the pressure was letting up, she heard a tearing of fabric and realized it was her blouse, the light cotton button-down blouse she'd bought especially for the hot Roman weather was being ripped off her body, the motorcycle was pulling away, she was on the ground, she still had her purse, she was okay, and it was only when the young Italian couple approached her and the man removed his jacket and placed it over her shoulders that she fully realized she was naked from the waist up, Sta male, voi? Was she American? It was such a shame, Quelli bastardi, Ci dispiace da morire, Chiamiamo la policia? and when she heard that familiar cognate visions of blue uniforms and siren lights and endless questions filled her mind, no she couldn't answer any questions now so she shook her head quickly and spoke in a voice so strange it startled her, Oh, no, the police, no, there is no need to call the police, my hotel is right over there, and indeed when she looked up she saw that she was not half a block from the entrance, there was the small yellow sign with the bumblebee insignia, the young couple insisted on accompanying her there, they kept asking if she was okay and she was fine, really, nothing to be alarmed about, just a few bruises and a broken purse strap, though as she walked, less steadily now, less confidently and dreamily, she became vaguely aware of an inner disturbance that had little or nothing or everything to do with the purse, she thought about the others gathered at the cafe not four blocks away, her ex-husband talking with her future daughter-in-law and with her own daughters and their husbands, and with all the new Italian relatives, there were so many of them she couldn't keep them straight, they all had four-syllable names full of rolling r's and called her Meredita, she pictured them all conversing together and laughing at some joke as she arrived at the pensione, she left it to the Italian couple to explain to the wide-eyed concierge what had happened while, ascending the stairs to her room, she tried to explain to herself what had happened, she didn't mean just now but lately in her life, in her private emotional life apart from the family, apart from her daughters who had married and moved away and now apart from her son, she entered her room and removed the last shreds of her blouse, she returned the jacket to the young man and said thank you and goodnight and returned to her room, she splashed her face and undressed, she turned out the lights, she stretched out on the bed without pulling down the covers, it was so quiet she could feel her own heart beating, how much longer would it beat she wondered, how many more plazas would she cross in her life, how many more cobblestones and dinners and glasses of wine, she closed her eyes, she heard some lone motorino laboring up a distant hill over by the colosseum, which she had visited earlier in the day, wandering among the corroded steps and shadows, so long ago it seemed another lifetime, she closed her eyes and saw the colosseum lit up by thousands of orange torches, she heard an ancient ardent crowd cheering an imminent death, she breathed a shallow breath, she raised her hands to her cheeks and cried, How could he do this to me, how could my own son do this to me? return to the contents