One of A Thousand Roads to Rome

One of A Thousand Roads to Rome (English Version)

It is just one of a thousand roads to Rome. Previously, I had spent years of my life walking down the other roads as well. All this time, I have always felt thirsty of real romance stories. My soul is always hungry for proof that beautiful love does not exist in mere fairy tales. For years I spent my life walking down all the roads, just for the sake of a beautiful love story, but my soul continued to feel hungry and thirsty for all of it.

Until I finally arrived here, in a small alley that was quite clean. That day, a young woman came out of her house, carrying a large basket with great difficulty, to dry her clothes under the sun in front of the house.

The woman turned her head to me, without a smile, and I felt her dark eyes staring right through me. I felt stripped by her gaze, even she wasn’t actually doing anything that could be categorized as disturbing.

I didn’t meet the woman again the next day, even though I decided to stay at the inn opposite of her house. I spent my time sitting on the terrace of the inn, either just reading a magazine or drinking coffee. But she didn’t appear.

Until that evening, I saw her coming home from nowhere. Not alone, but with a man. They were reading a motorbike that was a bit worn out, and there was a scarf tied around their waist. When I looked more closely, it turned out that the brown-haired woman was asleep with her head resting on the man’s back. Only then did I understand that the scarf was used to tie her up so she wouldn’t fall when she fall asleep on the way.

The next afternoon, I sat back on the terrace of the inn, with another cup of coffee. I was alone, until finally a cotton candy seller entered this small alley, and asked for permission to rest in another empty chair. I just let him sat there, without suspecting anything wrong with the seller.

“I’ve never met children here,” I said to clear up the awkwardness between the cotton candy seller and me.

“I don’t expect buyers from the children age group here.” The cotton candy seller smiled at me.

“Adults do not eat cotton candy,” I responded, “at least that’s what I know.”

“Mrs. Presenza likes cotton candy.”

That’s how I found out that the woman who had been sharing cold glances with me was actually named Presenza. Even without being told, I knew that was her surname. I guess, that’s the surname she got from her husband—the man from the other day.

Mrs. Presenza came out of her house with a cheerful smile, bought cotton candy as expected by the seller, and Mr. Presenza followed her to pay.

I remember correctly, at that time my eyes met Mr. Presenza’s, and his gaze was much sharper than his wife’s. I averted my gaze immediately, because I wasn’t used to getting that kind of stare.

However, not long after, I found myself looking back at the Presenza couple. I could see clearly that Mr. Presenza’s eyes towards his wife were full of affection, but clouded by something I couldn’t understand. Meanwhile, Mrs. Presenza’s eyes towards her husband tended to be warmer, with a childish gleam that I never seen in the eyes of any adult woman before.

Day after day passed, I spent those days just looking into the eyes of Mr. And Mrs. Presenza. They were two strange souls that I tried to understand, somehow. All I know is that my thirst slowly vanished after seeing how Mr. Presenza looked at his wife, and my hunger slowly vanished after seeing the way Mrs. Presenza looked at her husband. They were two people with different energies, but they were together.

I really wanted to say that Mr. Presenza didn’t really love his wife, because his gaze was always wandering somewhere. I would also like to say that Mrs. Presenza didn’t really love her husband, because it was clear that she loves herself above all else. However, all my responses collapsed when I saw, again and again, how Mr. Presenza always gave his wife the most trivial little things she wanted, and how Mrs. Presenza was willing to suffer on the journey just to follow where her husband went.

I think, compared to me, the scarf and the cotton candy were probably knowing more about their story so far.

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Ema Loka, 2023.