Turning for a moment, Stella withdrew the small square wodge of paper from the rear pocket of her jeans, and unfolded it. Gazing down at it in her trembling hands, she took a deep breath before casting the paper out the window, allowing it to fall to its demise, turning over as it did to reveal Judith beheading Holofernes.
Staring down at him a final time, Stella gave Vincent her best vulgar Italian hand gesture then slammed the window shutters closed.
The crowd erupted with its greatest applause yet, and Vincent had no chance for rebuttal.
It was over.
Vincent pivoted on the spot in search of support, finding only a frustrated-looking police officer walking towards him.
‘Good!’ he cheered. ‘Officer, these women—’ he started, but was cut off by the officer’s unappreciative glare.
The officer took one look at the mess and could surmise what had taken place. He shook his head, indicated that the mess had to be cleared, then turned to continue on his way.
‘But, this can’t be legal!’
The officer sighed. ‘’Sti cazzi. . .’ With a nonchalant wave to indicate that his interest in the matter was non-existent, he shrugged off Vincent’s concerns.
It was clear that no one would help Vincent.
Not the people of Trastevere.
Not the law.
And least of all, Roma.
‘Sicura?’ Marcella asked for the third time, zipping up her leather jacket.
‘Yes. Now go have fun. I’ll be fine.’
‘Buon anno. Call if you need anything,’ Carlotta pressed, giving Stella a giant reassuring hug.
Stella waved them down the stairs, relieved that they hadn’t fought her pleas to head out and enjoy the evening.
Locking the door behind them, she sighed, feeling the weight of the evening’s events release from her chest. Turning off the lights, she made her way to the very same window where she had stood earlier that evening, defiant and strong. Opening the shutters wide, she found comfort in the refreshing night air which brushed past her cheeks and tousled her hair. As if breathing it in for the first time, Stella felt reborn.
Little remained where Vincent had been publicly evicted on Via di San Calisto. She didn’t know where Vincent had gone, nor did she care. The crowd had long since dispersed and the foot traffic had once again found its natural rhythm, beating its way down to the piazza. The usual neighbourhood soundtrack, marked by the chatter among locals, passing scooters and the sound of cutlery clinking on plates, had returned. At random intervals, the shrill excitement of firecrackers exploding could be heard, rattling between the narrow streets of Trastevere.
Stella sank into the window frame, allowing the relief she felt to wash over her. Memories of Andrew and the night spent on the hallway floor cruised past her mind’s eye, not stopping to release their usual rush of adrenaline and fear. As too did the thought of Vincent’s betrayal.
Where the old Stella might have broken down and wept, the new Stella breathed through the memories. She felt nothing but pity for them both, for their lack of empathy and selfish actions. She was free. Smiling to herself she acknowledged how far she had come, once again regaining control of her life and heart, with a little help along the way.
Gazing up at the starry night sky, the sight of the full moon emerging from behind a wisp of cloud startled her, watching over her quietly and steadfast.
Stella suddenly longed for company. For the slightest of moments, she considered calling the girls to see if she could join them. Glancing back over her shoulder into the empty apartment, she spotted her new satchel hanging off the back of one of the dining chairs. Its ornate star clasp twinkled under the kiss of the moonlight beaming through the open window.
Gathering her things, Stella left the apartment as quickly as her legs would carry her.
Thelunawas calling her name, and she was finally ready to listen.
trentotto
Stella stood shivering at thecitofono, scanning the ornate letters in search of the right name.
She rang the buzzer and waited. Passers-by on the street wished herbuon anno, though she was feeling far from it. In the distance, she could hear the laughter of children, carried on the wind from neighbouring buildings.
A reply came through the intercom. ‘Sì?’
‘It’s Stella.’ She was cold and exhausted, hugging her coat collar tightly around her neck and shoulders.
