Slowing down on her approach, Stella’s heart swelled. Despite the fact that it did often frustrate her – namely when traffic, deadlines and anything remotely bureaucratic was at hand – she couldn’t help falling in love with Rome over and over again.
Pulling up at the majestic marble façade of the Colosseum, her legs felt like jelly. Wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, she leaned back against its cold stone exterior, throwing her weight into its grasp. It felt solid and comforting behind her, while her heart continued to thump and pump within her chest. She pressed a hand to her sternum, right over the ‘SPQR’ applique on her jersey, and it felt as if Rome were living within her.
Twocarabinieritasked with the job of patrolling the area gave her a nod of acknowledgement; they were always here at this time on a Sunday. Stella saw them every weekend without fail. Walking closely, they continued their stroll, casually disengaged from the immense icon they were there to protect.
Finding strength and force in her legs, she continued through the city. Taking a left off Via del Corso, she wound her way through the back streets to the Campo de’ Fiori. Being a Sunday, the piazza, devoid of the hustle and bustle of market life, seemed somewhat lonely.
The lucid grey of the cobblestones glistened under the spray of drizzle which had now settled over the city. Stella slowed to a jog, then eventually a walk. She dropped to the ground, taking a second to tighten her shoelaces. She could feel her heart beating against her thighs, gradually slowing with each passing laboured breath.
Righting herself and now facing the centre of the piazza, Stella eyed the ominous-looking statue of Giordano Bruno. The dark hooded figure seemed to stare through her. There was something about the intensity of his eyes that made her feel as if he were ready to step off his perch and confront her.
So taken by the statue, she glanced over both shoulders, wondering if anyone else could see the way he glared at her. Stellaknewhis gaze was directed towards the Vatican, and those who had burned him at the stake centuries before. On this morning, however, it was Stella who Giordano challenged: accusatory pose, head lowered and arms confidently folded across his middle.
Convinced Giordano could read the insecurity and anxiety which had resurfaced in her overnight, Stella bolted from thecampo, burying it all in the small corner of her heart where she hid all her worries from the world.
quattordici
‘So, I’ve thought long and hard about it, and this is what I’ve come up with. Tell me what you think.’
Marco was Stella’s captive audience, completely engrossed by her passion and energy that Thursday afternoon. ‘Ok, tell me, but I am sure it will befantastico.’ He stood beside her, staring at the wall which had been patched and painted in the same navy as the rest of Bar Luna e Lupa’s walls.
‘Before I could even begin to think about what I would include in the mural – you know, the icons and attractions and things – I had to first decide on the overall composition, how I would put it all together. Well, initially I thought of a sort of bird’s eye view of Rome, dotted with all the icons, scattered here and there, with a kind of trail or path linking them all.’ She moved closer to the wall, gesturing width-ways across the space to show the direction of her idea. ‘However, I think it would limit me to quite bold, defined lines and, as you know, that kind of painting is not my forte.’
‘Of course.’
Taking a deep breath, she continued, ‘I’ve decided on something a little different. Something that works to my strengths, but also pushes me a little out of my comfort zone.’ She poked around in her satchel, withdrawing her sketchbook. She flipped through the used pages, finally arriving at the one she was looking for. ‘Here.’ She passed it to Marco who, immediately upon setting eyes on it, gushed with admiration.
‘Ma,no! It is too beautiful for our little bar! This cannot go here in Bar Luna e Lupa! It deserves to be in theCappella Sistina, or theVaticano.’
‘Ma che, stamo a scherza’?’
Marco laughed at her choice of Roman dialect, delivered with an incredulous and exaggerated wave of the hands. ‘Sul serio!’ he pressed.
‘Stop it. But I’m glad you like it.’
Stella’s design, although a simple sketch, was clear enough and well-considered enough that Marco could picture it perfectly. It was spread horizontally, making the most of the entire width of the wall across the bar. With approximately three metres of length and a metre of height, Stella’s design would become the bar’s most striking feature.
‘Now, see here?’ She gestured to the sketch in Marco’s hands. ‘My idea is to line up all the icons of Rome. I’m thinking the Vatican, the Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps . . . oh, and the Forum, the Campidoglio, Castel Sant’Angelo, you get the idea. All to scale against each other, of course. A sort of who’s who line-up of Roma. And here, at the very end of the line, sitting under the big old full moon, is Bar Luna e Lupa.’
And there it sat, timid and shy, tucked meekly next to the grandiose icons of Rome. She had sketched it freestanding, without the adjoining buildings and upper floors. Just the bar’s entrance and windows, all by itself.
‘But, what is this?’ Marco pointed to something scribbled above the door to the bar. Given the roughness of her sketch, Stella hadn’t worried so much about clarity in the finer details, so naturally it was hard to make out.
‘That’s the sign above the door.Bar Luna e Lupa.’
He squinted again, looking more closely. ‘It’s . . .storto. How do you say it in English?’
‘Crooked?’ she said.
‘Eh? My sign isn’t crooked. I fixed it myself.’
‘Oh, I know that. The men installing the sign caught my attention that morning when I first noticed the bar. And, funnily enough, I noticed that they installed it crooked. That little detail has stayed with me.’
‘Allora,’ he patted her on the shoulder, ‘crooked it will be. I love it.’
‘Great! The night sky will blend into the navy you have already used throughout the rest of the bar. It will look like a floating mural that just melts into the background.’ She cheekily held up a thick, grey lead pencil, eyebrow raised inquisitively. ‘So, can I begin?’
‘Sì,sì!’ He hugged Stella, trusting her skill and talent. ‘Come every day. Stay as long as you need. Have lunch with us. Whatever you like, it’s yours.’
