At hotels we stay in separate rooms. Miu seems very insistent on this. Only once, in Florence, when our reservation got messed up somehow,
did we end up having to share a room. It had twin beds, but just being able to sleep in the same
room with her made my heart leap. I caught a glimpse of her coming out of the bath with a towel wrapped around her, and of her changing her clothes. Naturally I pretended not to look and
read my book, but I did manage a peek. Miu has a
truly gorgeous figure. She wasn’t completely
nude, but wore some tiny underwear; still her body was enough to take my breath away. Very slim, tight buns, a thoroughly attractive woman. I
wish you could have seen it—though it’s a little weird for me to say that.
I imagined being held by that lithe, slim body. All sorts of obscene images came to mind of us as
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I lay in bed in the same room with her, and I felt
these thoughts gradually pushing me to some
other place. I think I got a little too worked up—
my period started that same night, way ahead of
schedule. What a pain
Last night we attended a concert in Rome. I
wasn’t expecting much, it being the off-season, but we managed to enjoy an incredible
performance. Martha Argerich playing Liszt’s
Piano Concerto No. 1. I adore that piece. The conductor was Giuseppe Sinopoli. What a
performance! Can’t get bored when you listen to that kind of music—it was absolutely the most expansive, fantastic music I’ve ever heard. Come to think of it, maybe it was a bit too perfect for my taste. Liszt needs to be a bit slippery, and furtive—like music at a village festival. Take out the difficult parts and let me feel the thrill—that’s what I like. Miu and I agreed on this point. There’s a Vivaldi festival in Venice, and we’re talking about going. Like when you and I talk about literature, Miu and I can talk about music till the cows come home.
This letter’s getting pretty long, isn’t it? It’s like once I take hold of a pen and start to write I can’t stop halfway. I’ve always been like that. They say
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well brought up girls don’t overstay their
welcome, but when it comes to writing (maybe
not just writing?) my manners are hopeless. The waiter, with his white jacket, sometimes looks over at me with this disgusted look on his face. But even my hand gets tired, I’ll admit. Besides, I’ve run out of paper.
Miu is out visiting an old friend in Rome, and I wandered the streets near the hotel, then decided
to take a break in this cafe I came across, and here I am busily writing away to you. Like I’m on a desert island and I’m sending out a message in a
bottle. Strange thing is, when I’m not with Miu I
don’t feel like going anywhere. I’ve come all this
way to Rome (and most likely won’t come back again), but I just can’t rouse myself to get up and
see those ruins—what do they call those?—or
those famous fountains. Or even to go shopping.
It’s enough just to sit here in a cafe, sniff the smell of the city, like a dog might, listen to voices and sounds, and gaze at the faces of the people
passing by.
And suddenly I just got the feeling, while
writing this letter to you, that what I described in the beginning—the strange sense of being
disassembled—is starting to fade. It doesn’t
bother me so much now. It’s like the way I feel when I’ve called you up in the middle of the night
and just finished the call and stepped out of the phone box. Maybe you have that kind of effect on
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me?
What do you think? At any rate, please pray for
my happiness and good fortune. I need your
prayers.
Bye for now.
P.S. I’ll probably be back home around the 15th of
August. Then we can have dinner together — I promise! — before the summer’s over.
*
Five days later a second letter came, posted from some obscure French village. A shorter letter than the first one. Miu and Sumire had left their rental car in Rome and taken a train to Venice. There they listened to two full days of Vivaldi. Most of the concerts were held at the church where Vivaldi had served as a priest. “If I don’t hear any more Vivaldi for six months that’s fine by me,” wrote Sumire. Her descriptions of how delicious the paper-wrapped grilled seafood was in Venice were so realistic it made me want to dash off to Venice to try some for myself.
