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Charles B. Spiteri

Jingħad li dan it-tip ta’ kafè mibjugħ fil-ħanut Starbucks, hu l-aktar wieħed li jiswa flus. Fih 60 espresso shots u jiswa €41.20.

Is-Sexagintuple Vanilla Bean Mocha Frappuccino, li fih 128 uqija, kien ordnat fi Starbucks, Texas u aktarx li hu meqjus mill-kumpanija bħala li jżomm it-titlu tal-aktar xarba għolja li qatt kellhom għall-bejgħ.

Ix-xarba nxtrat minn klijent magħruf biss bħala Andrew, li qiegħed ir-ritratt tiegħu fuq Twitter, bit-tazza ġganteska bil-kafè u l-irċevuta li ħallas għalih.

Iżda minkejja li l-Frappuccino jiswa aktar minn €41.2, Andrew ma ħallas xejn għalih, peress li hu gold member, fil-programm ta’ lealtà lejn Starbucks.

Il-programm jippermetti lill-gold members jieħdu xarba bla ħlas ma’ kull 12 li jixtru, u dak li jieħdu jista’ jkun għoli kemm iridu.

Għalhekk seta’ jieħu kafè kbir kemm ried, u peress li kien jaf li ma kellhomx kikkra kbira biżżejjed, hu ħa miegħu wkoll it-tazza tiegħu fil-ħanut.

Din ix-xarba qabżet dik tas-sena l-oħra, li tqieset bħala rekord, fejn raġel xtara 48-shot Frappuccino, li sewa €34.43

It was the evening of the 10th of June of the year 2013. Just a week before my 77th birthday. I felt tired, maybe because of the heat of the day or because of the long walk I had just made along the new Dock No 1 waterfront.  Or maybe it was my old age. Whatever it was, I felt weary and needed a rest. Immediately I entered home, I collapsed on the armchair. My heavy eyes soon closed and I was in the marvelous world of dreams …………….

…………….. I opened the gate of the garden, stepped slowly inside and found myself in a large open space which appeared to be a beehive of activity. On close scrutiny, I recognized it to be the large square outside old city gate in Valletta. The old three-arched gate stood behind me. 

I moved forward. There were too many people moving about, some entering the City, others going out of it. The bus terminus was busy with the old different-coloured buses transferring people to and from the outlaying towns and villages. I noted that the people close to me wore old fashioned clothes and, despite it being summer, none of them wore T-shirts or the kind of clothes we usually wear at this time of the year. Most men wore light white straw hats or caps and the majority of women wore black drab clothes. What is this?

I also saw several horse-drawn ‘karrozzini’, all doing a roaring trade, filled up with people going towards Floriana and beyond. It was evident that these were not tourists but Maltese going about their daily business. On my right I saw a man in the corner selling newspapers. I went up to him and bought a copy of the ‘Times of Malta’. I scanned the front page briefly. There was news that the luxury ship ‘Queen Mary’ had made its maiden voyage and had arrived in New York on 1 June and that Italy had annexed Etiophia after its forces had occupied its capital Addis Ababa.  I also noticed that the style of its presentation was different to the one I am used to. And, more strangely, the news stories were definitely not about the subjects I was reading about yesterday or the days before. Then, at the top right hand side of the paper, I saw the date – 10th June 1936! What is this? 

My mind was in a whirl. As I looked around me I was thinking of what this might be. The only explanation I could find was that when I had opened the magic garden gate I must have been transported 77 years back in time. Amazing! I had read about ‘Star Gate’, the ‘Time Machine’, ‘black holes’ in space, time travelers and time warps. I was always intrigued by the scientist’s theory that if one were to travel at a speed exceeding that of light, then one would travel back or forward in time. Was this what had happened to me? Was the garden gate my ‘Star Gate?

At least I was at a place I knew well but at a time when my birth was one week away! I racked my brain to decide what to do in such strange circumstances. I recalled my mother saying that she and my father lived in Strada Buongiorno in Bormla during their early years of marriage. They would be the only people I know, even though they would not know me. Well, not yet! Not for another week at least! I decided to go and find them. 

I took a green bus to Bormla. The city was familiar to me although very different from the Bormla I left only a few hours ago. Of course, this area around the dockyard was still in its pre-war state, of which I had only a bare recollection.  I sought Strada Buongiorno, took the steps upward to No 15 and saw my parent’s house. I remember this house after it was reconstructed following its destruction by German bombs during the Second World War. What shall I do? What shall I say? These were the only people who could help me, maybe let me stay with them until I sort things out. But who shall I say I am?  If I tell the truth they would certainly not believe me. And I would not blame them. 

I used to have a very good rapport with my father.  I would bare my soul to him, tell him the truth. I knew that he was well-read so maybe he could have come across some science–fiction article on time travelling. The problem was that I was 77 years old and he was just 29! My story would be hard to believe. I thought, however, that I could convince him of who I really was.

The door was open but the ‘ante-porta’ was closed. With trepidation I knocked and waited. Nobody answered. I knocked again a little harder. A young woman came and opened the ‘ante-porta’. She must be my mother! She looked at me, an old man, dressed somewhat different from normal. “What do you want?” she asked me in a gentle sort of way. Of course she did not recognize me. How could she? I did not exist yet! But I was sure that she was my mother. I recognized her from the old photos I have of her in my album. “Is Guzeppi in please? I am his friend and would like to speak to him.”  I enquired.

She went inside and called my father who came immediately. “Hello”, he said, “who are you?” “Can we talk privately for moment please?” I pleaded hoping that he would not refuse me.  I remember that my father was always a kind and gentle man, ready to help anybody who needed his assistance. Even many years after his death in 1961, people who realized that I was his son, would recall incidents when he had helped them in one way or another. They had spoken so highly of him that I felt so proud to be his son. 

“Yes, yes, come in.” he said. We sat down on the armchairs in the sitting room. I remember that he himself had made all the furniture in the house. Although in actual fact I was his son, to anybody who could see us then, it looked more that I was his father or grandfather! “I have to recount a story which, I know, is so strange that it is hard for you to believe. But I pray that you believe me because I am saying the truth.” I said anxiously. 

He looked at me, smiled as he often used to do, patted me on my knee and said. “I’m listening, I’m curious after what you have just said”, he replied. There, in the house I recall so well, I opened my heart to my father, telling him that, despite my aged appearance, I was actually his own son; that through some unexplained method of time-travelling I have been transported from the year 2013 to 1936; that in actual fact at that very moment in time I was not yet born!

My mother came into the room to see if we needed anything. A two-year old child, a boy, was with her. He must be my elder brother John I realized. I also noticed that she was pregnant. That must be me inside her, just another week before I am born and enter this world. Dad told her that it’s all right, we do not need anything and she left us again to be alone. “It’s so far- fetched, so unbelievable” he said. “But strange things happen and I believe your story”, he continued. 

I was relieved at last. My father had accepted me as his son. He believed me. But, he said, that it would be best if we do not tell this strange story to my mother. For one thing, it would be difficult for her to believe the story. And for another thing, it would be a shock for her which would not be advisable in her present state of very-advanced pregnancy. 

Dad accepted to accommodate me with the family for the time being. I was delighted and relieved. After a week, when Mum was ready to give birth, the midwife was called. I sat with my father and brother downstairs in the outer room while the midwife was assisting my mother to give birth. My father looked at me and smiled. It is a strange feeling. My father, still in his prime of life and I am an old man. 

Then we heard a baby crying and the midwife telling father that he has another baby boy. My father and I looked at each other. I got up, shook hands with him and said, “I have just been born, there cannot be two of me at the same time, now I have to leave and find the gate which will take me back to 2013.” Dad and I had tears in our eyes as we hugged each other. “Take care son” he said “take care!” Then he darted upstairs to my mother’s room where my birth had just taken place. 

………………………….. Then I woke up from my sleep, rubbed my eyes with my back hand and looked around me. I was back to where I had started before the adventure into the past where I had met my father, mother and brother. And where I just nearly met myself!

LABRÈ   Skont l-għajdut tal-folklor Malti, San Benedittu Ġużeppi Labrè kien żar Malta u Għawdex. Skont it-tradizzjoni, matul din il-miġja l-qaddis kien żar is-Santwarju tal-Kunċizzjoni ta’ Bormla u dak tal-Mellieħa, u kien jitlob fuq it-taraġ ta’ San Ġakbu, fi Triq il-Merkanti. F’Għawdex żar il-Kunċizzjoni tal-Qala, il-Matriċi ta’ Santa Marija (illum il-Katidral), is-Santwarju tal-Grazzja u l-Kapuċċini, u kien ukoll jitlob fuq iz-zuntier ta’ San Ġorġ, ir-Rabat. Fl-istess belt hemm kappella fi Triq Fortunato Mizzi, qrib fejn kien hemm il-Kamra tal-Lampa, li jgħidu li kien jorqod fiha. Hawn illum hemm statwa ta’ dan il-qaddis. Sors: Anton F. Attard. Ara aktar fil-ktieb Bejn Kliem u Storja.

PENTIMENT   Il-figura fantażma li tidher f’ċerti pitturi. Fil-pittura ta’ Santa Katerina, li hemm esebita fil-Mużew tal-Arti, il-Belt, il-pentiment li jidher hu marbut ma’ suġġett ta’ tema totalment differenti, li tittratta x’aktarx il-martirju ta’ San Pawl. Jidher għalhekk li l-istess tila li ntużat biex ikun impinġi dan il-qaddis reġgħet intużat biex issir ix-xena tal-martirju ta’ Santa Katerina ta’ Lixandra. Għaldaqstant dan mhux pentiment, għaliex biex ikun pentiment dan irid ikun ċaqliq tad-disinn tas-suġġett impinġi, hekk kif l-artist iħoss li għandu jbiddel il-pożizzjoni tal-figuri jew parti minnhom fuq it-tila. Eżempju ta’ pentiment fil-veru sens tal-kelma jidher fix-xogħol ta’ Guido Reni li hemm fl-istess mużew. Hawn jidher ċar li l-pittur ċaqlaq id-driegħ u l-minkeb ta’ Kristu. Mit-Taljan pentimento – bil-Malti dispjaċir (u għaldaqstant korrezzjoni).

LUĊERTU/LAĊERTU   Muskolu li jinżel mal-koxxa ta’ wara tal-barri jew baqra meta dan jinqatel u jitqatta’ għall-ikel. Biċċa laħam li tinqata’ għat-tisjir min-naħa tal-wirk (il-ġenb warrani) tal-istess annimal. Bħala laħam din mhix l-ifjen parti biex tittiekel, anzi hi kkunsidrata bħala ta’ kwalità inferjuri, għax meta tissajjar din tibqa’ pjuttost xierfa biex tikolha. Minkejja dan, bosta jordnawha bil-ħsieb li jitfgħuha fil-borma ħalli tagħti togħma ’l-brodu, u hekk, xħin iddub bit-togħlija, tittiekel f’biċċiet żgħar. Il-luċertu jista’ jissajjar ukoll f’dixx fil-forn b’ħafna meraq. Mit-Taljan lacerto. Bl-Ingliż salmon cut of silverside jew rump roast.

Li timxi fuq bankina u tara l-indafa u li t-toroq ikunu xummiema tifraħ u togħxa u tedha li jirbaħ il-qies. Hekk għandu jkun.

Imma tiltaqa’ ma’ persuni li huma mġienen fuq l-indafa u l-indafa tiġi qabel in-nies. Waqt l-ikel iqumu qabel u jibdew inaddfu u jagħtuk l-impressjoni li iżjed ma tħaffef biex titlaq ikun aħjar.

Ma jkunux nies li tista’ tidħol fil-fond tal-ħbiberija u tħoss li jibqgħu dejjem fil-qoxra tal-ħajja. Iebsa li jkollok persuna li tkun hekk għax tbati u s-suġġett ikun bla ħniena: ħasil, toroq, ħwejjeġ, kċina. Dawn għandhom ikunu, imma mhux il-ħin kollu, għax il-bniedem jibda jħossu waħdu u jibda jaqta’ u jfittex band’oħra. Dan jgħodd kemm għan-nisa kif ukoll għall-irġiel.

Jekk tista’ u tintebaħ li int ixxaqleb lejn indafa żejda, ħu ħsieb u rranġa, għax ma tkunx qed tagħmel il-ġid, la lilek u l-anqas l-oħrajn. 

Omm li ma tatx wisq kas ta’ girfa ta’ qattus, spiċċat tissielet għal ħajjitha minħabba infezzjoni f’demmha.

Lesley Pleasant ta’ 57 sena kellha tqatta’ ġimgħa l-isptar b’IV drip u kważi kważi kienet se tonqos milli tattendi għat-tieġ ta’ bintha.

L-inċident ġara ftit ilu meta l-għalliema tat-taħriġ fiżiku qatgħetha li tnaddaf lil Oscar, il-qattus ta’ bintha, billi ddaħħlu bil-banju u taħslu biex teqridlu xi briegħed.

Imbeżża’, il-qattus deffes duffrejh fin-naħa ta’ ġewwa tal-minkeb ta’ Lesley u qatgħalha arterja. Bintha Alisha, ħadet 30 sekonda biex ħarġet id-dwiefer ta’ Oscar minn ma’ id ommha. Hi qalet li ħasset l-uġigħ, iżda kompliet bil-faċendi tagħha u ma baqgħetx taħseb aktar fl-inċident.

Fis-2.00 a.m. qamet bid-deni u idha bdiet tħossha tħabbat. Kellha uġigħ qawwi fiha u ntefħitilha daqs bużżieqa. Il-biża’ tagħha żdied, għax qajla setgħet tiċċaqlaq u ħadet il-pilloli kontra l-uġigħ.

L-għada filgħodu, ħabib tal-familja ħadha fl-isptar tal-lokal, f’Shepton Mallot, fejn intqalilha li kellha bżonn tmur fl-isptar akbar ta’ Bath.

It-Tabib Suranjith Seneviratne, immunolgu fir-Royal Free Hospital ta’ Londra qal li kull girfa, żgħira kemm tkun żgħira, trid tingħata l-attenzjoni mistħoqqa. Girfa infettata, ġeneralment tibda bi ħmura. Imbagħad tinfetta ruħha u wara għaxart ijiem tintefaħ. Hawn il-persuna jitlgħalha d-deni, tibda tgħejja, jaqbduha l-uġigħat tar-ras u f’xi każi jonqsilha l-aptit.

It-Tabib Seneviratne żied li girfa tista’ tidher bħala li qed tfiq, iżda l-batterja taf tkun ivvjaġġat għal xi parti oħra tal-ġisem, fejn timmultiplika u tinqasam.

Kif iddaħħlet l-isptar, Lesley tqiegħdet fuq id-drip u t-tobba bdewlha wkoll il-morfina għall-uġigħ li bdiet tħoss. Wara sitt ijiem fl-isptar, Lesley stqarret li għamlet biċċa xogħol għaqlija li marret malajr l-isptar, għalkemm ma tafx għaliex Oscar beża’ daqshekk mill-banju, għax din ma kinitx l-ewwel darba għalih.

PURFUMATUR/PROFUMATUR   Dak il-bniedem li jiddiżinfetta l-oġġetti jew lin-nies kontra l-mard li jittieħed. Agius de Soldanis jgħid li l-pesta tal-1675-76 kienet eliminata għalkollox meta kienu ġew numru ta’ profumaturi minn Marsilja u ddiżinfettaw id-djar, il-ħwejjeġ u n-nies. Sors: Gozo – Ancient and Modern Religious and Profane, p. 148.

Charles B. Spiteri

Paulo u Felipe Lizama miċ-Ċile huma aħwa, tewmin u saċerdoti. Lil ommhom kien intqalilha biex tabortixxi, iżda rrifjutat. Meta kienet tqila, it-tabib tagħha qalilha li kellha tarbija waħda, iżda b’diformitajiet. Minflok, twieldu żewġ subien, u ssostni li kien imnalla li dakinhar kienet wieġbet: “Naċċetta kulma jibgħatli Alla.”

L-aħwa tewmin jgħidu li d-determinazzjoni ta’ ommhom li tipproteġihom mill-parir tat-tobba biex tabortihom, għenithom fil-vokazzjoni tagħhom għas-saċerdozju. “Kif nista’ ma niddefendix lil Alla tal-ħajja?” qal Fr. Paulo Lizama. “Din il-ġrajja saħħitli l-vokazzjoni tiegħi u tatni vitalità speċifika u b’hekk kont kapaċi nagħti lili nnifsi għal dak li nemmen fih.”

Fr. Paulo u ħuh tewmi identiku, Fr. Felipe, twieldu fl-1984, fil-belt Ċilena ta’ Lagunillas de Casablanca. Qabel ma sabet li kienet tqila, ommhom Rosa Silva, esponiet ruħha għal xi x-rays waqt ħidmietha bħala paramedika. Konsegwentement, wara li kkonfermalha t-tqala, it-tabib tagħha ordnalha l-ultrasounds u infurmaha li kien ra ‘xi ħaġa stramba’ fir-ritratti.

Qalilha: “it-tarbija għandha tliet idejn u saqajha huma marbutin f’xulxin. Barra minn hekk għandha żewġt irjus.” Għalkemm għal raġunijiet terapewtiċi, dak iż-żmien, l-abort kien legali fiċ-Ċile u t-tobba qalulha li ħajjitha kienet fil-periklu, Rosa opponiet l-idea tagħhom u riedet tkompli bit-tqala.

Fr Felipe qal: “Alla għamel ħidmietu u pproduċa tewmin. Ma nafx jekk it-tobba kinux imqarrqa, jew x’seta’ ġara.” Min-naħa tiegħu Fr. Paolo żied “Dejjem naħseb b’imħabba speċjali, f’qalb ommi, li kienet lesta tagħti ħajjitha għalina.”

It-tewmin twieldu fl-10 ta’ Settembru, tal-1984. L-ewwel ma twieled Felipe u wara 17-il minuta twieled Paolo. Huma saru jafu fuq iċ-ċirkustanzi ta’ twelidhom meta kienu fis-sitt sena tas-seminarju.

Huma tal-fehma li kien l-għerf ta’ ommhom u qalbha li ppermettitilhom isiru jafu dwar twelidhom fiż-żmien adatt, għax aktar jemmnu li Alla ma kienx qed jaħdem fuqhom minn meta bdew il-vokazzjoni tas-saċerdozju, iżda sa minn qabel ma twieldu.

Jeff was my boyfriend for the last three years. Well, something more than my boyfriend really. I had never expected myself to fall in love with a bank clerk. Not that there is anything wrong with bank clerks. It was that I’d never imagined a bank clerk would be exciting enough for me. 

Just two weeks ago he had asked me to marry him. He caught me by surprise. We were having coffee at Cafe Cordina in Republic Street one fine Sunday morning. “Why do you want to marry me?” I asked him, still shocked with surprise. “Because I want to share my life with you, that’s why”, he replied as if it was something to be expected. 

That is not enough reason for marriage, I thought. It was a reply which did not excite me. Did Jeff want to get married because, after three years together, it was the next thing to do? Why did he not tell me, “Because I love you!” Where is the romance? Where is love? Maybe I was reading too many love stories lately. 

“I have to think about it”, I said. “It’s a proposal of marriage” replied Jeff, looking flustered and upset. But I could not reply immediately. I knew that Jeff loved me very much, that he would do anything for me, that we would have a good stable life together. But ………………..     Even as I sipped my coffee, my mind went back to Riccardo whom I had met during my holiday in Rome a year ago. He was exciting, romantic and full of compliments. He was so different from Jeff. It could be, I thought, because he was Italian. He used to sing and play the guitar in a popular restaurant in Trastevere, where all the young people seemed to gather in the evenings. 

“Give me time Jeff and I’ll give you an answer,” I said while he took hold of my hand caressing my fingers. “I’ll be on holiday next week, booked with my friend Beth. We had always wanted to return to Rome,” I continued. “But I thought that we would go for a holiday together, you and I”, he replied looking confused and hurt. “OK. I’ll wait for you to come back and then we’ll talk again,” he said as he planted a kiss on my lips. 

Two days later Beth and I were in Rome. We took the airport bus to Stazione Termini and then walked the short distance to our hotel in Via Gioberti. The receptionist welcomed us with “Buongiorno signorine, welcome to Rome”. Beth nudged me with her elbow. “He is handsome, isn’t he?” she said in a low voice, so that the comment remained between us. For Beth every Italian is handsome and romantic, even if he is just ordinary.

After registration, we went to our room, settled our clothes and things in the wardrobe, rested a little bit, had a shower, dressed and then went out to see the city, which we had only last seen the previous year. As a multitude of church bells tolled, we said to each other –“Let’s see what has changed.”

Rome itself does not change. Each year trees blossom among the old palaces, the same clouds drift above the many church domes across the horizon, roses still grow in garden terraces below baroque palaces and the river ‘Tevere’ continues to flow slowly beneath the bridges as it did last year and hundreds of years ago. 

Only the people change. Ten million people every year come from all over the world to see its archeological and art treasures as well as to savor its charm and unique traditions. But the various hotels where they stay, the monuments, fountains, churches, museums and the other places which attract them to this beautiful city, remain unchanged.

During the morning we visited Piazza di Spagna, Fontana di Trevi, St. Peter’s Church, the Colosseum, Bocca della Verita, Foro Romano, Via del Corso and the other well-known landmarks. It was hectic but satisfying. No, there were no changes to note. Life seems to have gone on uninterrupted since we were last here.  But what about me? Have I changed?

In the evening we went to Piazza Santa Maria in Trastevere in search of Riccardo. “Would he still be there?” I said to Beth. She looked at me suspiciously “Of course he will be there; singing in restaurants is his career; I have no doubt that he will be there”. I had my doubts, of course, or maybe I was so eager to see him that I was afraid that he would not be there. 

“You’re in love” Beth remarked seeing the far-away look in my eyes.  “I don’t know”, I said, “I’m just wondering!” “It was only a holiday romance”. Beth replied, “Don’t count too much on  Riccardo”.

I had my fingers crossed as we approached the restaurant – ‘Taverna da Mario’ – in the heart of the piazza. As the musical notes of ‘O sole Mio’ wafted in the evening air, I knew, I definitely knew that Riccardo was there singing and playing his old guitar. 

Beth and I entered the restaurant and saw him. My heart jumped. His hair was a little longer, his skin a little browner, otherwise he was just as I remembered him. We sat at a table away from where he was entertaining. He had girls all around him, mostly young tourists, probably American and British. During the break from playing and singing to patrons, Riccardo chatted with the girls, put his sun-bronzed arms around their thin waists, kissed them jokingly and laughed. 

It was then that he saw us. He left everybody and came hurriedly towards us exclaiming – “Ah, the lovely girl from Malta. Where have you been all this time?” He was, as all Italians do, smiling broadly and gesticulating with his hands. And then he took me in his arms and kissed me passionately. 

“Come, come with me tonight” he said, “I’ll show you how beautiful Rome is at night!” When he finished singing, I left Beth chatting to some other Italian, jumped on Riccardo’s ‘motorino’ and we went away. He looked as if he wanted to break the speed record as he wove his way along the traffic on the roads. As we swooped down hills and around bends on the mountain side, I clung firmly on to his waist. 

It was exciting and romantic at the same time. From the top of Monte Mario we could see Rome beneath us, its main sites all lit up like various Christmas trees. It was an enchanting sight indeed. I was thoroughly enjoying myself and wanted the night to stand still. Before we separated, I gave Riccardo my hotel’s address and telephone number and he promised to call and collect me from the hotel so that we would enjoy my last few days in Rome together. Life with Riccardo would always be so exciting, so full of surprises, constantly on the move, late nights out. All that would suit my out-going character.

Beth was fast asleep when I entered our hotel room early in the morning. She was up and about when I woke up, as the clock struck mid-day. I recounted my adventure with Riccardo to her the night before and told her that he makes my heart skip a beat; that he told me several times that he loves me; that he had promised to call for me at the hotel, to continue our romantic interlude. Life with Riccardo would not only be romantic, but also a non-stop adventure.  Beth had to return to Malta that very evening. However I stayed a day longer, hoping that things would happen in the meantime. 

But during the whole of the next day, he did not phone or call. Maybe Beth was right after all. She had told me that this was all a holiday romance which lasts only a few days. Despite his vows of love, could it be that for him, I was just another foreign girl he liked to flirt with?

I was having breakfast on my last day in Rome when the receptionist came hurriedly up to me and said. “Signorina! Signorina! There’s a man asking for you in the lobby.” “There”, I said to myself in an anxious mood, “Riccardo has finally come for me.”

Excited, I followed the receptionist to the lobby downstairs. Then I saw him. He was standing there holding a rose in his hands. I felt all my misgivings simply melting away. One romantic gesture could make all the difference in winning a girl. When he saw me, he grinned. “Hi sweetheart. I love you!” he said. “I hope you don’t mind me joining you”. 

“Hello Jeff”, I replied, seeing him there with his luggage by his feet. “I don’t mind at all. As a matter of fact, I could do with some company!” Then he took me in his arms and kissed me with a passion I could not remember. Rome does not change, but I had changed, I thought, as I looked at the man I had spent three happy years with, the man who really loved me without uttering empty words, however romantic they may be.