Can You Have Silverside Rare?

Cagliari




Pierfranco runs to the railing and back again, he stretched out his arms in the air and calls something in Italian, then he tried to put me a peach in the mouth. "They're good," he says, "these are mine." He gives me the peach, I rub the dirt from under the table quietly at my skirt. He watched me while I bite into it, nodded to me, as I begin to chew. I smile with your mouth full and I'm stupid in front of it.
As if him seeing me suddenly something occurred to Pierfranco runs from the roof terrace to the kitchen. Shortly thereafter, it comes with a carafe of iced coffee and two shot glasses back. "Drink," he says, "so you get good coffee anywhere." After he has poured himself, he runs back inside, gets cool lemonade and cookies. Finally, he sits across from me. His legs twitch under the table. "A Paradise, right? "He points to the plants on the railing, the sofa pillows on the wall, the basket lying on the floor. He points to the growing timber, which are only a bed, a table and a fan. "Up here you have complete privacy," he says. I sweat runs down the back, arms and face. For two hours I am looking for a room. "Tomorrow is the Pope," repeated the landlord, and looked at me in her half-open front doors as if I was disturbed.
Pierfranco however derogatory whistles through his teeth when I look down the street, which is closed today for vehicles. "This all the excitement, "he says," for an old codger. "His rooms are up to the sultry shack on the roof terrace fully booked anyway. He beckons me into the living room. Before a world map he stops and taps his index finger on red flags. "I've been everywhere, Iceland, America, Russia. In Germany I was in Berlin before the Wall fell. "He asks me where I come from exactly. I type on a tiny spot just ahead of Denmark. He pulls up the eyebrows. "From an island?" I nod. Hastily he bends down, pulls open a drawer, pulls out a red flag and stick it in the middle of the Baltic Sea. I look at him. "And," he asks, "how is it for?" "flat," I reply, "and usually cold." "Good." He runs slowly over the flags. "What is this island?" I grab a support from my backpack, leaning against the wall and pull it over my shoulder. While I put my other arm through the strap, he lifts his head in amazement.