Саша Кая
I love her

1

My name is Franco. In early October 1997, I turned twenty-one and moved to Turin. I became a student. My father stopped sponsoring my races – despite the fact that, over the season, I had made it to the podium eight times. A bright future in motorsports seemed within reach… provided I could find reliable sponsors. But there were none. And then there was that unfortunate incident with my father’s car, which I had borrowed for a while.

In short, my parents decided I should dedicate the next three years to higher education. They also believed I needed what’s commonly called a school of life: to live on my own, manage a budget, and take care of daily life by myself.

They allocated enough money for a decent one-bedroom apartment in the city center – but I chose to spend it differently. I rented a room on the outskirts, and by saving that way, I secured a small reserve to keep me afloat for the time being. The room was in a new building, and my landlords – who were also my neighbors— had only moved in six months earlier, so they still knew what it felt like to be new to a place.

2

She is striking and beautiful. She seems flawless. From the very first moment I saw her, she became the most extraordinary woman I had ever laid eyes on—unlike anyone else in the world. Unlike any woman I had known since childhood. And no wonder – she’s a foreigner. “Who are the owners of the apartment?” you might ask.

She came from Russia; her family was originally from Saint Petersburg. Her name was Adelina. I could hardly hear any accent – she had been living in Italy for over five years.

How many evenings I spent watching that shimmer, watching her walk down the path toward the house, coming home from work. She’s beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t just about looks… What am I saying? Of course it was also about looks! I’m no poet, but I have to say something about her hair. It was black, and it fell in a gentle wave over her shoulders, catching the light with a bronze shimmer.

I didn’t know what her job was, nor what her husband did for a living. I didn’t ask and, at first, I wasn’t even curious. Adelina could’ve been a singer (there was a piano in their room) or an actress (she had such expressive features, and a dancer’s figure).

Though, truth be told, I never once saw that happen. I envied him—her husband. He could hold her in his arms and never let go. A boxer? Him? Not very tall, not muscular. I’d even say he looked soft. I wasn’t sure Adelina’s husband had ever set foot in a gym. I was much taller and broader than he was – I’m even a full two heads taller than my own parents. And him? Definitely not an athlete. He looked like your average office worker. He even wore glasses. The apartment was cozy – it was clear a woman with good taste had a hand in its arrangement.

Only the posters of boxers on the walls spoiled the overall impression. Framed autographs of famous athletes stood on the shelves, along with a few trophies…

Well, I never tested whether he was really a boxer or not. I didn’t know a more silent or serious person. Not rude – just far too unsmiling. I wouldn’t have dared tell him even the funniest joke: even if he liked it, he’d never show it – which would’ve hurt my feelings. And if he didn’t like it, or didn’t get it…

He was always in a suit and tie, never seen without one. And always clean-shaven to such a degree I found myself wondering whether a beard could even grow on that skin – smooth as a child’s. Maybe the only thing that man knew how to do was frown.

He wore a wedding ring on his left ring finger. He probably didn’t even like it; he seemed like the kind of man who despised all sorts of jewelry.

After two months of sharing space with him (more precisely – two months without exchanging a single word), I realized: people like him are the reason conflicts happen.

Others act behind their backs, against their will – and end up causing even bigger problems. Some try to argue openly, hoping to sway men like him – the unswayable. Noticing me come in, the poor thing didn’t know what to do with her hands and awkwardly attempted to rise from the couch. The couple never had guests over – from that, I concluded he had no friends. Only once, coming back from the store on a weekend, I found Adelina sitting on the couch with a friend. They were whispering. Adelina was wearing her usual leather jacket, while her friend was dressed in an elegant red dress. From what I gathered, her friend was a woman who, though no longer young (though I didn’t really get a good look), seemed terribly shy.

The woman came over a few more times, but I only found out about it from Adelina herself – when she was tidying up and collecting the things her friend had forgotten on the guest sofa: makeup, some piece of lingerie they had shown off to each other, jewelry… all sorts of silly stuff. So, not wanting to disturb them, I quickly put the groceries in the fridge and slipped into my room.

“Just gossip, that’s all. They’d do better to go study the moon. What’s on the far side of the moon, I wonder? I think Pink Floyd has a song about that,” said Adelina, waving dismissively at the newspaper, then toward the window. And outside, the moon really was shining bright.

Her husband sat in an armchair, pretending to read that very newspaper. She was speaking loudly, drying her hair with a blow-dryer. She was wearing a light robe.

Well, I had access to the shared living space without needing permission. He clearly didn’t like that – kept glancing at me sideways, as if he couldn’t move anything but his eyes. How did I end up there at that moment?

“Oh, Franco, you probably want to turn on the TV?” Adelina laughed suddenly, nodding in my direction. It was as if she saw only a child in me. But apparently, that put him at ease.

3

I came back a few days before the university classes began. During the Christmas holidays, my father suggested I stay home – apparently, my mother had influenced him. I replied that I’d think about it. That I’d think about it very seriously.

“Interesting thought. ”My neighbors were in a bad mood. Turned out, I’d missed something important. When I saw Adelina, I decided to kiss her like a friend, but she pushed me away. “We don’t kiss when we meet or say goodbye,” she reminded me, most likely referring to Russians. “How do you express friendliness?” “Well, it’s good enough if we don’t call each other names… Just kidding. We don’t open up to just anyone. We’re very selective, that’s why we seem serious.” “One affectionate look must mean a lot, then.”

“Sorry, it’s been a rough week for us.”For some reason, I immediately thought that her husband, a native Italian, looked very much like a Russian. Suddenly – though not immediately, but still, suddenly – she began to cry, shouting that she really wanted to go home, even just for a little while, to see those who didn’t think her choice was beneath her, to hear her native language, to walk around her hometown… But only a couple of minutes passed before she calmed down. When she wiped away her tears, one could believe she had never cried in her life.

I found out that the attacks continued, that her husband was threatened with losing his job. That Adelina, unable to take it anymore, came to his school during a meeting and declared out loud that they could all come to that cabaret club in the evening and see for themselves what kind of stripper she supposedly was – so next time they would think twice before accusing someone.

I immediately felt ashamed of that last thought, because Adelina and her husband Valerio invited me to have dinner with them. I fully agreed with her and decided I would definitely go there, and in any case, I had nothing to lose. Suddenly, a thought struck me: what if everything she told me back then about boxing, about training – what if it was all a lie, and in reality she worked at a nightclub? Then it would make perfect sense why she got close to that weirdo. And her husband! What a miserable man to be stuck in that kind of company! And this was the woman I had praised in my dreams!

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