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The street was filled with people going about their business. The dampened, cool breeze carried a strong odor of a detergent and everywhere one could look, clothe-lines sagged from heavy loads of slowly drying garments. The kids in patched up, yet bright outfits roamed through the street, yelling at one another and playing games of various kind. Their mothers occupied themselves by washing windows, sweeping their porches or making stacks of dried up clothe inside heavily woven straw baskets. Few men were seen reading a newspaper or playing checkers on a fairly large decrepit wooden table, encircled by a mass of enthusiasts. For Richard it was just another day.
It has not been more then a two months since Richards parents brought him to this, rather boring town of Nituno, located about a hundred and twenty kilometers away from Rome. They have embarked on a long and strenuous journey from Azerbaijan, a southern republic of Soviet Union, to United States and had to make an indefinite stop in Italy in order to be interviewed by American ambassadors, in order to gain refuge asylum to America. Having seventeen years of experience behind him, Richard was completely aware of all of the procedures and was overly anxious of leaving this plain little city for the land of opportunity across the ocean. For two years now he has been looking forward to having a new home where freedom is granted to all, indiscriminately. And so he waited patiently, praying to God that his family could be interviewed soon. Richards parents were hard workers, both engineers by profession, here reduced to being clerks at a local grocery store.
Richard occupied himself primarily by reading and occasionally performing odd jobs to earn some extra money. With an exception of a few acquaintances, neither Richard nor his parents had any real friends to spend their leisure time with. Since birth Richard was blessed with an ability to learn quickly. Unlike his parents he was almost fluent in Italian and if it was not for his accent, no native could have ever guessed that he was not Italian. That day Richard was sitting on the grass reading Anton Chekhov, when he noticed someone never before seen in this particular neighborhood. A girl was putting up sheets to dry onto a long nylon line connected to her side of the house and a large oak tree, some twenty or thirty feet away.
She had a slim though well-developed body; her hair, her mouth, and smooth white skin, all combined to give an impression of beauty just as color and light and shadow and texture combine to make a picture beautiful long before the details are apparent. Her eyes were sparkling green like two bright stars shining down on us at night. Her loveliness astonished Richard as he quickly folded a page and put the book aside. She moved around on these long white prima-donna legs. The girl wore a sexy neon bathing suit with a mesh skirt around her waist, but what got Richard, the straps were down. They were off, loosely looped around the tops of her white gorgeous arms.
She must have felt in the corner of her eye, Richard who was devouring her essence with each look, but didnt even tip. He didnt know who she was since she never appeared here before. Meanwhile the girl continued her chore, moving her precious emerald eyes across the sheets, when all of the sudden she just stopped turned slowly toward Richard with a kind smile on her face. This made Richards stomach turn inside out underneath a plain white t-shirt. She continued to glance over onto Richard periodically, smiling like a mother does onto her newborn baby. Each time one of them glanced at the other, the other quickly turned away, and in this manner both pretended not to notice each other.
They played this game for some long time when they glanced straight into each others eyes. The girl smiled softly but before Richard could think, she was graciously on her way inside. Richard frowned and picked up his book opening it to the folded page. He read a paragraph but felt like he had to reread it for the whole time his mind was occupied by the gorgeous goddess visitor in the adjacent house.
As Richard quickly realized reading was useless at the particular moment. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate and get back into Chekhov's The Bet, he just could not get his mind off of her. He put the book down again and just closed his eyes resting his head against the thick old tree. Bibliography:
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