Bella's Escape - Part 1.

I'm sitting on the terrace of the Vezzolano Abbey bar, a charming wooden chalet with a front terrace overlooking the abbey and a side patio with solid wood tables and benches overlooking the hill. I've taken a lunch break with Bella, who's lying next to me on the floor; later I'll return to the garden center and resume my usual activities.
Every now and then I like to be alone, in my own company, in places that are dear to me, and there are several of them around here. It's a bit chilly, but the day is clear and sunny, very pleasant; the owner, a tall, thin, distinguished gentleman with an impressive gray mustache, served me an excellent frittata with a side of grilled vegetables and has just brought me his legendary tarte tatin, a soft and crispy shortcrust pastry with a generous apple filling—a delicious dessert for which the bar is famous in these parts—along with a glass of fragrant Malvasia. I smile and think I'm definitely treating myself well today.
It's a Wednesday in February, and there aren't many people at the abbey, an ancient building of enormous historical and artistic interest, usually very busy. In the forecourt, there are a couple of motorcycles and six cars, including, curiously, a Suzuki almost identical to mine, parked right next to its twin: I think the owner did it on purpose. I look at the license plate: mine is definitely older, but it still runs well and is perfect for my needs.
Bella sits up and wags her tail hopefully.
-	No, Bella: dessert isn't for dogs, I tell her. But then I take pity on her and throw her a piece of cake, which she grabs and eats greedily.
-	But that's enough now! - I warn her, seeing that she insists and hopes for an encore.
This magnificent place has a special meaning for me: it's the place of my first time with Antonia, the first time ever. It seems like a century has passed since then, even though it's only been a few years. A sense of peace and relief comes over me at the thought that I can visit these places without feeling the pang of regret, since the situation with Antonia has calmed down and she seems to have serenely accepted my presence in her life and that of our son. I reflect on the fact that it is precisely thanks to Martino that all this could happen: in my clumsiness as a naive and madly in love teenager, I risked causing irreparable damage in the lives of that woman and my brother. If the child hadn't been born, she would have left my life and Michael's too, I'm sure of it, because she couldn't have sustained her marriage on the basis of a lie. She loved me, I have no doubt about that, and she couldn't have continued to frequent my house if she had to endure my presence every day. She couldn't have lied to her husband every single day. Their separation would have been much more brutal, and she would have simply disappeared: I would never have seen her again. The mere thought gives me a shiver, because Antonia, despite everything, is a constant in my life, something that must be there. I take a sip of wine and feel refreshed.
My cell phone, which I had placed on the table in front of me, suddenly rings: I look at the display, it's Gianni.
-	Hello - I greet him cheerfully, with my mouth full.
-	Are you eating, little one?
-	Yes Gianni, I'm gorging on a delicious dessert: it's a shame I can't let you taste it.
-	But are you alone?
And nothing, Gianni never changes: he's always pathetically jealous of me, and for no reason at all.
-	No, I'm with Bella.
-	Ah, your big dog… - he says relieved - Give her a pat for me.
-	Done.
-	Baby, I'm so excited, you know? The photo blowups I have printed are gorgeous; some really look like masterpieces. You were right about the photos of the abandoned factories; they have a beautiful effect. We thought we'd project a couple of them on the two giant screens we'll be installing on the walls of the art gallery: they create a magical, postmodern, and surreal atmosphere.
-	See? I told you. But you never believe me... You underestimate me, Gianni.
-	Yes, darling, you're right. Then there are your photos in the church in Merate, and I swear, love, they make me cry because they're so beautiful... I mean, you're beautiful; but so are my shots...
-	I can imagine, Gianni, they were truly evocative photos. I'm very happy that the prints are coming out well.
-	More than well: I wasn't expecting this much. Besides, I'm using Center Chrome, the best lab in Milan. I'm spending a lot of money on it, darling, but then again, it's my first show and I don't want to make a bad impression, and above all, I don't want to make Massy look bad. You know, he's a successful painter, a celebrity in Milan...
-	But what are you saying, Gianni? You're brilliant, you won't make him look bad at all!
-	Thanks, darling. The fact is, the confrontation makes me a little nervous, even though he's on my side and is giving me a huge hand. He organized the catering for the opening reception, contacted an art gallery, and compiled a guest list that scares me a little: there's even Countess Maurizia Ajroldi di Robbiate, the one you often see on TV...
I laugh.
-	The one who puts fruit, vegetables, monuments and a bit of everything on her head?
-	Yes, she's famous for her headpieces. But she's a must-attend presence at a successful opening here in Milan: wherever she's there are paparazzi and press, you know? Her presence ensures maximum coverage at every opening.
-	Yes of course, I understand.  
-	But, little one... what's that noise I hear? It sounds like... cows...
-	Yes, indeed, there are cows grazing in the meadow in front of me. It's normal, in the countryside.
-	No, baby, for us in Milan, it's not so normal. Anyway, I was saying... Massy recommended the Galleria De Cardènas to me: it opened a few years ago, in 1992, in the Corso Como neighborhood, nestled between the skyscrapers of Piazza Gae Aulenti, Stefano Boeri's Bosco Verticale, and the Feltrinelli Foundation. At the time, the area was considered peripheral, but Massy immediately understood the potential of that gallery. Now that area has become one of the city's pulsating hearts.
To be honest, I couldn't care less about the pulsating hearts of Milan, given my "country boy" nature, but I feign utmost interest and express my approval with groans and casual interjections, while Gianni continues to enthusiastically talk to me about those very "in" and exclusive city spots frequented by his Massy.
-	It's all fantastic, I conclude dully, swallowing the last bite of cake. I'm tempted to order another slice, and Bella seems to agree.
-	"Darling," Gianni adds sweetly, "I'd love for you to join in too. Would you be willing to give me a hand?"
-	Sure, Gianni, with pleasure! What can I do to help?
-	Oh, so many things… For example, you could help me carry the frames and prints up to the studio, which are obviously on canvas, mounted on wooden stretchers, very large and a bit delicate to move, and then give me a hand framing them and transporting them to the gallery when the time comes, and choosing the rooms and walls to hang them on. And the right lighting and soundtrack and other things like that… Oh my God, baby, I'm so excited I'm confused: I'm so scared of making a mistake. I'm sure the photos are amazing, but you have to help me make the most of them!
-	I accept immediately: I will be happy to help you set up your exhibition.
-	Our exhibition, puppy - he corrects me tenderly.
-	A little, yes, Gianni, but mostly yours. I want this to be your moment of glory.
-	Thank you, my love. I absolutely want you by my side at the exhibition, but…
-	Hey, stop it, stop it!
-	What's wrong with you?
-	Nothing, sorry, I'm not mad at you: I'm mad at Bella who keeps bothering me. Ever since I gave her a piece of cake, all she does is wag her tail, drool, and paw at me.
-	Poor thing, give her another one…
-	But I don't have any left. Bella, what the hell, now you're overdoing it! Stop bothering me. Why don't you go for a little walk, eh?
-	A little walk? But isn't there a risk of being hit by a car?
I laugh.
-	We're not in Milan here, Gianni. I'm in front of a medieval abbey in the open countryside, and the road ends here.
-	Okay, then that's different.
-	Go, Bella! Go for a walk, be a good girl. And leave the cats alone, eh?
-	But poor thing, don't treat her so badly... I think you should order another slice of cake and share it with her.
-	Well, I think I'll have to, especially since I want one too. I'll go order it. Excuse me for a moment, Gianni, I'll call you back shortly.
I hang up and go into the bar to get another slice of cake, which I immediately start nibbling on. I'm about to call Gianni back when a guy approaches me.
-	Excuse me, - he asks me - are you the owner of that Suzuki?
-	Yes, why? - I answer him, amazed.
-	Could you kindly move it?
-	But why, excuse me? - I reply a little annoyed - The whole square is empty!
-	Because it's parked in front of the bar terrace, where we have to lift a couple of elderly people in wheelchairs. The wheelchair ramp is right there.
He points to a small bus that has just arrived in the square, full of pensioners on a trip.
-	"Okay, I'll move it right away," I say, "but in any case, there's another one next to mine that's just as annoying: you'll have to have that one moved too."
-	We've already searched for the owner, but he can't be found. He probably entered the abbey.
I sigh and resign myself to moving my Suzuki, since it's for a good cause. To be safe, I park it on the other side of the square, away from the bar and near the abbey, hoping no one will bother me again. I rush back to my table and finally call Gianni.
-	Here I am Gianni, sorry for the delay: I had to move the car. What were you talking about?
-	I was saying that I absolutely want you by my side at the show, but there's one problem: Massy will be there too.
-	And what's the problem? Massy doesn't know me, he doesn't know what I look like. And we'll obviously behave like two good friends.
-	Darling, how naive you are… Obviously Massy will recognize you immediately, seeing your life-size portrait in the giant photographs in the church of Merate.
I'm speechless for a moment: Gianni is right, I'm an idiot for not having thought of that.
-	Yes, it's true, - I admit - I fear the obstacle is insurmountable, then.
-	But no! - exclaims Gianni in a sly tone - Listen to what we can do, love.
-	Tell me, Gianni.
-	In the photos there is a blond guy with long hair, while you now have quite short hair.
-	They were made with extensions.
-	Yes, but it's hard to tell: they looked perfectly natural. You see a guy with long hair and timeless attire: a red cloth wrapped around his body, or classic tunics fit for an angel. If you dyed your hair, put on a pair of glasses, and dressed up as a nerdy college kid, no one would recognize you in those divine creatures.
-	Dye my hair? What color?
-	Red, I'd say. But you know, this cow... it seems like it's mimicking me, huh?
-	No, you can imagine if it's mimicking you... What comes to mind?
-	I'll introduce you as my assistant, a college student I'm training as an apprentice.
-	No, come on Gianni, it's pathetic: they'll recognize me anyway...
-	Only someone who's already suspicious would recognize you, darling: but you'll be so composed, so down-to-earth, that no one will even suspect anything. Your Apollo is incredibly sexy; who would connect him with a nerdy, frigid, and insignificant student?
-	But are you sure?
-	Absolutely, darling, as long as you commit to acting well. Can you act?
-	Actually, yes, Gianni: it's something that's always amused me a lot.
-	So come on, this is your big chance: you'll be able to perform Eusebio's interpretation.
-	Eusebio? No, come on! What kind of name would that be?
-	Don't you like Eusebio?
-	Not at all.
-	I chose it because of a piece by Schumann that I love very much.
-	I'm sorry for Schumann, but there's no way I'm called Eusebio.
-	So you choose the name.
-	Let's say Christian: it's my middle name.
-	Christian is perfect: it's a done deal. I can't wait, you know?
I smile.
-	I feel it, Gianni. I'm really happy for you.
-	Then you love me a little.
-	Not just a little, you know.
-	I adore you, darling: sometimes my heart just explodes. I'm off now, I have to go see the new prints... See you later, love!
-	See you later.
Gianni sends me a kiss over the phone and hangs up.
I shake my head: I'm experiencing one of the strangest and most fulfilling relationships of my life. This brilliant, crazy-as-a-horse man fulfills all my emotional needs, who knows why: I've never felt more serene and at peace with myself. Even though he doesn't truly belong to me, I feel he truly loves me, with an intensity I've never experienced in anyone else. And then, in the end, no one belongs to anyone else: we're just passing through, nothing material belongs to us. But his love, yes, that belongs to me: it's an intangible and precious asset that accompanies me every moment of my life, keeps me company every single moment of my days and nights. Sometimes he calls me when I'm in bed just to say goodnight, and if he can't speak to me, he fills my phone with little hearts, like a teenager with his first love. He makes me feel so tender... I've never felt alone since he's been here, and I'd never betray him: I know full well that he needs me to be happy, and that's more than enough for me to feel happy too. I accompany this thought with a last sip of Malvasia and get up to go pay.
-	Come on, Bella, I say as I leave, closing my wallet and heading for my Suzuki. I don't hear the usual barking.
-	Bella?...
I look around: there's no dog on the wooden planks of the outdoor seating area. I go back into the bar, walk around the perimeter of the chalet, go out onto the terrace and search for her among the pensioners, but to no avail. Then I go down to the courtyard and pick up my pace, continuing to call her and searching everywhere. It's incredible... she seems to have vanished. But it's unlike her to disappear, she's never done it: Bella is a wise and faithful dog; she would never leave me, not voluntarily... 
A horrible foreboding grips my heart as I remember that it was I, the idiot, who ordered her to go for a walk: and she obeyed. I wander around the square and see it completely deserted, save for a few cars and motorcycles parked near the church. I go down to the abbey, run up the dirt road that leads from the church courtyard up the hill, and all the while I keep calling Bella. 
After a half-hour walk, I return to base. My heart sinks when I suddenly see that the identical Suzuki is gone. In a flash, I understand what's happened. Bella, returning from her little ride, had stationed herself near the only remaining Suzuki, thinking it was mine and obviously unable to imagine that in the meantime I had moved it somewhere else entirely. When the owner started the car, she, surprised and disconcerted that I hadn't let her climb into the trunk as usual, began chasing the SUV along the road leading to Albugnano.
But that was more than half an hour ago: who knows where that poor beast is at this time.
She certainly won't turn back, because she's convinced I'm the one in that SUV and that I've gone home. She'll probably start trudging up the hill, trying to figure out the road to our house, which she obviously can't find, because we're more than twenty kilometers from Baldissero. Then, once she reaches the crossroads at the top of the hill, who knows which road she took, or perhaps she'll have decided to cut across the fields and woods, because dogs don't like walking along busy roads, and that road leads to Castelnuovo on one side and Casalborgone on the other, both fairly populous towns: so it's very busy.
My Bella is lost, and it's mostly my fault. My knees buckle and I feel faint, but I can't afford it, I have to stay wide awake.
I dial a number and say in a shaking voice:
-	Mayra, please come right away. I'm at Vezzolano Abbey. I lost Bella.
Mayra doesn't waste time on unnecessary comments or questions.
-	I'll be right there, Prinsy. Don't move.
Mayra got her driver's license a few weeks ago and is the proud owner of a second-hand, green Panda, purchased with her earnings as a nursery gardener. I stumble onto one of the patio benches, my hands limp between my knees and my cell phone in my hand, completely dazed, and await her arrival.