No, love, the slightly pig-like face is no longer appropriate for the Archangel Gabriel.
Did I really make that ugly-ugly face? I didn't notice.
It's because it comes naturally to you, honey. And then, when you do that, it makes me crave it…
Sorry, I didn't mean to. Is that okay?
That's perfect: you have a truly classic poise. Lie down there, on the red velvet drape we brought with us. Move it a little toward the single-lancet window to your left, where the sunlight is filtering in… there, like this.
What I see is crazy, Gianni: I'm speechless.
It's better if you don't have any word now, love: you mustn't talk while I'm photographing you.
I look up above my head; the pointed arches of gray stone are still well preserved, but the ceiling has almost completely collapsed. I see large patches of clear, blue sky. From one of the walls, the foliage of a still-barren tree peeks out, taking over the structure, completely enveloped in thick vegetation. I have a sudden sense of déjà vu: I see the Templar Cathedral of San Galgano, I relive the unforgettable moments that led to Martino's conception. But that place had the sublime radiance of the sunflowers in full bloom that surrounded it; this, on the other hand, is dark, gloomy, oppressive.
What I saw in the sacristy, then, turned my stomach: a pile of ruins, broken logs and poles clumsily propped up by some sort of cable, smashed tables and chairs, abandoned car tires, all covered in a suffocating layer of debris and filth that sank into with every step. I couldn't wait to get out.
The disgust you feel is fine, it gives you the right expression... Just stand there, perfect... Now stand up, curl up with your knees bent, and look up, toward the apse. These shots should have a polemical meaning, as well as an aesthetic one.
While you take my picture, can you please explain to me what the hell happened to this church?
I already told you briefly on the way there. Turn toward me a little, like this. Stop. You look beautiful right now.
Yes, but explain it to me better.
I'll be your tour guide. We're meeting at the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception in the countryside of Merate, in the province of Lecco...
Come on, don't be an idiot. Tell me the history of the church.
It doesn't have a long history: it's not an ancient church, darling.
Yes, I see that: it's an architectural fake, but a very well-made one.
"Exactly. Now, while I speak, you keep that adorable mouth shut and wander around the central nave, stopping to look at whatever you like; wrap the drape around your waist and one arm. Just like that, good job." The church was designed to be the Little Lourdes of the Alpine foothills in 1906 by Monsignor Spirito Kiappetta, Pope Pius XI's trusted architect. It was a highly ambitious project: the building complex occupies an area of four thousand square meters a short distance from the historic center. It was intended to resemble the Basilica of Lourdes and house the town's new oratory, intended to welcome young people.
I'd say the project has foundered, judging from what I see.
Indeed. They had set out with great hopes and a great deal of good will: the construction was inaugurated in the presence of Count Dal Vèrmè…
Vèrmè? Worm?
"Yes, darling, that's what he was called. Now move to the center of the apse and lie down on the red cloth, face down, as if your throat had just been slit in a pool of blood. Just like that, perfect. I was saying, Count Dal Vèrmè, all the Meràtè clergy, and a multitude of faithful were present. No, still, not like that: don't move, the previous position was fine. In any case, the building, as you can see, is a Latin cross and in neo-Gothic style, so it has a marked upward thrust, but it's essentially a 20th-century fake."
Granted, it's not ancient, but it's a good imitation of Gothic; and in any case, it's a beautiful structure.
Yes. Now, please, sit down with one knee bent and point to the collapsed vault with your left arm… Assume the position of the angel of the Annunciation.
Which of the many?
Leonardo's one, you know?
Yes, I remember; but the archangel's outstretched arm was the right one.
I see you remember the painting well. Anyway, I want the left arm.
Why?
For esoteric reasons, so to speak. Well done, perfect. You show off your right foot, even though you can't see the feet in Leonardo's painting.
Is there an esoteric reason for this too?
No, you just have gorgeous feet.
Gorgeous in what sense? Feet are feet.
You don't understand anything, my love.
Maybe. But continue the story of the basilica: it interests me!
Funds soon ran out to complete the construction: the interior space was converted into a large hall for religious services and theatrical performances.
What? Religious services and theatrical performances? Were they crazy?
Yes, but there's worse.
Worse?
Yes, my dear. In 1965, the Curia abandoned the project. In 1970, the building was purchased by the Municipality of Meràtè...
Oh, thank goodness!
Thank goodness, love? The municipality used it as a dog kennel!
"Come on, Gianni, I can't believe it. You know I love dogs, but I can't believe such a majestic church has been turned into a kennel!"
And that's exactly what it is. It later became a depot for municipal vehicles, and then, due to the extremely high maintenance costs, it was permanently closed. Today, as you can see, it's in an advanced state of disrepair, with a collapsed ceiling and surrounded by thick vegetation. Let's just say this gives it its sinister charm, for which it's currently famous.
But who cares about charm, Gianni! It's scandalous that such a spectacular building has been left in a state of total abandonment!!
"I agree, sweetheart, and in fact, as I told you, these shots are also meant to rouse a few consciences. But here, more than a conscience, it's about rousing a few wallets, and I don't think that's going to be a good thing. We're almost done, darling: now get up and go lean against that pillar."
Let's hope it doesn't collapse!!!
"No, love, we're not there yet: it will bear your weight. Wrap the red cloth over one shoulder, like a kind of bloodbath, and around your hips: naked is not suitable for the purposes I'm aiming for this photo shoot."
I'm not naked, I'm wearing my usual boxers.
Oh, those adorable little boxer shorts... But, honey, a classic statue with boxer shorts and ducks is definitely not a good idea: pull them down as low as you can, so they don't stick out from the drape. Perfect, you're gorgeous.
Okay, I understand the money issue, but how could they allow such a massacre to happen?
Locals explain the basilica's decline with a strange legend: it is said that years ago a knight entered the church on horseback, thus causing the building to be immediately deconsecrated.
Oh. And why? Are horses evil beings? Sorry! , but I don't understand!
Me neither, darling: it seems like a tremendous stupidity to me. The truth is, the institutions don't give a damn, and that's all. We're done, darling, you can get dressed: you did a great job as usual. Not to be immodest, but I'm making you a work of art, you know? Of course, the credit goes mostly to you, but the artist's eye is mine. You have to know how to see beauty in order to convey it to others.
Thank you, Gianni. It's a great pleasure to work with you on these artistic projects. It's something I've always wanted to do, but I've never found anyone to do it with. You know, I come from a family of entrepreneurs and accountants: only my mother has the artistic instinct.
You take after your mother, love: you are pure art.
Why don't you organize an exhibition? I'll give you a hand, if you want.
We'll think about it. Now let's go sit in the park out here, since it's sunny and not cold, and eat the sandwiches we bought at the bar. We're having a packed lunch today.
Perfect: I really like packed lunches, it reminds me of school trips.
And of some love affair arose during those trips, right?
I smile.
Yes, too.
You make me jealous in retrospect.
And what am I supposed to say, then? Come on, let's go eat.
We sit near the basilica on the still-green lawn, lined with a few slender cypress trees, and take out sandwiches and drinks. The sight of Gianni, serene and at peace with himself, warms my heart. He manages to look elegant on any occasion: I'm sitting cross-legged in the grass, while he's perched on one of the boulders that were placed in the middle of the lawn by who knows who or why, careful not to get his gabardine pants dirty. He's wearing a very light green jacket over a dark gray shirt slightly open at the chest; on his feet, he's wearing elegant dark brown Timberland sneakers, while I'm wearing my usual, slightly worn, high-necked Converse: the color of his shoes perfectly matches that of his leather gloves, which he's currently using to peel an orange. I find him beautiful, with his long, slightly wavy hair, where the brown dye allows a few gray strands to show through, and his round, intellectual glasses. I don't know why I like Gianni so much!!
After our frugal lunch, we put all the leftovers, the papers, the cans, and the bottles in a bag, which I then stow away in my Pluto-print denim duffel bag. We lie down in the grass to rest behind the largest boulder. No one is around: it's a Tuesday afternoon, a weekday.
You have to tell me something, he says point-blank, in a dry tone.
What?
Can you explain to me why I always have to be the one to call you? You've never called me, not even once. Relationships should be mutual, I think.
Surprised by his irrational outburst, I smile at him.
But Gianni, what you said is absurd: I'm not calling you because I'm afraid of bothering you.
Bothering me? We're together, why would you bother me?
It's incredible to me that he doesn't understand something so obvious: it's as if my presence stuns him, making him incapable of grasping the obvious. This, however, makes me feel deeply tender.
No, Gianni, we're not actually together. I mean, we're not engaged, right?
"No, not exactly engaged," he admits, disoriented. His eyes are lost, as if his mind is wandering haphazardly through a labyrinth.
Need I remind you that you're with another man?!? What would Massimiliano think if he heard a guy calling you? I assume other boys, so to speak, casual, don't contact you privately: they wait to be contacted by you.
There aren't any other boys since you've been here. I thought you'd figured that out.
Okay, but I certainly don't want to put you in the position of having to act out a charade with Massimiliano or run and hide in the bathroom to talk to me. That would be really out of place.
I keep getting the impression that his mind is struggling to find its way out of somewhere.
Yes, you're right, he admits. Sorry.
He puts his arm around my shoulders. He caresses my face, then my chest... , then lower.
Gianni, I tell him embarrassed, looking around, we're outside!!!...
There's not a soul around, darling.
Yes, but if you do that you'll put me in trouble...!!! And then I remind you of our agreement!!!
What agreement?
Excuse me, didn't you say you had a sexual block and couldn't touch me?
No, you're wrong. I have a sexual block, but I never said I can't touch you: I said you can't touch me.
I stare at him, speechless.
Oh no Gianni, that's not fair!!!...
What's not fair?
We had never agreed on anything like this!!!
Because it was implied, my love.
It was implied??!... Gianni, you just said relationships should be mutual! And you reproached me for not returning your calls: well, if you allow that, it's much more serious!! If I can't touch you, I don't see why you should be able to touch me!!!
I'll tell you right away, sweetheart: I want you all to myself, I'm not willing to share you. And if I want to keep you for myself, I have to give you a little something every now and then. Don't say no: I was young myself, I know how it works. Plus, you're bisexual, so temptations are everywhere: you'd jump into the first bed you come across. Good God, you bisexuals are terrible: someone should have eyes in the back of their heads to keep an eye on you.
I feel very offended by that portrait which doesn't resemble me at all, and which probably looks a lot like his Massimiliano.
No, Gianni, you don't know me at all: I'm not that kind of person. I keep my agreements. The stakes are high: I really care about our relationship, I'm certainly not going to jump into any bed just because that thing wants it. If our relationship can't include sex, we'll do without it!! But both of us, not just you!!!
He smiles, a little embarrassed.
Baby, I don't know how to tell you: I don't do without sex.
Yes, I know, because you have a steady partner.
And so the problem doesn't arise for me. I don't need reciprocity in that sense.
Okay, it doesn't matter, I'll do without it.
You can't stay chaste at your age, my darling.
This conversation irritatingly reminds me of what Myra told me: everyone is there reminding me that "at my age" I have to have sex.
It depends on what’s at stake, I reply dryly. If the game is worth the trouble, then I want to... , and I can.
You're so sweet when you say such childish things, honey.
Now I'm getting seriously pissed off.
Gianni, do you think I'm an idiot? This isn't childish at all. And stop calling me honey and other corny things like that: I'm not the usual kid you picked up at the disco and want to take to bed.
Dude, I don't pick up kids at clubs: there are specific sites for gay dating.
Oh, great!!! I'm glad to hear that!!
Then you know, I have no shortage of opportunities as a men's fashion photographer.
Right, how did I not remember?!
But I don't do these things anymore, my love: I can't do it since you've been here.
Okay, I'll pretend to believe you. Anyway, I'm being honest, I told you the truth: I don't care about sex, I have other priorities right now.
I know you're sincere, darling, but we really have to do it.
But why have we to do it, excuse me?
Because I need to understand if it can work the way you like it.
The way I like it in what sense?
I don't know, in that sweet way you say. My experience of sex is very different, you know. You're something unique in my life, and I don't know you at all from that perspective, because I completely failed the first approach.
Well!! , I think so.
So you see? Do you want me to take this doubt to the grave?
Stop always talking about death, Gianni!!! you're still young and in good health, luckily.
Little one, you have to give me a chance at redemption: I don't want you to have such a bad memory of me.
But Gianni, I don't need to remember you!!! you're alive and you're here with me, thank God.
But now you're making me think that the truth is something else, he adds, darkly.
Meaning what?
I mean, you don't like me physically. Maybe that's just why you don't want me to touch you.
"Gianni, what the hell are you talking about?" I blurt out. "You're a very attractive man, I like you very much. I can hardly resist, what do you think?"
Then don't resist, please. I beg you.
I don't answer: I feel confusedly alarmed. It's not that I don't trust him, but I've clearly seen that in certain circumstances he isn't fully in control, and I don't want to be forced into another fight. I reflect on the fact that my presence isn't good for his mind: he seems lost, he forgets that we're not a regular couple, he forgets everything ; it's as if he's entered another dimension, a magical and surreal dimension, a mirror maze where only he and I exist. It's the same dimension I enter, but I have to be careful: mazes always hide a Minotaur, whom I've already had the pleasure of meeting once.
Gianni reads my mind:
I assure you, nothing like what happened last time will happen again. I've taken my precautions.
What precautions?
The ones I know, little one. Trust me, it won't happen again.
I understand. But now, please, let's just hold each other like this for a while, okay?! I really like being in your arms.
You're really childish, my love.
Yes, I am. I think I'm some kind of retard or something... Can you rock this retarded baby for a bit, please?
All right, I'll rock you.
He takes me in his arms.
But what is this sound I hear?
It's a hoopoe, darling.
A hoopoe? But isn't that a nocturnal bird?
No, love, it's a diurnal bird. Don't you remember Montàlè's lines? "Hoopoe, cheerful bird slandered by poets..."
Listen, Montàlè or no Montàlè, it has a horrible verse!!
Okay, love, so don't listen to it.
Excuse me, do you happen to have a bottle opener?
I gasp in surprise and look up: a girl who looks about sixteen, with dark blonde hair and a beautiful, smiling face, has materialized behind us. Gianni moves away from me a little, assuming a detached, formal demeanor.
“I’m truly sorry for the inconvenience,” says the girl, understandably embarrassed, “but I brought a bottle of kinotto with me with a crown cap and unfortunately I forgot the bottle opener… I was wondering if you by any chance…”
I smile at her and stand up.
Yes, of course we have it: it's in my bag, I'll get it right away.
I reach into the bag and rummage inside, extracting the bottle opener. I show it to her.
Here it is!! , I tell her. Give me the bottle, I'll open it for you.
"Thank you," says the girl, "but unfortunately I left it over there." She points to a spot at the end of the meadow.
The excuse is banal: something tells me I have to be the one to go down there and open that bottle. I decide to play along.
I'm coming to open it for you.
A radiant smile appears on the girl's face.
Thank you.
You're welcome!!. I'll be back in a moment, Gianni, just in time to uncork the bottle.
Go ahead.
I follow the girl to the opposite side of the lawn, where I was absolutely certain no one was there until a few minutes ago, and I see a denim jacket lying on the grass with a book next to it, a half-eaten sandwich, and the famous bottle of kinotto with an upside-down glass on the cap. I pick it up and uncork it, handing it to the girl.
There you go!! , I tell her.
Instead of thanking me, the girl stares at me smiling.
“It’s strange,” I say embarrassedly. “I’m sure there was no one in the meadow just now.”
I'm at home here.
In what sense?
I live around the corner, I come here every day to study. It's a quiet place.
Yes, even too much: they abandoned it.
I do not.
She holds out her hand to me: I squeeze it lightly, it's a delicate hand.
My name is Virginia.
I Emmanuel.
I know.
How do you know?
I heard that gentleman call you that.
I don't actually remember Gianni saying my name, but maybe I'm wrong.
It was nice to meet you, Virginia: now I'm going back to base.
I start to turn my back on her, but she holds me back by the arm.
Watch out, she tells me.
The smile is gone, there is a very stern light in the grey-blue eyes.
Puzzled, I ask her:
Watch out for what?
He wears gloves.
I look at her, bewildered, as a cold current snakes up my spine.
But who?
“Him,” she replies with a very slight nod.
So what?
I saw him caressing you. You don't caress a boy with gloves on...
I can't answer anything.