Botticelli Blue Skies: An American in Florence

41. Daughters of Florence

The girls downstairs, Maria and Patty, have love problems endemic to young women living the artistic life in Firenze. They are in love with art, with youth, with their own beauty, and with the illusions engendered by living under the eye of the surreal Tuscan sun. Patty’s boyfriend thinks he is following in the steps of Michelangelo; he has left her to work with a sculptor in the country and has apparently lost his sex drive, a consequence of using all his creative energies (he tells Patty) for his art. She, on the other hand, wonders whether there is a real-life female model working out in the country with the two men. Maria, in her quest to enlarge her horizons and to learn the English and Italian languages, traveled from her homeland in São Paulo, Brazil, to study first in England, then in Italy. While in London, two months ago, she fell in love with an Englishman named Morris. He has lately been writing that he wants to marry her. Last weekend she flew to Paris (with tickets he sent her) to meet him again and to allow him to plead his case. “Two days in which to fight, to love, to plan,” Maria told me. “How can we know if this is for a lifetime? In my own country I would understand so much about a man, how he is with his family and with mine, what kind of character he has. This is too fast.” 204 41 Daughters of Florence Now that her studies are over in Florence, she is leaving to return to Brazil this very afternoon, to go back to her family and her job, and to reflect on the strength of her emotions at a distance from the romantic haze that shimmers in the atmosphere here. When I find a notice mistakenly put in my mailbox announcing that a package is waiting for Maria at the post office, I knock on her door to give it to her. (I have also received a notice that a package is waiting for me.) Since I don’t know exactly where the post office is, I’m planning to ask Maria whether I may accompany her if she plans to claim her parcel before she leaves this afternoon. She flings opens the door of her apartment wearing only panties and a bra; the smell of floral shampoo wafts to me from her wet hair. “You should never open the door dressed that way!” I say. “Oh, I saw you through the peephole,” she says, laughing. “Come in, I will get some clothes.” I follow her inside to the small room she has been sharing with Patty; she jumps into a pair of slacks and pulls a snug black shirt over her head. I think of my own three daughters so far away and so removed from me; I feel a catch in my throat watching this lovely girl. As if to verify what I am feeling, Maria comes to me suddenly and hugs me. “You are so special to me,” she says. “Like my mother, almost . You understand so much.” When she sees me holding the notice from the post office, her face lights up. “Oh, I thought he was lying. He told me when I was in Paris he had sent me a present weeks ago. When it never came, I didn’t trust him. How can you know if a man can be trusted when you know him only a few weeks, and then for two nights in Paris?” I have no answer, of course. “May I go with you to the post office?” I ask her. “There is also a package for me there.” “I’ll get yours, too. I’m going to run there right now and come right back. Then I have to finish packing; my taxi is coming at two o’clock to take me to the station.” And she bends to tie her shoes, hugs me again, and is off. Botticelli Blue Skies 205 Her face is radiant when she knocks on my door a little while later. “Look what he sent me.” She holds out a book of poetry, a silk scarf, some chocolates. Her smile is so lovely, so full of hope, so transcendent ! She comes into my arms, and we both hug each other as if our hearts will burst, each for our...