A Picture of a White Elephant

On our trip to Rome, I realized how free I could feel. It almost hurt my feelings that I heard that she had not been honest about it. That is another chapter in another book. For the first time that I could remember, I was not worried, I was not planning.

We woke up together in a little better than grubby Roman hotel. I watched her sleep until I got drowsy. She was still wearing her Christmas lingerie; it was black and partially see-through. Against her alabaster skin the fine black nylon looked fabulous sometimes hinting at the pleasures found beneath. We made love several times in and out of those same clothes. I played in her hair; it was like a fiery mane of black spread all across the pillows. Her soft white skin unmarked by the freckles and spots that mine was marked with. I remember kissing her chest from her shoulder to her nipple. One time she had told me that waking up to someone making love to her was a dream she had had.

That morning we made love, we talked about all of the things that we did not want to miss. Rome was not built in a day and we could not see all of it in a weekend. We shook on our agreement to see what we see and not worry if we missed something. This trip to Rome was about exploring not about something more. Maybe I should have believed it.

She told me jokes as she put on her make-up. Her skin glows when she smiles. I admit that I do not understand a lot of what she says, but sometimes it is like there is a translator in my head. Even her jokes are funny when she tells them in Czech. It is more about the telling than the words. Somehow we understood each other and this is what brought us together. We walked all over town, much like we had done the night before but in reverse I guess. There was little need to see something twice; it was time for exploration.

We could see the “White Elephant" from the top of the hill. She kissed me on the cheek and said she wanted to take a picture. I told her that the camera was hers too, and handed it to her. She does not understand my kindness or trust in her. We were standing on the corner there in Rome staring at a beautiful vista that had been shared by millions of tourists, and centurions alike. Strangely, it was our corner that day on top of the hill.

She wanted to take a picture of the White Elephant, but from where we were she was blocked by the olive trees. I told her to wait until the signal changed and walk into the middle of the crosswalk and take the picture from there. From the middle of the street, the olive trees would not be in her picture. The signal changed, and we stood there on the corner in Rome and stared at the White Elephant with the trees in the way.

Some times there is a translator in my head telling me what she is thinking. There is a bond between us, that we understand each other when we are near. Again, the light changes back to red, and we are standing there on the corner in Rome. Veronika tells me something. I am sure that she is giving me instructions to help her take the picture. The signal changes and I walk across the street. She just told me her plan, of course her version is in Czech. Realizing that the plan was not what I had thought, we were standing on another corner in Rome.

We wanted a picture of the White Elephant from the top of the hill. One more time the signal changed to “stop” and we were discussing in two languages what to do. My translator was going crazy. Finally, the translator threw up his arms and said, “dunno.” “Go” flashed again across the same street, this time she took my hand and we walked defiantly out into the street. From the middle of the road, she stood. Exhaled. Focused. Shot. Grabbed my hand as if acting by number and walked me across the street back to the corner where we had started. I looked at her, my translator focusing carefully on her face, and she said “That is exactly what I wanted to do.”

“Exactly!” I am glad that we understand each other so well.