The table they'd been seated at overlooked a small balcony, and the view from there was breathtaking: Mount Vesuvius dominated the scene, like a leading actor on a stage of mellifluous waters and the soft lights of the city. The moon rose timidly but imposingly, making its way through the blanket of stars that illuminated the sky.
David and Sofia sat across from each other, enjoying the view that stretched out before them and each other's company.
"It's very nice here," David began, looking around.
"It's a historic place: it's been here since 1931, and has never changed a recipe. The owner has even built up a certain reputation over the years: during the war, he refused to feed the Germans. I don't know how he avoided being shot."
“How bold of him! There's no doubt about it."
"People here are very proud of their land and their traditions," Sofia pointed out, not without a hint of satisfaction in her voice.
She took a few seconds to think about it. "I love my land: the sound of the sea crashing against the rocks, the sun burning your skin, the morning breeze carrying the rustling of leaves and the singing of birds; the wind here smells of salt and lemon leaves. Sometimes I stop to listen and I seem to hear the echo of the stories of past lives that the wind and the sea carry with them." She stopped to look at David, who was listening to her raptly. "It may seem silly..."
"No," he interrupted. He told her how he'd had the exact same feeling during those two days at the ruins of Pompeii, where history echoed in the air, above the earth, and on the stones.
“I’ve been there as a little girl with my father, I barely remember it."
"You should go back, then."
"And when? I never have time."
Sofia looked at him questioningly. It didn't seem like a question, but she’d been told that the concert film they were shooting was closed to the public. "I thought…"
"Come with us, you'll hear us play. I'm sure Adrian won't object."
She didn't have time to reply when a waiter arrived with two steaming pizzas.
Sofia quickly changed the subject. "Now... my cooking may have amazed you, but this... is the food of the Gods."
"I've met few people like you in my life."
"Like me, how?" Sofia asked, not understanding what he was referring to.
"Passionate," he clarified. "The way you express yourself, the way you tell me about your homeland..."
Sofia was struck by the strange and unusual flattery.
"Aren't you?" she asked him.
"I come from a city that's humid and rainy ten months a year."
"But you have your music."
"Yes, that's true. Music has always accompanied me in every moment of my life, and I express everything I feel in this way. What's the point of living without passion? It's passion for something that drives you to wake up every morning. You have it for these wonderful places, and you express it by taking care of your home every day.”
Sofia was speechless: for the first time, she felt exposed by the words of a young man she'd known for only two days, yet who had managed to understand so much more about her than others had ever done, reading her like an open book.
"And I can understand why," he added, pausing to look outside. The moon reigned high in the sky on its starry throne, its image bathing the water below.
Sofia followed his gaze and rested on Vesuvius, which rose before them like an omnipotent God.
"Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?" she asked him then.
"No," but David was no longer looking outside; his gaze had settled on her, the silvery moonlight illuminating the right side of her face. God, she was even more beautiful!
"You mentioned your father earlier... you rarely talk about him."
Sofia hesitated; it wasn't a topic she spoke about often, but with David, she felt strangely at ease.
"A heart attack took him away many years ago."
David apologised immediately. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be indiscreet.”
"It's okay," she replied with a smile that hid a hint of regret. "My father was a good man: he wasn't educated, but he was cultured in his own way: he loved art and music. I remember his hands covered in dirt and his infectious laugh. He's the one who instilled in me a love for the land."
"You must have loved him very much."
Sofia nodded. "He passed away when my brother was two years old. But I have fond memories of him; I'm glad I knew him."
"Roger, our bassist, also lost his father when he was little, in the war, right here in Italy."
David noticed the girl's frown. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad."
"No... it's just that I never talk about it; in my house it's almost taboo. But with you... I feel like I could talk about anything."
David smiled at her, and the dinner continued with small talk and fleeting glances.
When they finished, David suggested they take a walk; it was too late to go to sleep, he wanted to savour every moment in her company.
As they wandered through the city's alleys, he told her about his travels in France and Spain, about when he was broke and had to live from day to day, playing in the streets with his friends. He told her about when Roger contacted him to join the band as their replacement guitarist, and of course he told her about Syd, how they watched, helplessly, as he slowly sank into the abyss of drugs and watched him transform day by day into a ghost of his former self.
"I'm so sorry; he must have been a special guy."
"He was," David said. "I've known him since we were kids; he had an extraordinary talent for music. A true genius. I always thought he, too, came from the fantasy world he loved to write about."
"You talk about him as if he were no longer here. Why?"
David thought about it for a moment as they crossed a nearly deserted street, illuminated by the dim light of a streetlamp.
"Syd is no longer the bright, vibrant lad we knew. We've seen him in the most aberrant forms... he was almost inhuman. He went from catatonic to mad in a matter of seconds. The Syd we knew no longer exists.”
Sofia remained silent, not knowing what to say. That story had made her sad, but the fact that they had both lost, albeit in different ways, someone dear to them made her feel closer to him.
"Maybe he's more present in your lives than you imagine."
David thought about it, and immediately thought of one of Roger's last songs, from the album they'd released the year before: although the bassist had never explicitly admitted it, David knew how consumed he was with remorse for not being able to help Syd and for telling him that his presence in the band was no longer welcome.
Sofia was right; it hadn't been easy living with the guilt, but Syd's ghost was indeed present in most of their work. But none of them had ever had the courage to admit it.
Meanwhile, time passed, the air had become more lively, but neither of them felt like going home. After the conversation about Syd, they both remained silent, enjoying each other's company. They passed under a house from whose window they could hear music.
"Isn't this the song you were listening to in the kitchen yesterday?" He asked her.
Sofia stopped, her expression being both curious and surprised.
"Yes," she confirmed, recognising the voice of Achille Togliani singing "Parlami d'amore, Mariù."
Without saying anything, David took her hand, gently pulling her to him. Sofia felt herself enveloped in the embrace of two toned arms, she put up no resistance, and together they slowly let themselves be lulled by the music. Their faces were close... too close. She felt his hand press lightly on her hip as his sapphire eyes intently scrutinised hers.
"You didn't answer me before, anyway," he said.
"When I suggested you come to the amphitheater with us tomorrow. I'd love to."
Sofia bit her lip; it wasn't a good idea, and besides, she had so much work to do.
"I like it when you do that.” He said.
"When you bite your lips like that. It makes me want to kiss them."
Sofia blushed and her eyes rested on his lips, so pink and full... she wanted to kiss them too.
"Then do it," but her voice was nothing more than a whisper.
David didn't need to be told twice, and within half a second his lips were connected to Sofia's, in a delicate kiss that grew more and more intense as his tongue began to seek out hers. The music had stopped in the meantime, and on that now silent street, nothing existed but them, kissing under the dim light of a streetlamp.
The door swung open and they entered breathlessly, never leaving each other's mouths. David's jacket fell to the floor, as so did Sofia's shawl. She immediately found herself wrapped in the his arms, and without hesitation, he slid her onto the bed beneath him. She buried her hands in his hair while his found her skin beneath her dress. He caressed her legs, feeling the warmth coming from her inner thighs, and slowly pulled off her panties while her hands hid under his shirt, pulling it off.
They caught their breath for a few seconds, while David's pants and boxers also fell to the floor, soon followed by Sofia's dress.
David remained for a moment, contemplating her body, soft and naked, offering itself to him while Sofia caressed the delicate features of his face with her fingertips, panting lightly.
He lay on top of her, slowly entering her, the silence broken by her gasps and a strangled moan as her nails dug into his back. He placed small kisses on her neck, accompanying them with slow but firm thrusts, while his hands explored every inch of her body. Then their roles reversed: now she was on top and smiled at him, intertwining her hands with his. She sat on top of him and gasped again when she felt him inside her again, throwing her head back in pleasure. David joined her, throwing himself on her neck again, this time hungrier, more voracious; his hands touched, explored her hips, her arms, her shoulders, then down to her breasts. Sofia sought his lips again and moved in a slow but firm rhythm, while David's hand returned to her hip, assisting her with his thrusts, until they both reached the point of no return that left them tired and panting but satisfied.
The moonbeams, indirect spectators, filtered through the shutters, illuminating the room with a silvery light that lulled them until they fell asleep, arms around each other.
