My proprietor was a busy man and not used to these sorts of dealings. He just wanted to hand me over to someone whom he could trust to take care of me. He did not have much choice though since I was rather expensive and there were not many people who were willing to consider to have me. He had spent a lot of money doing me up but he was really very inexperienced in such matters. There were things which I still disliked about myself as a result of his intervention.
When my master left, I felt empty, in both sense of the word. I was stripped to the barest minimum but be made sure I was thoroughly cleaned so that my proprietor would not have any complaints when he comes to retrieve me. Not that there was anything to worry about. My master always took good care of me. He had this fine lady come once a week, usually on a Friday and she would put her heart and soul into the task of cleaning me up thoroughly and at very nook and corner. It was always a joy to see the satisfied look on my master’s face when he appeared at the end of the day to find me sparkling clean and fresh-smelling.
I had liked my master from the first time he came to inspect me, although he was a foreigner. Fortunately the two men came to a compromise. My proprietor agreed to provide me with the basic accessories and my master agreed on my price.
I remembered how relieved I was knowing that I would finally have a master again. I had been lonely and neglected too long after my original proprietor left me to go into an old-people’s home. He was so heart-broken when his beloved wife died that he decided to leave me too. They did not have any children; the one child they had died during his boyhood one day when he fell from a tree in my garden. That tree still stood there proud and defiant, a lot bigger than at the time the poor child met his untimely end.
The lonely couple then turned their attention to my present proprietor who was a favourite nephew of theirs. When my original proprietor left me he gave charge of me to this nephew with provision that I would fully be his upon his death. The old man died some years later and I become the legal property of this nephew.
At two hundred and twenty square metre, I was very large indeed for one person’s need; my master was single. But he made thorough use of me and there was not a part of me neglected. And yet, despite my size there were times when my master had staying guests that we both realised how inadequate I could be. This was because when my proprietor had me renovated he did not give proper thought to practicality but followed his whims and fancy. As a result certain parts of me became impressive but non-functional.
By present standard, I was far from modern, but I was solid and made of good stuff. It was during the Fascist era that the building I am in was constructed in a very prestigious residential. I was one of the ten units in the five-storey building and being on the elevated ground floor I had a garden of my own. My present neighbours were some rich retired elderly couples, a rich widow, a single elderly man, and two lawyer offices.
Having a master who was single, I would be left alone most time of the day and quite a few evenings per week. I was to discover later that he also liked travelling so I was frequently left on my own for stretches ranging from a weekend to a week or sometimes longer. I did not like very much these solitary periods, for I would be dark and suffocated and there would be no fresh air entering me. It was eerie when the phone rang and he was not there to pick it up and I would from time to time be jolted from my solitude by the ringing of my doorbell.
At times like these I would miss his pottering around me, and also the beautiful music and songs that were constantly played when he was around. I would also miss the fresh smell of his cologne each morning that would linger long after he had left me for his office and I would miss too hearing his voice conversing on the telephone with his friends or humming in the kitchen or bathroom. It was always a relief to see him eventually return and he would normally have a decorative obje
ct to add on to me.
I was also afraid that during his long absences someone would break into me but gratefully it never ever happened. I had no alarm system but my master had a piece of paper stuck on each of my doors on which were prayers and incantations (in Arabic script) supposedly to keep intruders and thieves away from me. His friends and visitors would often ask what those pieces of papers were and my master would always answer in a jest that they were room tariff like those found in all hotel room! And they never pursued him with more questions on the matter.
His job also required him to entertain. So there were often dinners or teas which were very pleasant and cheerful affairs. I was not particularly happy with guests who left thick airs of smoke in my living room but my master would always open the windows for a few hours after the guests had left and I would gratefully breathe fresh air again.
My inadequacies aside, it was a good partnership, my master and I. He made the most of me – I was his home. That relieved look on his face each time he came back to me after a long trip or a long day was always something I look forward to.
Despite being on my own most of the time I was a happy home. I was fully utilised and lived-in. In between the solitary periods there were cheerful days and nights filled with music, voices of guests or visitors, the sweet smell of freshly-cooked food competing with the scents of fresh flowers for the occasion. Non-winter days saw me bright with sunshine and fresh air from the many windows while the faint distant droning of the traffic and the city mingled with chirping of birds from the orange trees in my garden. The bright ambiance allowed many plants to thrive in me.
Alas, I missed all that now. For two years before my master’s departure my proprietor tried to sell me off. I was too big for his need and my location did not meet his ideal. Countless were the number of people that invaded my privacy on the excuse of inspecting me to see if I qualified to be their property. My master was annoyed at this invasion though my proprietor was very polite about it. It eventually worked out that any prospective buyer could come and inspect me only on Fridays when the kindly lady was cleaning me up. Quite often the lady would report to my master how disagreeable some of those visitors were, especially if they smoked.
No transaction took place till my master left; I was too expensive. Just as he had come to me, my master left me also on a fine summer day. But as if knowing its fate, the climbing rose in my garden did not bloom so well that summer. This was somehow made up by the profusion of pink oleander blossoms in my neighbour’s garden. It was to be a long period of solitude when my master closed shut my front door from the outside for the very last time.
***************************
Many months have passed since and I am now the new property of a middle-age Contessa, divorced and quite fussy, who trotted about me with her mink stole, a hand perpetually balancing a long cigarette holder; giving orders what should be done to me. Again I am stripped and knocked about, peeled, scrapped plastered and painted. The orange tree in my garden were chopped off and removed, in their places were new skinny young ones. The majestic tree from where the little boy fell was now but a sad stump and my faithful old climbing roses were drastically pruned. There were no more colourful geraniums in the terracotta pots on my balcony. I wonder if the tulips and daffodils will sprout their blooms next spring. They looked tired this year but the Contessa did not really know that they are now resting in the ground so they had been spared of removal so far.
The neighbours are still there. The single elderly man had sold his penthouse to a high-ranking government engineer and the unit is undergoing a face lift just like me. We have a new porter now, but he does not polish the brass door knob of my main entrance as well as the former one did, neither does he sing while doing his job like she did.
I wonder how my former master will react if he saw me now in my sorry unfinished state and my naked garden. And I do not even know if I will like the chain-smoking Contessa and her two teenagers . But I could certainly use a new plumbing!
E la vita continua,... che sara sara!
(And life goes on, .. ..what will be, will be!)
Interno II
Via Domenico Chelini 5
Roma - Parioli
When my master left, I felt empty, in both sense of the word. I was stripped to the barest minimum but be made sure I was thoroughly cleaned so that my proprietor would not have any complaints when he comes to retrieve me. Not that there was anything to worry about. My master always took good care of me. He had this fine lady come once a week, usually on a Friday and she would put her heart and soul into the task of cleaning me up thoroughly and at very nook and corner. It was always a joy to see the satisfied look on my master’s face when he appeared at the end of the day to find me sparkling clean and fresh-smelling.
I had liked my master from the first time he came to inspect me, although he was a foreigner. Fortunately the two men came to a compromise. My proprietor agreed to provide me with the basic accessories and my master agreed on my price.
I remembered how relieved I was knowing that I would finally have a master again. I had been lonely and neglected too long after my original proprietor left me to go into an old-people’s home. He was so heart-broken when his beloved wife died that he decided to leave me too. They did not have any children; the one child they had died during his boyhood one day when he fell from a tree in my garden. That tree still stood there proud and defiant, a lot bigger than at the time the poor child met his untimely end.
The lonely couple then turned their attention to my present proprietor who was a favourite nephew of theirs. When my original proprietor left me he gave charge of me to this nephew with provision that I would fully be his upon his death. The old man died some years later and I become the legal property of this nephew.
At two hundred and twenty square metre, I was very large indeed for one person’s need; my master was single. But he made thorough use of me and there was not a part of me neglected. And yet, despite my size there were times when my master had staying guests that we both realised how inadequate I could be. This was because when my proprietor had me renovated he did not give proper thought to practicality but followed his whims and fancy. As a result certain parts of me became impressive but non-functional.
By present standard, I was far from modern, but I was solid and made of good stuff. It was during the Fascist era that the building I am in was constructed in a very prestigious residential. I was one of the ten units in the five-storey building and being on the elevated ground floor I had a garden of my own. My present neighbours were some rich retired elderly couples, a rich widow, a single elderly man, and two lawyer offices.
Having a master who was single, I would be left alone most time of the day and quite a few evenings per week. I was to discover later that he also liked travelling so I was frequently left on my own for stretches ranging from a weekend to a week or sometimes longer. I did not like very much these solitary periods, for I would be dark and suffocated and there would be no fresh air entering me. It was eerie when the phone rang and he was not there to pick it up and I would from time to time be jolted from my solitude by the ringing of my doorbell.
At times like these I would miss his pottering around me, and also the beautiful music and songs that were constantly played when he was around. I would also miss the fresh smell of his cologne each morning that would linger long after he had left me for his office and I would miss too hearing his voice conversing on the telephone with his friends or humming in the kitchen or bathroom. It was always a relief to see him eventually return and he would normally have a decorative obje
ct to add on to me.I was also afraid that during his long absences someone would break into me but gratefully it never ever happened. I had no alarm system but my master had a piece of paper stuck on each of my doors on which were prayers and incantations (in Arabic script) supposedly to keep intruders and thieves away from me. His friends and visitors would often ask what those pieces of papers were and my master would always answer in a jest that they were room tariff like those found in all hotel room! And they never pursued him with more questions on the matter.
His job also required him to entertain. So there were often dinners or teas which were very pleasant and cheerful affairs. I was not particularly happy with guests who left thick airs of smoke in my living room but my master would always open the windows for a few hours after the guests had left and I would gratefully breathe fresh air again.
My inadequacies aside, it was a good partnership, my master and I. He made the most of me – I was his home. That relieved look on his face each time he came back to me after a long trip or a long day was always something I look forward to.
Despite being on my own most of the time I was a happy home. I was fully utilised and lived-in. In between the solitary periods there were cheerful days and nights filled with music, voices of guests or visitors, the sweet smell of freshly-cooked food competing with the scents of fresh flowers for the occasion. Non-winter days saw me bright with sunshine and fresh air from the many windows while the faint distant droning of the traffic and the city mingled with chirping of birds from the orange trees in my garden. The bright ambiance allowed many plants to thrive in me.
Alas, I missed all that now. For two years before my master’s departure my proprietor tried to sell me off. I was too big for his need and my location did not meet his ideal. Countless were the number of people that invaded my privacy on the excuse of inspecting me to see if I qualified to be their property. My master was annoyed at this invasion though my proprietor was very polite about it. It eventually worked out that any prospective buyer could come and inspect me only on Fridays when the kindly lady was cleaning me up. Quite often the lady would report to my master how disagreeable some of those visitors were, especially if they smoked.
No transaction took place till my master left; I was too expensive. Just as he had come to me, my master left me also on a fine summer day. But as if knowing its fate, the climbing rose in my garden did not bloom so well that summer. This was somehow made up by the profusion of pink oleander blossoms in my neighbour’s garden. It was to be a long period of solitude when my master closed shut my front door from the outside for the very last time.
***************************
Many months have passed since and I am now the new property of a middle-age Contessa, divorced and quite fussy, who trotted about me with her mink stole, a hand perpetually balancing a long cigarette holder; giving orders what should be done to me. Again I am stripped and knocked about, peeled, scrapped plastered and painted. The orange tree in my garden were chopped off and removed, in their places were new skinny young ones. The majestic tree from where the little boy fell was now but a sad stump and my faithful old climbing roses were drastically pruned. There were no more colourful geraniums in the terracotta pots on my balcony. I wonder if the tulips and daffodils will sprout their blooms next spring. They looked tired this year but the Contessa did not really know that they are now resting in the ground so they had been spared of removal so far.
The neighbours are still there. The single elderly man had sold his penthouse to a high-ranking government engineer and the unit is undergoing a face lift just like me. We have a new porter now, but he does not polish the brass door knob of my main entrance as well as the former one did, neither does he sing while doing his job like she did.
I wonder how my former master will react if he saw me now in my sorry unfinished state and my naked garden. And I do not even know if I will like the chain-smoking Contessa and her two teenagers . But I could certainly use a new plumbing!
E la vita continua,... che sara sara!
(And life goes on, .. ..what will be, will be!)
Interno II
Via Domenico Chelini 5
Roma - Parioli
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