A DAY IN ROME

MORNING

"Santo Spirito in Saxia, the monastic buildings are behind the Church."
Saga read from the Rome guide she bought at the airport shop as soon as they landed on Saturday and went for the church entrance; Henrik and Astrid a step behind.
Astrid had asked them to return in the morning to St Peter's square to take more pictures of the Bernini columns; they had finished late their visit to the Sistine chapel the previous day - Sunday, December, 30th, their second day in Rome - and it was too dark to obtain good images.
After breakfast they left the rented apartment near Campo dei Fiori at the same time of their landlords, the Manzoni, a family of three living on the floor above theirs.
Carlo Manzoni was going to buy the newspapers and his wife on her way to the post office with a parcel. Henrik had asked Mrs. Manzoni help - as soon as they met on the early afternoon of the 29th to receive the keys - about where to buy food and she had accompanied him. Saga and Astrid had followed, observing in silence the large plates with new foods on display, while Henrik and Mrs. Manzoni had discussed, pointing at the various alternatives. It seemed the Italian woman had no strange reactions to the notion of Henrik being the cook at home; instead, she told Saga she was a very lucky woman.
Saga reflected about it, was that many women – also in Italy - were not so prone to be the housewife and maybe a large percentage would prefer the man to help more? In this case she was indeed lucky, Sandra had a home office, travelled around Italy for work and she had told Saga her cleaner would clean also the rented apartment every day, but probably she was the one in the kitchen every evening.
After half an hour Henrik had discovered lots of new things about Italian food – subtle differences regarding "salumi", the varieties of ravioli and tortellini, home made pasta with eggs - and Saga had become curious about what they would eat.
Mrs. Manzoni, Sandra as she asked to be called, walked with them to the bus stop along Lungo Tevere and wished them a lovely day in town.
"The Manzoni are kind", Saga stated on the bus. "They are used to meet foreigners."
"Yes, probably. Sandra told me they started holiday renting only a few months ago, so we are among their firsts customers."
"Why she said they are worried about the rugby in February?"
"Six nations rugby starts then and matches with Italy are played in Rome, probably she has bookings from UK."
"Football fans are worse than rugby fans."
Astrid asked why she was so sure. Saga explained foreign football fans had damaged some monuments in Rome more than once and the news had been reported all over Europe, while rugby matches were more friendly and good for families.

The square in front of the most important church of the Christianity was crowded, it was new year's Eve, so it would close around noon, the panel announced; the organized tours were concentrated in the morning and a long line of tourists was waiting to enter St. Peter.
Saga felt there were too many people around to start the day and lead her family through quieter streets, parallel to the shenographic Via della Conciliazione.
Santo Spirito was compact and had no particularities to note, it was the large building of the ancient monastery with a view over river Tevere that attracted attention.
"Renovation of the buildings." Henrik announced when he saw the scaffolding along the street.
"Never mind, we have other places to see."
Crossing the river on Vittorio Emanuele Bridge, Astrid stopped for a photo, her new Canon - one of Henrik's gift for Christmas, with expensive lens he had to reserve from the shop, because it was considered a professional equipment – in full use.
There were stairs descending from each bridge, people walking along the banks, bikers and runners.
The sunny winter morning was perfect for the last day of the year and Henrik was glad he controlled the weather forecast and suggested a light outfit.
Saga remembered well how much she suffered the heath in her previous early spring visit and didn't oppose to his recommendations.
She had a new light coat to show off, shorter than she used to, one of Henrik's Christmas gifts, when he noticed she was interested in the items exposed in a Malmo shop.
The stairs were dirty, beer cans, two bottles, plastic bags, grass growing between the steps, not a great visiting card for the city.
The view compensated the descent, a strung of bridges, Castel Sant'Angelo on their left.
"It was used as a fortress, as a library and also as a prison." Saga quoted from her book, Henrik looked at her with a strange sad smile.
Astrid knew that a prison had been between them, but neither him nor Saga showed an inclination to explain her the details. Their relationship was made of silence more than words, she suspected, but she was sure they felt both a deep connection, like they could read each other's mind.
Saga took photos with her phone; how many she had sent Henrik first time she was there. Rome had been her turning point, she imagined to travel more, but what the point of seeing things if she started wanting to share them? His comments to her photos were the things she treasured most, she found herself impatient to see the double check and the emoticons he was used to add.
The loneliness and the longing she felt in Rome after three weeks away made her turn the Porsche north. In two days she was in Copenhagen, her plans for Paris and the rest of France delayed. Henrik arrived home having dropped Astrid to the rehabilitation centre, saw the car and ran into the house to find Saga in the kitchen staring at the microwave oven. Another ardent hunger was satisfied before Saga could eat.

On the other shore of Tevere river they asked for a bus to the centre; the map showed how far they were from the area of Fori Imperiali they visited the day before and from where Saga wanted to start the second day of visit.
Near the bus stop, the church of St John of the Fiorentini was closed: Astrid and Henrik exchanged a meaningful look. If Rome was the city of 100 churches, Saga's ideas could be very dangerous. The kind policeman sat at the wheel of a blue Alfa Romeo Giulietta, whose help they asked, told them in a simply English – after Saga placed the map under his eyes and pointed to the destination she wanted - that each bus was good and in a short time they were in Piazzale Venezia.
From the balcony of the homonym palace the Italian leader had announced war in 1940, a disgraceful alliance with Germany that lead his nation to a heavy defeat.
"Sweden was lucky to remain neutral, Denmark suffered, too."
"We studied WW2 at school in the village, the Swedish side."
"My maternal grandfather was involved at that time. He was a sergeant in Odense police and remembered well the occupation time. The resistance tried to oppose, but with few results. The Germans were too strong, they killed many opponents."
They crossed the square and entered Via del Corso, lined up with shops and filled with a crowd.
Saga lead them to a little square, whose church had an inviting open door and the large panel of the nativity scene draped over the entrance.
They entered and noticed the nativity scene in one of the chapels.
It was carefully built, with water flowing, accurate reproduction of houses and stables of the time and huge statues of the characters, human and animals.
Astrid was watching, reading the notes that explained how the same man had built the Presepe for thirty years in the church.
"Dad, why we saw a nativity also outside St. Peter this morning, made of sand?"
"I think it is very typical here, we tend to use the trees, they have another tradition."
"Saint Francis, the patron of animals, started the "presepe", in medieval times, according to the sources." Saga was informed, as usual.
"So every country has its way to celebrate?"
"Yes Astrid, in Russia Christmas is based on the ancient calendar and is not on December 25th, in Spain the gifts arrive with the three kings..."
"Three kings?"
"The kings who followed the stars to reach the newborn Jesus and offer him gold, incense and myrrah."
"You know so many things, I'll never be able to be like you, Saga."
"There's no need to be like me, you can become what you want. And I can be boring sometimes."
"Oh no, never, life is so frizzy since I got you."
Astrid took another photo and Henrik and Saga looked at each other over her shoulders.
The young woman was their most precious treasure, their purpose to make her feel loved and cared for. Not another Jennifer, not a person grieving for a family who disintegrated, in a way or the other, in front of her very eyes.
Saga saved Astrid twice, for Henrik, for Astrid and for herself, too.
Hard to imagine her life if Brian had his way, hard to believe Henrik would have survived another loss. He'd never overcome it.
Saga sometimes wondered if in the long term she'd have been enough for Henrik, should Astrid remained missing. She feared a negative answer, could he ever forgive her for killing his baby? She had a recurring dream of Henrik rejecting her and throwing her out of the house, while she suddenly had no voice to tell him she lied about the abortion to test his love and that the baby was alive; she always woke up trembling in the middle of the night.
It was a foolish idea, she never lied, but her subconscious had mixed up two of her biggest fears, to loose him and to become a mother. Since they started living together, she understood Henrik was too important for her. Now, every time she had that dream, she got up and checked in the other bedroom that her girl was safe.
If Henrik had accepted Saga since the beginning, she could accept him in full.
The moment in the lift she found out he was married with children, she thought – with a hint of sadness that was unusual for her - it had been a one night stand and nothing more; the same evening he was at her door and soon after - without realising or admitting why - she was at his. Since then, no one else. Point.
Impossible to separate the man from the father. Whatever Saga would have decided about the baby, he still was Astrid's father.
Like she still was police. She had decided for a sabbatical year at university and to return in full force the following summer; too many years to complete her original idea of microbiology.
And she was a good detective, Henrik repeated always, while studying for his own exams.
Their house had become a library, books and folders scattered around, Astrid with earphones learning English not to disturb the others, Henrik repeating procedural rules while cooking, eyeing the codes near the coffee machine. Sometimes Saga asked his help in better understanding her texts, they discussed practical applications of psychology theories, Henrik suggesting people or situations he faced at work.
It was helping her, slowly, to understand other people's behaviour, to reduce a little her bluntness when talking with someone.
Henrik was there, respecting her social difficulties.
Respect, the key word in their relationship. never stretching to the limit the boundaries each of them had, instead trying to become more flexible little by little.

Astrid put a coin in the wooden box for the poor and when they left Saga choose an alternative route, less crowded, to the Trevi fountain.
The water system in town dated to the roman empire and Astrid saw the sign of an archaeological site, called Castello dell'acqua.
She lead the way, Henrik and Saga followed; a small entrance introduced them to an underground area, excavated during a complete renovation of a theatre above, with a small exposition of objects – delicate glasses in shades of aquamarina, remains of statues, anphores – with explicative panels. It was hot and humid under the street level, Saga took off her coat and felt suffocating; her first impulse was to run away, but she breathed deeply to calm herself and concentrate on the place she was exploring.
It was easier for Saga to overcome some of her limitations and open her up to new possibilities. Henrik was reading from the panels and she focuses on the information she received.
The small square of Trevi fountain was full of tourists, hard to find a way to reach the basin to throw the coins.
"Why we must do it?"
Astrid was doubtful. She had seen images of the place and believed it was different, wider and more imponent; reality somehow deluded expectations.
"If you throw a coin in the fountain, you'll return to Rome, says the tradition. I did so and I'm back."
"It isn't logical." Astrid retorted.
"It is nice. And the coins go to charity, so nothing is wasted."
Henrik took off cents from his pocket and gave one each.
"We'll return. We'll take the car and do a proper summer Italian holiday."
Saga nodded and Astrid took her father's arm, leaning into him.
They moved closer to the water, in the narrow space a group of cheerful Americans allowed, each lifted the hand with the coin.
"Ready?"
Henrik received two yes.
"Ok, now."
The coins fell in the water, Henrik passed an arm on each of his women and briefly kissed both heads.

They started wandering a little, looking at the buildings and the people passing by and ended up
near San Silvestro in capite, a church with tags both in Italian and English. A little squared court was before the entrance, with remains of ancient statues and capitelli, like they saw at the colosseum the day before.
They entered the church, a celebration was going on, the priest wished peace to the fedeli and gave advices for the following day's events.
"Why is he speaking in English?" Astrid asked Henrik.
"Because Rome is international and they celebrate in various languages."
"I thought it was an English church."
"No it's catholic, I'm sure, there is also a chapel on the left with a relic."
"What is a relic?"
"A phisical remain or a personal effect of a saint preserved for veneration. Catholics uses them a lot."
Henrik read it was the head of St John the Baptist, set in a shrine barely visible behind an iron gate.
"Is it true, dad?"
"I really don't know."
The priests at the altar entered the chapel, now dressed in a black clergyman
He noticed the trio looking at the shrine, the man and the girl reading a prayer beside the small altar and the woman moving toward him, asking him bluntly if the relic was authentic.
Saga was looking at the priest with an intense gaze, he felt she wasn't a toriust easily impressionable or convinced.
"Tradition says so."
"Do you have proofs?"
"Absolutely no."
"So why it is exposed to the public?"
"You aren't Catholics, are you?"
"No, Swedish and Danish. They are supposed Luterans. I have no church."
Saga pointed at Henrik and Astid who had rejoined her; Henrik was listening with attention.
"Pragmatic and concrete, I know. I'm Italian but I grew up in Manchester with protestants. Relics were used since middle age as a form of devotion and teaching to the people."
"I know what relics are, the point is to trick people making them believe things."
"The catholic church has changed a lot during the centuries, many old beliefs have been abandoned or modernized."
The priest saw the man touched briefly the woman's elbow; Henrik was keener toward God and religion than Saga, he didn't want to argue with the priest furthermore.
"If people had pleasure or comfort in the idea of a relic, why we should forbid it? It is a way to ease pain or anguish better than others."
Saga read his inner meaning: maybe praying in front of an altar could have saved him from years of pilling and abusing his body.
The priest laughed, a free laugh, not mocking or making fun of Saga.
"They say if you collect all the figments of the holy cross in the world, you could end up with a woods."

They were again in via del Corso searching for Piazza di Spagna, when Astrid saw the Spanish flag on a large white building.
"I bet the palace gives the name to the square." Astrid declared.
"You're right, catholic nations valued Rome and the popes a lot. And often traders from the same area settled together and toponyms were created."
"Embassy are everywhere here, I saw the Brazilian yesterday, but I don't remember where. Too many things to see here." Astrid squared Henrik, surprised.
Dad's photographic memory was fading? Astrid trusted him with all her heart, her strength, her saviour, her real father.
In few weeks the differences with Frank became evident. How dad cared for her, asking what she would like to do, to eat, to see on tv, never imposing things like Frank did. When she fell from her bycicle and sprained an ankle that soon swelled, he wanted to go to the ER for a rx although Saga assured him it was nothing serious.
Astrid started hating Frank when Anna died and he refused to go to the hospital. Since then, she had a bag ready for the right occasion to leave the village; at first she thought it would be with Cristoffer, but he was too scared to move, for the opposite reason of Astrid. She was trapped, underneath a pretence of fatherly love.
So when Henrik lead her back to the village, she simply grabbed her bag from under the bed and left for ever the place.
Life with Henrik was great, if she liked something he didn't, he'd would accept it for her. Always. Watching girlie tv programs together, listening to her favourite radio station in the car, buying her candies he once tried and had to spit so sweet they were.
She didn't remember her father was so devoted, but maybe she was too young, and he was younger, too.
She did the maths, Mom and Dad married in their mid twenties, Dad had just turned forty, not like Frank who never revealed his real age, until Anna once found his driving licence with the date of birth in his desk with other papers.
So Frank was already more than 50 and Anna was still alive.