AFTERNOON

Many restaurants lined up along the shopping roads. "Pizzerie", "trattorie", "ristoranti", "bar", for every taste and every purse.
The previous day they went for a fast food, too short the time with all the places Saga planned to see, impossible to return to the apartment to cook lunch.
Henrik wanted a full Italian food experience, the way people eat at home everyday.
They stopped at a trattoria called "Alfredo", close to the mausoleum of Emperor Augusto, not before Saga examined the four large panels on the street showing the evolution of the mausoleum from ancient Rome through middle age and renaissance to the present day.
It was warm enough to eat outside, under the small gallery, with some heaters between the tables.
The list had a section reserved to traditional pastas: Astrid wanted one with local cheese and pepper, Saga choose the "arrabbiata", getting from their waiter – a middle aged man with a big belly and a contagious laugh - a remark about not getting angry with her husband, Henrik opted for "bucatini all'amatriciana", with slices of bacon and tomato.
"Why you should be angry with Dad?"
"I don't know, Astrid. I miss the meaning."
"He was joking, I'm sure. To make customers at ease."
Henrik knew too well how hard for Saga to capture the subleties and the inner meaning, especially with foreign languages and foreign cultures. His instinct to protect, to create a cushion between Saga and the rest of the world, was stronger when they were out of the familiar surroundings and her comfort zone.
"What's the connection between "arrabbiata" and anger?"
Saga was direct when the waiter returned with the drinks; the man put Astrid's coke on the table and stood still.
He looked at Saga trying to understand if she was offended or not; Henrik had mercy of him, smiled and offered help. "We missed your joke."
The waiter breathed; used to tourists for a long time, the blond woman in front of him was indeed different.
"In Italian angry is arrabbiato. I'm sorry, it's one of my jokes, to entertain the tourists a little."
"I'm not angry with you because I haven't understood." Saga stated. "Nor with my husband because I'm not married."
Three steaming dishes arrived and soon disappeared. Astrid sampled a forkful from each plate.
"Which one do you prefer?" Henrik asked, wanting to try at home her favourite.
"Yours, dad, Saga's good but too spicy for me."
"Also for me." Saga gulped her second glass of water in a row. "I need an ice cream to cool me off!"
"Astrid, what do you want for dessert?"
"Something with chocolate."
Henrik called the waiter, ordered a large ice cream cup for Saga, refusing her objections: it was too big, she wasn't used to eat a lot outside home, she was aware how much he wanted to spoil her. A chocolate mousse with cream for Astrid and a tiramisù for himself followed.
To see his family eat, to be able to offer them food, nourishment, a comfortable life, a warm house, to satisfy not only the basic needs but also something more, a walk along the beach, a theatre performance, a holiday in a foreign land, gave Henrik a feeling of satisfaction.
Having a second chance, he hoped to do things right, to love and protect, not because social conventions stated it was a man's duty, but because he simply wanted to. The pressure he felt as a young husband and father had been too strong and together with the requests of his detective career slowly drifted him and Alice apart.

Saga suggested to climb the large stairs up to Trinità dei Monti for the view; they had to go zig zag to avoid the dozens of tourists sat on the stairs, the higher they climbed, the more the people seemed to invade the space. But the landscape they spotted up above compensated everything.
Another church, this time smaller, more intimate, with an iron gate separating the tourist's area from the religious one. Silence inside, white walls, whispered words and muffled steps.
Henrik lighted a candle at the altar of the mother of Jesus. A thanksgiving. The burden he felt since Astrid was back was lessening day by day, but he wanted to keep forever Alice and Anna in his heart.
He had another woman, he loved her deeply, still he has been Alice's husband before, the father of two girls.
He missed Anna like Astrid did. No one could take Anna's place, ever.
Saga was standing by his side. Every day together was a blessing, a balm for his heart.
The only woman who had accepted him, wholly, completely.
Henrik murmured a prayer for his lost loved ones, the small nativity made him remember also the baby who never had a chance to live. He wished it had happened in every other moment, except that very wrong time, when he and Saga were too confused to be able to think clearly about what to do.
The view from the hill gave a new perspective to the town; Rome was indeed built on seven hills. Saga controlled the map and proposed to avoid the confusion below and reach their next destination – the famous Caravaggio painting – with a walk along a tree lined road closed to cars for the day, as confirmed the municipal policemen, whose car was placed to prevent access.
They glimpsed beautiful mansion, garden on roofs and plant with leafs still green, the mild weather allowing a lush vegetation.
Astrid pointed at the twin churches on the south side of the square, Henrik controlled the guide.
"The painting is in Santa Maria del Popolo. It must be the church at the opposite end of the square, near the arch." He showed them the small map of the area and the location of the church.
The entrance door was closed. Astrid wanted to see it, she had studied Caravaggio's use of light after Henrik bought her a book about the history of painting. Astrid was now able to point out the differences in styles and wanted to better study the subject, so Saga told Henrik they had to plan a Paris trip soon, with a guided Louvre and Orsay tour.
"There is a museum entrance nearby, go ask if the Caravaggio is really unavailable."
Henrik was used to Saga's order-like, bossy attitude. He never complained, never argued with her, it was her style, she believed he was better skilled at human interaction and better versed in English. And he'd do everything to make his daughter happy.
The young man at the information desk explained the church would open at 4 pm. Henrik looked at the watch, it was early afternoon, time to do a little shopping and be back.

The low and medium brand chain stores were concentrated along Via del Corso, the top brand were in the most defiladed narrow roads departing from the main one.
Astrid was fascinated by some of the goods in exposition, Henrik bought her a new bag, the choices were many but he had already noticed Astrid was fast in making choices.
When the females entered a gallery with trendy shops for young people, Henrik told them he'd be back in half an hour; he had a personal errand to do, strictly related to the New year's eve.
Back to his girls, he found them at Bershka in the fitting room, both trying new jumpers. Astrid was offering Saga some items, colour ranging from grey to green. Henrik waited in silence, it was a new world for Saga, he had gone with her to a H&M in Malmo but her choice were plain, her usual style. A jumper was a novelty, like the deep blue jacket Astrid told him Saga liked.
Astrid showed Henrik her choice, a black jumper with a glittering pink panther on the front.

They were again close to Piazzale Venezia, from a slightly different approach.
A square with ancient columns appeared, protected by a glass fence; they walked to it and read the panel explaining once four temples dedicated to the Roman gods stood there.
Saga used her finger to trace on the panel the location of the ancient temples and compare to the current situation, when Henrik saw a red cat standing near them on a low brick wall, a part of the fence.
He noticed other tourists were taking photos of the animal and when he moved to let them get a better view he saw another cat on the stair leading to the lower area, looking at him from a iron gate that prevented the use of the stair.
He called Astrid who noticed two more cats walking in the middle of the ancient ruins.
"It is unbelievable cats can survive in such an environment." Saga was puzzled. "How do they get food? And there is a lot of traffic around here."
They decided to walk around the fence and at the second turn they saw a metal stair going down near a poster with the drawing of a cat and some inscriptions in Italian and English.
It was the cat sanctuary of Largo Argentina, internet swiftly revealed it was a famous place dedicated to the cats of Rome. According to the opening hours, it was possible to visit so they descended the stair.
A large room under some vaults welcomed them, full of cats sleeping in various beds, eating, cleaning themselves. Three women wearing black T shirts with a cat on it welcomed the visitors, there were already five or six people talking in various languages, petting some cats, buying souvenirs whose money – one of the women explained - would be used to help stray cats, neuter and feed colonies not only there but all around Rome.
Astrid was enthusiast and when Saga stood near one of the tables full of cat beds a black cat started rubbing against her. At first she remained immobile, but then the insistence of the animal made Saga caress his back; the fur was soft like silk. Astrid approached Saga.
"Dad, look at this one, he's got three legs only."
"I think a cat can survive well also without a leg."
A woman whose badge had "Simona" written on it smiled at Astrid.
"Your father is right. He was hit by a car , the veterinarian saved his life but not his leg".
"How many cats there are here?"
"More than one hundred."
Simona pointed at another room, separated by an iron gate, where other cats were enjoying a heater placed in the centre.
"There we keep the oldest, or those who are ill, on the other side we have the ambulatory."
Saga called Henrik's attention.
"I think he likes me." The black cat wanted more cuddles and shameless continued to rub on Saga's body.
Simona was stupefied of the scene under her eyes. "Nero 3 is usually very shy."
"Why is he called Nero 3?"
"His fur is nero, black, and emperor Nerone was so famous many cats are called by his name or similar variants. We have lots of black cats here we have not enough original names for them. I think you've a special way with animals."
"I never had a pet in my life."
"We could get a cat at home. Astrid, would you like?"
His daughter eyes' got the right light. She nodded enthusiastically at Henrik's idea.
Saga whispered Henrik she wanted to give a donation to the place, so she took off her wallet and asked Simona who was talking with Astrid how to make an offer.
Simona gave Saga a leaflet and told it was also possible to adopt at distance an animal.
"Can I adopt him?" Saga pointed at her black friend.
"Sure you can. He's free."
"And if I wanted him at home? Henrik, can we have a cat? Is it possible to make him travel?"
"Air companies accept pets and all our cats are neutered, vaccinated and chipped."
In a quarter of an hour Saga had called the air company, bought a safe cat carrier, signed adoption papers and paid an air ticket for her pet. A large donation filled the box over the desk.

The new bags with their purchases were heavy – a pair of shoes for Henrik added to the list - and Astrid felt tired; she eyed another church and proposed to sit for a while. She had learned fast churches were also a place to rest; neither Henrik nor Saga opposed, tiredness and aching foot were starting on them, too.
Inside it was huge, a space squared more than rectangular, with columns dressed in red and green striped marbles.
The inscription said it was a church built by traders from north Italy in VXVII century, to show the power of the northern cities opposed to Rome.
And indeed the sensation of importance with a large painting over the altar, dedicated to two important saints of Milan, Carlo and Ambrogio, was perceptible.
Astrid took photos, she wanted to prepare a research regarding the various architectonic styles in Rome. The previous day they immersed in the ancient roman empire, then moved to the city of popes, now they were full into the families who had the economic power.

Time to meet Caravaggio; it was around five o clock, still some light, different from Denmark already in full darkness. Astrid lead the adults to Piazza del Popolo, she needed only a short glimpse of the map folded in her pocket to understand their position and destination.
Henrik thought he was good at finding directions, but Astrid showed a similar ability; proud of his daughter, he made a bet with himself she'd have few difficulties in driving when she'd obtain her own license.
After all the times Alice got the wrong way at the wheel, he was happy first Saga and then Astrid could be excellent drivers.
They entered the small building with the painting, the darkness was intense, the chapel with the Caravaggio was on the left, a few people were inside when suddenly light invaded the chapel; there was a paying button to push to turn the lights one.
Astrid approached swiftly, the others followed and all were mesmerized by the way the artist had created the scene. The focus at first sight was on the horse – Saga noted – but then the attention was directed to the man lying on the ground, arms outstretched to the light that blinded him.
Astrid bowed her head to try to see Saint Paul's face better, but it was quite impossible. Henrik recalled old notions from the time he liked to do photos, in his late teens he attended a amateur group of photographers.
"The meaning of the paint is not the saint, it is the whole composition. The sense of diagonal, the volumes in the scene, the huge horse and the small man."