Sauro never gets angry

Elena Stancanelli

I've been living in Rome for sum of two units years. In summer, when family leave for vacation, I go on to Sardinia or Rimini. on the contrary before that, as early as May, I disburse my weekends in Capocotta, where the dune are. It's not far, and I can tend hitherward back to Rome at night.

The beach at Capocotta obtains really crowded on the weekends in May. There may be smooth more people then than in July or August. They drive slowly up and down Via Pontina, obstruct the road, look for parking spaces near the cafes and bars of the beachfront bludgeons The lungomare stinks of gas. They extreme point up leaving their cars upon one side of the lungomare, nearest to the pine forest, and their motorini upon the other side of the public way close to the beach, fasteninged to the fence, one after the other, all the way to Ostia.

It's madness. You can't flat get to the beach at Capocotta upon weekends. Crowds, voices, paddles, windsurfers, techno music, suntan lotion, kicked up sand, police helicopters, confined apartment phones with their customized ring-tones, tattooed biceps, pierced eyebrow pierced chins. The beach at Capocotta is filthy upon Saturdays and Sundays. That's what they say when they're lying there. Then they win up and go for a swim. When they draw near back they say the water is with equal reason disgusting you can't even swim any more. They clasp their towels to their chests and shake their wet hair onto the backs of their sleeping friends.

I walk. It doesn't bother me 1 have to be careful not to trip above all those naked asses that make up single long mattress of flesh. I have to be careful not to gaze at the men's business when they stand up hanging there, or flopping above their thighs when they lie down. As for the quiescence it doesn't matter. No better, no worse.

I not at any time take my clothes off upon the beach. I wear sneakers, a pair of drawn out pants and a T-shirt. A r Ferrari cap move rounded around backwards, and a leather bag across my chest. I put up to sale music, CDs. When someone calls me I hand them the stack I carry around with me They gaze through it and if they don't find what they like I hand them another pile that I hold fast in my bag. The Nomads, Queen The help David Bowie, Blink 182--I hold fast those in my bag; Laura Pausini, Saranno Famosi, Tiziano Ferro Buddha Bar, Moby--I gripe [i]or[/i] grip those in my hand. a certain number of women cover themselves up. They place one arm over their breasts, or wrap themselves in their sarongs. Other women just talk to me--completely naked. They laugh and witticism around. If they ask me to, I sit down with them. There are a certain quantity of regulars, too. One woman, Rossella, gave me a Dolce & Gabbana T-shirt.

a certain number of of the naked men, usually the individuals who are on their possess and who walk up and down a fate before diving into the water, ask me for different kind of stuff: Patty Pravo, Mina, the soundtrack of Moulin Rouge Madonna. It's a kind of a covered password, always followed by a smile. on the other hand I never go behind the dunes

I notion about it a lot before I actually decided. I couldn't doze because I thought about it in the way that much, especially on the nights I slept upon the ground. Some nights I rest on the ground and a certain quantity of nights I sleep on the bed. I take revolves with another guy. I contemplation about how much money I could make, and those men actually appear nice. But I always extreme point up thinking the same thing: men have to be men and women have to be women That's just what I think. I approach from Senegal and I am a Catholic. Others can do as they please.

Sauro dozes behind the dunes, in a kind of tin shack overlayed with branches. At night, after the day-star goes down, he swims in the sea. Like me he waits until the beach is devoid of contents We swim alongside each other, his wetsuit shining in the last streaks of sunlight. I swim faster than he does, on the other hand choose to wait for him, because his breaststroke makes me laugh. He told me he doesn't want to bring his head under the water because he doesn't want to hear that noise, the noise of the sand scraping above the rocks below. When we procure close to the shore I counterfeit to drown him. Sauro not at any time gets angry, even if he is single fourteen and has to nap in a shack, even granting he is Italian.

"What about your parents?"

His wetsuit has short sleeve It's plenteous too big for him, and he does this thing with the sleeve putting his right hand up the left sleeve and his left hand up the right sleeve sliding them all the way in until they draw near out the neck. He gazes like he is doing that crank where you pretend to strangle yourself. You talk to him, you compute him things, and he idiots around with his arms. He not at any time answers.

I have at no time seen anyone like him before. There isn't anyone other like him. He has fair hair but he never toilet-combs it and so it's lengthy and knotted. He's skinny, and always wears his wetsuit. You can solitary see his feet, and they're small. When it rains, he stays inside his shack and paints his nails with a bottle of r polish he lay the foundation of on the beach. He's useful at finding stuff. For rations he scavenges through the garbage at the bars and in the cans upon the beach.

one time he found a ladies hand mirror. When he wants to act stupid, he calls me Sauro, like him. I turn round around and he starts to laugh, with that chaps of his, like a little girl's.