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| James
steps off the bus with a few locals that indicate to him in crippled
English to wait with them for a local bus. Twenty minutes later
an orange minibus arrives and he boards with the others. The bus
begins its bumpy ascent into San Miniato. It climbs up a windy
road that grows steeper as they proceed. James shows his napkin-badge
to a passenger that instructs him to get off at this stop. James
finds himself standing in front of the San Miniato Alto. He is
standing in a breezy old quarter that stands on the highest point
of settlement on the hill. James smiles with an open mouth, swallowing
the wind. He sees the sign for Papa Germano’s. *** This is the third morning that James awakens to a square of golden sun on his room’s wooden floor. Like the prior two mornings, he is hypnotically drawn to the window, the gate of this light. As he glances at the quiet cobblestone alley, sensations from the past days surface his mind. He stands erect, recollecting. Since he arrived two days ago, he has been continuously swimming in an ocean of life. He is in love with a woman in the village. He is in love with all the women of the village. He is in love with the air, earth, sky. James is inspired. He feels life flowing through his veins. His hunch about the women of Italy was right on. Almost all women here radiate the magical substance and it is in such abundance that sometimes James spots it resting on the ground with no woman in sight. When this happens, he always tries to imagine the celestial woman that exuded this magic and left it like a puddle in the street. Indeed, the substance of life rises from the earth in San Miniato. The villagers are friendly and hospitable. The women are passionate yet |
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