-II-

Today, a long series of meanders. First, Villa Borghese to see the Caravaggios, although I am most struck by the broken statuary, the fragments, including three headless torsos (of Apollo?), which puts me in mind of Rilke: You must change your life. And this is what I must do, isn’t it? There is no way in which Rilke is wrong. To give up, to give in, to give over, and in so doing, to find if not peace, then what? Acceptance? No, that’s not quite right. Perhaps quietude or equanimity would be more accurate. Not that I expect any of it to last, but I would like to hold onto some of the glorious emptiness, the drifting aspect of these days.

After lunch, we follow the Tiber, and when we cross the river, what do we see but the dome of the Vatican? I had forgotten it was on this side of the river. And yet, why not? After we give ten euros to a table of canvassers raising money for drug rehab, we wander to Saint Peter’s, the necropolis, now presenting underneath another guise. Even on a Sunday, our encounter feels less like predestination and more like serendipity. We walk through, take a bunch of photos, happy to have seen it but also not to come too close. And from there to Trastevere, where in the English language bookstore our acquaintance recommended, I buy a British paperback of The Talented Mister Ripley, which I’ve been wanting since I thought of it on Thursday as we were preparing to fly out. The woman in the bookshop is wearing a Los Angeles sweatshirt; she prefers it to Rome, she insists. 

Really? I answer. I’m beginning to feel the opposite.