The scent of spring
As spring explodes once more around us, I cannot but delve into the past and recollect moments of hope and excitements that such awakening of nature brings into our mind and soul.
I remember the sweet smell of honeysuckle that emanated from the hedges of my home town Lido of Venice. That intoxicating scent is strictly intertwined with the first throbs of sublime love and longing for girls. The one that first stirred these exquisite yet unnerving feelings was Maddalena, nicknamed Linetta.
She lived in a charming little one story home on the other side of the main street that cuts across the island, connecting the lagoon with the open sea.
This division marked what to us then defined different experiences and attitudes, imagine, how ridiculous it seems today that an island of twenty thousand people would in fact harbor such divisions, yet at that time the two factions rivaled each other, like the different quarters of a medieval city.
The fact is that approaching her home I was always apprehensive that I was in a foreign territory.
She lived with her parents and two aunts. The parents were never around, but the two aunts closely monitored her behavior, by guarding her with the zeal of Swiss guards towards the Pope.
Linetta and I had frequented the elementary school run by the nuns, and for the first three years of our school life had known each other, to then part and never meet again until we were eighteen. The attraction on my part had been there from childhood.
The nuns marched us to recreation activities by forming a line, for some reason they placed boys first, in order of height, short first and taller behind, followed by the girls, again short first and taller behind; I was luckily the tallest in my class, while Linetta was the shortest in the class, thus placing us one close to the other.
I recall the excitement and self consciousness of such proximity and I fought bitterly the attempts by a rival boyfriend to replace me as the last boy in the line.
When we met again later in life almost immediately the attraction blossomed again. At first she was not open about her disposition towards me, normal for those days when girls were quite coy, but I soon felt that she cared.
I would go to her home with a male friend, and she and her sister would dance with us. The tango was difficult at first, but in few months we were gliding and turning nimbly at the flow of the intoxicating melodies, while the two aunts watched sternly.
We would sit under the pergola in the garden, gazing intensely at each other’s eyes and absorbing the summer smell of honeysuckle.
I felt I was reaching the highest level of dedication and wonder. As the sun set and dusk slowly blanketed the lush garden, we parted. I would walk home savoring the attention and the warmth I had received that glorious afternoon.
We tried to wander off and be alone, but the aunts imposed strict time limitation and it became harder and harder for us to share our real feelings.
The people and mores of that time imposed strict limits to our relationship. Even our telephone conversations were monitored.
And then one night I went to a party given by a friend of mine whose parents were much more tolerant and non interfering; I met a girl who was willing to go out and I grabbed the opportunity.
Linetta and I became history. When spring awakens again and I smell the intoxicating scent of honeysuckle I think of her and wonder where she is and what happened to her.
Her life touched mine swiftly and intensely and all that remains is the scent of a spring flower.
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