SUMMER SNOW (a 55-word story)


She bought a novel in a second-hand bookshop in Portobello.

When she took it home, she noticed a small hand-written card inside. It read:

“I could’ve been younger.

And smarter.

And better looking.

Who couldn’t?

But I wouldn’t change a thing about you.

Not one.

You are fresh yet complicated.

And rare.

Like summer snow.”



Alberico Collina

THE FIRST DAY OF SUMMER (a 55-word story)


Alberto saw Sara trying to start her Vespa in vain.

He sat her across the frame of his bicycle, between his arms.

He took the long way round to her house.

He breathed Sara, the sea, and sun cream.

And she talked.

When he dropped her off, it was dark.

The first day of summer.



Alberico Collina

ONE HUNDRED RINGS (TO ONE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS) (a 55-word story)


From atop a tree, the brothers spied the genie raising a strongbox out of the water.

He opened it, revealing a stunning woman, who sang the genie to sleep.

She ordered the brothers to make love to her, or she’d wake up the genie.

Afterwards, she demanded a ring from each.

She counted hundred rings.



Aiberico Collina

The Lovers' Tree


Pyramus and Thisbe, originaly by Ovid and here written by Edith Hamilton, is the story of two young lovers separated by a wall in life, who were united by a tree in death.

Their respective parents forbid them to see each other, so every day and every night their words of love travel through a hole in a wall.

A hole that seems to shrink as their passion grows.

And so they decide to meet under a candid-berried mulberry tree, to run away together as soon as darkness falls.

But a prowling lioness, a torn cloak, and fear conspire to compromise their moonlit rendezvous.

And their blood spills to seal a tragic end, and give its colour to the berries of the lovers' tree.

The mulberry tree.


Alberico Collina


"PYRAMUS AND THISBE by Edith Hamilton

This story is found only in Ovid. It is quite characteristic of him at his best: well-told; several rhetorical monologues; a little essay on Love by the way.

Once upon a time the deep red berries of the mulberry tree were white as snow. The change in color came about strangely and sadly. The death of two young lovers was the cause.

Pyramus and Thisbe, he the most beautiful youth and she the loveliest maiden of all the East, lived in Babylon, the city of Queen Semiramis, in houses so close together that one wall was common to both. Growing up thus side by side they learned to love each other. They longed to marry, but their parents forbade. Love, however, cannot be forbidden. The more that flame is covered up, the hotter it bums. Also love can always find a way. It was impossible that these two whose hearts were on fire should be kept apart.

In the wall both houses shared there was a little chink. No one before had noticed it, but there is nothing a lover does not notice. Our two young people discovered it and through it they were able to whisper sweetly back and forth. Thisbe on one side, Pyramus on the other. The hateful wall that separated them had become their means of reaching each other. "But for you we could touch, kiss," they would say. "But at least you let us speak together. You give a passage for loving words to reach loving ears. We are not ungrateful." So they would talk, and as night came on' and they must part, each would press on the wall kisses that could not go through to the lips on the other side.

Every morning when the dawn had put out the stars, and the sun's rays had dried the hoarfrost on the grass, they would steal to the crack and, standing there, now utter words of burning love and now lament their hard fate, but always in softest whispers. Finally a day came when they could endure no longer. They decided that that very night they would try to slip away and steal out through the city into the open country where at last they could be together in freedom. They agreed to meet at a well-known place, the Tomb of Ninus, under a tree there, a tall mulberry full of snow-white berries, near which a cool spring bubbled up. The plan pleased them and it seemed to them the day would never end.

At last the sun sank into the sea and night arose. In the darkness Thisbe crept out and made her way in all secrecy to the tomb. Pyramus had not come; still she waited for him, her love making her bold. But of a sudden she saw by the light of the moon a lioness. The fierce beast had made a kill; her jaws were bloody and she was coming to slake her thirst in the spring. She was still far away for Thisbe to escape, but as she fled she dropped her cloak. The lioness came upon it on her way back to her lair and she mouthed it and tore it before disappearing into the woods. That is what Pyramus saw when he appeared a few minutes later. Before him lay the bloodstained shreds of the cloak and clear in the dust were the tracks of the lioness. The conclusion was inevitable. He never doubted that he knew all. Thisbe was dead. He had let his love, a tender maiden, come alone to a place full of danger, and not been there first to protect her. "It is I who killed you," he said. He lifted up from the trampled dust what was left of the cloak and kissing it again and again carried it to the mulberry tree. "Now," he said, "you shall drink my blood too." He drew his sword and plunged it into his side. The blood spurted up over the berries and dyed them a dark red.

Thisbe, although terrified of the lioness, was still more afraid to fail her lover. She ventured to go back to the tree of the tryst, the mulberry with the shining white fruit. She could not find it. A tree was there, but not one gleam of white was on the branches. As she stared at it, something moved on the ground beneath. She started back shuddering. But in a moment, peering through the shadows, she saw what was there. It was Pyramus, bathed in blood and dying. She flew to him and threw her arms around him. She kissed his cold lips and begged him to look at her, to speak to her. "It is I, your Thisbe, your dearest," she cried to him. At the sound of her name he opened his heavy eyes for one look. Then death closed them.

She saw his sword fallen from his hand and beside it her cloak stained and tom. She understood all. "Your own hand killed you," she said, "and your love for me. I too can be brave. I too can love. Only death would have had the power to separate us. It shall not have that power now." She plunged into her heart the sword that was still wet with his life's blood.

The gods were pitiful at the end, and the lovers' parents too. The deep red fruit of the mulberry is the everlasting memorial of these true lovers, and one urn holds the ashes of the two whom not even death could part."

The opening lines of Sylvie by Gérard de Nerval propels us inside the mind and heart of its listless protagonist.

A man who frequents the theatre and finds solace in an actress whose "vivid appearance illuminated the empty spaces, and, with a breath and a word, summoned the shadowy figures of the actors back to life.".

The object of his desire is a woman who "showed her simple beauty against a curtain of shadows...".

Nerval paints a compelling picture of a man whose obsession for beauty injects colour back into his life, and lends shape to the shadows that populate his world.

His quest for beauty will take him, and us, on a sentimental journey through the places of his childhood.

A landscape of magical places inhabited by hauntingly attractive individuals, who take us by the hand through a landscape of memories and dreams.

A landscape where reality is but a detail that recedes in importance as our protagonist's and our imagination takes flight.

A landscape that consumes and seduces us in equal measure.


Alberico Collina


"I left the theatre where I sat every evening in a stage box, dressed with the elegance and care befitting my hopes. Sometimes the house was full, and sometimes empty, but it mattered little to me whether my eyes rested upon thirty or forty deadheads in the pit and upon boxes filled with old-time caps and dresses, or whether I found myself part of an enthusiastic audience, crowding every tier with color and the gleam of jewels. The stage awakened my interest no more than did the house, except, during the second and third scene of the tiresome play, when a vivid appearance illuminated the empty spaces, and, with a breath and a word, summoned the shadowy figures of the actors back to life.

I felt that I lived in her, and that she lived only for me. Her smile filled me with infinite contentment, and the resonance of her voice, now soft, now vibrating with emotion, made me tremble with joy and love. She understood all my enthusiasms and whims; for me she possessed every perfection – radiant as the day, when the footlights were tuned down and the rays of the chandelier showed her simple beauty against a curtain of shadows, like one of the divine Hours carved on the sombre background of the frescoes of Herculaneum."

The Night The Stars Fell


Anna and I were driving to Dante’s, a new pizza restaurant she’d heard about from a friend. We hadn’t been dating long, and we were both aware we didn’t really know each other. Something lit up on the dashboard, and I noticed I was almost out of petrol, so I pulled up at a gas station on the sea front. It was August and we were in Tuscany. The air was scorching and damp, and only the whims of a capricious sea breeze made it bearable to be outdoors.

I parked at the gas station and made my way to the self-service machine. I searched my pockets for bank notes and found one. However, I realised that if I used it, I would get no change, and I would have no money for dinner. I thought about asking Anna if she had any change, but I remembered she’d forgotten her wallet at home; we were supposed to go by her house to pick it up later.

I knew I didn’t have enough gas to drive on to the next station, and I didn’t fancy getting stranded in some rural back-road with little or no traffic. There were no cash machines anywhere, and neither of us had credit cards. There were no customers. It was beginning to look bad. God knows how long Anna and I would have to wait until someone showed up. We were stuck. But then I saw someone. Someone who I thought may just save me.

A little beyond the pump, at the edge of the pool of light from the gas station, was a slim black woman in a T-shirt, skin-tight jeans, and white cowboy boots. She had a pink handbag with a large yellow starfish on it. She was a working girl, who was waiting for customers; lonely men and boys, who were willing to pay for sex. She saw me looking at her and smiled. She was eating pistachio nuts and spitting the shells on the ground next to her. I looked back at my girlfriend, sitting in the car, and she seemed busy reading something on her mobile phone. I remember thinking: this will only take a minute.

The black girl reminded me of a school friend I had back in England. A girl called Clara, who could smile like no other. I figured she was Nigerian like Clara and I spoke to her in English.

“Hi!" I said.

"Hi, Lover boy! What's your name? My name is Aisha and that over there is Major Tom." Said the girl, pointing to a large white cat that was peering from behind her with its tail curled round her boots."

"My name is Alex, I...I wonder if you can help me?” I stuttered.

“That depends, Alex.” She said smiling.

 “No, look, you don’t understand. I just want to change some money. Do you have two fifties for a hundred?” I asked, showing her my bank note.

“I can get you change”, she said, handing me two fifties and taking my note, “but your girl, I think she’s gone.” She said, exploding into a loud laugh.

I turned round to see Anna at the wheel of my car, giving me the finger through the car window. I didn’t hear what she shouted, as she sped past, but I could guess. I ran after her but she didn’t stop. I stopped to catch my breath and sent her a text message to explain what had happened. As I walked on in the dark, I could still hear Aisha laughing. I saw a shooting star but was too slow to make a wish, and half-seriously thought that was the story of my life.

“Come back lover boy!” I heard her shout in jest.

Since leaving the gas station, I had been followed by Major Tom. I tried to get the cat to turn back and return to Aisha, but it was all in vain. I don’t know how long I walked before I found my car on the side of the road but it must have been bloody miles. When I opened the car door, Major Tom lept in, and I was too tired to pull it out. I saw the keys were inside, and I figured Anna must have called a taxi to take her home.

That night, as I pushed the car to the next gas station, I thought about how I had messed up what could have been a great evening. When I got to the pump, I was sweating and my arms, for some odd reason, would lift by their own accord. However much I tried to keep them to my side, they would rise above my head, defying gravity. And it was then I saw Anna. She was leaning on a gas pump, with her hands on her hips, and she was smirking.

“You came back.” I said.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought…you know…back there…I thought you thought that I…” I gave up trying to explain.

“I thought I saw something but I was wrong. I’m sorry. Well? Are you going to take me to dinner or are we going to stand here all night?” This time she was only pretending to be angry, I could see it.

It was so late, the only place we found open was a hot dog stand on the beach. I was so hungry and so thirsty everything tasted amazing. Anna looked and smelled so good I strained to keep my hands and eyes off her. She had Major Tom in her arms, and she was stroking him, while sitting opposite me.

Sitting at a table next to us was a dark, good-looking man with a mustache. He looked like a policeman from the South. On the table, in front of him, was a mountain of pistachio shells. As I noticed this, Aisha came out of the toilet and headed for his table.

"Looks like lover boy got his girl." said Aisha turning towards me.

"I think this is yours." said Anna, handing Major Tom to Aisha.

That night, I took Anna back home. We stayed in the car for a long time, and she spoke to me about her ex-boyfriend. She needed to talk, and I listened, as I watched star after star shoot across the sky. Anna's words brought me back to earth, and I realised she was still in love with her ex. I took my cue to step out of her life. She cried. I held back the tears. Just. We hugged, and I waved goodbye to her before driving away. There was nothing else to do.

I took the long way back home, I went past the gas station, and under its bright floodlights, I saw Aisha and her policeman dancing a tango. I turned off the headlights and switched off the engine, parking it far away enough not to be spotted. I could hear Piazzola playing in the background, and the air smelled of the sea.

All the restaurants had long closed and the rose sellers had finished their rounds for the night. A group of them stood in a circle around Aisha and her man. They were smoking, and drinking from a bottle they passed round. At the end of each song, they would throw roses at the dancers and clap in appreciation. Major Tom looked on. I saw it pick up a rose in its mouth and turn round to move towards me. I opened the car door and it climbed on my lap. I took the rose and stroked him before letting him down on the tarmac.

"Good Night, Major Tom." I said as the cat turned to look at me, and I put the car in gear.

That was the night the stars fell.

And I'll never forget it.


Alberico Collina

They Echo Inside Me


The following canto is part of a poem written by Alfred, lord Tennyson, and dedicated to the memory of his friend Arthur Henry Hallam, who died of brain haemorrhage at a young age in 1833.

The imagery of these verses is shocking.

"Time" is "a maniac scattering dust".

"Life" is "a Fury slinging flame".

Tennyson works magic through his words.

Faith acquires the physical properties of water in the lines: "Be near me when my faith is dry," so that we may feel what it means to lose it.

While "Men are "the flies of latter spring" and their fate is laid out for us in a vivid and raw analogy.

There is something immortal about these lines.

Eespecially those of the final verse.

Each time I read them, I find a new depth to them.

And they echo inside me for hours.


Alberico Collina

In Memoriam
L
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Be near me when my light is low,
      When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
      And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow.

Be near me when the sensuous frame
      Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust;
      And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a Fury slinging flame.

Be near me when my faith is dry,
      And men the flies of latter spring,
      That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
And weave their petty cells and die.

Be near me when I fade away,
      To point the term of human strife,
      And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day.

The Church of Baseball


In the 1988 film Bull Durham, screenwriter Ron Shelton, writes the following opening lines for Anne Savoy, the female protagonist.

It is a window into the mind of a strong-willed woman.

A woman who knows what she wants, and has become good at getting it.

A colourful character, who will deeply affect the lives of a young pitcher and the older catcher assigned to train him.

In just a few lines, Shelton gives us a compelling portrait of Anne Savoy and her particular views of baseball: "Making love is like hitting a baseball: you just gotta relax and concentrate.".

His words paint a vivid picture of an eccentric woman, who understands this male-dominated sport so well, she is willing to dedicate her life to it because, as she concludes, "the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball."


Alberico Collina


"I believe in the Church of Baseball. I've tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn't work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me. I prefer metaphysics to theology. You see, there's no guilt in baseball, and it's never boring... which makes it like sex. There's never been a ballplayer slept with me who didn't have the best year of his career. Making love is like hitting a baseball: you just gotta relax and concentrate. Besides, I'd never sleep with a player hitting under .250... not unless he had a lot of RBIs and was a great glove man up the middle. You see, there's a certain amount of life wisdom I give these boys. I can expand their minds. Sometimes when I've got a ballplayer alone, I'll just read Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman to him, and the guys are so sweet, they always stay and listen. 'Course, a guy'll listen to anything if he thinks it's foreplay. I make them feel confident, and they make me feel safe, and pretty. 'Course, what I give them lasts a lifetime; what they give me lasts 142 games. Sometimes it seems like a bad trade. But bad trades are part of baseball - now who can forget Frank Robinson for Milt Pappas, for God's sake? It's a long season and you gotta trust it. I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball."

REDEMPTION (a 55-word story)


Tullio was a silent giant who always sat opposite Carla’s house.

He’d accidentally killed Mario, Carla’s husband, during a circus trapeze act.

Carla avoided him.

One day, Carla’s baby crawled onto the third floor balcony.

And fell.

But Tullio caught the baby.

He kissed it and handed it to an open-mouthed neighbour.

And vanished.

Forever.



Alberico Collina

ECLIPSE


After lunch, Renzo and Mara drove to a panoramic site to see the solar eclipse.

Mara was a nurse, and she gave Renzo someone’s x-ray to filter out the sun’s glare, keeping one for herself.

“What is it?” Renzo asked, “A broken arm?”

“Let me see…Yes, a broken arm.” Mara said taking a quick look at the x-ray.

“Is he OK now?” Renzo asked.

“It’s a she, but yes, she’s OK now.” Mara replied.

“Good.” Renzo said holding up the x-ray to the sun.

It was summer, and Renzo was dripping with sweat. He looked for shade, but there was none to be found.

The view was spectacular. A storm had cleared the air, and Renzo and Mara’s gaze stretched as far as Corsica.

In the background, the crickets and birds conversed incessantly. Loudly. Renzo had the surreal impression they were arguing with each other. Screaming at each other. He looked around and saw none of the small crowd that had gathered for the eclipse paid any attention to the noise, and he thought it must be him.

And then it happened.

The moon eclipsed the sun.

Darkness brought silence.

And after a few seconds, the sun pushed past the moon, and it was day once more.

The crickets and birds became loud again.

Driving home, Renzo said, “Is that what happened to us? I mean, has one of us eclipsed the other? Or have we just eclipsed each other?”

“You and your questions.” She said putting her head out of the car window to breathe. And Renzo suddenly felt guilty, as if he were somehow toxic, and his words had poisoned the air inside the car. The air between them.

When they returned to work, in the clinic, there was a woman with her arm in plaster, sitting in Reception.

She was using a chopstick to scratch an itch inside the plaster. She hid it in her handbag, and stood up, when she saw Renzo and Mara come in.

“Are those my x-rays?” She asked Mara.

“Yes.” Mara replied looking slightly embarrassed as she handed over the x-rays.

“Did you take a look? The doctor said it was a clean break,” the woman said almost enthusiastically.

“Clean breaks are the best breaks. They are the ones from which it is easiest to recover.” Mara said, turning towards Renzo as she said it.

Within a few weeks, Renzo moved out of Mara’s flat and changed jobs.

Years have passed, but Renzo and Mara speak on the phone every now and again, and just the other day they laughed out loud thinking about the time they saw the moon hide the sun through a broken arm.


Alberico Collina