The Mysterious Treasure Of Rome

I took only a pair of trousers, a few shirts, a vest, socks and underwear, which filled most of my suitcase, along with the country’s travel guide and a notebook to write down the most important events of each day.

This is precisely the notebook I am now looking at, to remind me of the most outstanding events of the trip. This because for a long time now I do not trust my memory any more, from the day when I happened to be in the middle of a street calmly walking, and I stopped and found myself standing still for a moment with a blank mind.

That day I tried to remember where I was going, what I was going to do, and the most worrying thing was that I did not know where I was coming from. I did not know where I lived, everything around me seemed strange and new, and if I had ever been before on that street, it did not look familiar to me at all.

I was very nervous looking all over the place. I saw people passing by with no worries, like a mother running while she pushed a stroller with her baby inside, who was peacefully resting, dressed in pink with a large lace of the same color on his head.

Then there was this man walking a dog on a leash, carrying a rolled-up newspaper under his arm. Maybe he had gone out precisely to do that! To buy a newspaper. But, where would the store be, and what was the newspaper he normally read?

My breathing went faster as time passed by with no answer, looking all over, trying to stop people that quietly passed by, to ask them if they knew me of anything, or if they could help me get home.

Cars came and went on the nearby road until one of them stopped and without leaving the car, the man on the passenger’s seat asked me in the kindest of tones,

─ Do you have a problem?

I did not know what to answer, I did not even know why they had stopped, probably they knew me from somewhere, maybe they were my neighbors, my friends or my family… maybe they even were my own children, and I just could not remember.

I moved around to turn my back on him, embarrassed by the situation. I felt so useless and bewildered that I began to tremble with despair, looking everywhere, knowing that they had asked me a direct question, but I did not know the answer, I did not know… not even what my name was.

─ Don’t worry, sir, let us help you, the first thing we have to know is your name and if you live nearby, ─ the man insisted as he got out of the car and made his way towards me. I saw he had a round shape, and he was sporting a striking blue shirt with trousers of the same color.

I still was suspicious of him, because although in a reassuring tone, he was coming closer and closer with too much assurance, and I did not remember him from anywhere or anything. For me it was like the first time I had seen him, and that even though I tried to remember him, but…with no success.

─ Don’t worry, I am a cop, ─ he said as he put on that peculiar hat that I quickly recognized, ─ Do you carry on some ID with you? Maybe in your wallet!

Although I was pleased I had recognized his profession, I was unable to utter any sound. I felt like I had a carrot stuck in my throat, with extreme dryness in my mouth, and I could not say a single word.

However, even if I had not had these difficulties in expressing myself, I would not have known what to say, because I could not focus. While my breathing sped up by the confusion of the moment. I could barely hear what was happening around me. I listened to him as if he were far away, as if he were not close to me at all.

─ Look in your back pocket, ─ the little man insisted in an almost fatherly way. He had a short neck barely separating his head from the rest of his body, while he gently put a hand on my shoulder.

─ Back pocket? ─ I answered through my teeth with almost no sound, while I started to recover thanks to that little pat on my shoulder, which I took as a great show of affection. It was just like what I felt when first my children hugged me, or later on did so my grandchildren.

Deeply breathing and somehow distressed by the situation, I put my still trembling hand in my back pocket and, to my surprise, I felt something hard. I took it out and there was what the police officer had said, a wallet with a photo ID of someone. I assumed it was me, and that was probably the reason why I was carrying it.

Those were hard days for me. Doctors ordered me to rest and eat lots of nuts, a few hundred grams a day. Every time I could I changed to hazelnuts that I liked more. Good thing there were nurses that took good care of me every day, until I could take care of myself again. Only that it was never as it was before.

After that, both when at home or on the street I wore a pendant that had a button. I pressed it when I had some trouble, or simply when I did not know where I was or how to get back home. When I pressed it, if on the street I only had to wait a few minutes for someone to come over to help me.

If I was at home, the TV would turn on and a nice young lady would ask me what I needed. Although those cares seemed unnecessary to me, it is true that they saved me out of more than one tight corner.

Unlike the way I felt when I was younger, waking up every day was for me a source of joy, knowing that I could still do something good for other people, because although I have been retired for a long time, I had not stopped doing what I think I was born for, which is to do well to others.

I already fulfilled my ambitious dreams to search for a social position, for the respect of others and for the possession of enough money to spend a comfortable old age. However, now I only have vague and banal memory of all this.

So much time wasted in these trivial details, so much life without living, worrying and preparing for the future. And when the future arrived it turned out it had no sense. It was an empty existence I could only fill out little by little. That I did thanks to what was my great love, that started in my teens and I had it until it was over. If I had pursued a real estate career, I would now have many properties. If I had been a banker, I would now have lots of money, but even though I was only dedicated to helping others… I felt tremendously fortunate for it.

Well, I continue with my story…, let’s see…, I was talking about the Spring Break party…. No, I already told that. It was… the next day.

At about seven o’clock we all went down to have breakfast. Well, those of us who could wake up, because there were some who, after going to bed drunk, they were still sleeping it off.

At ten, we were on the bus to the airport. There were about forty of us, from all the faculties, that had decided to go on this trip.

To do that we had to raise the money we needed, selling blouses or newspapers, and all kinds of desserts to go with the food, and of course we held a copycat charade party, where all of us going on this trip were supposed to sing like a different fashionable singer, whether individually or in groups.

The idea was not to do it flawlessly. It was only to amuse ourselves and entertain this dedicated audience, which sang along all the songs, so our performances were much easier.

The costumes we used were not too good. We did not spend much time preparing them, as our exams were close, but that did not prevent us from having a great time for a couple of hours. There was even a fellow from the audience, who took the stage between two performances, and he improvised a song with equal success as the rest.

That day they talked of nothing else in the faculty. Everybody down the halls congratulated us as heroes heading to a glorious epic that would remain in the annals of history.

Some joked about our being irresponsible, going on a trip just before the final exams, not even knowing if we would finish our studies that year or not. However, none of us cared, hoping that, as we expected, it would be a memorable adventure, which it was so, at least in my case.

Once on the bus we discussed what we thought we were going to find. We talked from a more cultural and historical point of view, describing the places that only had touristic interest. Finally, we arrived to the most frivolous subject that finally was the central one for the rest of the way to the airport: the girls.

We all had an idealized image of those precious creatures, but one’s opinion differed from that of another. There were as many opinions as people in the bus, and even if we had asked the driver, for sure he would have illustrated us with another entirely new view.

The only one who seemed to have a precise idea of the reality of our destination was the head of the trip’s organization. He had spent several summers in that country, although in the south, on the beaches, and now we were heading to the center of the country. In that very long country there were numerous places to visit, each one having its own features.

From the southern vineyards, with its beaches and that smoky mountain always about to burst, to the fashion city of the north with one of the most recognized soccer teams in the world. One could pass through many towns and cities that had centuries-old traditions, some of them that had marked the course of the country’s history. In the case of others, they had their own architecture or an exceptionally beautiful landscape.

Rome, our final destination. For this, we had set aside Paris, Amsterdam or Madrid as candidate cities that also stood out for having one of the following two characteristics, a certain outstanding tradition and culture, and a friendly and youthful atmosphere.

Although they could have included many other cities in the list, the truth was that there were only these four possible choices, and among them Rome was chosen. None of us but one had been in the city, while for the others there were several who had been in one or another.

Back then we did not know very well what we were going to face. They had arranged everything as a group trip, the transfers, the stay, and even the food, and we only had to bring along a few lire, the local currency, to buy some souvenirs.

For that, before leaving we exchanged a small amount in the bank, although we preferred to do so at the arrival airport, because we thought the currency exchange would be more favorable in the destination country.

It was one of those things that we young people thought, that making a little money, saving the most on a few little things we could tomorrow start a large company.

Now that I remember, some of my fellow students later on became senior executives of major companies, even one of them was director of the I.M.F. (International Monetary Fund), a position that none of us dreamed of reaching, despite the influence, power, and money of some of our parents. However, of those rash and ambitious young people, what is left now?

From time to time some of us fellow graduates would meet to remember the number of decades since we graduated, but there is not a single one left of those with whom I had more contact.

The years have got all of them, despite the great fortunes that some of them managed to amass, or the many surgeries more than one had, to change a spleen, the liver or even the heart, trying to remedy the excesses of their youth, trying to cheat death. However, death eventually comes to all of us, I do not know why it has not come to me, perhaps I still have something to do, but I do not know what.

Well, now that I remember, I had a friend who after spending his fortune on donations to research centers, asking them to find for him a cure for that terrible disease that is old age, all he got was a lonely and cold six-by-two foot coffin, in an experimental center, where they keep his cryogenized body.

There he is, inert as if in a deep sleep, hoping that after a number of years, perhaps a few decades, technology advances so much that they would manage to bring him back to a much-desired very long life.

Personally, and after having survived so many and so many, I now understand that only a few years would have been enough… if I only had realized what was really important.

So much time wasted searching and desiring, not knowing the true value of every moment. I have often thought that if I had a second chance, I would change a lot of what I have done. Not that I regret something, because I have a clear conscience, but I would do it differently and even in a different sequence.

So many memories, so many experiences, and now all is left is a bunch of photos in an old album dumped in some drawer, or some of them framed and hanging on the wall, waiting for someone to come and ask me about them.

I have never been very good telling stories, because my hurry always advised me to get to the point, forgetting the details. Now, however, even if I wanted, those details no longer exist, only the photos and some notes. The rest is as if behind a thick morning mist, which conceals the landscape.