The small winding roads out of town were lined with beautiful old trees and surrounded by lush green fields that grew redder and darker as the evening quickly came and went. Thanks to the hash it wasn't long before we were hopelessly lost and taking one u-turn after another trying to get to the springs. It didn't help much that they were located way out in a field several miles from the nearest paved road and in the dark it was almost impossible to see any familiar landmarks. With no road signs to point the way, Giacomo was navigating purely on instinct. But we pressed on and by ten o'clock or so we finally came upon a nest of cars that signaled our arrival at the springs.
Giacomo had assured me that everybody went naked in the springs and so there was no need to bring swimsuits. I found myself feeling grateful that we'd arrived after dark since now it appeared that there were quite a few people there and I was feeling a little shy. In the distance I could just make out the silhouette of the ancient Roman ruins that curved around one end of the springs and I could see the mist rising up from the warm water and trailing off into the darkness of the cool night air. A single light bulb on a wooden post stood at one end of the springs and cast a soft glow across the entire bathing area, which made it abundantly clear that there were not only a lot of people there but several small children as well.
Giacomo and I looked at each other and began to laugh - as far as we could tell there wasn't a single person in the springs without a swimsuit on and we decided it might be best to go find something to eat and come back later. We took off back across the darkened fields towards the car while Giacomo explained to me that he'd not thought about it being Pasquetta, a day on which many Italians typically take to the countryside for picnics and family outings. We were sure that in a couple of hours everybody would be headed home and we'd feel more comfortable bathing without suits.
We drove to a little medieval village in the mountains about ten or fifteen miles from the springs and found a trattoria where we ordered pizza and red wine and sat and talked about our lives and our friendship and lots of other things that I mostly can't remember. We smoked a couple of cigarettes, paid our bill and wandered around the narrow cobblestone streets of the village for awhile. Giacomo told me about another medieval village in the mountains nearby where some artist friends of his had formed a small community by squatting in some abandoned stone houses. He suggested we take another road trip to visit them and we made plans to go there the following weekend.
It was getting on towards midnight now and we decided it was time to try the springs again. This time we found them without getting lost but much to our dismay there were still lots of people there. But you know, we'd come all this way and were determined we were going to bathe in the hot, natural mineral waters that had been flowing in these fields for dozens of centuries. It was a pilgrimage and we weren't going home with dry hair. With a little borrowed courage from the hash we found an area of the springs where there were fewer people, got ourselves naked and slid down into the warm, dark water.
For several minutes we swam around silently in the water, circling each other's bodies like fish in slow motion, drawn to each other but not wanting to draw too much attention to ourselves. We were two men, naked and together in the midst of a group of people who were not naked and paired very differently than we were. But the hash and the hot water began to liquify our shyness and soon I felt a hand on my shoulder as Giacomo turned me around and drew me in close to him. He began to massage my neck and shoulders, gently pushing my head and body down under the water and then bringing them back up again, working his way slowly down my body to my legs where he spent the better part of an hour pressing deep into the muscles of my thighs and calves as I floated silently in the water. I laid there wondering to myself how many other young men over the eons of time had romanced their lovers in these warm, intoxicating waters, throwing caution to the wind and following their passions into the night.
From somewhere out in the darkness we began to hear the distant rumblings of thunder and then suddenly it began to rain. The lightning, which was now lighting up the once dark skies, convinced most of the bathers to hurry for the edges of the springs and gather their clothing and leave. But after a brief discussion, Giacomo and I decided to wait for a few minutes before exiting the springs since we were naked and aroused. We stood there in the warm waters and watched as our only clothes got soaked - but knew that going home in wet clothes would be easier than jumping up out of the water in a state of such obvious tumescence.
As the lightning got closer and our arousals receded a little, we finally slipped out of the water and hurried over to our wet clothes, being careful to keep our backsides to the few remaining bathers until we had our towels wrapped safely around our waists. We pulled on our wet jeans, shoes and t-shirts and made our way back to the car along the muddy path that was now lit from time to time by the lightning - laughing and joking and then stopping just long enough to remove our muddy shoes before falling into the warm dry seats of the car. There was nothing to dry ourselves off with so we turned up the heater and headed home wet.
About a half an hour into the drive I realized that I was so tired that I couldn't keep my eyes open and when I turned to Giacomo to ask him if he'd take the wheel for awhile I found him sound asleep. So I pulled over to the side of the road, turned the key off and laid my head on his shoulder. The weight of my head roused him just a little and he reached his arm up around my neck, pulled me in tight without saying a word and we both drifted quickly away. When we woke from our sleep a few hours later the birds had begun their morning reverie and dawn was just about to slip up over the horizon. Giacomo pulled out his pipe, lit it and took a long deep drag which he exhaled into my mouth. I started the car, pulled out onto the highway and we headed back to Rome, tired and still damp but warm and content. The pilgrimage complete.
Like so many other young Italian men that I've met in Italy, Giacomo seemed not to be constrained by the boundaries of sexuality that are so often taken for granted in other cultures. He seemed to always be living in the moment and willing and happy to go where the moment led him. His love of women leaped from every pore in his body with unbridled enthusiasm, yet his ability to share friendship and intimacy with another man seemed to flow from him with just as much ease as everything else. I never found myself thinking of Giacomo as bisexual - I just saw him as someone who was willing to ride the waves of his desires with complete abandon. Someone whose sense of adventure could never be contained within the narrow parameters of a definition.
With Giacomo I found myself willing to try things I'd never tried before and to take risks and go on adventures that I would have never dared alone. Something about his enthusiasm for the spontaneous moment of adventure was intoxicating to me because I had always been living, for the most part, in a world where reason and appropriateness ruled my every move.
Late one night after we'd been wandering around from club to club in downtown Rome we found ourselves near the Coliseum and having to relieve ourselves of some of the beer we'd been drinking. Giacomo sidled up to a bush and started to take a pee while I was still bearing down hard and looking for a proper bathroom. Realizing what a prude I was being, I joined him at the bush and we stood there laughing and peeing like two little kids. As we buttoned our jeans and turned to leave, Giacomo reached out for my hand and we walked back up along the Roman Forum towards Piazza Venezia, holding hands while cars and taxis with their late-night revelers and tourists went sailing by us in all directions.
I remember thinking how wonderful it felt to be holding hands with Giacomo there in the heart of old Rome as if it was the most normal thing in the world. This was about friendship and a willingness to enjoy it in whatever way felt good at the moment. After a long walk around the Campidoglio with my hand still snuggly in Giacomo's, we arrived back at the apartment where I was staying, undressed and crawled into bed together. He spooned in tightly behind me and we went to sleep. It couldn't have been more perfect.
As I laid in bed last night, back here in the States, with a young guy who is just beginning the search for his sexual identity, and who was obviously somewhat uncomfortable with the thoughts of what might be waiting for him, I realized that I didn't need to do anything other than just lie there and be close to him - to hold him and let him feel the warmth of my body next to his. I knew from my experiences with Giacomo that sex doesn't always make things better or more intimate. That sometimes just holding hands on a busy street or falling asleep in bed together can be as satisfying as any sexual act. I heard my young friend take a deep breath and let go last night and fall soundly asleep beside me. It's nice to know that the things I experienced and learned with Giacomo can be passed on and that the intimacy between two men doesn't have to be as narrowly defined as I sometimes think it does.
When it came time to leave Rome and return to the States, Giacomo drove me to the airport and walked with me as far as he could go without a ticket. I passed through the metal detector and then circled back around to say goodbye to him over a small, waist-high barrier. A military policeman with his machine gun strapped over his shoulder stood not two feet from us. As we leaned into each other to say goodbye, Giacomo reached up behind my neck and held my head with his hand as we kissed each other first on one cheek and then the other - our long, wild manes of hair shielding the tears in our eyes from our fellow travelers. As Giacomo came around for the second kiss, he held his lips gently against my cheek for the longest time as if to somehow reassure me of something that I already knew; that he really loved me.
That moment froze in time for me. I knew as I stood there feeling Giacomo's lips pressed against my face that nothing could have been added to our time together that would have made our friendship any more perfect than it already was. I can feel him still, his softly stubbled lips and chin pressed tightly into my cheek, the corners of our mouths warm and moist against each other's breath. There was nothing more to say, nothing to explain. It was all right there in that one long, unforgettable last kiss to my cheek.
Giacomo turned and walked away and called me on his cell phone a half hour later to say that he'd met a young girl from the States who'd just landed in Rome and that he was giving her a ride back into town. I laughed and told him to have a good time, flipped my cell phone shut and smiled - knowing that this was one young girl visiting Rome who would be in good hands.
When in Rome
Copyright 2003 by Tom Clark
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without written permission from the author
