The Quantum Mantra

Unexpectedly, Mayumi came to pick Pascal up at the Fumicino Airport. Such a simple act erased his bad mood; all the debris of worry was blown away by her gleaming smile. His previous reservations were knocked off the pedestal of anxiety; he was exhilarated by her presence.

  She had reserved for him a very nice and cozy hotel just next to the Piazza Navona in the city centre: “Il Centro Historico". He was delighted by the simple elegance of the hotel.

  The air was fresh but warm, thankfully. The sky was a deep blue and the smell of pine and lavender was the cherry atop the cake.

  Even though Mayumi listened to his story attentively, Pascal was half-present in his recollection. He traced the movement of her eyelashes with her discerning brows as they danced with every twist of his tale. Her gratitude was evident and she too was taken aback by Pascal’s ability to reach the goal so quickly. Gently, almost amorously, she took his arm as they walked outside to the nearest café.

  She sat next to him sipping a frothy cappuccino. Pascal watched as she left chocolate foam on her top lip. He let her speak freely, afraid to disrupt her after she had listened to him so carefully only moments before. The waiter who had not taken his eyes off her approached her. He pointed to her lip and completely embarrassed, Mayumi wiped it off immediately.

  Slightly irritated by this intrusion, Pascal explained:

  “Ma! Il ragazzo la trova molto bella! This waiter thinks you are very beautiful, as we all do; even with the foam.”

  But Mayumi didn’t respond well to flattery. Her shoulders moved to the side, shying away from him a little. Maybe she had sensed Pascal’s jealousy and rejected his possessive reaction.

  Pascal was at such a loss; it was as if he couldn’t find the right pattern: their rhythms were out of time. He had to admit that he was quite intimidated by her strong character. Her regal manner was undeniably enthralling, but to really read someone you have to look at the details. Someone’s ticks were always more telling than their screams.

  In Bangkok, he had been delighted to discover her taste for excellent champagne, her flair for architecture and the arts, and her dedication to her work. Most of all, however, he was seduced by her deep spirituality, one that gave breadth to her life rather than limitations. She had an impenetrable elegance, in the twists of her wrists and the manner in which she turned her neck. Her face, tinted with a hint of make-up and her almond eyes were full of stories he wished to uncover.

  Getting a notebook from his backpack and looking at the long list of Roman marvels he had taken the time to select and write down during his boring flight, he asked Mayumi quite abruptly: “So, when can we start the sightseeing?”

  He knew that he had made another mistake in asking this. Mayumi checked her watch and cut him short with a dry smile.

  “Sorry Pascal but it is already ten past ten. We don’t have time to play tourists; we must rush now to the “Fondazione Santa Lucia” hospital. I have to take care of my patients this morning.”

  Pascal tilted his head back, his mouth open to respond when she continued. “And most importantly, one of these patients can help us confirm some crucial information about the next mantra. I have asked you to come in order to meet him urgently.”

  Pascal was disappointed once again by her straightforwardness. He felt childlike in his advances to her. Bearing so much enthusiasm was perhaps off-putting. He was so focused on his desire to please her and to catch her attention, and he felt scuffed by her rebuff.

  In reality, Mayumi was very much endeared by this young man’s character. The misunderstanding lay between their cultural differences. The subtle, oriental culture understood flirtation as a much more delicate dish; it was never just sweet or salty. The flavors had to be discovered and layered one by one. The reality was, in fact, that Pascal didn’t understand the subtle oriental culture; the delicacy of the Eastern way. It was never black and white.

  He bit his lips and promised himself to keep some distance and be more aware of the situation. He had to find the appropriate way to approach his feelings for her.

  Mayumi had parked her car along the Via Cavour, and they rushed there so she wouldn’t get a ticket. As they made their way there, they weren’t aware of the two, slender young men who had been following them on their black Vespas.

  Pascal had given them a cursory glance, but all that he saw was two typically Roman teens dressed in the latest fashion, spending their days harassing girls as though it were a profession.

  On their way to the small Fiat, Mayumi elaborated.

  “This patient is available for visits only during the morning; it is the hospital rule. By the time we start to talk to him it will already be eleven.

  …

  “Every production, of whatever kind it may be,

  is a change,

  While Substance remains the same.”

  Giordano Bruno, 1620. De la Causa