When the meeting ended, I was gathering the sheets of paper scattered on the table-I had to submit them with my report-and Roberto returned. He squeezed my hand and said good-bye with a broad smile.

"Arrivederci, comrade!"

I started laughing and confessed that I like being called comrade, it's amusing.

"Come, come!" said the assistant principal, clapping his hands. "What are you doing there chattering away? Do you not see that the assembly has ended?"

Today I'm happy. I had this lovely encounter and hope it doesn't end here. You know, Diary, I truly persevere if I want to achieve something. Now I want his phone number, and I'm sure I'll manage to get it. After his number I'll want what you already know- namely, to inhabit his thoughts. But before that happens you know what I must do.

10 October 2001 5:15 P.M.

It's a wet, melancholy day. The sky is gray, the sun a faded smear. This morning there was some light rain, but now a few flashes of lightning would be enough to unleash a downpour. Still, the weather doesn't make a difference to me: I'm very happy.

Stationed at the school entrance were the usual vultures wanting to sell you books or to persuade you with leaflets, undeterred even by the rain. Roberto's friend was there, a cigar in his mouth, wearing a green slicker and handing out red flyers, a smile stamped on his face. When he approached to give me one as well, I stared at him, flabbergasted, since I didn't know what to do, how to act. I mumbled a timid thanks and dragged my heels, thinking that a golden opportunity like this wouldn't happen again. I wrote my number on the flyer, turned around, and handed it back to him.

"Why are you returning it? Why don't you just throw it away like everybody else?" he asked me, smiling.

"No, I want you to give it to Roberto," I said.

Bewildered, he protested, "But Roberto has hundreds of these."