Sunday was different from other days. Dressed in his best clothes, Lucky used to leave home early in the morning to return late at night, leaving me on my own with Francesco. I tried my best so that the day would be special for us too, and planned drives to places that might still mean something to Francesco and bring back memories. Knowing how much he enjoyed looking at beautiful houses, noble palaces, squares and monuments, I was able to take him right to the centre of town as traffic is allowed to circulate on Sundays. He loved to go to Piazza Farnese where he could still appreciate the splendid lines and the grace of the sixteenth-century palace and he gestured in admiration towards the two handsome fountains that decorate the square. These signs of recognition renewed my hopes.
Many times we walked from there to Piazza della Cancelleria for a glimpse of our favourite restaurant and to look into the windows of the shop that used to supply us with photographic material. I pointed to the cameras displayed in the windows reminding him of their names. 'Here's the Nikkormat I used for colour slides', I said to him, and 'See, there's an old Leica similar to yours'. He looked obediently into the windows but seldom uttered a word.
Another of our goals was Villa Borghese and the Lake Garden, for which he always had a soft spot. There we would sit and eat a sandwich at lunch time, observing the great white