I was a little worried because of my prejudice against Soviet cinema. I was afraid it would be like Solaris, which I’d hated. Instead of which, in a half-deserted arena (I assume many of the usual customers had a similar prejudice to mine and had stayed away) we found ourselves unexpectedly watching an action movie, completely American in style and pace. The main actress was the beautiful Rebecca De Mornay; the 239only thing Russian about the film, in fact, was the name of the director.

It was the story of a prison break. A drama with a grand finale of the kind I liked a lot back them – and even now, to be honest.

By the time it was over I was surprised and satisfied; Lorenza surprised and less satisfied. It wasn’t her kind of film, but she couldn’t complain because the film was by the great Konchalovsky and, above all, it had been her choice.

It was set on a moving train, which, as far as I recall, was why Lorenza started telling me a story. I say “as far as I recall”, because I don’t remember how we got there. We were walking along the deserted streets of the city and all at once she came out with those words. In my memory, it’s as if she said them without warning, without any connection to what we’d been talking about.

“I was at the station in Bologna on 2 August.”

“You mean that 2 August?”

“Yes.”

At 10.25 on the morning of 2 August 1980 a timed device had exploded in the second-class waiting room of the station in Bologna. Eighty-five people died, and two hundred were wounded. It was the worst terrorist attack in the history of the Italian Republic. The investigations and trials led to the conviction of the perpetrators: a group of right-wing terrorists. The instigators were never identified. I was eighteen when it happened, I was by the sea, bathing, and after that event many things changed for ever. For me and for lots of people.

“You were in the station when the bomb went off?” I said incredulously.