An afternoon with Ingeborg Bachmann in Rome on the Via Giulia - October 1965

The October wind drove withered plane tree leaves across the cobblestones of the Via Giulia, and the light had that color it only takes in Rome when summer finally gives up—a warm, languid gold that transformed the facades of the palazzi into something older than memory. I stood before a heavy wooden door, its green paint peeling in many places, searching for the right doorbell. The house number was correct. Third floor, I'd been told, no name on it.