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Maria Grazia Bevilacqua - Italian writer



Maria Grazia Bevilacqua is the author of Con Garbo (Italy 1996).

Bevilacqua followed Garbo to Klosters!

In the end of August 1988 I went in Klosters to see Garbo. I just wanted to see her, maybe say hello to her, and smiled at her. I couldn't ask her an interview. She was the myth, remote, far away, unapproachable, too much Garbo, too much "la divina" and I felt I was still that meaningless girl who adored her in the darkness of the projecting room. I make a reservation at the Pardenn.

I put down my bags and immediately I go out to buy flowers. I come back, I ask the number of the room of Garbo because I wish to send her the flowers with a letter. Sacrilegious. The chief of the hotel and all the employees come out from their offices to see the wierd, strange, imprudent creature who dare to ask about Garbo. "There is no Garbo here", they say with anger. And then comes a red-haired, elderly lady. She is short, squat, pig eyes in a fat face. She is the owner of the hotel. She is agitated and she asks me how I dare to disturb the peace of her hotel, where nobilties such like Prince Charles of England, spend their holiday in incognito.

Her hotel is well-known for its seclusion and Miss Garbo don't want to be bothered by anyone and she hates fans and detests flowers and she'll certainly toss them away and I have no reason to waste my time in Klosters. It's diner time and I wait in the hall, in front of the dining-room where I hope to see Garbo. I look around but I see nothing but a group of very old, decrepit like mummy people. I don't see Garbo. I wait for more than an hour. Then I asked about her to a waiter and secretely he tells me that "Miss Brown is not feeling well and she has served her meals in her room". He even gives me her room number: 410, 4th floor.

Was she real?

In the night I wake up and I think that I am sleeping under the same roof of Garbo's. My jouth has gone away so fast. I have became a middle-age woman, with grey hair and the wrinkles I pretend not to see. And I pretend to forget my regrets, the failures, the betrayals, the mistakes, my faults...

I have worked so hard, I have made many interviews with actresses, actors and directors. Some of these actresses were very beautiful: Anouk Aimée, Claudia Cardinale. Others were fascinating: Glenn Close, Michele Morgan. These are the first who come in my mind. But in the end I always searched for Garbo. But was she real? Or she was only a virtual image who appeared on the screen? Was she an invention? I thought I wanted to see her but was it true? I remember her as a sunny and splendid woman, wouldn't be awful to see her now older, tired, unrecognizable? No, I was sure that the signs of her antique beauty were still on her face. I did not want to see her too close, I wish I could see her back-lighted, maybe in profile, that surely was not been altered by time. I should have told her that I have looked for her all my life, that she had influenced my judges, my choises, my refusals...

The morning after, very early, I arrive at her door 410. It is half-closed. A flash of light passes though the door. It seems to me to hear a noise, a rustle of papers... Is it she? I imagine to come in and to... to what? To say hello to "the divine"? How do you greet a divinity? Introduce me? Kiss her hand like Deborah Kerr did? Be silent and just look at her? No, I'll never have the courage to enter her room. So I come back. The following day I run away from Klosters, without seeing her...

Thanks to Gianni

 
Garbo Stories
 
 
Introduction
  
 
Greta's Childhood Stories
  
 
Garbo Stories - Part 1
  
 
Garbo Stories - Part 2
  
 
Small Garbo Stories & Anecdotes - Part 1
  
 
Small Garbo Stories & Anecdotes - Part 2
  
 
Small Garbo Stories & Anecdotes - Part 3
  
 
Funny Garbo Stories
  

 

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