Ruth guffawed.
“No,” it's true,” Sally protested. “Some of my best friends here are Italian men. Oh, I know it's because I'm a foreigner, and free from the restrictions that many Italian women face. “With me, men get to have the company of a woman at times when traditionally they wouldn't have. They seem to like that. So they make no attempt to turn it into something more. Actually, I believe they are more interested in my being an American than a woman!”
Ruth laughed again, clicked closed the locks on her suitcase and put it by the door.
“So laugh,” Sally said, “but they treat me like some kind of American Oracle. And they never stop asking me questions. Especially about politics. And even their questions show they know more about American politics than I do. Sometimes I feel like I'm being interviewed.”
“You love it.”
“Yes, I do,” Sally smiled mischievously, and put her suitcase by the door next to Ruth's, in readiness.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Paolo was right. Naples was more exciting than Rome. That is if you like noise, chaos, and crowds. “Hey, this is like being back in New York,” Sally laughed.
“Not exactly,” Ruth said as she stared up at the laundry hanging everywhere. Over balconies, and strung across every street, making the city a canopy of sheets, tablecloths, and underwear. They had decided that first they would grab a taxi to the nearby ruins of Pompeii for a couple of hours and then come back to catch the boat to Capri in the late afternoon. Since they had no idea what to expect at Pompeii they thought it would be wise to have an early lunch in Naples.
They saw a sign: PIZZA
“Ruth, look. Pizza! I know you won't believe this but it’s not so usual to get pizza in Italy, even though this is where it all started..”
“You're kidding!”
“No, honestly. Let's go here. I haven't had pizza in such a long time.”
Sally and Ruth dug into the familiar wedges of crust, cheese and tomato with gusto. “Mmmmmmm,” Sally said, as a strand of cheese stretched from her mouth. “Now this is really like being in New York.” They enjoyed the irony.
Italy was full of the ruins of previous civilizations, but none were as amazing and chilling as those of Pompeii. As almost every school child knew, Mt. Vesuvius, the active volcano that overlooks the Bay of Naples, erupted so violently 2,000 years ago that the whole town of Pompeii was totally destroyed. Destroyed and preserved at the same time. That was Pompeii's special attraction. The eruption was catastrophic, but so swift that while it toppled and buried the town, it also literally “froze” some of the homes, animals, and people just as they were under an enormous amount of volcanic ash.
When Ruth and Sally arrived at the clearly defined entrance to Pompeii, they were astonished to see how big the ruins were. They were expecting that only a patch of the ancient civilization might have remained, but instead they encountered the perimeters of nearly an entire town with its many streets, cross streets and plazas still intact. They found themselves walking on the same stones as the once thriving Pompeiians did in 63 A.D.
It was empty, hot, and eerie. The blazing sun bounced mercilessly off the bleached rubble.
Trees and bushes had grown between the outlines of houses. It could have been any suburban community of side-by-side homes with their front steps and backyards. Except at first glance most of the houses were gone. Occasionally, there was a marble doorway standing alone. Or half a wall.
Soon, however, they realized that there was much more here than first appeared to the eye. They discovered an ancient bath house where the mosaic tiles of teal green peacocks, brick red hearts, and stars of gold were still vibrant. They were astonished by the clear and colorful frescos painted on the old walls that provided windows through which life at that time could be seen and understood.
As always, food played a great part. Green fruit and water bottles. Eggs, game birds, and fish. Silver jugs and dishes with lace-like handles. Huge ceramic barrels of local wine. “Not much has changed in a couple of thousand years,” Sally joked with Ruth.
It was clear that Pompeii had once been rich in color, culture, comfort and pleasure. The surprise eruption had been a sudden blow to an unsuspecting population enjoying its varied daily life. Unlike other ruins, Pompeii did not make you guess about who once lived here. The true forms of people, cats and dogs were preserved intact.
The one that especially moved Sally was a young woman, curled up in a fetal position with a permanent look of horror on her face. Each time someone saw that woman, the destruction of Pompeii was now, and not at some other time. Ruth shuddered. “I sure hope she had a happy life up to this point,” she said.
“What is the difference between a happy or unhappy life once it is over?” Sally asked.
“You're not going to get philosophical on me now, are you,” Ruth scolded. “It's too hot.”
Sally used to drive the easy-going Ruth crazy with her late night discussions on the best way to have an intense life, to live to the hilt before time runs out. “How does one live?” Sally used to ask rhetorically, just as Ruth's eyes were closing. “How does one live?” Sally would insist. “If it is so important to squeeze the most out of a minute, what is the best way? Working? Playing? Loving? Dancing? Praying? Swimming? Sunny days? Rainy days? South? North? All at once? None of the above?” Sally would get overwhelmed by the choices.
Ruth would sleepily tell her that she was glad she didn't have to pick just one. And then she was out like a light.
But Sally believed that your choices gave you the kind of life you eventually would lead.
Sally often wished that the good lives--the well-lived lives with luck and love and health and charity--could be saved and collected somewhere in the universe. She wished there was some kind of cosmic shellac that could be sprayed over our great moments, so they could be permanently exhibited in some metaphysical place, displayed as eternal reminders of what has been and can be.
Obviously, this nearly 2,000 year old woman from Pompeii had one of her moments preserved and exhibited. But it wasn't quite what Sally had in mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
They both welcomed the cool hydrofoil ride across the Bay of Naples as it took them from the death of Pompeii to the life of Capri. As they sailed closer to the island, they could see the nearby pink cliffs of the town of Sorrento rise straight up from the sea.
“I can understand why they sing about coming back,” Ruth said as they went by.
“Maybe on your next trip, we'll come back,” Sally smiled.
“Do you intend to stay in Italy that long!?” Ruth asked in dismay.
“I'm hoping you'll be back that soon, “Sally responded affectionately.
Capri was waiting for them. The picture-book town square that fronted right on the water glistened in the sunlight. They were greeted by rows of small fishing boats, outdoor cafes, old stucco houses, narrow winding streets that climbed mysteriously into the steep rocky crags, and the most spectacular view of blue sky and water on all sides. From this distance they could see across the 18 miles to Naples with Mt. Vesuvius looming like a sleeping cat before it perhaps leaped up once again suddenly and swiftly.
They expected crowds on this small, five mile island with its two little villages. But it was quiet for the moment. So they luxuriated at a cafe overlooking the tiny harbor in the late afternoon light.
“Why is everything they say about Italy, that I find too good to be true, really true?” Sally asked Ruth.
“No wonder you won't come home,” Ruth said under the same spell. At that moment Sally felt she never would return to the States. Italy was becoming more and more natural to her.
All of a sudden she had a flash of Paolo in her mind's eye. She felt as though they were half expecting him to amble up to them, walking his long-legged, confident walk. He'd be wearing a crisp light blue cotton shirt with short sleeves and his healthy brown arms would invite stroking. A hint of his elegant chest would be seen at t
he open neck, and his custom-fitted summer trousers would pick up the slight bounce of life that ran up his thighs from his knees.
Wow, Sally thought once she had shaken the illusion, where did that come from? Wherever it came from, for a short time it left her uncomfortable and a little dissatisfied in paradise.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Ruth and Sally couldn't believe their luck. Sight unseen they had reserved a room at a simple inexpensive inn. No matter what they wound up with, they reasoned, they'd be out of their room all day anyway. Instead, they were located in a low, white stucco pensione with a private balcony enclosed in white latticework, from which they could see the sea.
“Well, we won't have to be in a hurry to go out for breakfast!” Ruth exclaimed.
Together they had three breathtaking days on the Isle of Capri. They climbed the steep hills to stand over the sea and breathe the swirling air that caressed their faces. They walked the steps through town, following crooked lanes to rows of shorefront houses built practically under rock, as narrow slices of water foamed almost to their front steps.
They swam in the clear blue water off the pebbled beaches. They hired a horse and carriage to take them to the other side of the island, to the old palaces, vacation wonderlands even in ancient times.
A fisherman guide took them in his boat to the famous Blue Grotto, a high, wide cave entered from the sea under the rock of Capri itself. As the small boat came into the cave a miraculous transformation took place. The sound of the wind, birds, and boat motor stopped. It had the feeling of entering an empty cathedral from a busy, noisy street. There was an echo if someone spoke. They stopped speaking.
The waves lapped softly at the cave's entrance. Sally felt as if she had passed from a secret chamber into a dream. The walls of the cave were----blue! Of course, blue. But not water blue or heaven blue, but surrealistic blue, phosphorescent blue, liquid blue, bright blue, gem blue. Unreal blue.
This strange effect came from sunlight indirectly reflected against rocks that had a high blue content in them. And the color changed, with every wave and every shift in the clouds and sun. This kaleidoscope of other-worldly blue was enough to make a person delirious. Suddenly, Paolo with his long legs and warm smile flashed by Sally again.
As they began the trip back, Ruth told Sally, “That was a cosmic experience.”
“No wonder they call this the 'Island of Dreams',” Sally said, slightly shaken.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
They did something special for dinner on their last night. They decided to stroll up and down the steep narrow back streets of town, off the beaten tourist path and stop at the restaurant that had the most Italians in it.
At night Capri had the flavor of an oriental bazaar. It did not need to have a lot of people for it to feel crowded. But it was a good crowded. A party type of crowded.
Finally, they found a simple family trattoria that catered to what were obviously local people. Everyone smiled at Ruth and Sally as they came in. The women with benevolence, the men with a twinkle. A teenage waiter made a flustered fuss taking them to a little table by a corner window. They were enjoying the attention.
As they sat waiting for their home-made pasta with fish from the surrounding sea, they munched on hot, crusty bread and started their first carafe of clear, refreshing local wine. Ruth got serious.
“I've been trying to talk to you about something for the past week, Sally,” Ruth said. “I'm worried about you. You were supposed to be in Italy for a couple of months and now it's over a year. Aren't you letting your opportunities in New York go by?”
“Opportunities? You mean work?”
“Well, yes, work. You told me how hard it was to get and keep a job here. Especially since technically you're not allowed to work. But other things too. All your friends. Your family. Lots of changes are going on.”
“I know. My Mom wrote and said they were finally moving to the country. Can you believe it, after 23 years in the same place! I can't wait to see the new house.”
“See. There's that. And, well, frankly, New York is the hub of the world. Everything that's happening is happening there.”
“Yes. That's true. I miss everything. Everyone.”
“Well, then why are you still here? I love Italy too, but it seems to me after you've seen one ancient ruin, you've seen them all. Italy celebrates the past. America, New York, go forward.” Ruth paused. “I wish you'd come home. There is such a rush of excitement in the city now.”
Sally was about to speak when the waiter put two mouth-watering bowls of steaming pasta in front of them. With a flourish, he ground fresh pepper and then fresh cheese over the succulent mounds. It was as if he had waited all his life to be able to do this for them. Sally joked with Ruth: “What? Go home and give up all this?!” They laughed and the waiter smiled. Whatever they had said seemed to be alright with him.
“You know, Ruth,” Sally said, no longer teasing, “I have been ready to go home many times. I was ready when I couldn't find a decent place to live and was staying in sublet apartments and rented rooms. I was ready when the money ran out and I couldn't find a job. I was ready each time I realized that after all is said and done, without family and lifelong friends like you, I am really alone. But then something would happen. I'd find more and more friends, or get work here and there. But that wasn't it. It was that all the streets had become second nature to me, that I began to understand how it was to really live here day to day. The people are so tolerant of human foibles. Even mine. Here, I feel forgiven.” Sally said.
“Forgiven for what?”
“For whatever I lack. It doesn't seem to matter. The contradictions we all have are woven into the Italian culture. They accept the good and the bad. As a result, somehow you feel as if the 'whole' you is OK.”
“In that case, I think I'll move here myself,” Ruth laughed.
“Oh, you would love it! It's the great weather. And the life in the open air. It's so communal, you always feel part of something without having to try too hard. As though it was your right to belong to the human race. And knowing you, I know you'd love the men. Their culture makes it natural for them to openly express their feelings.”
“Well, that alone could be a good reason to stay!” Ruth said.
“But don't let me mislead you,” Sally continued. “I said 'express' their feelings; I didn't say their feelings last.”
Ruth could see that she was not going to get anywhere with Sally tonight on the subject of leaving Italy. She knew Sally had a tendency to be a little rigid. When she got set on one of her ideas, Sally found it hard to let go.
“Besides,” Sally continued, trying still further to make her case to Ruth, “It has gotten so that I love the language in my mouth. The way it feels. The sounds it makes. I sometimes think if I couldn't speak Italian every day it would be like losing part of my body. But the real thing is that not only can I speak like an Italian, but I've started to think like an Italian!”
Ruth sighed, “You'll get over it.”
“I'm sure I will, “Sally said, but didn't mean it.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
The next day they were ready to leave and Sally was surprised that she was eager to go. It had been magnificent. Why did she want to go? What was the big hurry anyway: the faster they got back to Rome, the faster she would lose Ruth.
But her mind hadn't gotten as far as Rome. Would Paolo really be waiting for them in Naples? She was surprised that the imagined sight of him made her start with anticipation. But he probably wouldn't be there since she had clearly discouraged him. And he didn't say that he would be. Suddenly she was disappointed. I should have told him 'yes', she thought.
Sally felt foolish trying to keep her carefully combed hair in place on the open deck of the hydrofoil as the boat hurtled back to the Naples pier. But she would hate to have Paolo see her with her hair standing on end as she got off the boat. If he were even there to see it.
While half of her mind was pr
eparing for a Paolo who may or may not be there, the other half was organizing the familiar procedure to get the train back to Rome.
“Are you tired?” Sally asked Ruth.
“Exhausted,” Ruth said. And she was, now that her weeks of hard traveling were almost over.
“So am I,” Sally said. “I guess we really had a good time!” They both laughed.
Well, if Paolo weren't there it would be just as well. They were too tired to talk. On the train, they could just close their eyes, or stare out the window in silence. Now she hoped Paolo would not be there. It would be easier.
Sally decided not to worry about it one way or the other, and when the boat docked she and Ruth distractedly joined the pushing crowd of people eager to end a journey. Her two small bags seemed to have grown since they left Capri and she laughed to herself remembering the first time she tried to get to Rome from Naples with all her luggage.
She and Ruth moved forward with the crowd onto the concrete pier and put their bags down while they got their bearing on where to get a taxi to the train.
“There's a taxi stand over there,” Sally said.
“But it's empty,” Ruth noticed in dismay.
“Yes. Well, one would have to come back to it sooner or later. Keep an eye over there, and I'll see if we can get a cab as someone is let off at the entrance.”
“Looks like everyone has the same idea,” Ruth said. “When is our train leaving?”
“We have time. Here, watch this,” she said, giving Ruth her purse, “I'll go to the gate and....”
Paolo was walking his walk toward them, his hands in his pockets, his hips carried forward on his stately legs. He was smiling and his usually sad eyes seemed happy. When she got the first sight of him, Sally felt as if she would faint. Hit with a ton of bricks is the usual expression.
“Paolo, you came!!” she cried, her face lighting up.
One of the muscles in Paolo's cheek discreetly flickered in response to Sally's first obvious sign of enthusiasm towards him since they had met. He put his hand on her shoulder affectionately.
“Would I not?” he teased. He waved at Ruth. “Hello,” he said, picking up the bags she had been watching, “did you have a good time?”
“Very!” Ruth said. She too looked relieved that Paolo was there.