Two men had started to shove each other for a position in line. The other women were starting to get jealous.
Handing the glass to the same woman who had crowned Scarlett with the myrtles, I strode toward the dance floor, outing any man that thought they were up next. I refused to wait for a dance with my own wife. The man going around with her—one of Rosaria’s cousins—went to shoo me away when he felt another encroach on his time, but when he realized it was me, he bowed politely and took his leave.
Tito gave awhoop!from the sidelines, lifting his glass of chianti high in the air. My brothers, along with the men who had been dancing with her, did the same, all singing and clapping in time to the music.
She stood a short distance from my body, her eyes glistening in reflection to the lights, her body shrouded in a fine mist purling from the hills.
There was something I hadn’t see her do, not while dancing with any of the men. Better for their health. And when a woman handed her a piece of red silk fabric, a thrill shot through my blood. It felt like a stroke of lightning, followed by thunder that rattled my soul.
She was saving this for me.
TheTarantellamerged into thePizzica(Southern Italy),a subset of the former.
Back in the day, there were not many ways for young people to meet, so dancing served as a social occasion. It was a way for a man and a woman to communicate. It was all about eye contact and learning to speak in an unspoken language created between two people. A chance for romance.
The music slowed.
Looking down, real demur, my wife lifted one side of her dress up, just a tiny bit, then another, a shy smile playing on her face. Her movements were timed to the music.
As the song progressively picked up once again, she started to do it in earnest, her eyes moving up to meet mine, a wider smile on her face.
She wrapped the scarf around my neck.
Then we both started to move.
Sometimes she had the scarf—I followed her movements with my hands up, while she moved in circles with the red in her hands like a signal to a hot-blooded man.
Sometimes I had it—her eyes were seductive as I directed our movements while the soft material was gliding back and forth against her neck. She lifted her arms, running her hands through her hair, and before she could take the scarf back, I swept her off her feet.
A roar of disapproval went through the crowd as I took the opportunity to steal her away from one of her true loves—dancing.
She’d dance all night if I left her to it.
She was coated in sweat, though the night air was cool, and her breath smelled of dark wine, her lips stained with its juices.
It was all I could smell. All I could breathe in.
Her.
I would have carried her anywhere, but she asked me to put her down by one of the tables. Each had a plate of olive oil set out for dipping. She ran her finger through it, then applied it to my lips in two soft strokes. Taking a fistful of my shirt in her hand, she pulled me down and kissed me. Artichokes and grapes, chestnuts and mushrooms, the flavors all seemed to come together between our mouths, oiled with liquid gold.
“Mi porti a letto, mio marito,” she whispered. Her tongue darted out, licking a droplet of oil she had missed on my mouth. “Per favore.”
We stared at each other for a second, then my gaze moved to her hand still fisted in my shirt, and then to her parted lips. I nodded once.
“Check on Mia.” I patted her hip.
Mia was in her portable bed, communed with her cousins and all the other sleeping children in the kitchen. Eunice, Lola, and a few other older women were keeping watch, crocheting together while drinking coffee and gossiping.
I’d come get my wife in a few minutes.
Scarlett narrowed her eyes, but before she could get nosy, I pushed her along, watching her as she went. She kept looking back until I made amovemotion with my hand.
Finally, she shook her head and gave in. One of the men stepped out of the shadows, smiled at her, and then opened the door to the kitchen. It was only a few steps from where we’d been standing.
Watching from where I stood, I kept an eye on the dance floor and all the people milling around it.
Change was in the air.
