The warning Nonna had whispered in my ear about the family echoed occasionally, but I figured if I did my job and kept under the radar, I would be fine.
My apartment and garage number shared the number eleven (undici), and I searched until I found the garage underneath thebuilding. The number was hand painted on the cement in front of the door, surrounded by a blue and yellow Majorca tile pattern. Inserting the key into the lock, I lifted the door as I saw another worker do. He had sped out on a blue Vespa, waving at me on his way into town.
I smiled to myself when I found my car and Vespa. The car was red and small, and the Vespa was pink. It had a long mirror sticking out like a sore arm and a wicker basket attached to the back.
Making sure no cats had run inside to escape the heat, I shut the door. I didn’t want transportation today. I wanted to walk. It felt as if I had been trapped inside of a floating bottle, peering out at the world as the tide moved me closer to shore, and finally stuck in sand, I was able to pop out of it and explore.
Instead of going downhill, I decided to go up. I wanted a better view of the water. My legs burned as I climbed the narrow sidewalk that had been created to reach the top. It even had a strip of iron to hold on to. A few times I took advantage of it, the metal hot underneath my palm, and my skin smelled like a wet penny after. The further up I ascended, it seemed like the wind whipped harder while the sun grew hotter. Using the back of my hand, I wiped sweat from my brow.
Halfway there, I stopped and dug in my crossbody, pulling out a bottle of water. I looked down and didn’t find another soul. The farmers that I’d crossed paths with had gone in another direction, crossed over the island to their section of it. Maybe tomorrow I’d go that way. See what it was all about. I’d heard from the captain that the livestock areas had more forest. He told me some people claimed it reminded them of the forest from “Snow White.”
Taking out my phone, I snapped a few pictures. The phone was useless other than the camera. Bars couldn’t reach this far out. But there were phones we were allowed to use. Maybe the island had its own cellular tower? I wasn’t sure, but I had forgotten the issued phone back at my apartment. There was a paper that wentwith it that listed all the numbers I would need. They even had doctors and nurses who lived on the island three hundred and sixty-five days a year, and the clinic was open twenty-four/seven. I wasn’t sure if the medical staff lived on the island permanently or rotated every so often. Pretty cool, though. If I passed out from this trek or broke my ankle going back down, I’d be good.
Ifanyone heard me or found me. I looked back down.
This area was dead, as far as foot traffic.
Breaking my ankle on the way back down reminded me to put the railing to use.
Shrugging, I kept going until I reached the very top. I wasn’t sure if it would take me longer to get down, since that was easier, but I was pretty sure it took me about two hours or so to reach the top. The wind whipped even harder, and the view from this high up was like a queen’s view of the world. It was so beautiful, I had to allow my eyes a moment to feast on such unreal beauty. The water below spread out for as far as the eye could see. The colors were vibrant and surreal. Common sense told me the depths of it was unmeasurable, but it looked shallow, as if I could float in its embrace while my feet touched the sand at the bottom and the watery grit ran between my toes.
The map stated that a statue of Christ was submerged underneath the water around the island. Apparently, a ship bringing it to Italy had sunk, and the statue somehow ended up finding a home below the surface. It was in a shallow area and could be reached by diving or seen from the surface. I narrowed my eyes, searching for it, and thought I spotted it. But it was hard to tell.
Black spots dotted my vision like tiny pinpricks.
My heart was overreacting in my chest.
I wasn’t sure if it was from the view, or the trek up, or the heat and the climb, but I felt…odd. Almost like I was having a panic attack, but not. I closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, and then decided to keep moving.
My feet stopped abruptly when I came to a villa, or maybe even what would be considered an Italian mansion, at the centerof the furthest point of the island. Maybe it was even acastello? Its cream color stone spread out in front of the sea, as wide as it was tall, antique wrought iron details giving it a personality, a romantic one, and I had no doubt that from the opposite side, the views of the rocking sea below were surreal. I wondered if that part of thecastellowas made of glass? Humungous palms trees danced around it in the breeze. Anise, wild fennel, rosemary, and basil seemed to grow wild around the property. With the harsh winds, I could easily smell those, though I was sure there were more that I couldn’t identify with nose alone.
This had to be where the equivalent of a king in the Fausti family stayed.
“Wow,” I breathed, pulling out my phone and snapping at picture of it. I didn’t bother looking at it. I’d look over the ones I’d taken when I was back inside of my apartment. I stuck my phone back in my crossbody as I tilted to the left and to the right, wanting to see the entire thing. It took a moment for me to remember that I was free to move. I didn’t want to seem like a peeping creeper or anything, so after a few minutes, I decided to start making my way down.
By the time I would make it back to my apartment, we would be nearing the hottest time of the day, midday, and it was when the island would take apisolino. A short nap. I’d heard it was disrespectful to disturb anyone during this time, anyway, so chilling in my apartment for a while would be acceptable. But the work schedule I was given didn’t respect these hours. We were to work, even if we were disturbed. I guessed that was the perks of a family owning an entire island. They made the rules.
I turned to leave, but my feet felt like they were glued to the ground. Maybe because my heart—the overbeating of it—was making me feel weak. I chugged the rest of my water and searched in my bag for something that contained sugar. I found a smushed peppermint at the bottom and stuck it in my mouth. Then my eyes flew up at a sound coming from thecastello.
RosariaCaffi.
Her voice.
Soft at first, melodic, it rose to a pitch that seemed to make the air tremble around my ears and cause the entirecastelloto shiver with it. For a second, I wondered if what I was seeing was the first initial shock of an earthquake. I could have sworn thecastellovisibly trembled. I watched one of the windows, wondering if the power in her voice was going to crack it.
The bitch—forgiveness for cursing a dead woman—was out to haunt me. She had followed me from the shore to this paradise. Instead of allowing the sound of her voice to chill my bloodstream, I frantically dug in my purse and found my earbuds.
Since I had downloaded my favorite songs before arriving on the island, I chose a Dean Martin tune, his voice soothing and a love letter to Italy, and drowned her out. (Side effect of hanging out with Nonna my entire life. She loved Dino, who she called Dino Martini, and imparted that love onto me.) I didn’t move for a second out of principle, letting her know that she couldtryto haunt me, but I wasn’t that easily frightened, but since I was feeling a little better after the sugar, I started to make my way back down to my apartment.
I only stopped to look behind me once before the steps brought me down far enough to swallow the view from above. I couldn’t wait to climb it again. I couldn’t wait to see the world from so high up again. That gorgeouscastello. I wanted to see what was inside of it. I had no doubt it was going to be too beautiful for words—even for a writer.
The music in my ears seemed to give a score to the world around me, and before I realized it, I was back in front of my apartment. The thin jumpsuit clung to my body from sweat, and I removed the scarf-bow and wiped my face with it. My light olive skin was already turning darker. It seemed as if the sun had polished it, though, with its intense rays—my skin glistened.
No wonder this time was reserved for apisolino.
My new cat was waiting for me, and in that moment, I decided I liked the word so much, I was bestowing it upon him asa name. He followed me into the apartment when I’d called him the fun word, so it was decided. It was his.
“Isn’t that right, Pisolino?” I kicked my espadrilles off, feeling a cool rush of air start to put out the fire between my toes and along my soles. “A midday nap, or chance to relax, will be fine by us.”
