I nodded, unsure what to say. She took a handful of candies out of her purse and offered me one. I accepted, just to be polite. I wondered where she was from. She spoke perfect Spanish, but not from Spain, and I struggled to identify her accent.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Are you vacationing in Rome?” she asked.
“No, I’m headed to Sorrento, but the ticket to Rome was way cheaper.”
“I know Sorrento! Is it your first time there?” I nodded. She went on, “Don’t miss the cathedral. It’s amazing. And if you have time, visit the ruins of Pompeii. They’re not far. My daughter’s been living in Rome for years and I go visit her every summer. I usually stay for a month and do some sightseeing. My Lorenzo, though, he doesn’t like planes. He prefers to stay in Toledo. He’s so hardheaded and so dull! You know, I still don’t know how I wound up marrying him and getting stuck in Spain!”
She stuck out her tongue with disgust, which I found funny.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Chile. I was just eighteen when I came to Spain with my parents for a family wedding. You know what they say, one wedding always leads to another. My Lorenzo happened to me there, and he always has had the most beautiful eyes you can imagine. Even if he just uses them to look around his hometown.” She laughed, and I laughed with her, and she told me her name was Chabela.
“I’m Maya.”
“What a pretty name.”
Chabela went on talking without taking a breath. She told me about her husband, her children, and her grandchildren, whom sheadored, especially the little one, who was more sensitive than the others. She recommended some self-help books to keep my anxiety under control and even gave me a recipe for a yogurt cake. No oil—butter only. She was a charming, caring woman, and her constant laughter was infectious.
I couldn’t stop looking at her. She must have been my grandmother’s age, but she was so different… If only I’d had a Chabela in my life instead of an Olga.
We got out of the plane together and walked arm in arm to get our luggage. I stayed with her until she found her family, and we hugged each other goodbye.
“Just follow the signs, it’s impossible to miss the station,” she said. “Buy a ticket for Naples, and once you’re there, look for the Circumvesuviana train, it leaves every half hour and it’s five euros max. But look out for pickpockets and don’t leave your luggage anywhere. It’s not the most amazing trip, but it’s worth it once you get there.”
“Thanks for everything, Chabela.”
“Don’t mention it, Gorgeous, and take care. Single women on their own need to be careful.”
“I will.”
She said goodbye, and I watched her walk off without responding.
A blast of hot air hit me when I walked out of Fiumicino Airport.
I stood there on the sidewalk, more aware than ever of where I was. I thought of turning around and catching a flight back to Spain. Now that I was myself again and not just some woman in a blind panic, my mind was functioning lucidly. My grandfather had given me three thousand euros. It was a lot of cash, enough to rent a room somewhere and eat in Madrid until I could find a job.
Going back would be the sensible thing.
The prudent thing, given my situation.
And yet, I didn’t. My feet were anchored to the ground. People kept walking by me while I stood there like a statue. Thinking. Hesitating. What did I really have waiting for me back in Spain? Nothing, just Matías. And he had a life of his own. Plus, he was about to go on vacation with his family in Gijón.
Oh, Matías!
I regretted leaving without telling him anything. I took out my phone and turned it on. A long thread of messages appeared, all from him, asking where I was, how I was doing, if I felt like going out. In the last one, he seemed angry and threatened to call the cops and report me missing. I wrote him back, telling him I was fine and I’d let him know what was up soon.
As I put my phone away, I remembered Fyodora’s words:I think this is your sign, Maya. And you need to follow it.
I was starting to think that, too. And I needed it to be true. But I had no idea what I was looking for or what I hoped to find. I didn’t even know what was behind this urge. I just knew I needed to go to that town and see Giulio.
I bought my ticket and walked to the platform. The next train to Naples was leaving in five minutes. I got in, put my suitcase on the luggage rack, and chose my seat. A feeling of vertigo made me grab hold of the armrests. I closed my eyes.
And they remained that way until I felt someone patting me on the arm.
“Mi scusi, signorina. Siamo arrivati a Napoli.” I opened my eyes and found the ticket collector standing above me and smiling. I must have fallen asleep. He pointed out the window. “Siamo alla stazione di Napoli. Capisce?”
