I shook my head, not understanding what he was saying; then I nodded: He was telling me we’d arrived in Naples. I didn’t catch everything, but I’d been lucky enough to have a professor at theconservatory who was from Genova and spoke to us all the time in his native language.
“Grazie,” I replied.
I stood and retrieved my luggage and stepped out into Napoli Centrale. It was a huge station, and I needed a moment to find directions to the Circumvesuviana platform. I bought a ticket and walked downstairs. There was a giant crowd waiting: backpackers, tourists, families, workers on their way back home. I was surprised it was so packed on a weekday.
I found a small empty spot near the doors of the train and sat down on top of my suitcase. I put on my headphones and picked a random playlist. All the other sounds vanished as I heard Kodaline’s “Everyone Changes.” All of a sudden, there were no more voices, there was no more laughter, no more screeching of rails. The world fell silent and the music played on; the landscape shot past and my heart beat rhythmically.
I started singing to myself. On the other side of the glass, the countryside started to change. Chabela was right; it was beautiful. Big cities, little villages, earth tones, deep greens. Once in a while, the sea would peek over shyly behind some hill, its blue ranging from indigo to turquoise.
When we stopped at the Sorrento station, it was almost nine in the evening. The sun was dying over the rooftops, and the streetlamps had begun to illuminate the streets.
I walked from the station into the heart of the city. It seemed impossible that I’d woken up in Madrid that morning. I had the feeling it had been years since I’d spoken with Fyodora, since I’d run away from what had once been my home and climbed into an airplane without even stopping to ask myself what I was doing.
I took a deep breath, and the scent of food filled my nostrils. My stomach grumbled and I realized I hadn’t eaten or drunk all dayexcept for a tea and the piece of candy I’d been given on the plane. I was starving, but before I could deal with my hunger, I’d have to find a place to sleep. That was something else I hadn’t thought of before then.
Looking around, I saw a park at the end of the street. I walked there and sat on a bench, turning on my phone to look for hotels and hostels. There were lots of them, but the response I got from the first one I walked to was just a taste of what was to come.
“I’m sorry, but all our rooms are booked up. Tomorrow is the Festival of Sant’Andrea in Amalfi and people come from all over to go there.”
“Do you know where I could maybe find a room?” I asked.
The receptionist smiled at me with sympathy.
“I don’t, sorry. I doubt there’s anything open. People make these reservations weeks or even months in advance. Sant’Andrea is one of the most important holidays here. We get tourists from all over. Amalfi’s not big, and since Sorrento is close, people often stay here.”
“Thanks anyway,” I said.
“Maybe try Airbnb or Booking.com. Lots of people rent rooms out in the summer months.”
“Thanks, I’ll try.”
I left the place despondent, and everywhere else I tried, the response was always the same:No vacancy.
I didn’t know what to do. I was hungry and tired and needed a shower.
Up in the sky, the first stars had just started to shine.
Unsure where I was going, I wandered down streets packed with people, past crowded bars and patios. When I turned a corner, I saw a sign that caught my eye. Now I no longer felt hunger in my stomach. Something else had replaced it. My pulse raced as I walked to that place with the yellow walls and the wooden door.
SCUOLA DI BALLETTO GISELLE, the sign read.
“Ciao, Adriana.”
“A presto, Giulio.”
The woman who had uttered those words, dressed in an apron, was waving from a liquor store a few yards away. A man waved back at her. I recognized him, and it was like standing on the edge of a volcano.
It was him. I was sure of it.
He passed by me without noticing, and I pretended I was looking at my phone. Only when he was walking away did I look up. I followed him without thinking twice. What were the chances I would run into him as soon as I’d arrived in a city of 16,000 people with another 16,000 tourists there ready to celebrate the start of summer? It was virtually impossible, and yet there he was.
Was this a sign, too? I needed to know.
Keeping a prudent distance, I did all I could not to lose him in the crowd. Sorrento is a labyrinth of tiny streets, squares, and colorful buildings, though, and it’s easy to get lost.
All at once, the city ended abruptly at a cliff with a lookout giving a view of the horizon. The sea shone under a starry sky and I could see ships bobbing near the coast. In the port, there was a narrow beach with docks. Bars and terraces seemed to emerge from the sheer stone of the mountain; tables crowded the edges of the shore, and people were gathered, dining and drinking, on the boats in the wharf.
I looked back and saw Giulio hurrying away, and I lost him as we stepped into a park. My suitcase made a racket as I dragged it behind me. I could hear myself wheezing. When I got to the other side of the park, he was gone.
