Chapter 42
Vico
Gliding seagulls screech overhead, and below us, the waves crash loudly against the coast. Here in Bari, even in early April, the temperatures are pleasant in the evenings, though the water remains cool. The gentle sea breeze tugs at my hair. I pull it back with a single gesture to study the display of the video camera in Matteo's hand.
My coach plays the recording in slow motion. In the video, I step to the front edge of the cliff in my swim shorts, checking my position. Then with a powerful push, I execute a somersault with a twist.
"Here," Matteo stops the footage, pointing with his finger at my legs. "See how crooked they are."
I nod absentmindedly. "I'll tighten up more, got it."
For a moment, his gaze flickers to me. It's better if I pretend not to notice the questioning expression on his face.
"What else?" I try to sound at least somewhat engaged.
He lets the video play again. "The entire somersault is rubbish. Your lack of body tension continues into the twist." Shaking his head, he stops the video once more. "Look at your calves and toes. What is that? Jello?"
"Mm-hmm," I mumble, annoyed at myself. If I show up at the competition in two weeks with such a performance, I might lose my sponsorship. The criteria in the contract are strict. If you don't deliver, you're out. "I'll try again now." I quickly turn to head back to the take-off point.
"But this time, please concentrate," Matteo calls after me.
He noticed. As much as I try to be fully present in what I love—cliff diving—I can't stop thinking about Hanna. We didn't say goodbye to each other. The news of her engagement hit me so hard that I couldn't bear to see her one last time. It's over. I should be indifferent to Hanna, yet my heart rebels.
She will marry Florian. And with him, she'll turn my home into a bed & breakfast.
I clench my fists and shake my head to free myself from the tightness in my chest. These thoughts have no place here. What surrounds me now—the cliff, the tempestuous sea, my sport—that's what matters. So I take a deep breath of salty air and march all the way to the front edge of the rock.
"Show me your best somersault with a twist," Matteo shouts from below. "You can do it."
I know he wants to help me, but he's only adding more pressure this way. In moments before the jump, where there used to be calmness within me, chaos reigns today. Nevertheless, I nod energetically.
My thoughts dictate my life, and I control my thoughts. As long as I remind myself that I can do it, I can.
I can do this.
Focus. Tighten my muscles. Eyes on. Takeoff.
Arch into the somersault. I embrace my legs—and I wish I were embracing Hanna.
Glimpse at the water for orientation. The sea green—just like her eyes.
What now?
What comes next?
Suddenly, I hit the sea surface hard. My muscles give way, and a dull pain shoots through my entire body. Split seconds later, my legs touch the sandy seabed.
Fuck.
I messed up again. This was the twentieth attempt in this training session, and with each try, my performance got worse.
I stay underwater for as long as I can hold my breath. Eventually, I know how Matteo will react to this jump. But what am I supposed to do? I'm already trying everything, but not even thinking about Hanna's life-threatening illness helps me get her out of my mind. Let alone my heart.
With strong strokes, I swim toward the rocks and pull myself out of the water.
Matteo sighs, exhausted. "What's going on with you?"
Instead of answering, I shrug and grab the towel.
