As I continued to explore the house, Marcello and Giovanni remained behind in the kitchen, where I could tell Marcello was making our case. Occasionally, I heard words I recognized or at least thought I recognized:marina americanaandturistiandcontratto. By this point, I’d been on the island long enough to know the arguments for and against renting to American military personnel and their families. We were loud and had a reputation for being slobs, but we paid on time and in cash and had access to imported goods. More than one American family I’d met paid at least a portion of their rent in cartons of Marlboro cigarettes purchased at the commissary.
There were two bedrooms at the back of the house, with views of the same rugged terrain I had seen on the drive over here. Both rooms were tiny, but one bedroom had a sliding glass door that led to a small garden, and as soon as I saw the garden, I knew that I wanted the house.
The garden was a little oasis tucked between a couple of granite boulders, and when I slid the door open, I was immediately greeted by a fat orange cat who had been sleeping in the shade of a fig tree.
“Hey, you,” I whispered as I closed the door behind me. “You want to show me around?” He stretched, like he was working up to it, and allowed me to run my knuckles along his spine.
Whoever had planted this garden had spent serious time on it. Therewere creepers and trailers, big blooms and tiny sachets of color. I was particularly drawn to an outcropping of bright orange lantana, which was cozied up next to some wild peonies with these gorgeous hot pink flowers. If I blurred my eyes, I could almost convince myself I was staring at a tin of watercolors.
The cat and I had sat on the patio, warming ourselves in the sun, for maybe ten or fifteen minutes when I heard the glass door slide open. I turned to find Marcello making his way toward me. “It’s beautiful, no?”
“Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it,” I said. “I could live out here.”
He laughed. “Maybe not in January or February, but the rest of the year, yes.”
By this point, the cat had crawled into my lap and fallen asleep. “I don’t know anything about gardening,” I admitted as I stroked the cat’s ears. “What if I kill everything?”
“Oh, there’s a gardener,” Marcello said, and I immediately loved the place that much more.
“Is Giovanni going to rent to us?” I asked.
“He’s thinking about it. I wanted to come check in with you and make sure the place is what you want.”
“Definitely,” I said without so much as a moment’s hesitation.
“Paul will be okay with it?” Marcello asked, and it’s funny how, until he asked about Paul, I had almost completely forgotten that I was making this decision for two people.
“I think so,” I said slowly. Paul wasn’t going to like the kitchen or the bathroom, and I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about the house being so far from town. But he had made it abundantly clear that he wanted out of the hotel.
“Is there a phone line?” I asked, remembering Mary Lou’s phone tree.
Marcello shook his head. “And I’m not going to ask him to install one. You’ll lose the place for sure.”
“Oh, okay,” I said quickly. “Yeah, don’t do that.”
Giovanni joined us on the patio, and he said something to Marcello about the gatto. I waited for a translation, and when it came, I couldn’t help but smile. “He says that cat doesn’t like anyone.”
I looked down at the warm ball of fluff in my lap. “This guy? No way. He’s a doll baby.”
Marcello shrugged. “Not according to Giovanni.”
“What’s his name?” I asked.
Marcello humored me and said, “Vuole sapere il suo nome.”
“Miele,” said Giovanni.
Marcello was enjoying himself, maybe even knew the way this would go. “Mielemeans honey,” he told me.
Giovanni was gesturing at the cat and me, then said something to Marcello in a soft voice.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He says if you promise to feed the cat, the place is yours.”
58.
I WAS OUT-OF-MY-MIND EXCITEDto tell Paul about the house, so I watched the clock all afternoon, and when it was finally a quarter to six, I set off for the pier, where I figured I’d meet the liberty boat.
