Rosamanti (12 page)

On a high headland, they passed some more ruins. Turning his head, Pietro called out to her above the whine of the Vespa.

“Villa Damecuta. Another villa built by Tiberius. You should go there one day.”

All she could see from the road were some low walls, the rocks the same grey-white color of Villa Jovis. She had read the Emperor Tiberius had twelve villas here on Capri, most built about 127 AD. Not only did he like the solitude and beauty of the island, but he felt safe here. With only two small ports, two accessible beaches, and the sheer cliffs rising to well over one thousand feet above the sea, attack was unlikely. However, she read that after Tiberius died, there had been many successful colonizing attacks over time, including the Spanish, British, and of course, the pirate Barbarossa.

Shortly after Villa Damecuta, they turned into a dirt track heading down hill through thick shrubbery and bush, arriving at a small stone hut. Pietro helped her off the Vespa and wasted no time in guiding her down a steep, rugged pathway down the side of the cliff. Rough stone steps had been built in the track, but she found it hard going. Following closely behind him, she found herself slipping occasionally as she tried to keep up. He tried to help her down some of the steeper places, but it was awkward.

“Nearly there, bella.”

A minute or two later, they reached a cave which opened onto a small, shingly beach.

“Wait here.” He disappeared inside the cave. After several minutes, he came out backward, hauling a little aluminum boat across the coarse sand. She tossed the backpack into the boat, went round to the stern, and began pushing. Pietro waded into the water and soon the boat was floating.

“Hop in.” He held out his hand and helped her to climb over the stern. Then he pushed the boat out farther, and nimbly climbed aboard. He sat in the middle seat, facing her, quickly put the oars through the rowlocks, and began rowing. It looked like hard work, but he was smiling at her as his strong arms pulled against the water, sending the little boat forward remarkably quickly.

They rounded a rocky headland and a cave gaped in the cliff face.

“The Blue Grotto.”

Other, bigger, boats were moored near the entrance.

“Those are the ticket seller boats, they are moored permanently there. There is no one else here at the moment.”

They had done it—they had beaten the day trippers and all the tour boats.

“Lie down on the floor, please, Sarah.”

Puzzled, she did as he asked and lay flat down with her legs protruding under the seat he was sitting on. She noticed the large ocean swell the closer they got to the cliff face. Peering above the gunwale, she could see that the swell almost totally closed the entrance. They paused outside, Pietro deftly maneuvering the oars so that they didn’t get too close to the rocks. He was watching the waves and swell intently. Suddenly, he rowed hard, propelling the little boat forward.

“Stay down! We go in now.”

They shot into the gaping maw and Pietro grabbed hold of a thick metal chain bolted to the roof of the opening. His muscles bulged as he hauled them through on the ebbing swell, taking them through the low entrance before the next rise of the waves.

“OK, sit up now.”

Sarah struggled from the floor and pulled herself to sitting position. Her jaw dropped open. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light in the cave, the water shone an unbelievably bright blue under the boat. He put his hand over the side and scooped up a handful of the water, spraying it into the air. Like pale blue diamonds, the droplets hung in the air for a moment, then plummeted down, splashing lightly on the surface. She looked around her, now seeing the walls of the grotto. Orange lichen and little limpets clung to the tide mark on the rock walls. Looking up, she saw nothing but total darkness. Pietro gently rowed farther into the cave, turning the boat so that she could see the entrance through which they had just come. A semicircle of white light showed the opening, and the blue light was coming from way down deep.

“It’s much bluer once the sun is up farther. The blue color is because of the refraction of sunlight coming through the deep underground opening. It’s magical, don’t you think?” His words, though quietly spoken, echoed in the chamber, sounding a bit like the echo of a preacher in a cathedral.

She couldn’t see his face, but the light, reflecting upward, glowed on his chin. She wanted to cry, it was so beautiful. She could find no words to describe what she was seeing. He reached out with the oar and prodded them away from the rock wall, still guiding them deeper into the grotto. The boat jolted and hit something with a loud scrape. Pietro rose and, grabbing a rope, tied the boat to a big metal ring jutting out from the rock face.

“Come, bella.” His hand found hers in the darkness. She carefully stood up and strong arms helped her out of the boat and onto a flat rock ledge.

“Now you can swim in the blue water.” In the eerie blue light that made Pietro look as white as a ghost, he pulled his shirt over his head and took off his shorts, revealing his black swim suit. Then she saw him looking expectantly at her.

“Pietro—I can’t swim.”

Silence. “Everyone can swim. Especially Australians.”

“No. I’m frightened of the water.”

“OK, bella. I will hold you.” His voice was gentle. “Trust me, OK?”

She slipped her shorts and top off, then grasped Pietro’s hands tightly.

“I’ll jump in first, then you sit on the ledge with your legs in the water. I’ll help you get in safely.”

She did as he asked. Two strong arms grabbed her waist and lifted her in. He held her close. She felt safe in his arms. Looking down at their bodies in the water, their legs and torsos looked as white as snow. It was eerie, yet beautiful.

“Can you put your head under? Your face?”

Scrunching her eyes together and taking a big breath, she clung to him tightly as she dipped her head beneath the water. She came up spluttering and wiping her eyes with one hand. Then a big smile spread across her face.
I’m actually here. I’m swimming in the Blue Grotto!
She took another breath and put her head under again. As she did, his lips touched hers under the water. It was delicious. Once she was confident, Pietro told her to hold onto the rock ledge. Then he dived down deep, the water so clear she could watch him all the way. Soon he was back up, breaking the surface and flicking his head to get his hair out of his eyes. He held up his hand.

“A gift from the Emperor Tiberius for you.”

In his hand was a small, brown coin.

“A Roman coin? Really?”

“Ssh. Only we locals know where they are. It is simple to dig beneath the sand and find some.”

Soon Pietro climbed out of the water and held out his hands to help her out. Throwing their dry clothes into the boat, they climbed in and then he untied the boat.

“We should go now. The first tourists will be here soon.”

With the ease of a practiced local, he safely took them back out through the cave mouth, into the bright sunlight of day, an azure sky overhead and a gentle breeze ensuring that it would be a busy day in the Grotta Azzurra.

She sat watching him, his shirtless body magnificent as he rowed. Taut muscles in his chest and stomach rippled with the effort and his biceps bulged with each pull of the oars. His legs, the black hairs wet and sticking to his skin, were muscular and well-shaped.

“Am I OK, bella?”

The blood rose instantly to her face. She looked at his eyes. They danced with amusement, his lovely smile enjoying her discomfort.

She laughed, owning up to being caught out staring at him.

“More than OK.”

His gaze slowly crept down from her face to her neck, then to her red one-piece swimming costume which struggled to harness her voluptuousness. Then they traveled downward, over her hips, to her legs. She pulled her legs closer together. It’s so damn hard to sit like a lady in this little boat, she thought.

His head cocked to one side. He nodded and looked back up at her.

“
Bellissimo!
” His wide grin showed his white teeth against his brown face.

Soon they beached in the little patch of sand near the cave where he kept the boat. Jumping out of the boat, he stood knee deep and guided the boat to the water’s edge. Holding out his hand, Pietro helped her balance as she climbed out of the boat. He pulled it up onto the beach above the high tide mark, then reached in and got their clothes and backpack.

She spread out the beach towels. At home, she was used to soft, white sand, so fine that it was lovely to walk and lay on. This sand was more like roughly crushed shells and coral, sharp underfoot. He sat down next to her and opened the bag, taking out some containers of olives, cheese, and pastrami. Next, a bottle of wine and two plastic cups. She sighed loudly. He glanced up.

“Che?”

She impulsively reached over and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him warmly. When she looked at him, her heart melted.

“Pietro,” she began, her voice thick with emotion, “you are the sweetest, kindest man in the whole world.”

She watched as his handsome face softened, his eyes full of emotion. He hugged her and kissed her tenderly.

“
Ti amo,
bella.” He quickly looked away, as if that had slipped out.

Soon, he reached for the bag, breaking the moment.

“Vino! To celebrate your big achievement. You swam in the Blue Grotto!” He opened the bottle of white wine and poured two cupfuls.

“To your stay here in Capri; to your new book; to…”

“To us! Salute!” They touched cups and took a sip. Pietro smiled lovingly at her. She felt so happy. So very happy.

He spread a faded green cloth on the towel and produced some paper napkins.

“Is this a place all the locals come to? This little beach, I mean.”

He finished eating a big black olive. “There are many little caves around the island. This is one of the best because of its proximity to the Blue Grotto. There are about five boats stored in there.” He indicated the cave. “Basically, if you happen to be one of the oldest families on Capri, you get the best one. We Lombardis have the best cave, on the best little private beach, right near the Blue Grotto.” He shrugged. “We share it with some others of similar heritage. We are all friends.”

“Carlo told me that he has a boat. He offered to bring me some fresh seafood.”

Pietro smiled. “Ah, little
chiacchere.
He is a good boy.” He indicated with his thumb, the cave behind them. “I let him keep his little canoe in here. It makes him feel important. But it is too small to fish from. He only uses it for fun. He does catch some wonderful seafood, though. He and Bruno go out in the motorboat quite often. I think it’s partly because Bruno loves Carlo, and partly because he gets to have dinner at Teresa’s. You know…some home cooked meals…” He winked at her.

“Oh, I see.” She smiled. “Well it sounds like a great arrangement to me. But isn’t it dangerous for such a young boy to come all this way on his own, and then go out in the sea in a tiny thing no bigger than a bathtub?”

He shrugged. “All children here—particularly the boys—learn how to fish and catch lobsters from when they are little. Being on a boat, for them, is like riding a bicycle. All fathers teach their children about boats. Besides, local children have a right to access the Blue Grotto and the other grottoes. It is their heritage. After the last ferry and hydrofoils have returned to the mainland, they swarm down to the grottoes. It is a rite of passage.”

Sarah stared out to sea. “I thought he might have been—you know—exaggerating. He’s so young.”

“I first started teaching him before he could walk properly. By the time he was five, he would help me get the lobsters and crabs out of the pots.”

“You taught him?”

“Sure, but now Bruno is on the scene, he gives Carlo the skills.” He saw her curious look. “His father left his mother before he was even born. A tourist, apparently.” He took a sip of the wine. “Teresa and I are childhood friends. She’s done it tough. We Lombardis—we keep an eye on them.”

Things started to fit together now. Carlo and his mother weren’t just close neighbors. They were extended family. A thought crossed her mind. Maybe Teresa could tell her more about Rosamanti and those outbuildings.

Stretching back on the towel, she looked around her. Paradise was the word that came to her mind, but she couldn’t think of a better one.

“I can see now why you painted those pictures for Nonna. They are a really good likeness.”

“Yet you at first thought they were…unnatural.”

“Nothing anyone could have told me prepared me for the color in the grotto.” She raised her eyes to the sky, shaking her head. “It is exquisitely beautiful. A gem.”

“Some people say Grotta Verde—the Emerald Grotto—is just as good. And a lot less people. It really does get crowded in the Blue Grotto.”

“When was the last time you brought Nonna here?” she asked gently.

He picked up a small cowrie shell, its gloss all worn off from the constant rubbing with other shells on the beach and examined it minutely.

Exhaling a large sigh, he looked up at Sarah.

“It has been a very long time. Nonna could not get down that track, and it was hard for her to lay down in the boat. I offered to take her on a tourist boat—even charter a boat—but she only wanted to go with me. Like old times, she used to say.” He smiled at the memory. “That is why I did those paintings for her. She loved them.”

Sarah poured more wine into the little cups. She pictured the map, drawn in a childish way with little whales spouting water and a big smiley sun up in the sky. She thought of the little girl who drew it, the image in her mind of Nonna at twelve years old, quite at odds with the dark and foreboding words of her clues. Either she had a good imagination and had read too many books about Pirate Barbarossa and his violent demeanor, or there was a reason for choosing those un-childlike words. Or…there really
is
a treasure, she thought.

“I spend a penny for your thoughts?” His face was so serious, as though he didn’t realize the mistranslation, that she burst out laughing.