Silence Is Golden (4 page)

CHAPTER SIX

Today marks the end of my second week of work with Emma. As usual, I go to Benedetto’s café for lunch, and this time I see Aris. He’s standing in front of the counter and seems to be waiting for an order. I walk over to the counter, and when he sees me, he greets me with a nod. I answer with a nod and then try to make it seem like I’m in a hurry. I know it’s ridiculous to hope for days to see him and then practically ignore him when I actually run into him, but I can’t help it. His presence next to me is like a crackling fire, and I can’t face him. He’s standing still and looking down, showing no signs of impatience, while I drum my fingers on the counter. Benedetto returns a few moments later with a bundle for Aris, then sees me.

“Hello, Emilia!”

Aris turns his head to face me, giving me a quick glimpse of his blue eyes before he wordlessly nods at Benedetto and walks away. I realize I’m holding my breath when Benedetto asks me if I want the usual. I reply politely, trying to hide my agitation, which may have worked, because he doesn’t seem to notice anything. However, when I go back to our store, I can’t help but mention to Emma that I saw Aris.

“So that Aris guy that your daughter’s in love with . . . You said he’s blond with blue eyes? I think I saw him at the café.”

“No way!” she responds, shocked. “He’s never there. Giorgia is always home late from school because she takes a detour by the carpenter’s to see him. If she knew he was at the café, she’d be shuttling back and forth between here and the café all day long.”

“So how do you know she has a crush on him, if you don’t mind my asking?” I say with a smile, as if I’m merely curious.

“One day I took her to the bookstore to get a book for school, and Aris was there, talking to Helga. Or rather, Helga was talking to him. I think I’ve only heard him speak twice the entire time I’ve known him. But Giorgia couldn’t take her eyes off him, and when we left, she called him ‘dreamy.’ Girls today have no shame. What does she see in a guy that never talks?”

I smile to myself. I’m not sure what Giorgia sees in him, but I know what I see. I really want to keep talking about him and find out everything Emma knows about him, but I don’t want to press the issue. I can’t let her find out that I have a crush on Aris just like her daughter. God, I can’t even call it a crush. It’s more like an obsession now. So I change the subject to the weather.

Tonight when I take my usual path home through the forest, I can distinctly feel someone behind me. I turn around, but no one is there. How can I be so sure that he’s the one following me? After all, the real estate agent cautioned me against thieves and vagabonds. I quicken my pace until I’m almost running. After I lock myself in my house, I laugh. Passing the glass window, I catch a glimpse of a smile on my face. When was the last time I truly laughed? I can’t even remember.

I’ve been working for Emma for just under a month when Helga Kohler calls me. She says she could perhaps use a little help with her computer after all. I tell her I’ll head over later, but I feel torn when I hang up the phone. I initially wanted to work in the bookstore, but now that I’m finally beginning to develop a friendship with Emma, I’m afraid that if I leave the flower shop, that relationship will fade. I don’t want to lose Emma, Benedetto, Linda, or even Giorgia as friends. I can share a laugh with all these people, though I’m worried that might change when they discover the passion I share with Giorgia for Aris. Plus, I’ve come to enjoy working around plants and flowers. Not to mention the question of what I would tell Emma, who welcomed me and gave me a job when all the other villagers ignored me.

On my way to grab lunch, I think about what I should do. My mother’s money is running out, and I haven’t received my first paycheck from Emma yet, so I still can’t afford to buy a bookshelf. Thinking about a bookshelf reminds me of Aris. I haven’t seen him at the café, or anywhere else for that matter. He really must never go out, and I don’t have the courage to visit the carpenter’s shop without a valid reason. I’m so lost in thought when I enter the café that I don’t at first notice that that horrible woman Dora is at the counter, talking with Benedetto. She turns to stare at me. I wave at Benedetto and try to make it appear as if I’m looking for someone.

“Don’t you want anything for Aris?” Benedetto asks Dora.

So that’s why she was in the carpenter’s shop with him! She must be his mother.

“Aris almost never eats lunch,” she says.

Benedetto shakes his head disapprovingly. “At his age, he needs to eat more. He’s so thin.”

“Yeah, but what can I do? I cook all the time, but he just takes a few bites and then runs back to the shop.”

“He’s always there, huh?”

“Well, he does work there. And people seem to really like his stuff.”

“I certainly do. In fact, I was thinking of asking him to make me a new coat rack because this one’s falling apart. I’ll come by this afternoon.”

“It won’t look anything like a coat rack.” Dora laughs.

What a nasty laugh, and it’s at his expense!

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Benedetto replies without laughing.

I love him for saying that.

“However, he said he was going to close a few hours early today. Maybe it’s better if you go tomorrow.”

“He’s got plans? Maybe he’s made a friend.”

“Oh, no, he’s already got plenty of those,” she says sarcastically. “Do you know how many times I catch them lined up outside the shop window staring at him?”

As soon as she says that, she turns and openly stares at me. I briefly return her gaze, then look down, beet red.

“But he pays them no mind,” she adds. “He prefers my company.”

“Mm,” Benedetto grunts, then turns to me. “Emilia! What can I get for you today? The usual?”

I nod. My throat is so dry that I can’t speak. He smiles at me and prepares my sandwiches while Dora finishes paying. Before she leaves, she shoots me another malevolent look. What the hell did I do? She finally leaves the café. Okay, so I saw Aris through the shop window that one time. It was just a coincidence!

I’m in a bad mood as I make my way back to the flower shop. That woman has such a negative aura; it’s like there’s a black cloud hanging over her head. I think back to the first time I saw her, even before I knew she was Aris’s mother. While I can’t say I know much about him, I just can’t understand how they can be related.

Emma and I eat, idly chatting, and we are just getting back to work when Giorgia appears. She greets me cheerfully and sits near us.

“I saw Aris!” she exclaims. “A little while ago. Going into the bookstore.”

My heart skips a beat, and I cough to get it back on track.

“Did you say hello?” Emma asks.

“Yup! He gave me a nod. Maybe even smiled!”

“Wow, what a breakthrough. Aris
may have
smiled at you,” Emma teases.

“All right, go ahead and make fun of me. We’ll see who’s laughing when I marry him.”

Emma laughs, and I try to do the same.

“Stop that,” she tells Giorgia. “You do know he’s ten years older than you, right?”

“Who cares? I know a lot of girls who marry older men. Is that so strange?”

So he’s twenty-three. Three years younger than me.

“That’s enough.” Emma cuts her off. “Go do your homework.”

“Ugh, fine,” Giorgia snorts, standing up. “Bye, Emilia,” she calls before disappearing.

“Your daughter is absolutely delightful. She’s always so cheerful,” I say sincerely.

“Yes, indeed. She lights up my life.”

I throw myself into the arrangement I’m working on, but my mind is elsewhere. Aris was going to the bookstore. I wonder if he’s still there? I have to come up with an excuse to head over there right away. My mind is furiously plotting, but I’ve never been big on lying. At that moment, however, my phone rings. It never does, since I’ve only given my number to Emma and Helga, and Helga already called me back. Who else could it be? I run to answer it.

“Emilia? It’s Valerio, from the real estate agency.”

“Hey!”

“I wanted to see how you were doing in your new home.”

“Fine, thanks.”

“I also wanted to let you know that an apartment in a more central location just became available, and I thought you’d be interested.”

“I actually really like where I am. But thanks for thinking of me.”

“There’s nothing weird going on? It’s all good?”

“It’s all good,” I reassure him. I’m starting to wonder about his real reason for calling.

“Fine. But if you change your mind, don’t hesitate to let me know. Either way, you should come here for a visit. We can grab a cup of coffee, catch up . . .”

“I don’t know. I’m working a lot, and I’m pretty busy,” I say, trying not to be rude.

“Then maybe one of these days I’ll pop over. What do you say?”

“Sure. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“I’ll see you soon then.”

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

I hang up. I realized an excuse I can give to leave the florist’s. I tell Emma that I have to make a trip to the real estate agency because they discovered that my lease is missing a signature.

“Go right ahead. There’s not much to do today. Take the rest of the afternoon off, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Really, you don’t need me to come back?”

“Nope, don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, grabbing my bag and heading out.

I run from the flower shop to the bookstore, but from across the street, I see Aris coming out of it. I sigh with regret as I continue toward the entrance, watching his lanky figure retreat down the street. Just before I enter the bookstore, I gaze after him one last time, and he stops and turns to look at me. Our eyes lock, and I think I see him smile, but I can’t be sure because he’s far away. I stand rooted in place, panting. I can’t muster up the courage to greet him. Then the moment passes and he continues on his way. I push open the door of the bookstore with a ridiculous smile on my face.

Helga welcomes me when I get inside. “Good afternoon, Miss Russo. I thought you’d be in later.”

“I couldn’t come then. I hope it’s not a problem.”

“Not at all,” she says, although her expression seems to indicate otherwise. “So,” she continues from her perch behind the counter, “I thought about it, and I could use some help. Especially with your computer skills. I don’t think we can get by without the computer.”

“Well, thank you—” I start.

“You don’t seem too pleased. I thought you’d want this job.”

“I do! When should I start?”

“Let’s see, today’s Thursday, so Monday should be good. Your schedule would be nine to noon and then three to six.”

From noon to three I could still help Emma. Hard work doesn’t scare me, and I really need the money.

“All right. I’ll see you Monday,” I say, getting up. “Thank you, Ms. Kohler.”

“Of course, Miss Russo.”

“Actually, if it’s okay with you, I’d prefer you call me Emilia. When people call me Miss Russo, I always think they’re talking to someone else,” I say, smiling.

Helga barely responds. She’s obviously not easy to read. Emma was right about Helga; she’s not very sociable.

On my way home I stop at the supermarket. The two sisters now know me and greet me like a regular customer. It just goes to show that with a little patience, you can rebuild your life anywhere. I buy some milk and eggs for breakfast, as well as some cornmeal, which I learned to cook from when one of my mother’s friends visited. I remember that night so vividly. My father and my brothers were out at a game, so my mother invited over an old school friend. Mariella made polenta, and we laughed and talked for two hours before we had to send her away. We had to put everything back in its place so my father wouldn’t know that we’d had a visitor.

Now back in my little house in the woods, I look forward to making dinner as a welcome distraction from memories of my mother. After dinner, I plan to replay my almost-encounter with Aris in my head, second by second. I feel like Giorgia, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

CHAPTER SEVEN

On Saturday, I tell Emma about the bookstore position over lunch.

“I’m so sorry to leave you. You’ve been so nice to me,” I finish. She looks at me bitterly, and I hasten to finish my thought. “But I could help you out during my lunch break, from noon to three, if that’s okay with you.”

“You mean you’d want to work all day long?”

“It’s really not a problem for me. I’d love to continue to help out here.”

“Look, I can understand why you’d want to accept Helga’s offer. I’m sure that you’re much better with books than you are with plants,” she finally says, smiling.

I smile too. Thankfully, she took my news well.

“Yeah, that’s true,” I admit. “So can I come during my lunch break?”

“If you’d like.”

“Of course! I’ll keep picking up lunch for us at Benedetto’s.”

“Sounds good.”

I spend Sunday at home, cleaning my house and reading the book I picked up from the bookstore the other day. I went there to get a book, but also in the hopes that I’d run into Aris again. Well, starting Monday, I’ll be there all the time, so if he comes back to the bookstore, we’ll definitely meet again. Lying on my bed, gazing at the ceiling, I ponder my obsession with Aris. I’m twenty-six, and my thoughts are totally dominated by a younger man with whom I’ve never even exchanged a single word. I turn toward the wall, imagining a future encounter in the bookstore. I don’t know why he has me so worked up, but I don’t really care. I guess Giorgia would agree with me, and I feel a bit ashamed.

On Monday, I start working at the bookstore, and I can’t stop sneezing all morning.

“Do you have a cold, Emilia?” asks Helga, and I’m impressed by her thoughtfulness.

“I’m actually allergic to dust,” I admit, hoping I don’t offend her. Or rather, hoping I don’t offend the cleaning lady, in case they’re friends.

“Is there a lot of dust in here? I don’t really see any,” she says, looking around.

There is, and she knows it, but she’ll never admit it. I have to let this one go.

“Perhaps I caught a cold yesterday.”

I spend the morning arranging new books on the shelves while Helga catalogs them, and I wonder how long she would usually take to do all of it by herself. At noon, I gather my things, say good-bye to Helga, who gives me the usual nod, and head over to Emma’s. I don’t find her in the store, but instead I climb the stairs to her apartment above when I hear crying coming from there. I’ve been upstairs many times before.

“You have to stop with your romantic fantasies. Dora was right to scold you.”

At the top of the stairs, I see that Emma’s talking to Giorgia, who’s crying desperately.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that this silly girl left school today to look in on Aris at the carpenter’s shop. He wasn’t there, but Dora caught her peeking through the window.”

“She called me a hussy, Emilia,” Giorgia sobs.

“And she’s right!” exclaims Emma. “You have to stop with lovesick daydreams. And you mustn’t let them distract you from school.”

“It’s okay,” I say, approaching Giorgia, who immediately hugs me. “I think Giorgia knows that what she did was wrong.”

Emma turns away, clearly upset, but I understand that she has to be firm with her daughter. “You’re grounded until dinner tonight, and I don’t want to hear any complaints, is that clear?” Emma says, then heads downstairs. I stroke Giorgia’s hair as she continues to cry.

“Enough with your tears, okay?” I tell her, lifting her chin.

“Do you think I’m a hussy?”

I’d be ashamed, but she can’t know that. “No, dear. I think you’re in love, and that’s a beautiful thing. But you must have patience. You’re still young, and your mother is just looking out for you.”

“But why? Aris is such a good guy.”

“I’m sure he is, but it’d be better from now on if Dora doesn’t see you peeking in his shop windows anymore.”

“All right.” She nods, and her crying subsides.

“Now be good up here, okay? And if your mom lets me, I’ll come back later and bring you some tea and cookies. How does that sound?”

“Thanks, Emilia. I’m glad you moved to Bren.”

“I am too.”

I descend the stairs to find Emma in tears as well. What a day. I hug her too.

“What’s going on? Why are you crying?”

“Did you hear what that bitch said to my daughter?”

“What do you care? Like you said, she’s a bitch.”

“All of this is going to get around, and it’ll ruin Giorgia’s reputation.”

“No way. She’s only thirteen.” I do my best to downplay the situation. “We all had crushes at that age.”

“You’re from a city, Emilia. You have no idea of the kind of damage gossip can do in a place like this. Reputation is the only thing that matters here.”

“And your reputation seems crystal clear,” I say, looking into her eyes. “So Giorgia’s will be as well. No one will ever have the courage to speak ill of your daughter.”

Emma is silent, but she seems reassured. “You know,” she finally says, “I’m getting hungry. How about we take her some tea?”

“Why don’t you let me go? You stay here and relax.”

She gives me one of her rare smiles. “Emilia, you really are a good person, you know that?”

I smile in response, and hurry off to make tea.

I’m really not a good person.

The following month is both tiring and fun for me. I’m getting to know the regular customers at the bookstore and the florist’s. People are becoming more courteous, and sometimes I even get a few smiles. I’m also learning to avoid Dora. I take a detour around the carpenter’s shop on my way to the café, and then I make sure she’s not there before I go in. I have yet to run into Aris again, and I feel absurdly nostalgic when I think of him. It’s gotten to the point where I’m sometimes tempted to peek in the window of the carpenter’s shop like Giorgia did, though I hope she’s put an end to that behavior for her own good. It would scare me to find myself face-to-face with Dora, so I hope that Giorgia’s learned her lesson. I am discovering that seeing Aris is near impossible unless you’re very lucky. I never would have seen him that first time had I not happened to find myself in front of his shop. Thinking about him keeps me up at night, so I’m not sure how lucky I really am to have met him.

This morning I explain to Helga that she should connect her computer to the Internet instead of just using it as an electronic archive. She looks at me as if I had asked her out for drinks.

“I don’t know how to do that!” she objects.

“Just call the phone company, and they’ll hook you up,” I say.

She squints and stretches the corners of her mouth, disinterested.

“There’s no money for other expenses. We recently bought a new coat rack.” Which I can tell is definitely not one of Aris’s creations. It’s awfully ordinary, and it looks like it belongs in the waiting room of a morgue.

“All right, but just think—we could make the Internet available to customers by charging a small fee, depending on how long they use it. I know it would be successful. Don’t you want more customers?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want the store to be filled with people. If people don’t want to read, they shouldn’t be here.” Her logic escapes me completely, but I decide to let the issue go for the time being.

I have earned my first paycheck. Helga hands me an envelope with my money tucked inside, holding it by the corner as if the money were impure. I take the envelope, thank Helga, and quickly turn around so she doesn’t see my derisive smile. How can a person treat money as if it’s something dirty? Poverty and all its associated ills stem from a lack of money. Without money, we are left at the mercy of a cold, heartless fate that has no compunction about leaving any of us with empty stomachs and shivering bodies, full of hatred for others and for life itself.

I walk down the street with my money in my pocket, and I feel rich. I can spend it, and then earn more. Back home, I’d worked since I was eight years old, or perhaps even younger, yet I was never paid. The money my mother gave me before she passed away doesn’t count because I didn’t earn it. If she heard me say that, I know that she’d pat me on the head and tell me that with patience, silence, and the help I gave her, I did earn it. But I could never agree. I didn’t want to help with housework. Indeed, I hated having to do it. I sometimes even hated her, with her look that said “You know there’s no other way.” Which I knew wasn’t true. She had a way out; she could leave. But I couldn’t leave her alone with my father.

As I walk down the street and think of my mother, my joy in my new money vanishes. I shut my eyes tightly and try to erase her face from my mind. I open my eyes, take a deep breath, and try to smile again. This money means that I can finally go buy my bookshelf—and see Aris! I just hope that Dora isn’t there. The idea of returning to the carpenter’s shop and actually going inside makes me incredibly nervous. I’m not sure I can do it.

As I approach the carpenter’s, I notice that the lights are on inside. I resist the urge to peek in the window and instead push the door open, which rings a bell. I shut the door behind me as I step inside and look around, but I don’t see anyone. I shift my weight from one leg to the other, waiting. Did he hear the bell? I walk around, checking the place out. Under the window is a table the likes of which I’ve never seen. It has rounded edges and a strong grain to the wood, as if it’s been carved from a thick tree trunk. On the table is a pencil drawing depicting a spiral staircase, with steps of different sizes that make it look quite unstable. It’s a beautiful design, though, with shadows in all the right places, making it look three-dimensional. I suddenly feel like somebody’s watching me, and I spin around to see Aris standing there, with a quizzical expression on his face and a piece of paper in his hand. God, his eyes are so blue. It’s the first time I’ve really seen his face.

“Sorry,” I say for no reason. Why would a customer apologize for being in a store? He shakes his head, as if to agree that I have nothing to apologize for, but he remains silent.

“I need a bookshelf. Can you make me one?”

He gives me what looks like a sincerely amused smile. The answer to my question seems obvious. Why would a carpenter not be able to make a bookshelf? Ugh. I’m shaking with nerves. If I could just get past those blue eyes . . .