Chapter Three
He loved listening to his mother's music box. Often he would take it out onto the patio by the pool and wind it up carefully with the little key as he had been taught. The delicate tune tinkled through the courtyard and up into the trees. Maria had often sat on her green bench when she was a still pregnant and played the music box, holding it against her tummy.
Occasionally Mrs Falcon would be caught unawares by the beautiful sounds and unconsciously sing along with the song.
“Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma! Tu pre, o Principessa, nella tua fredda stanza, guardi le stelle che tremano d'amore, e di speranza!”
“What does that mean?” asked Paulo, more to try and stop her singing than out of actual interest.
“It means ‘None shall sleep. None shall sleep. Even you, O Princess, in your cold bedroom, watch the stars and tremble with love and hope'. It's the story of a man who fell in love with a beautiful, but cold hearted princess. However, if he wished to marry her, he first had to answer three riddles. If he failed he would be beheaded. Well he guessed the answer to the riddles correctly but the princess was not so happy about it. The man took pity on her and said that if she could guess his name by the next morning she could execute him. But if she did not guess his name, then she must marry him. The cruel and cold princess then decreed that none of her handmaidens were to sleep that night untill they had found out the man's name. And If they didn't they would be killed.”
“And what happened then?” asked paulo.
“Well, we don't rightly know. The hero sings out boldly in the end that he's sure they will never guess his name....but that's where the story ends. It's up to you really, what happens. Perhaps he took pity on the condemned handmaidens and whispered his name in their ear so they wouldn't get killed.”
“I would've told her my name. Paulo. Paulo Bellagamba.”
*
Italian men are bigger then their skins, bigger than their bodies will actually allow. An Italian man is even bigger then his imagination, which is why he expects so much from his audience. He knows that others are benefitting enormously from his mere appearance. To be showered with accolades and appreciation (just like his mama did, or still does) is merely his due.
So he will often stand around, leaning nonchalantly, as if unaware of his dazzling manifestation in the flesh, against a wall, or a lamppost, or someone else's fancy car, sometimes bouncing a ball as if to belie his immense intellectuality, and his dismissal thereof in favour of the more simple things in life.
He is so much more than his skin, and he shows it in his pose and in the attitude he strikes up. He shows simultaneously what he believes himself to be, a living god, which he never bothers to accomplish, for that would be hubris, and far too much work; and who he would like you to think he believes himself to be. Humble, simple, fallible, sensitive, vulnerable. He wants you to believe that he underestimates his talents so that you may praise him for them nonetheless, even though he will never exhibit any of them due to the lack of opportunity and the heat.
Patricio, a classic Latin in every respect, knew himself to be irresistible. He also knew that his Italianized English set the hearts of the foreign ladies a fluttering.
“Ciao bella. Scuzzi senora. Please to sit,” and he'd rush out into the boiling sun in his waiters uniform and escort the two ladies into the shade of the restaurant awning, taking extra care not to rush Maria and her leg.
They often came this way, even though they knew they would be ambushed by Patricio into having a drink of tea or wine before being allowed to go any further. Often they would have something to eat even though Mrs Falcon thought the expense prohibitive. But she was working now and didn't have the heart to deny Maria any little happiness. And making Patricio happy seemed to make her happy. He had a scooter, and on weekends, if he wasn't tiling a friend's bathroom for some extra money, he was off down to the beach.
Once he had managed to get Maria and her leg onto the back of the Vespa, but it was such and awkward and uncomfortable business that they gave it up and got a taxi. They would often all go to the beach together, but he seldom managed to get Maria to go on her own. She set the pace of their relationship.
In the meantime he did the next best thing to get in her good graces. He befriended the boy, and the two of them were often seen bouncing over the cobblestones on his scooter, or playing football with the other boys in the grounds of the……….church, or eating ice cream down at the harbour, watching the ships and dreaming their dreams of adventure and treasure.
Patricio, like all men, was just a child. He was always full of energy and happiness and ideas. He and Paulo got on like brothers. Patricio taught him the things he needed to know about being a man (which wasn't vey much) and Paulo set the childish tone for all their adventures.
Patricio, although Maria maintained a constant reticence towards him, pressed his suit with an equally constant ardour in the knowledge that sooner or later she must succumb to his many charms. Of course he would perhaps have tired of her long ago had she given in too easily, but now, after nearly two and a half years of courtship, his passion was piqued to such a fine point by the blistering temperature it had risen to in all those years, that he threatened to combust and be consumed in the coming conflagration were she to say yes, or fizzle out like a damp squib should she refuse.
But his confidence was high and he was having fun.
“What for the ladees today? Pasta is VERY fresh and I fetch some new Parmesan special from Demetrie's this morning.”
He poured them a glass of Rose each.
“On the house for beautiful ladees.”
He always said that but somehow they always ended up paying for it. But they didn't mind. It was the thought that counted. And the thought was heartfelt and received as such.
“Tomorrow night there is celebration at…….I want you come with me please,” he whispered in her ear. “Please you say yes.”
She stared at his bronzed bare forearm, frozen in the act of pouring her wine while he waited for her answer. From the intensity and intimate tone of his request, she felt like he'd just asked her to go to bed with him. Somehow she knew that a lot rested on her answer and she was not to dismiss his request summarily as was her won't.
She looked up at his dark and serious eyes and her courage nearly crumbled.
“Si.” She said before her inferiority complex could rear its ugly head and the implications of the offer overwhelm her. It's one of those things about being in Italy . It's hard to find a reason to say no to life.
He nodded unobtrusively at her answer and gravely withdrew to go about his job.
When he came with the bill he was his old jovial joking self again.
“I'll peek you up at eight o clock tomorrow night.” He said and winked good naturedly at them.
He smelled of warm sunshine and deodorant. He sucked hungrily at her mouth and she surrendered everything to him. He lay her down gently on his king size bed and sat down next to her, running his fingers through her hair and down her cheek. He looked at her from top to toe, taking in every detail. The little dark hairs on the side of her neck and on her arms, and the skin that was so thin it almost looked transparent.
She wore a short black dress that emphasized her ample hips. He liked that. Her legs were bare beneath her skirt and he slid his hand up onto her warm thigh. She watched him and wondered why he had chosen her. She was sure she must remind him of his mother or something, because there was not much that was attractive about her. She was much older than him, not pretty, cripple and no personality to speak of. She was a quiet mousy type of woman. Grey in every aspect. And yet he pursued her as if she was Venus herself. She didn't see how she glowed every time he was around. She didn't see how her skin flushed pink and pearl when he kissed her hand in greeting. How she laughed so prettily when he joked with her. How they spoke the same language and understood each other without saying a word. How easy he found her to be with.
She, for her part, saw things in him that no other woman did. His strength of character, his innocence and his honesty, attributes often mistaken for arrogance and naïveté in the real world.
He slowly undid the straps on her leg brace and gently eased it off her leg. She felt the cool relief of a restriction lifted and he gently massage the leg all the way down to her slender toes. She let go and sank into a near heavenly swoon. He removed her other boot and massaged that leg as well, slowly, as if he couldn't get enough of her.
She was wet long before he got her dress and underwear off and lay naked to his gaze. She watched him looking at her for the longest time, as if she was the first naked woman he had ever seen. He began kissing her neck and ears and eyes and mouth. He folded her arms above her head and kissed her armpits and breasts and then he was inside her. It was so quick that she gasped in surprise and pleasure. She could feel herself responding urgently to his entrance, but he was in no hurry. Even though he was hungry, he wanted to savour every little movement and touch.
He moved almost imperceptibly against her, with every stroke going deeper and impossibly deeper, setting up little ebbs and flows of electric current running up and down her spine that eventually built up and sent a gigantic tidal wave of ecstasy surging through her whole body and thrusting her against him repeatedly in spasms beyond her control.
When it was over he kissed her into quietness and lay protectively over her until her breathing eased. Then he gently withdrew and lay down by her side.
They woke up in the wonderful Mediterranean morning sunshine and smiled at each other. He rolled over and kissed her and before they knew it he was on top of her again and they were pounding one against the other.
“I have to wee,” he said after a while.
“Me too,” she laughed, and they both made a dash for the loo.
She felt young and lovely. She'd never felt young and lovely before, even when she had been so, once upon a time.
Mrs Falcon was in a bad mood this morning and Paulo had wisely disappeared out the gate the moment he'd finished his breakfast. She piled the bad tempered plates into the sink and began clattering about in the kitchen.
It wasn't the first time Maria had spent the night away from home. But it was the first time she had done so with a MAN. That's what made Mrs Falcon so insecure. Her perfect paradise was under threat. She loved their life in this little cottage. Just the three of them. It was the perfect balance. God knows a man would upset the equilibrium no end.
‘What if they wanted to get married?' Her mind raced from one disastrous scenario to the next. A man about the house was untenable to her. She had had her fill of them. Lazy, indolent, insensitive creatures mostly. And Italian to boot. She knew the house just wasn't big enough. And she knew Maria was naïve and innocent as far as men and their habits were concerned. It just didn't bear thinking about.
By the time she'd washed the dishes and broken one of them, she was in a terrible state of anxiety. Even though it was only ten ‘o clock in the morning, she poured herself a stiff shot of brandy and settled down on the terrace to wait for Maria.
Two hours and three stiff ones later she was feeling much more like her old self. In this kind of weather it was hard to remain in a bad mood for very long and she was just nodding off when the gate creaked open and Maria came down the path looking like the bride of happiness.
One glance at Mrs Falcons dishevelled state told her the whole story. She went up to her and gave her a big hug.
“I haven't deserted you, you know.”
“I hope not. But I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever come home.”
“This is my home,” she said pointedly. “And yours too.” She gave her another hug. “And nothings going to change that.”
Maria settled herself into the other wicker chair and the two women watched the summer day, hypnotized by the drone on insects and the twitter of birds. The occasional hooter and squeal of brakes far off added nicely to the ensemble.
The slam of the gate brought them out of their reverie. It meant that Paulo was home and that it must be lunch time.
He came up the garden path carrying a pile of rocks in his arms.
“Hello pet. What do you have there?” Paulo looked at her briefly, and then dumped his booty in the flower bed near the patio.
“They're humming stones,” he said.
“Good Lord,” said Mrs Falcon.
“That's nice,” said Maria. She was used to his eccentric ways and tastes by now. “And what do they do?” she said, not really interested, just making polite conversation.
“They hum,” he said matter of factly, and began separating and sorting them.
“Would you like some lunch?” asked Maria
“Yes please.” He wasn't really interested in lunch today, but he said it just to please her.
Mrs Falcon struggled unsteadily to her feet.
“No, no. You sit. I'll get the food,” Said Maria, pushing her down into her chair again.
There was something very relaxing about the way the boy was organizing the stones. Very thoughtfully and with fastidious care. It suited her precise nature.
First he looked at the stone very closely; turning it over and over, then he would close his eyes and weigh it up in his hand, fingers feeling the surface all the while. When he opened his eyes again he unhesitatingly placed the rock quite concisely in its proper place. She could feel how each consecutive stone fitted just perfectly into their position and in relation to each other as he built the circle around himself. There was a beauty and symmetry, not only to the rocks and the circle, but to the way he moved. It was all so calm and deliberate and utterly absorbing. The two of them were slowly becoming oblivious to their surroundings as the stone circle became the all consuming focal point.
She watched him make some minute final adjustments to the circle, and then sit very still in the centre, like a little Buddha, he wound his spell around them. Mrs Falcon was by now mesmerized by the little tableaux enacted in front of her. The two of them sat as if in a trance, unmoving, and within no time at all,
SEE TWO THINGS AT THE SAME TIME. NORMAL VISION AND BETWEEN THE ATOMS
HER AWARENES MOVES FROM HER TO PAULOS AWARENESS. SEES LIFE THRU HIS EYES. SEES THE STONE CIRCLE ABOUT HER……SEES HERSELF SITTING ON THE CHAIR
the world had completely disappeared and they entered the timeless ether of eternity. There were no stars here, or landscape as such – just being, and knowingness. They sat in nothingness, at the still point of forever, together.
And then they heard the hum. Or rather, felt it. Very faintly at first, like some giant cosmic dynamo, the sound swelled up and around them and when it was big enough it scooped them up and swirled them along, mixing up their atoms until they couldn't tell each other apart. She was him and he was her, still two people, but one soul, one being, indivisible.
INSERT She saw herself sitting on her chair, and looked down at the stones around her. They began to turn and spin and whirl her into
They journeyed through eons in this blissful state together until there came a change in the character of the hum. It started becoming…deeper…and slower and she would've wept had she the tears, for they began to separate from each other, her and the boy. She almost couldn't bear the pain of parting. Like a part of her was being ripped away and she didn't know how she was going to live without it. She was being pulled inexorably back to herself…somewhere…and she didn't want to go.
“Here we are,” Maria was saying, and the birds, and the light, and the voice, and the heat crashed in on the two astral travellers as they returned to earth with a bump.
“Good Lord.” Exclaimed Mrs Falcon fluttering up slightly in her chair and glancing around to reorient herself.
“How extraordinary.” She could hardly believe what had happened to her. To them , she should say. Something inside her ached as she remembered their togetherness. She put her hand to her breast to still her anxious heartbeat.
“You two were miles away,” said Maria, laying the plates on the garden table.
“How did you do that?” asked Mrs Falcon breathlessly. She was already having second thoughts about the whole experience, trying to put it down to the alcohol and the heat. ‘But even so' she thought, the experience felt too precious to be dismissed in such a banal way.
“The stones do it,” the boy replied. “They hum. You just have to listen.”
Mrs Falcon shook her head as if trying to clear away some fuzziness. “Do you do that often?” she asked, amazed at him.
“Sometimes,” he replied rather enigmatically. How often is often? He did it when he did it. No more, no less. He also had other things he liked doing. It was all the same to him. Everything had its right time and place.
Mrs Falcon looked at Maria and realized the impossibility of trying to explain something like this to someone else. She was hard pressed to explain it to herself. She suddenly understood why he could lie so still for long listening to the tram rails.
“And the tram lines? Do they also hum?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “They ring. Like a big bell. It's different.”
He collected all his stones together and piled them neatly in the corner next to the house and went to wash his hands before lunch.