by D. M. George
“More champagne?” Vito topped off her glass and set the bottle on the floor. He fluffed one of the sofa pillows he’d borrowed from the living room and wedged it behind Perla’s back. “Are you sure your back is okay? I got a little carried away.”
“I’m fine really. Just a little chafing—but totally worth it.” Worry rippled across her face. “I hope we didn’t put on a show for your neighbors.”
“I didn’t hear any applause.” Vito laughed. “Don’t worry—nobody can see us. I built this canopy for the sole purpose of walking around in my underwear.” Vito held her hand and became quiet, as if his thoughts had turned inward.
Perla closed her eyes and relished the afterglow of their intense coupling. The tango had been life changing, a pivotal moment in her self-awareness. What had started as silly foreplay had turned into existential sex, if there was such a thing. Making love on a Roman rooftop against a wall, for heaven’s sake—whoever this woman was, she liked her. Never before had she felt so alive, so fully in the moment. She gave silent thanks to Vito for introducing her to herself. Somehow he’d discovered the hidden Perla switch and flipped it on. Her heart swelled with love.
In a flash of absolute clarity, she saw how her life prior to Italy had been stuck in neutral, how it had just hummed along, never fully engaged. Her tenuous career and hollow marriage had been just good enough not to warrant the discomfort of change. The decades of compromise, however, had stolen her soul. She’d justified her apathy as responsibility—providing for the family and paying bills was a noble thing, right? But she hadn’t foreseen how accepting the unacceptable and tolerating the intolerable, no matter the reason, would erase her identity. She’d woken up in her fifties, not knowing who she was or where the time had gone. Crap, life seemed so short when you got toward the end.
She chastised herself for having lived so timidly, so reactively. Why had she always needed a crisis to get motivated? She could have sought a job in a less volatile industry while she was still young or left Gordon of her own volition for a more satisfying relationship—but she’d been lazy. It had been easier to complain and blame others for her dissatisfaction than to step up and make the decisions she needed to make. The decisions had ultimately made her though, as they often do. Unemployment, a messy divorce, and wasted years were the price of her inertia.
Vito stood up, went to his bedroom, and came back with a sheet. “Let’s get some sleep, my love.” He lay next to her and covered them both. “We’re leaving for Saturnia early in the morning.”
Saturnia
Vito turned off the paved road into the dirt parking lot shortly before noon. He slapped the steering wheel. “Look at all the cars! So much for leaving early to beat the crowd.” He smiled at Perla and shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s hard to get out of bed with you in it.” Perla leaned across the front seat and kissed him. She didn’t remind him it had been his idea to stop for breakfast on the way and he who insisted they check into the hotel early to change their clothes. He always put her comfort above all else and she loved him for it.
Vito parked the car and locked their valuables in the trunk. Perla pulled on her water shoes and gathered her beach bag. Together, they followed the path connecting the car park to the Cascate del Mulino hot springs. Perla stopped dead at the corner of an abandoned stone mill. A hillside of multileveled pools came into full view.
“Incredible! I’ve never seen anything like this!” Goose bumps rose on Perla’s back. The springs were gigantic, so much bigger than the tiny seawater pools in Ischia. She marveled at how millennia of calcium deposits had formed the semicircular bathing pools that grew out of the hill like oyster mushrooms on a wet stump. The smell of rotten eggs filled the air.
“Are you all right?” Vito scrutinized her for signs of discomfort. “We can go back to the hotel and use the hot pools there if you prefer.”
Perla longed to be back at the luxurious, five-star spa complex Vito had chosen. Telling him about Hot Creek had been a mistake. He hadn’t believed her when she’d denied that she was agreeing to the trip just to please him, though of course she was.
“I’m fine. Really.” Perla pulled off her knee-length swimsuit cover-up with a flourish. She stuffed it into her bag and dropped it on the dirt bank alongside towels left by other bathers.
“Onward then,” Vito said, eyeing her suspiciously.
Perla ignored the tingling in her right forearm, took Vito’s hand, and approached the closest pool on quaking legs. She dipped her big toe in first, found the temperature warm, not hot, and gingerly stepped into the three-foot-deep water. They waded across garbanzo-bean-size pebbles and sat on the pool’s edge. Tension leaked out of Perla’s muscles as the milky water washed over her hips and thighs.
“This is so beautiful! So huge! It looks like a bunch of kiddie pools for adults.” Perla glanced around.
More than two dozen people sat in water up to their armpits. Some lay on their stomachs, arms draped over the sides. Most were concentrated in the upper level of pools by the mill.
“Have you ever had a warm waterfall massage?” Vito stood and pulled Perla up by her hand. “Follow me.”
They stopped on the far side of the mill, at the base of a stream that zigzagged around and over smooth boulders on its short descent from above. Vito put his arm around Perla’s waist and stepped backward into the pounding water. A thousand warm, sulfurous hands kneaded their backs.
“A heated waterfall. I can’t believe it!” Perla shouted over the sound of the rapids. “If this natural wonder were in the US, there’d be a big fence around it and we’d have to pay to park and go through a turnstile.”
“Let’s try the other pools.”
They descended several levels into a large jelly-bean-shaped tub.
“May we join you?” Vito asked an elderly couple sitting upright like Russian nesting dolls.
“Of course,” said the wife in a British accent. She wore a rubber swim cap with flowers on top that jiggled when she nodded.
Vito struck up a conversation while Perla lowered herself into the water. She let Vito do the talking and kept her eyes on the falls.
“I’m poached,” the woman said.
Perla cringed.
“Righty,” replied her husband, standing up. “My skin’s so cheesy it might slip right off. Time to go.”
Perla stretched her neck from side to side, popping her vertebrae. Vito glanced at her, concern in his eyes.
“I think it’s time for us to go too.” Vito turned to Perla. “Have you seen enough?”
“Yes. Let’s go back to the hotel,” Perla said, happy her charade was over. The twenty minutes they’d spent in the springs had felt like an hour. The Cascate del Mulino was spectacular, but it didn’t change the fact that geothermal mayhem lurked below their feet. The sooner they left, the better, as far as she was concerned. The only place she wanted to enjoy hot water was with Vito, under the double-headed shower back in their hotel room.
They followed the elderly couple out of the pools and bade them farewell on the bank.
“Wait up. I want to take off this wet swimsuit before we get in the car.” She fetched her bag from the bank and removed her towel and cover-up dress.
“There’s a restroom at the snack bar over there,” Vito said, pointing at a shack by the parking lot that sold candy bars and sodas. “It’s for customers only. Do you want me to get you something so you can use it?”
“No, thanks. Just hold this towel around me if you don’t mind. I can change here.” She draped her dress over his shoulder.
“Gladly.”
Her beach towel was behemoth—more of a beach blanket. She’d purchased it on her last trip to Costco, where everything is large, and it made a perfect dressing screen. She slid down the shoulder straps of her swimsuit and wiggled out of it without exposing herself to anyone but Vito. He looked down her body hungrily. When Perla reached for her dress, her blood froze. Behind Vito, murky brown water spread from
the bottom of the falls into the pools, one by one.
“What the heck is this?” someone said.
“Some asshole above the falls kicking up mud. So inconsiderate,” someone else replied.
“Nnnnnoooo!” Perla screamed. She pushed away the towel, bolted into the water, and scrambled through the pools on all fours like a chimpanzee. “Get out! Get out! Esci! Esci! Acqua calda! Acqua calda!” She tugged arms and pushed backs. “Go, go, go!” she shouted.
Vito spun around. His face became a mask of terror when he saw the latte-colored water. “I’ll clear the lower pools. Just stay close to the edge!” he shouted. He jumped down several tiers to creek level and hurried the bathers gathered there onto the bank.
Meanwhile, Perla raced through the upper pools, chasing people ashore. Parents seemed more afraid of her than her warning. They covered the eyes of their children, hustling them away before she got close. The other bathers grudgingly followed. Perla waved at the people on the far side of the springs but failed to get their attention. She climbed on a rock and did jumping jacks. It worked. She pointed one arm at the bank and circled the other in the same direction, like a traffic cop.
The water was thick with silt by the time everyone was on dry ground. Everyone except one man who remained directly below the falls. Perla shouted at him and flapped her arms, but the sound of cascading water drowned out her warning.
Perla eyed the brown waterfall with dismay. God, please don’t let him die like Scott. A lightning bolt of conviction told her she must save him. It wasn’t a conscious decision; her body just leaped across the pools to the waterfall as if controlled by someone else, someone braver than her. She grabbed the man’s arm and hauled him out of the tumbling water.
“Get out! Get out! Esci! Esci! Acqua calda!” she repeated and pointed at the people standing on the bank.
Vito frantically waved at her.
“What’s going on?” the man said, wiping the wet hair from his face. His eyes widened when Perla’s nudity registered.
“A geyser is erupting upstream. Can’t you feel it?”
The water had already risen to hot tub temperature. The man nodded and pried Perla’s fingers off his arm.
“Follow me!” she shouted.
The shortest distance to the bank was around the stone wall at the corner of the mill. Perla jumped down the cascading levels, teetering along the pools’ smooth rims. It was like running on a balance beam. I can do this, she told herself as she jumped down to the last pool before the bank. But Perla’s feet weren’t so confident—they slipped out from under her and she pitched forward. The man plunged ahead to safety, leaving her in the water on her hands and knees.
The muttering crowd, which had been watching the drama, gasped collectively. Someone shouted, “Over there!”
Perla craned her neck over her shoulder. Her body froze when she saw the huge cloud of steam billowing above the mill. A slow-motion flashback of Hot Creek had turned her feet to cement. Once again, she saw her boyfriend flail in the boiling geyser and heard his shrill screams. Vito called out, but the memory of Scott’s wide-eyed agony and lobster-red skin paralyzed her. The water had become unbearably hot.
Seconds later, Perla bounced facedown over Vito’s shoulder as he lunged up the bank to safety. The crowd stood aghast, transfixed by the deluge of boiling water pouring into the pools where they’d all been lounging only minutes earlier. Vito wrapped Perla in her towel, collected her discarded clothing, and led her toward the parking lot. One bystander watched her pass. He looked perplexed, as if wondering how she’d known.
At the car, Vito took Perla’s hands in his and searched her face. “Are you all right?”
She surrendered to his kind eyes and burst into tears. He held her until she stopped crying and kissed the top of her head.
“Try to relax. I’ll get you some water.” Vito unlocked the trunk and opened the small cooler he kept there.
Perla dressed in the open. To hell with modesty—she had nothing to hide that hadn’t already been seen by everyone. She put on the underwear, jeans, loose cotton blouse, and Nikes she’d left in the car.
Where were you? she chided Parthenope. You said the cameo would always protect me, but you sure missed that one… or did you switch off the early-warning system on purpose?
“Thanks.” Vito handed her a bottle of mineral water.
The cameo buzzed against her chest as she unscrewed the cap. You’re too late, Parthenope. The damage is done.
Perla rotated in a circle as she guzzled the water, eyes searching.
Without warning, Perla’s feet were wrenched from beneath her. She fell to the ground, along with Vito and everyone else in sight. A chorus of screams rose as the ground bucked and heaved beneath them. She knelt, unable to stand. The parking lot tilted from side to side, cars bounced like lowriders with hydraulics, alarms wailed, trees swayed, and power lines sparked. Behind her, the south-facing wall of the mill crumbled and people dodged the falling stones. Loud cracking sounds filled the air, like a giant walking on eggshells. Nature’s beautifully crafted hot tubs fractured into shards. The jerking motion became a rolling one. Perla watched the field across the creek rise and fall in gentle waves.
The ninety-second earthquake lasted an eternity. Perla remembered the 6.9 magnitude Loma Prieta quake that had rocked the San Francisco Bay Area in 1989. This one was much bigger. Vito helped Perla to her feet with a jittery hand.
“Are you okay?” Perla asked. “You look pale.”
“Oh God no…!” Vito pointed at the village in the distance. A towering cloud of dust shrouded the entire hilltop on which it perched. “Let’s go!”
They climbed into his car and sped toward town as fast as the cracked and uneven road allowed.
Vito slammed on the brakes once inside the town walls. He parked the car to the side of a small piazza surrounded by tall brick buildings, suspiciously undamaged. Dust lingered in the eerily quiet air. Where were all the people?
“Let’s walk the rest of the way. I don’t want to block access for emergency vehicles.”
“When do you think they’ll arrive?” Perla got out and looked around.
“Hard to say. Saturnia is pretty remote. I’m afraid we’re the first responders today.”
He reached into the trunk and handed Perla his first aid kit. She flipped the lid and took inventory: a packet of bandages, a roll of gauze, and a tube of antiseptic cream—not much help in a disaster like this, but it was better than nothing.
“Let me lock up your purse.”
Perla was about to hand it over when a cracking sound came from above, followed by a thud. They flinched. A chunk of stone had broken off the corner of the building and smashed to the ground in front of the car.
Perla’s eyes darted up the wall. “Wait a second…” She dug her money belt out of her purse, pulled up her shirt, and snapped it around her waist. Why hadn’t she remembered to lock it in the hotel room safe? She tossed her purse into the trunk.
“Are you ready for this?” Vito asked, breathing rapidly.
“Who’s ever ready for this?”
They hugged for moral support and sprinted down the street toward the center of town. Every building they passed had sustained some damage, but the area around the town’s central plaza was the worst hit. It was the oldest part of Saturnia, built with unreinforced stone and mortar—a seismic death trap.
The devastation was random: buildings on one side of the narrow street remained standing while those on the opposite side were reduced to rubble. Some buildings had only one wall sheared off, exposing bedrooms, living rooms, and kitchens, all still completely furnished like a large dollhouse. Intact roofs sat atop piles of rubble, but the most severely damaged buildings were unrecognizable mounds of gravel.
Dust-covered people milled about in shock and disbelief, simply staring at the apocalyptic sight. Vito took charge and directed Perla and half the bystanders to bring the ambulatory injured into the plaza for first aid. He hu
ddled with the other half, discussing the best place to begin searching for survivors. Two local men pointed to an avalanche of rubble next to the church. Vito cautioned them about gas leaks and live electrical wires before they spread out and began picking through the debris.
Perla’s group split up and searched the narrow side streets that spoked out from the plaza. She came upon an old man sitting in a cracked doorway, stunned and bloody. She helped him up, led him to the plaza, and bandaged his head with some gauze from Vito’s first aid kit. A woman who lived nearby brought a stack of blankets to the triage area, and Perla wrapped one around the man’s shoulders.
She went back to the same street and found a disoriented teenage girl cradling her broken arm. Perla escorted her back to the plaza and sat her down next to the other injured people. Help still hadn’t arrived.
Perla left the plaza again. This time she chose a different street. Down the narrow alley, a two-story building with its front wall sheared off came into view. Heavy wooden beams poked through the jumble of debris spilled on the street.
A plaintive whimper caught Perla’s attention as she passed. She stopped, bent down, and stuck her head inside a tentlike crawl space. A dog, a small German shepherd mix, sat underneath, a good six feet back. He seemed unharmed but was shivering. Poor thing must be terrified. She coaxed the dog forward, but he didn’t budge. She stuck her head farther inside and discovered the problem: his tail was pinned beneath a suitcase-size piece of mortared stone.
The dog’s eyes pleaded for help, and against her better judgment, Perla lay on her stomach and crawled in. She petted the dog and assessed the situation: the cement was too heavy to lift, and pushing it would hurt the dog’s tail even more. There was enough space above, however, to pry it off.
Perla looked around. The end of a pipe stuck into the crawl space. She held her breath and wiggled it. The roof didn’t cave in, so she wrenched the pipe harder, freeing a four-foot section. Awesome. With a sharp stick, she dug under the edge of the stone until the hole was deep enough to wedge in the end of the pipe. A smaller piece of stone served as a fulcrum.