by Renee Ryder
“Embarrassment about what? Why?”
“Take for example when he’s invited to an important dinner and he brings her with him. A table of twenty people. The subject moves to where they studied, and she says she went to community college. Would that embarrass Ryan or not?”
“…”
“And her, too, because she’d be uncomfortable sitting with people from Stanford, Harvard, Yale. Hopefully they won’t ask about her family. What if she tells her personal history as candidly as she did with us? Do you think those people would react as well as we did? And even if she invented a normal story, you know better than I that the truth will always out. These things influence your judgment about a person. Ryan will end up either looking like a loser or a good Samaritan. In any case, the others wouldn’t perceive him as one of them. Is that what you want for your son?”
“…”
“His colleagues and their significant others would avoid Hannah and he would be left out because he stands by her. I ask you, why ruin his career? Or if he decided—”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, here.”
“—to stay in the social circle but always leave her at home, he’d be in humiliating situations. I don’t need to explain to you what a difference it makes when a man goes to social events by himself, without a woman by his side. Not to mention what they’d think of him at his fraternity reunions. As I was saying, mixing the classes provides couples many opportunities to screw each other over.”
“…”
“Maybe if she had been successful in business … But forever in a low level position, without any chance of advancing her career? And you want your son to seriously tie himself to a girl with such low potential whom he believes he loves just because she’s got a pure heart, a pretty face, and a nice ass?”
“…”
“Ryan would never admit it, but I’m convinced that he is already ashamed of her.”
“What do you mean?”
“In your opinion, why did he keep it from us that she was a poor little orphan? Even though he had plenty of chances to tell us before the trip? Instead, when he talked to us about her he was always watching himself to avoid revealing anything embarrassing.”
“No, Sue. That doesn’t make sense. Of course we’re going to ask her questions when he leaves her alone with us. And clearly she didn’t make up a story about herself.”
“I’ve considered that. Ryan must have figured that we’d find everything out and, embarrassed to tell us himself, he let her do it. It’s the only explanation that fits. For all we know, that could be the real reason he delayed leaving. He predicted how uncomfortable it would be to hear her tell us her story, and stepped away so he could join us when it was all over.”
“You think so?”
“If you really know him, you must have noted his tendency to manipulate things and people in case of need.”
“Sure, but …”
“Think about it, Roger. This would also explain why, when he took her to our house, he was so talkative during dinner.”
“You mean he intentionally avoided certain subjects?”
“Perhaps it was a compromise on his part. He introduced her to us, but at the same time he made sure we didn’t know her well. Afterwards, things must have gotten more serious.”
“But what did you say to him about Hannah on the phone?”
“I confirmed what you’ve said, that she’s an incredible girl and that we get along well with her. Naturally I neglected to mention how she’s been working to win me over. Women are crafty, Roger. She thought that if I were on her side—”
“Shh!”
…
“Hey!”
“Hannah. Everything all right?’
“Yes, Sue. I’m stopping by just for a minute to grab my sketchbook.”
“Did you find something interesting to draw?”
“Yes, I did, Roger. Remember Nico, the guy who gave us the pezzogne?”
“Of course I do!”
“You love to fish. You should see their storage room where they keep all the equipment.”
“You seem enthusiastic about it, dear.”
“I am! That place just breathes the life of fishermen. It’s like having the possibility of drawing their soul. Roger, do you want to come have a look? I’m sure that Nico wouldn’t mind at all.”
“Yeah, that wou—”
“We are getting ready to go to a church, dear. At five there’s a Mass in the cathedral and I was interested in going to watch, even though I imagine we’ll only understand some Latin terms.”
“Do you want me to come with you? I could draw the storage place tomorrow, so we could all see it together, if you’d like.”
“No, dear. Go ahead. Capture the soul of the fisherman! It’s so nice to see you smiling again.”
“Okay. Then I’ll join you the next time you go. Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
…
“So, my darling husband. Are you ready for tomorrow?”
“Huh?”
“The cooking lesson, remember?”
“Oh right, we’ve got that tomorrow. Um, I dunno.”
“I think it would be helpful to you. You’d see how much time and effort go in to cooking delicacies. That way when you want to scarf them down in five seconds, you’ll feel a sense of guilt and take your time enjoying them.”
“Then I’m not going. I have enough guilt lately …”
“You’re such a party pooper. I want to learn how to make dough here in the birthplace of the pizza. So when we’re back home, instead of ordering greasy fast food, you can ask me for a pizza that won’t throw your cholesterol off kilter.”
“What’s the point of me coming along?”
“I just told you. You need to lea—”
“Okay, I’m going. Nico’s waiting for me.”
“Is he behaving himself?”
“Yes, Roger. He’s a perfect gentleman! … Thank you so much, Sue. If it weren’t for you, right now I’d be depressed in my room … Muah! Love ya.”
“Love ya, too, dear.”
“What time are we having dinner?”
“The Mass should be over at quarter to six. Then time to get back … let’s meet here about six thirty?”
“Okay, Sue.”
“Then we can decide together which trattoria to go to.”
“Perfect. See ya!”
“Hannah?”
“Yes, Roger?”
“You forgot your hat.”
“Thanks for thinking of it, but where I’m going I don’t need a hat!”
…
“Wow, Sue. Looks like it’s going according to your plan, huh?”
“Do you think she heard me?”
“I don’t think so. I shushed you when I heard the key in the lock. If she’d heard you, we’d have seen it in her face. She’s not as good as you at pretending …”
“…”
“She’s such a sweet girl, Sue. I’ll always support you, you know that. But this time I think you’re mistaken.”
“…”
“She gave you a kiss!”
“…”
“I think we’ve got to talk to Ryan.”
“…”
“We could casually mention social status and see what he says.”
“Oh, Roger, please! You know what a rebel your son is. Plus, he knows me too well. If we bring up the subject, he’ll know why immediately. And speaking to him about Hannah from a realistic point of view would push him even more towards her.”
“What do you want to do, then?”
“Nothing else. The fisherman will take care of it. You’ll see.”
“Do you really believe she’s going to cheat on our son with that strutting peacock?”
“Are you blind? Did you see her when she was talking about him just now? Didn’t you notice how her eyes shone?”
“…”
“Three days is enough time. If the reputation of Italian men is true …”
“And what if he tries … to hurt her?”
“Didn’t you hear her? Nico, the ‘perfect gentleman!’ We don’t need to worry about that.”
“She doesn’t seem like that type of girl anyway.”
“Maybe. But don’t forget that right now she’s mad at Ryan.”
“Any girl in her shoes would be. You’d have eaten me alive if I’d have left you high and dry with my parents.”
“You would never have done that because you really loved me. You know, maybe she doesn’t love him very much after all. Seeing how she lets him treat her, I’m afraid she just loves being his girlfriend, so she can stay with such a promising and well off young man. If you know what I mean.”
13. The French Way
Hannah returned to Nico’s storage room anxious to capture the inspiring image and bring it with her, but as she descended the little staircase, something distracted her from her mission. In front of the chair he’d now placed a small, round, white table, with a soda can and a straw.
Nico sat on the nets like he were lounging on some steps, legs casually open, knees bent, and elbows resting on his thighs. He had a soda, too, but no straw.
“For me?”
“I thought you could use something supportive, so I went ahead and borrowed a table from Mrs. Diana.”
She stared at him, touched by his thoughtfulness. He had even turned on the light hanging from the ceiling to make the interior more visible.
“The owner of the cafe where you were having breakfast when I brought you the pezzogne, remember?
“Yes, Nico,” she answered with a slight startle. “It’s really kind from you. Thanks. For the Coke, too,” she added, appreciating that the straw was still sealed, just like the can, of course.
“Wanna toast before you start drawing?”
“All right.” She set down her sketchbook, pencil, and gum eraser on the table.
He stood up and approached her, while she opened her drink.
One step away, he regarded her as though trying to read her mind. Weirdly, it made her feel totally safe with him, despite not knowing anything about him.
“To what we should toast?” she asked as a way to divert herself from the path of her thoughts—shaken by that last idea.
“To whatever you want.”
“Oh. Um, I do not know.”
“Okay, let me think.”
He’d presumably tried to use this to help break the ice, but it seemed to be backfiring on him. “Ah, I have one. We’ll toast to the cernia!”
“What?!” she cried, surprised but intrigued.
“If we hadn’t caught it, I wouldn’t of stopped you to take our picture. You’d of passed right by and we’d never of met.”
“Okay. That does sense.”
His words seemed so genuine to her that, even understanding that it could be one of his tactics for preying on female tourists, she didn’t detect any duplicity.
“By the way, we say ‘it makes sense.’ If you say ‘it does sense’ that means it disgusts you.”
“But I meant that it’s disgusting.”
He stilled.
“Thanks for explaining. See, you’re not the only one who can do teasing.”
“Hahaha! I totally fell for it!”
“Now then, to the cernia!” She smiled at the sound of their cans clinking together. “It was nice also to meet you.”
“You know,” he said as if an idea had just occurred to him. “There’s another way of toasting. ‘The French way,’ as we call it ’round here.”
New worries about what exactly he had in mind cast a shadow over her heart.
“The one where you link arms, ever heard of it?”
“Yes …?”
“When I was little, I remember we were celebrating the golden anniversary of my grandparents’, may they rest in peace. At the moment of the toast, my dad tells my grandpa, ‘Father, the French way!’ ‘And what’s that?’ says Grandpa, who was the type who’d call a CD player a ‘gramophone.’ My dad explains that he and my grandma have to drink at the same time, holding their glasses with their arms crisscrossed. You get what I mean?”
“Yes,” she said, relaxed now.
“They say they understand, but when they toast, Grandma stretches her arm with the glass over to my Grandpa’s mouth as if she was gonna make him drink.”
“Hahaha! Please, don’t tell me that your grandpa did to her the same thing!”
“Wait! ‘No, no,’ my dad stops her.” Nico was laughing now. “And he goes over it again. This time they really seem to get it.” He motioned an invitation to join him and re-enact the toast.
Not wanting to seem rude, she warily imitated him, both holding their soda cans in their right hands and bending her arm through his to link elbows—taking care not to put her face too close. She kept alert to his, even while the bare skin of their arms touched and his short sleeves gave glimpses of his biceps …
“At this point,” he continued, “My grandpa does this.” Without warning, he passed the can around her arm from his right hand to his left and drank.
This sleight of hand killed all the romance of sipping champagne cheek to cheek and struck her as so ridiculous and unexpected that she, still imagining two elderly people chained to tradition toasting that way, burst out with a snorting laugh.
At this, Nico—who was actually taking a real drink—was overcome with giggling, which forced Coke to come out his nose.
She saw him redden, eyes wide with a tremendous fit of coughing, which somehow made her laugh harder—the thought that it wasn’t nice to laugh while he was choking affected her as badly as if she were being tickled.
“My God, I’m sorry,” she gasped with tears in her eyes.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” he reassured her, between laughter and a few last coughs. When he’d caught his breath he said, “Okay, now I’m going to sit over there like a good boy and let you draw in peace.”
Ten solid minutes passed where she drew and he didn’t make a peep. He was lying down on the tarp over the nets, hands folded behind his neck, but without dozing off. She could confirm that because every now and then she cast a glance in his direction to see if he was looking at her. She saw his eyes open, but it was impossible to tell what he was looking at. She suspected that he might be starting to regret his offer.
“Are you sure that this is not getting you bored?”
“Why would I be bored?”
“Well, being layed down there doing nothing does not seem very exciting.”
“I’ve been working since three in the morning. Now I get to rest. What more could I want?”
“What a sin! I would have asked you a favor.”
“Ask.” He sat up with a readiness that made her grin—she’d truly had an idea, but primarily wanted to test his chivalry, which had been impeccable so far.
“The little statue of fisherman on the shelf. It would be a good touch if I can use it in my drawing.”
Nico sprang to his feet and went to the wall opposite her. “This one?”
“Yes. It’s too far away. I cannot see it too good and would be very small in my drawing. It’s about perspective.”
“I get it. I know something about that.” He handled the statuette carefully as he spoke.
“When I draw, I like to put the main things to the side instead of to the center.”
He turned towards her, as if curious about what she said. “You really consider it to be one of the main things?”
“Well, it’s a fisherman and we are in the storage room of a fisherman.”
“True. Anyway, I agree with you,” he added, moving towards her. “If you put something in obvious view it’s like you’re saying to the observer, ‘Hey, I want you to look here.’ You don’t let them experience how it feels to notice it for the first time by chance.”
Her mouth fell open. She hadn’t given him a complete explanation because, considering he was a fisherman, he probably wouldn’t get artistic intricacies. But now she felt an astonishing affinity with him.
“You just described ‘the rule of thirds’ in a way I never heard,” she said with a new light in her eyes. She watched him approach as if this closeness of minds were drawing him physically close, as well. “Sure, there’s a possibility the people will not notice this detail. But is worth the risk. Because if they notice, they feel real emotion. And there is not soddisfaction any higher for an artist.”
“I made it myself,” he confessed, looking her in the eyes now that only the little table remained between them.
“You made what?”
“This.” He held out the statue.
In that moment, she might have doubted everything—including that water was wet—except his sincerity. It seemed impossible that he could be the one who had chiseled these eight inches of marble in such an uncanny way, with elaborate details on the fishing rod, the bucket on the circular base, the wrinkles in the jacket, the short socks and musculature of the legs, and yet she knew he was telling the truth about it.
“It’s so beautiful!”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“How did you make a thing so splendid?”
He showed her his hands, pride on his face.
“I’m impressed, Nico. Truly. Where did you learn to do this?”
“I taught myself.”
His story was becoming ever more unlikely, but from the light and candor in his eyes she knew it to be true.
“When I was in second grade, I saw a picture in a textbook.” His gaze went unfocused as he looked at the statue, as if lost in memory. “It was one of Bernini’s works, called ‘Il Ratto di Prosperina.’ Do you know it?”
“I do not know very many about sculpture.” She flushed with embarrassment about having looked down on his assumed level of education.
“There’s a detail on this sculpture that blew my mind.” He spoke now with a passion that gave her goosebumps. “Pluto’s hand resting on her thigh … It’s marble. A hard material. But that thigh, damn, it looked as soft as real flesh!”
Fascinated by his description, she took her cell phone from the back pocket of her shorts. “How’s the name of the sculpture?”