by Renee Ryder
“Il Ratto di Prosperina. But type ‘Bernini’ in, too, ’cause there are other ones with that name.”
She Googled some images.
“It says ‘Proserpina.’ ”
“No, it’s Pro-sper-ina,” he enunciated clearly. “Look carefully.”
She entered the title again.
“Look, all the links say ‘Pro-serp-ina.’ ”
She handed him the phone and he scrutinized the screen.
“Damn! For twenty years I’ve been calling her Prosperina.” He looked so dazed that it was hard to hold back from giggling at his expression. He shook his head and continued, “Actually, I’d got used to it by now, but at first I always wondered, ‘with all the names to choose from, they really had to pick ‘Prosperina?’ It’s like if Sophia Loren was named Hildegard.”
“I have got to say that Proserpina doesn’t sound like Sophia, either.”
“Pro-serp-ina … Well, yeah. It’s not the prettiest, but there’s something to it. As opposed to Prosperina, which sounds ridiculous, especially if you think about the grandness of the statue. Prosperina … Every time I said that, I must have killed Bernini a little more.”
“Hahaha!” With the switched letters clarified, she turned back to her phone with laughter still on her lips to focus on the images again.
Among the assortment of thumbnails, some focused on the detail he’d been talking about, and darn it if he weren’t right! The hand gripped her leg with such pressure that it gave the impression that if it suddenly tightened its grasp, the fingers would dig into the “flesh” of her thigh.
She found this detail so entrancing that she needed to see the whole sculpted grouping. She tapped on another image and studied it in fascination. “It’s magnific!” Each surface had so many astonishingly beautiful details that she didn’t know which to linger over first.
“When I saw that thigh, I felt like … I know it sounds stupid, but I felt a call to do something similar, too.”
“That does not sound stupid, Nico.”
He smiled but didn’t say anything.
She got the sense he might be self-conscious and turned back to the marble masterpiece.
“And where is the rat?”
“What rat?”
“The ratto of Proserpina.”
He furrowed his brow, then …
“Why are you laughing?”
“I’m sorry, Anna. It’s not your fault. You’re not wrong to look for a rat in the sculpture, but ratto in this case means ‘kidnapping.’ It’s from a myth about the ancient gods, with Pluto who falls in love with this girl and steals her away.”
Understanding dawned and she started laughing worse than he had.
“A rat, oh my God!” She wiped at her eyes. “I’m so dumb. I thought of what we were talking of, how to ‘hide’ the main focus. So, since there is the ratto in the title …”
“Good heavens. Me with Prosperina, you with the ratto … Thank goodness no one’s listening to us!”
“So tell me, Nico. You have done something with your talent?”
“Me?!”
“Yes, you!”
“No, no.” He smiled and shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I’m a fisherman, Anna. No one’s gonna take me seriously about making sculptures. I wouldn’t even know who to contact as a first step.”
“But you never have tried?”
“Yes. I made some statuettes and asked some of my dad’s friends if they’d put them on display in their souvenir shops.”
“How did it went?”
“I sold some. Very satisfying.”
“I did not mean this way. I was talking about internet. It gives you access to the all world.”
“Anna, there are people who graduated from University who struggle to make it. I’ve seen it on TV. I didn’t even finish middle school. We’re just trying to get by, here. I can’t afford to dream.”
“It’s very sad, what you just said.”
“I know. But let’s not talk about this. It’s getting late and I wanna see your finished drawing.”
She’d meant well, despite meddling, so she respected his wish and took up her pencil again.
“Will you put this magnificent fisherman there at the left for me?”
“On the workbench?”
“Yes, please.”
He did, positioning it with her instructions before returning to lie down on the nets.
She stayed there drawing for about an hour, although worked considerably less than that, thanks to some chatting. These intervals of conversation weren’t as funny as their linguistic misunderstandings, his grandparents’ toast, and “Prosperina,” nor as deep as their discussion on art and talent, but gave interesting revelations about her mistakes in Italian, like getting “assume” and “presume” confused. Or that the word for “to try” also meant “to feel.” These explanations, together with general chitchat, somehow formed a mortar that solidified the foundation of new friendship.
“Um, it’s almost six thirty. I should go.”
“Are you done?” Nico jumped to his feet and came over to her.
“No work of art might ever be truly finished. I presu— I assume you know that.”
“I’m not sure.”
“I mean always you will find something to add or fix.”
“Oh, yes. That’s true.” He paused. “Um, can I see it?”
“Yes.”
He contemplated the drawing while standing beside her, making her instantly nervous, like when her teachers used to announce a pop quiz. Intimidated by his opinion, she needed to stand up, too.
“I’m speechless, Anna. Damn, you’re good!”
“You really think so?”
“Of course I do! Usually I like drawings in color, but coloring this in would ruin it. The play of shadows, the realism of each piece, the depth of the objects, the atmosphere … so, all right. You told me your thoughts about it, but even if I didn’t know that, I’d still notice the statuette!”
She got the impression he was just placating her. “Hypothetically. Let’s say you don’t like this at all. Only hypothetically. Would you tell to my face?”
“Um, nope.”
“I knew it.” She smiled. “You’re a too nice person.”
“You really think so?”
“Of course I do.”
“Hypothetically. Let’s say that you think I’m a jerk. Would you say that to my face?”
The smirk on his face as he asked made her giggle.
“I wouldn’t neither.”
“See?”
“But I can tell you that I would not have spended the all afternoon with you if I thought that.”
“Well damn, how can I find a comeback to that?” he muttered, comically serious.
“Hahaha!”
“But you’ve got to believe me when I tell you that I like your drawing. I swear on Proserpina’s thigh.”
“Really?” She remained unconvinced.
“I’ve got an idea! I propose a barter. My sta—”
“Barter?”
“A trade. My statuette for your drawing. Agreed?” and he put out his hand to shake on it.
Both his proposal and level of enthusiasm dazzled her.
“I’m sorry, I cannot accept the barter.” Her voice had lost its joking tone now and her face turned serious. “This is only one silly sketch. Yours is a true masterpiece. It would not be right.”
“It’s not like that. You’re undervaluing your drawing. It’s really good, believe me.”
“Do you have other statues of the fishermen?”
“Well, no.”
“And why you keep it here instead in a store like your others?”
He didn’t respond.
She saw honesty in his silence.
“So then, case closed!”
She hated to cut their conversation short, but Susan and Roger would be waitin
g for her.
“I have really to go now.”
“Can I ask you something first?”
“Shoot!”
“Hahaha! When we met, I thought they were your parents. But you keep calling them ‘your friends.’ ”
“So?” she asked, stowing her pencil and eraser safely in a pocket.
“So, you’re not related … I’m wondering why you’d go on vacation with friends who aren’t your same age.”
“Oh, I see the point. They are the parents of my boyfriend.”
From the look on his face, this possibility had never crossed his mind. He stayed quiet and she felt the pressure to say something, especially when he suddenly averted his eyes back down to her notepad.
“The four of us were supposed to leave together for Italy. To make the long story short, he was having to stay in Seattle because of the job. So we left without him.”
The more she explained, the darker Nico’s face became. She decided not to add anything else. Besides that, he hadn’t uttered a word. “Nico, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, yeah.”
“So? I see you tomorrow about nine?”
“Huh?”
“You said I will be able to buy the fish you will catch tonight.”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you again for the wonderful afternoon. And for the Coke.”
“You’re welcome, Anna.”
“It was nice today. Time flew.”
“I had a nice time, too.” His smile looked pleasant, but not as genuine as before.
14. Thoughts and Words
“You’re really good, Hannah.”
“A true artist!”
Susan and Roger admired her illustration, dumbfounded. They sat together on one side of the table in the living room, with her seated across from them. She wanted to play it cool and act nonchalant about their compliments, but being so appreciated by them, of all people, made an uncontrollable joy bubble up inside her. She couldn’t repress the persistent smile tugging at her lips and enjoyed the satisfaction she’d earned.
“What about the language practice? How did it go?” Susan couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of the drawing.
“Really well. For all the words Nico used, I only had to ask him what two meant!”
“How about him, did he understand you?”
“I’m sure I made all the usual grammar mistakes. But yes, he understood me. Besides a few misunderstandings when the literal translation meant something else, the conversation went very smoothly. Also because, to be honest, he was talking most of the time and that’s easier for me.”
“What were you two talking about?” Susan fiddled distractedly with her right earlobe. “If I’m not prying?”
“Oh of course not! Besides giving me some tips on the language, he told me some anecdotes about his family and told me about his work. I even helped him cover the boat on the beach and bring a bucket to the storage room!”
“He put you to work?” Roger sounded displeased.
“No, come on. I gave him a hand with something that he could have done himself. You could say I helped to pay him back for his kindness with the pezzogne. Speaking of which, Roger. Tomorrow morning do you want to come with me?”
“Where?”
“I’m going to meet him down by their boat. I asked him if he would sell me some fresh fish and he told me to come before his clients get there. I don’t know much about fish and thought that you …”
“Sure, Hannah. You bet.”
“He seems like a nice person, this Nico.” Susan had a strange inflection to her voice. Like a request for confirmation. Maybe questioning the earlier suggestion about hanging out with him and then worrying that he’d turned out to be bad news after all. A legitimate fear, taking into account that he was a stranger to all three of them.
“Yes. He’s a really good person,” she hurried to reassure Susan. “Besides being friendly and open, I discovered that he’s got a very sensitive soul.”
“You mean, he’s gay?”
The shock on Roger’s face struck her as funny, but not as much as Susan’s reaction—eyes wide, she jerked back and dropped the earring that she’d been fidgeting with.
“Wait, Sue.” She jumped forward and bent down under the table. “I’ll find it for you.”
“It’s just the back. I’ve still got the earring here.” Susan scooted the chair out to give her room.
“Got it!”
“Thanks, dear.” Susan pressed the back onto the post.
“I don’t know if Nico is gay,” she continued, returning to sit facing them. “I don’t think so. But I was talking about his favorite hobby.”
“What hobby?”
“Guess!”
“Soccer?”
“Roger, why would a sensitive soul care about soccer?” Susan objected.
“Oh. It’s because all Italians love that sport so I said it out of instinct.”
“Maybe he spends time gardening. Flowers in particular?”
“In a certain sense, you’re getting closer, Sue.”
“He writes poetry!” Roger declared.
“He’s a sculptor. And he’s really talented.”
Like she’d predicted, it dumbfounded them.
“In the storage room he’s got one of his pieces, I assume the one that came out the best.” She described the statuette of the fisherman and its extraordinary details. “I put it into my drawing. See it?”
After searching for a few seconds, Susan spotted it.
“I couldn’t do it justice with this perspective and proportions, but I can assure you, it’s a treasure!”
“Who would have guessed. It’s interesting that he’s also involved in art. Just like you!”
“Yes, Sue. I was speechless.”
“Are you sure he’s not just claiming to be a sculptor?” Roger remained skeptical. “If I wanted to impress a pretty girl, I could buy a statue in the market and say I’d made it, too.”
“Oh! I understand your logic. But if you saw how passionate he was when he talked about sculpture, you’d have no doubt.”
“Did you see him sculpt something? Were they any works in progress in this storage place?”
“Well, no. But I did see a hammer and chisel on the workbench.”
“It seems sensible to keep these tools there,” Susan intervened. “If he started hammering at home, imagine how happy the neighbors would be!”
“No marble, though … In any case, remember that with trust it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Roger sounded like a concerned father.
Susan turned toward him, a stern look on her face.
“I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks for the advice,” she replied, uncertain. “Anyway, tomorrow you’ll see. He’s really a respectful guy.”
“Listen to her, Roger! You and your suspicions … Let her enjoy this nice friendship!”
“Well.” She looked at the time and stood up. “Now I’d better get changed for dinner, ’cause it’s getting late.”
With tomorrow’s cooking class in mind, Susan proposed finding a pizzeria for dinner.
The first part of the evening was entertaining, mostly because of the strange competition they got into with the waiter about pizza choices. She and Susan opted for traditional pizzas—vegetable and Capricciosa—but Roger couldn’t decide. When he reached the end of the long list on the menu, the waiter suggested some others, including the disturbing “pumpkin pizza.” At that, Susan unleashed the idea of the Hawaiian classic, ham and pineapples, which caused the waiter to visibly pale. However, he didn’t give up and struck back with the killing blow that their kitchen could make them pizza with beans on top. Roger didn’t have the courage to order it and, while his dignity was still in tact, he backtracked to pick a pizza with cherry tomatoes and arugula.
The situation was so engrossing that she wanted to come to the cooking lesson, too,
much to Roger’s delight. He immediately seized the opportunity to back out of being his wife’s chaperone.
Afterwards, while they were waiting for their gelato, she got a text from Ryan. Her good mood instantly transformed into a facade so that she wouldn’t ruin the evening for Susan and Roger. They had some coffee, walked around the main piazza—overcrowded, as usual—and went back down to the marina, with her smiling and talkative the whole time even though she couldn’t get her thoughts off of Ryan.
Once in her room, she automatically went through her bedtime rituals, while Ryan’s message ran through her mind, “Can I call you?”
She didn’t know how to respond to him. She wanted to talk to him, without arguing again. To listen, but not to get upset. To see how things stood between them, or maybe not …
Seeing no new messages—except Ryan’s—she flopped on top of the bed to text Lauren some photos.
Here’s the street with that pizzeria I was telling you about, so cute
A minute later:
And the beach, isn’t it gorgeous?
While she waited for a reply, she browsed through her photos. The town looked so perfect that every photo could be a postcard and the Internet was the fastest and cheapest postal service ever. So she only had to choose.
She made a ruthless selection, to not bombard her with photos, and then checked for a reply. But Lauren hadn’t viewed the previous messages yet.
She must be busy.
She was tempted to collect some likes by sharing snapshots of the trip on her public profile, but she’d always thought it wiser for people to wait until they’re home from their trip, so as not to alert criminals that they weren’t at home. So she tried Keisha.
Beaches are so small here! You walk for five minutes and that’s it
She attached the same photo.
A minute later, a reply.
So it’s perfect for Alex when he goes jogging
She laughed by picturing her heavy-set boss bragging at the office for running along an entire beach, but Keisha wrote again before she typed back.
Sorry, I’m swamped at work. I’ll call you soon, can’t wait to hear about the trip. Looks amazing so far!