Fairytales

by Cynthia Freeman

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I just realized, there are no trees … no flowers … no parks.”

  “And you’re curious about that… okay, let’s take the motorboat and I’ll show you.”

  “Can’t we take a gondola?”

  “This evening … but now, we’ll go by water taxi, it’s faster.”

  They got on at Pier One. Nothing went unobserved by Gina Maria. The Venetian housewives were on their way to market. With their string shopping bags, they stepped into the crowded water jitney and held on until they reached the pier they desired and disembarked. Finally, at Pier Nine, the boat stopped and Dominic helped Gina Maria down. Then the boat sped away as the two entered a stone foyer. The floor was slightly above sea level. Inside there was an inch or more of water that had slopped into the large hall. Unavoidably, Gina Maria’s shoes were wet as they ascended the enormous marble stairs to the second floor. And what she saw made her forget her shoes. At this moment, she was all eyes that saw the most magnificent allegorical art in Venice. Silently, she stood before each masterpiece in complete awe. It was only when she paused for a long moment before the painting of the crucifixion, she clasped her hands in exaltation. Slowly she said, shaking her head in wonder without looking at him, “Papa, how could any human produce this? It’s so beautiful, I could cry.”

  “That’s why I wanted you to see this place. Now, let me answer the question about where people raise their children.”

  Walking to the French doors, they walked out to a balcony. Below was a secluded courtyard where trees grew tall and flowers bloomed in profusion. Stone benches sat on the lush green lawn. Between the stone columns statues stood regally. “Now, does this satisfy your concern about parks?” he asked, laughing.

  Smiling back, she answered, “Yes … I thought Venice was only narrow streets and canals … but the Venetians didn’t overlook a thing, did they?”

  “That’s right. This palace once belonged to a nobleman. It now belongs to the city … to be used as a museum.”

  “You mean this was someone’s home?”

  “Yes … try to imagine, if you can, the first occupants who lived here when this was built at the height of Venetian glory.”

  “It’s almost too much to contemplate … The world is really so beautiful, isn’t it, Papa?”

  Poverty … hunger … wars … strife … human suffering ran quickly through Dominic’s mind … but for Gina Maria? He answered, “Yes, it’s very beautiful.” He wanted to add, it could be if all the world remained seventeen, naive and untouched. But he dismissed all such thoughts … today, the world was young … as young as Gina Maria.

  As Dominic and Gina Maria sat lunching at a sidewalk café in St. Mark’s Square, the pigeons walked nonchalantly about. A moment later they took flight, ascending in midair as though their wings became one fluttering mass of white gossamer, then just as suddenly they were back once again walking imperiously among the human feet that promenaded. Gina Maria looked up from her salad and savored the sweet plump tomato she had just put into her mouth, when suddenly she stopped chewing. Her mouth still full, she was unable to swallow because standing not more than ten feet away, she saw the most fantastic-looking young man she had ever seen. Unable to take her eyes from him, she watched as he stood with the small group of tourists explaining the history of Venice. He gestured elegantly at the different buildings, pointing out the significances of the Square itself. When it was built, etc., etc., etc. He had repeated the same things every day to a different set of tourists for the last few years so that by now he reeled off the spiel as though it were a recording. Gina Maria finally swallowed the tomato and sat captivated by the sight of him. She could hear his voice … what he was saying in the most exquisite broken English, but all she was aware of was him … dressed in a beautiful Italian silk suit, Italian leather shoes, pink poplin shirt, paisley tie … dark glasses rested on his thick black hair, styled to one side and cut critically just the right length. He looked in the direction beyond where she and Dominic sat and Gina Maria saw his dark, languid eyes. For a moment, she thought she would faint. Then quickly, he moved on with his Americans tagging behind him until they reached the Cathedral. From where Gina Maria sat, she was able to watch the expedition. As the tourists went inside to browse and ooh and ah, he remained outside. Standing to the left of the entrance, he braced himself against the wall, took a cigarette from his gold case, tapped it, then lit it with a gold lighter. He inhaled the smoke deeply and slowly. Of all the places of interest, he loved the church best … not for reasons of religion, but because it gave him a short respite away from the clucking voices of the American hens who in the brief span of an hour expected him to teach them the history of a hundred years. Then there was always one in the group that said, quaint … everything was quaint … or simply divine. Mama Mia! What a way to make a living … well, it was better than being a waiter. At least being a guide afforded him the dignity of dressing in gorgeous silk suits, although at times he didn’t have two nickels to rub together inside the elegant pockets of his trousers. It also had other compensations. After the sightseeing was completed, he directed his group to the best bargains where later in the day he collected his lire from the shopkeepers under the table. Now the group was standing together once again as he counted heads and like Garibaldi, he charged on to the Doge’s Palace, walking erect and dashingly elegant across the square with the ladies trying to keep up with him. Gina Maria sighed as he was lost from sight.

  “Aren’t you enjoying the salad?” Dominic asked. “Gina Maria … ?”

  “You’re daydreaming … eat your salad. Venice will still be here tomorrow.”

  But, she thought, will he?

  That evening at dinner, Catherine told Dominic and Gina Maria about the things she ordered. The conversation went on endlessly, with Gina Maria scarcely hearing a word, although Catherine was now speaking directly at her, “… Papa said.”

  “What, Mama … ?” Gina Maria asked.

  “I said … Papa told me how you loved the museum.”

  “Oh, that … yes, I loved it.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Gina Maria?”

  “Nothing … nothing, Mama.”

  “Are you sure? You’re actin’ awful strange.”

  “No, I’m not,” she answered quickly, her heart pounding.

  “You feelin’ alright?”

  “Yes … yes, I’m great, terrific.”

  “I think you’re tired.”

  “Yes, just a little.”

  “Well, you can’t take it all in at one time … we’re gonna be here ten days … now, you just slow down … hear?”

  “Okay, Mama,” she heard herself saying. Then suddenly in he walked, and went to the bar where he seemed to know everyone. Oh, Madonna … her pulse raced so, she thought she’d faint.

  Dominic looked at her, “We better go back to the hotel.”

  “No, Papa, I don’t want to ruin your evening.”

  “You’re not ruinin’ anythin’,” Catherine answered. “Better pay the check, Dominic.”

  And from the sound in her voice and the wink in her left eye, he knew Gina Maria must be having her period.

  That night, Gina Maria slept very little. For the next two days, she asked to have lunch at the same café, precisely at the same time, knowing he … whatever his name was, would appear with a different group. She forced herself to eat. As much as she loved and respected her parents, the idea of being so overly protected seemed positively ludicrous. But old habits were hard to break. Going to a Catholic girls’ school hadn’t helped emancipate her. She knew all about sex from her convent comrades. If only she could have told her parents the things that went on inside those cloistered walls, they would have been appalled. The girls smoked pot… slept with boys … read pornography … name it, they did it … but not Gina Maria and not because she was unlike them. There was only one difference … Gina Maria was afraid of disgracing her parents if she got caught. Al
so, she had inherited a devotional love so great that the thought of defying her father and losing his respect outweighed her desire to do things that were only natural for girls, so she became the oddball at school, a role she did not enjoy and until now had accepted. But suddenly, the urge became more than she could accept and in spite of all her love and the feelings of guilt, she simply had to be free to wander off alone. In this day and age she was being treated like a seventeenth-century princess … instead of a girl seventeen living in the twentieth century. But how could she get away for a day? What excuse could she give? Papa wouldn’t permit it… not in a foreign country … that was some laugh, foreign country? Why, Mama even selected the movies she saw and the books she read. Thank heaven, none of the girls at school suspected why she always had a headache or a toothache … or … whatever else she could invent when she was asked to go with them. It was damned embarrassing … thank the lord for Roberto … he was the only one that spoke up to Mama … a book never raped a girl … a movie never seduced anyone … so where are you when I need you, Roberto? But suddenly she heard, “Gina Maria … I don’t believe it. Of all places …”

  Quickly, she got up, dropping her napkin as she greeted the most welcome face she could ever imagine. It was a sign from heaven. “Papa,” Gina Maria said, “you know Pam McCormack.”

  Standing, Dominic smiled, “Yes, of course, how are you?”

  “Fine, Mr. Rossi, thank you …”

  “Won’t you join us?” Dominic asked.

  Pam looked at her wristwatch, then said, “Okay, but for just a few minutes. I have to meet my folks.” She sat down.

  Animatedly, Gina Maria asked, her eyes lighting up, “Last time I saw you at school, you didn’t say you were going to Europe this summer.”

  “We didn’t know until the last minute.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, my Dad had to come on business unexpectedly and he thought it would be great if Mom and I joined him … so here we are.”

  Gina Maria laughed and thought that her guardian angel was here. “How long are you staying?”

  “About a week, then we have to go on to London. This week is only the holiday part of it.”

  “When did you come over?”

  “Last week.”

  “How come we haven’t seen you till today? Seems everyone meets in St. Mark’s Square.”

  “Because we just arrived here late last night from Rome. That’s where Dad had business to attend to.”

  “Oh, Pam, I’m just thrilled to see you.”

  “Me too … it’s so great bumping into a friend from home. Now I know I’m going to have fun.”

  Gina Maria laughed a little too openly. Checking herself, she answered, “I can’t believe it … small world, isn’t it?”

  With the advent of Pam’s arrival, Dominic and Catherine reluctantly allowed the girls to spend their afternoons together, so long as they didn’t wander too far from the square. At this suggestion, Pam thought, the Rossis were square. Sitting at the café which had become Gina Maria’s habitat, Pam asked, “What gives with your folks?”

  “You don’t understand, Pam.”

  “You’re right, I don’t. Explain it to me.”

  “It’s too complicated … you wouldn’t understand.”

  “What’s there to understand … what are they afraid of?”

  Hesitatingly, Gina Maria answered, “Of my growing up … I said it and I feel disloyal.”

  “I don’t understand any of this … growing up? You are! We’re both the same age and my folks wouldn’t dare tell me … ‘Stay on the square.’ That’s ridiculous. What is this … the dark ages?”

  “For me, yes … no, it’s not either … it’s a traditional thing about Italians … fathers in particular.”

  “Well, you and I have never been what you’d call buddies at school, although we’ve known each other since grade one, I guess. We pal around with different groups …” Pam frowned, “Do you date?”

  “Well, no … not exactly.”

  “Not exactly? What does that mean?”

  “I don’t date the way you do … I can go to parties … listen, Pam, I’ve got problems.”

  “You sure do.”

  They remained silent, then Gina Maria said softly, “Pam, can you keep a secret?”

  She smiled broadly, “You’re going to have a baby … it happened when they weren’t looking, right?”

  “Be serious, Pam.”

  “Okay, I can keep a secret.”

  “I’m in love.”

  “In love? How can you be in love? You don’t even date.”

  “I’m in love with someone who doesn’t even know me. Someone I’ve never met.”

  Pam blinked. Slowly, she said, “I think this whole thing has really gotten to you … I’d suggest psychiatry just for openers, then graduate to analysis.”

  “It does sound crazy, but it’s true.”

  “You’re weird … honest.”

  “No, I’m not, Pam, let me tell you.”

  When she finished, Pam answered, “So, did it ever occur to you to meet him?”

  “Yes, and that’s why I was so happy to see you… not that I wouldn’t have been anyway.”

  “Got the whole picture … we go to the Doges’ Palace while Romeo’s there … right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  Blonde, blue-eyed Pam McCormack stood alongside of a trembling Gina Maria, standing at the back of the group listening to the brief lecture. As the dissertation continued, a surprised Sergio DiGrazia became aware of the contrasting beauties that had joined his group without paying, which ordinarily enormously offended him. Imagine, the nerve, getting his knowledge for nothing … but these ladies … oh well, they were young … beautiful … lovely, especially the brunette whose large eyes had not left him.

  “Now ladies and gentlemen, the murals you see …”

  Gina Maria followed in a trance. Then suddenly, it was over … the group had dispersed.

  Pam said, “You’re on your own,” and split as Gina Maria remained, standing dwarfed by the center of the enormous Throne Room of the Doges’ Palace … as Sergio stood against the wall smoking … studying … wondering, should he … shouldn’t he? He decided he should.

  “You seem fascinated by these ancient murals.”

  For a moment she thought her legs were going to give way when she heard him addressing her. She tried to seem composed, but when she attempted to answer, she sounded like an adolescent boy whose voice was changing. Swallowing hard … and clearing her throat, she heard herself saying a most profound thing … “Yes …”

  Her eyes deliberately wandered from one picture to the other as he walked slowly toward her. “You’re interested in Italian art?”

  Nervously the answer came, “Yes … yes, I love Italian art.”

  Now he was standing before her. If she could get through this without cracking up, she’d live to see the Hilton Hotel on the moon. He was gorgeous … her stomach was doing somersaults.

  “Let me introduce myself … my name is Sergio DiGrazia.”

  Breathing in, then out, she answered quickly, “That’s a lovely name.”

  “Thank you,” he smiled, “and I can imagine someone as lovely as you has an equally lovely name.”

  “Gina Maria Rossi.”

  Smiling he said, slowly … ever so slowly as though it sounded celestial and unheard before … “Gina Maria … Gina Maria Rossi … that is more than lovely, it is beautiful.”

  Maybe she should never have come. “Are you staying long in Venice?”

  “Not too long,” she answered, moistening her lips. She had to get out of here. And what if her father walked in now?

  “For how long?”

  “Another few days … well, I have to be going now …” After all, he was a total stranger and probably only the two of them were left in the palace.

  She started to walk toward the door wi
th him following her, “May I have the pleasure of your company for a cappuccino?”

  “No … no, thank you … I… I have an appointment.”

  “Oh, what a pity … another time perhaps?”

  They were now outside where she felt safer. “Perhaps …”

  “May I walk you to your destination?”

  “Oh, no … no, thank you.”

  “I would like the pleasure of seeing you again.”

  “Oh, thank you … but…”

  Before she finished, he looked at her and said quite seriously, “You’re frightened of me … yes?”

  “Oh, no … why do you say that?”

  “Because you seem so tense, so ill at ease. I can assure you I do not bite.”

  A smile played around her mouth. Then he asked, “Why do you not want to see me again?”

  She thought carefully for fear of hurting his feelings. “Because it’s impossible.”

  “Why, are you betrothed?”

  Only an Italian would be so poetic trying to pick up a girl … betrothed … what a grand word … American boy … you engaged … taxis are engaged … “No, I’m not betrothed.”

  “Then, why?”

  Pressing her finger against her lips in contemplation, she finally said, “Because my father wouldn’t approve.”

  “Ahh … the one I saw you with at lunch yesterday … I like that, especially for an American.”

  “You saw me … yesterday?”

  “Yes, and you saw me. Am I right?”

  “Yes …”

  “You’re not only beautiful, but honest … I like that, too.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome. Now, what would happen if I were to ask your father for the pleasure of taking you to dinner this evening?”

  Gina Maria laughed. “You don’t know my father.”

  “True, but American fathers are not quite that formal… remember, I have met a great many Americans in my profession.”

  Again she laughed, “My father was only born in America, but when it comes to his children, he’s very, very Sicilian.”