by Noelle Clark
Sarah lay on the crisp white sheets, a drip buried in the back of her hand and some wires from a monitor attached to her chest with sticky pads. She gazed at Pietro, sitting in a wheel chair next to her bed, also sporting a drip in his hand which fed from a bottle hooked up high on the back of his wheelchair.
“Just look at us.” She indicated their bandages and casts. “We’re obviously meant for each other.” She smiled warmly at him.
He met her gaze, his black eyes swimming with affection. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.
“Cara mia. I’m so sorry that I was the cause of your near tragedy.”
She put her free hand out and stroked his face.
“Pietro. I’m a writer. I’m as curious as an old tomcat. Sure, I was upset that you had stormed off, as I didn’t understand why. But I went on my…adventure…because I wanted to.”
“You know, in some ways you remind me of Nonna. She was brave like you. And kind.”
“Tell me about her?”
He inhaled deeply and his eyes took on a faraway look as he stared out the window.
“Nonna—Elena Lombardi—was born upstairs in Rosamanti. I don’t know which room, but it was a large family—Nonna was the youngest. Her brothers were born there also. They were all much older than Nonna and moved away to Naples. Except for one. Zio Giuseppe stayed here, opened the restaurant at Marina Grande, and married Zia Maria. He died several years ago.
“The years went by. My grandfather was a hard man. A dominating patriarch. Nonna and her mother—my great grandmother—worked very hard. It took its toll, and my great grandmother died from tuberculosis. Nonna was only twelve when she died. Her brothers had all left home, leaving her to do all the work. After a few years, my great grandfather finally hired a young man to herd the goats. His name was Alberto, and he lived in the cottage.” He turned to look at Sarah. “Over time, he and Nonna fell in love and wanted to marry. My great grandfather forbade it.” He reached out and took a sip of water from the cup on the bedside table.
“When Nonna became pregnant, great grandfather whipped Alberto and sent him away. Then he boarded up the cottage.”
Pietro shifted his sore leg, stretching it.
“Nonna ran away and went looking for Alberto. A few days later, some fishermen found his body at the foot of the cliffs—not far from the entrance to Grotta Bianca.” He looked down at his knee. “It wasn’t clear if he had fallen, or…”
“My mother told me that Nonna returned home to her enraged father. He beat her, even though she was pregnant. When the baby—my mother—was born, he still made Nonna work like a slave, tending the goats, pigs, chickens, as well as cooking and cleaning for him. It was 1938, and the Great Depression was harsh. My great grandfather contracted a chest infection and died when my mother was three. Nonna rode out the war years by selling produce from the farm to the locals.” He looked into Sarah’s eyes. “She had a very hard life. It is a great pity to me that my mother did not appreciate what Nonna did for her.” He took a deep breath and let out a loud sigh. “But that is another story.”
Sarah pulled a tissue from the box on the table next to her bed and blew her nose.
“That is such a sad story. No wonder you loved her so much.”
He remained silent, staring out the window. When he spoke again, emotion caused his voice to break.
“Nonna was always there for me when my mother was too busy—which was most of the time. Nonna fed me, helped me with my homework, loved me.” He turned to her and smiled. “She said she would find me a wonderful woman to be my wife. Said she had a secret that would ensure I was always well looked after—even after she was gone. She called it her tesoro, her treasure.” He instantly looked away as moisture filled his eyes.
When he looked back at her, composed, his eyes were gentle and full of love.
“I think Nonna has already given me her treasure. She has brought me you.”
Sarah swung her legs off the bed and, bending over, wrapped her arms around him. Her tears dripped onto his neck. He tilted her face back and kissed her tears, then her nose, then her lips.
“I love you, cara mia. I adore you.”
Her eyes shone, and her heart overflowed with the love she felt for this beautiful man.
“I love you too, Pietro, with all my heart.”
Their kiss was gentle, but loving, full of caring.
They didn’t hear the door open.
“Mi scusi.” They broke apart and turned toward the door. Carlo and Teresa stood there, looking embarrassed. Teresa grabbed Carlo’s shoulders and started to turn him around, to retreat from the room.
“Entrare. Entrare.” Pietro’s face lit up with pleasure at the sight of his friends. He held out his arms and Carlo ran to him. Pietro hugged the little boy forcefully. Then he let him go and reached out for Teresa. She came over and hugged Pietro, kissing him on both cheeks. When she released him, Bruno, who’d been standing near the door, came forward and clasped Pietro’s hand in both of his, shaking it warmly.
Carlo looked at Sarah, their eyes locking. He rushed over and they hugged for a long time.
“My little hero.” Sarah’s voice choked, barely allowing the words out. “How can I ever thank you?”
Carlo said nothing, just clung on tight to his friend, his little arms wrapped around her neck.
* * *
Two days later, Sarah and Pietro sat around the kitchen table at Rosamanti. They had already milked Geraldina and collected the eggs, putting half aside for Teresa. The hospital had discharged them both that morning.
“Come, bella, let’s go and watch the sunset from the pergola.” He took a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and handed it to Sarah, then turned to grab the handles of his crutches. She picked up two glasses, and they went outside to their favorite place. Geraldina must have heard their voices and called out to them.
“Ssh, bambina. I am busy now.”
The orange sunset swept over the western sky. Some clouds, low on the horizon, added to the depth of color. Pietro tapped her shoulder and pointed excitedly up into the sky above Rosamanti. She followed his gaze and saw two very large birds circling overhead.
“Those are the peregrine falcons of Tiberio. There are only four pairs of these magnificent birds of prey left on Capri. Over the centuries they have been hunted and all but wiped out. They are territorial, and these ones are ours, living up here near Monte Tiberio. They are now a protected species.”
She watched in awe as the large birds soared on the air currents, hardly moving their wings. Round and round they went, then suddenly, in tandem, they dived down to earth like arrows from a bow and disappeared from sight.
“Hm, I’d say rabbit for dinner for those two.”
The sky darkened from orange to scarlet, then from lavender to violet. They sipped on the deliciously crisp wine and sat together in companionable silence.
“Pietro. I’m sorry I went against your wishes and looked at the goatherd’s cottage. I understand now that it’s a special place for you, and was most certainly so for Nonna.”
He shrugged. “Non importa, bella. Not now. But when you brought it up and detailed your vision for a restaurant there, it—well—it upset me. You see, my mother always wanted to rent it out, to earn some money from it. Nonna and she fought over it a lot. Nonna begged her not to open it. She would cry and was very distressed. You see, it contains her memories. She used to sneak there at night to be with Alberto. It’s where my mother was conceived.” He let out a breath. “But now, I realize I over reacted, and indeed, behaved badly. Please, bella, understand that I am not a bad tempered man. I rarely get angry.”
She put a finger to his lips. “Ssh. It was I who was in the wrong. I had no business to even dream up plans for you. I know you’re happy working for Zia Maria, and it’s none of my business.”
Neither spoke, both thinking through the conversation.
“What I don’t understand, is why you were so keen to explore th
e goatherd’s cottage, that you went in through the tunnel from the cellar? Why didn’t you just break in? Were you afraid I would be even more angry?”
“I needed to solve the puzzle. I actually had no intention of going against your wishes by entering the cottage. I went there by accident.”
Pietro’s brows drew together. He shook his head slightly. “What puzzle do you mean?”
Sarah told him about the clues that Nonna had left in her letter. She explained how she asked Carlo to translate them for her, but neither of them could make out what Nonna was talking about.
Sarah went upstairs and picked up her notebook with the letter and translations of the three clues. Then she remembered the scroll she found in the second tunnel. It was lost forever, probably somewhere on the floor of Grotta Bianca, being eaten by fish. But she did remember the words written on it.
Returning to the pergola, she sat next to Pietro, and together they pored over the clues, the maps, and began discussing the whole mystery.
Footsteps crunching on the gravel courtyard made them look up. Teresa, Carlo and Bruno, bearing a large bowl, came in, all of them beaming from ear to ear.
“Ciao. We have brought you some dinner.” Carlo placed a bottle of wine on the table while Teresa placed the heavy earthenware bowl in the center. Sarah jumped up and hugged them both, then turned to race inside the kitchen.
“Thank so much. Grazie. But please stay and eat with us.” She came back out with bowls and some cutlery. Pietro lit several thick candles that glowed from inside old fish bowls where they were protected from the weather, throwing a warm yellow light onto the table. She watched as Teresa lifted the lid and steam escaped. The aroma was delicious. Teresa expertly scooped out portions of pasta and sauce and placed them in the bowls. The meal was scrumptious.
“Mm, you’re a great cook, Teresa.”
Carlo smiled and his mother beamed, nodding her head. The friends ate, laughed and chatted through the meal. Sarah felt like she had been here forever. Her love for Pietro warmed her heart, and the fondness she felt for Carlo and his mother completed her happiness. Suddenly, she had an idea.
“Carlo, can you please help your mother to understand what I’m about to say?” He nodded.
She looked into his curious brown eyes, then at his mother.
“Teresa, when I first met you, Carlo told me that next year he will be going to secondary school in Naples, because the colleges here are far too expensive. Well, I have been trying to find a way to reward my hero for saving my life. I would like to set up a scholarship fund for Carlo and see him through his education.” She paused as Carlo translated. Her heart beat rapidly. She knew she was prone to spontaneous outpourings of ideas, without checking how they might be received. She grimaced as she remembered how her idea of the restaurant in the old goatherd cottage had gone down with Pietro. She held her breath as Carlo finished talking, his eyes wide, and looked at Teresa’s blank face.
Pietro shifted uncomfortably on the seat next to her. Bruno lifted a wine glass to his lips. There was complete silence. Teresa slowly shifted her gaze to Carlo, silently communicating with her son through their eyes. When she spoke, her voice was low and quiet.
Carlo looked at Sarah. He cleared his throat. “Mama says thank you, but she cannot accept because the colleges on Capri are very expensive. They are for rich people’s children—celebrities—like movie stars and writers.” His voice echoed with disappointment.
Sarah cleared her throat. “Please tell her that I am a writer, even a celebrity of sorts. I have enough money to comfortably share with you. Tell your mama it would be an honor to be allowed to do this.” Pietro’s hand found hers under the table, and squeezed it tight.
When Carlo said the words in Italian to his mother, Teresa’s eyes flicked to Sarah’s, then to Pietro’s. Sarah saw him nod. Teresa glanced at Bruno, who nodded his head. Teresa’s eyes were moist as she cried out.
“Si. Si signora. Grazie.” She got up from her chair, came around to Sarah, and hugged her. Carlo was yelling out in Italian, doing a dance around the table. Pietro and Bruno joined in, singing a song and pouring out more wine for them all. Her face flushed, Teresa pulled back from Sarah and looked into her eyes. She nodded her head and whispered in a soft voice. “Mille grazie.”
Words wouldn’t come from Sarah’s throat. Instead, she picked up her wine glass and thrust it into the air.
“To Carlo! Salute!”
Five glasses clinked, toasting Carlo for his heroism.
Later, Pietro hobbled into the kitchen on his crutches and brought out more wine. When he reached the table, he announced that it was the last bottle in the kitchen.
“I will get you some more, Pietro. I am not afraid of your cellar anymore.”
His offer was met with laughter from the happy group.
“I doubt you are afraid of anything now, Carlo, my little chiacchere.” Pietro ruffled the boy’s hair.
Carlo’s chest puffed out and his chin tilted higher.
Sarah doubted he had never felt so important in his whole life.
“What does chiacchere mean?” She looked at the group around the table.
Carlo smiled. “He says I am his little chatterbox—because I talk all the time to him when he is hoping for some peace.”
They all laughed. Sarah pictured Carlo as a small boy, always following his hero Pietro around, stepping in his footsteps. Learning from him.
A thought crossed Sarah’s mind.
“Carlo, tell me, did you help Nonna to write some letters? Letters addressed to me?”
He looked flabbergasted, maybe even guilty, his eyes going first to Pietro, then his mother, then back to Sarah.
“Si. She asked me to place an advertisement for the newspaper. I wrote some letters in English when she told me the words in Italian.” He paused. “Did I do something wrong?”
Pietro’s eyebrows shot up.
“You see, Nonna said that she did not want to ask you, Pietro, in case you talked her out of her idea.”
Pietro smiled at him. “I am very happy that you loved Nonna and that you were her loyal friend.” He turned to look back at Sarah. “I was wondering about those letters. I didn’t recognize the handwriting when you first showed them to me, yet it was definitely Nonna’s signature.”
Carlo visibly relaxed. Then his eyes fell on the papers and notebook resting on a spare chair.
“Allora. The treasure map.” He looked over at Sarah. “Have you solved the puzzle yet signora?”
Pietro reached down and picked up Nonna’s map and letter.
“Actually, we were just looking at it when you arrived. Why don’t we try and solve it together, especially as you are already an expert in solving problems.” Carlo blushed as Pietro looked at him.
“Si. Mappa del tesoro.” He waved the map so his mother could see it. “Our very own treasure map.” His excitement was infectious. He showed Pietro and his mother the three clues in Elena’s letter. Their faces screwed up as they tried to unravel the cryptic clues. Talking in Italian among themselves, Sarah looked down at her notebook. Remembering the scroll she’d found in the tunnel, she jumped into the discussion. In her Australian version of Italian, she recited the words on the scroll that she had committed to memory.
“Ebano e avorio, cani e gatti.”
At first not understanding her accent, the others discussed it among themselves. Then they all fell silent and turned to look at her. Pietro and Carlo stared at each other. They both began talking at once. Pietro stood on wobbly legs and held up his hand.
“Silenzio!”
Carlo stopped mid-sentence. Sarah wasn’t sure, but it seemed to her that this phrase actually meant something to both of them.
Pietro grabbed his crutches and staggered over to the house and in through the kitchen door. A few minutes later, he hobbled back out toward them, a shoebox jammed snugly under one arm. He sat down and placed the box on the table. Amid a hushed silence and with an air of ceremony, he slowl
y opened the box and withdrew a small white figurine of a cat.
He turned to look at Sarah. “The phrase you are saying means ‘ebony and ivory, dog and cat.’ This,” he picked up the little white cat, “is made from ivory. It was Nonna’s most treasured possession.” He looked at Carlo whose excited eyes were once again popping out from his face. “What was it you just said about a dog?”
“Si, I found a black dog statue. It is quite heavy. I don’t know what it is made of.” He stopped and looked at them all. “I found it in the goatherd’s cottage. It was sitting on the dressing table, smothered in dust.”
They each sat quietly with their own thoughts. Finally Pietro spoke.
“Maybe, when Nonna was a little girl writing this letter,” he tapped it with his finger, “she owned both of the figurines. My guess is that she gave one of them to the man she loved with all her heart.” He paused. “I am no expert, but would be inclined to think that a poor farming girl would not have been given such expensive gifts, when the family barely had enough money to feed themselves.”
Sarah studied the little cat. It had unusually large ears, and around its neck, it wore a wide collar with a tag hanging from the front. Squinting, she took it closer to the light of one of the candles and studied it.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but is that a letter T engraved on that tag?”
Pietro looked at it, scrunching his eyes to see better. He handed it to Teresa. She shook her head and handed it to her son. His young, fresh eyes, widened as he scrutinized it in the candle light.
He let out a loud breath. “Si. It is a T.”
Pietro was the first to speak. “Carlo, could you please go and get some flashlights from the kitchen? They are on the bench.” Without a word, the boy ran into the kitchen and came back with two large flashlights. Pietro, on crutches, shambled over to the shed near the house and came out with some bolt cutters and a claw hammer. He handed them to Bruno.
With Pietro moving awkwardly on his crutches, the five walked down the rough track and then veered across country, through the long grass, to the old goatherd’s cottage. It didn’t take Pietro much effort to pull the wooden boards off the front, revealing the faded green door. Bruno carefully jimmied the door open until he could see the bolt on the inside and the padlock. He pushed the bolt cutters in. Snap! The heavy metal of the lock and bolt fell to the floor, echoing through the night. Pietro reached forward and pushed on the door, its rusty creak shrieking loudly. Before he entered, he rested one of his crutches against the door jam. He then held his hand out to Sarah. She took it, feeling him trembling. She squeezed his hand and he pressed hers back. Slowly, they entered the little cottage that had been where his Nonna had loved the man who ended up being Pietro’s grandfather.