I wake with a fright. The night nurse, who has her hand on my shoulder, is speaking calmly and quietly. ‘He’s surfacing,’ she says. ‘Coming to. Look.’
She’s right. His eyes are opening. He appears agitated, confused, also interested in his surroundings, the people in the room, namely the nurse. And me.
‘The neurosurgeon’s on his way,’ she says.
I tap her arm. ‘He’s trying to speak. Can you make out what he’s saying?’
She shakes her head. ‘They often ramble. He won’t make much sense for a day or two.’
‘I’m positive he said something in Italian.’
She moves aside as the neurosurgeon arrives. He nods at me. I nod back. He carries the familiar torch in his hand. ‘Matteo,’ he says, ‘you’re in hospital. I’m looking after you.’
My son flings an arm over his eyes.
The doctor eases it down and shines the light into Matteo’s left eye, then his right. ‘You’ve been unconscious and now you’re waking,’ he says. ‘You’ll feel drowsy, not with-it. That’s perfectly normal. Nothing to worry about.’
He turns to me. ‘The signs are promising. His pupils are smaller and they reacted to the light, exactly what we want them to do. It means his brain is receiving messages.’
‘Is he aware of his surroundings, of us?’ I say, meaning me.
‘Not fully,’ he replies. ‘I need to conduct a couple more tests.’ He places his knuckles on Matteo’s sternum and applies pressure. My son grimaces. The neurosurgeon pushes down hard again. Same reaction.
The nurse frees the bedcovers and the neurosurgeon runs his index finger along the plantar surface of Matteo’s right foot, whose toes curl in response. Then the same test on his left foot. ‘Excellent,’ he says. ‘Everything’s on track.’
He and the nurse confer briefly in the corner. Then he leaves.
She says, ‘Ring the bell if you need me, Mrs Moretti. Mattie’s responding well.’ She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before she departs.
It’s quiet. No ventilator. No story, only Matteo and me. All the lights are on.
I tiptoe across the room to the far side of the bed. My forehead as tight as the skin on a drum, mouth bone-dry. I think that Matteo is staring through the window into the darkness, then I realise with a shock that his eyes are following my reflection in the glass. My heart clenches.
‘Mattie, it’s me, Mamma. I’m here.’ I take his hand. ‘Son, I never stopped loving you. I wanted you to come with Francesca and me. I tried to bring you home. I’m so sorry.’
Silence.
‘Can you hear me, Mattie?’ I fix my eyes on his. ‘I had to go, son.’
I lower my head until it almost touches his, each breath a caress on his cheek.
‘Remember the warning notes you wrote to me? You must realise that your fears matched mine. I had to remove Francesca from the villa and out of Ernesto’s reach. Papa wouldn’t or couldn’t come home with us. Forgive me for leaving you with him. I had no choice.’
His eyelids flutter. I want him to stay awake listening to me. Just as Ernesto had expected Alessia to do with him as she lay dying. The memory of those long-ago days and nights sets my heart hammering like an urgent knock on a door. I tell myself that this situation is different. Matteo is out of the woods. The surgery was successful. He’s not going anywhere for a while. I needn’t panic. But I cannot keep quiet.
‘Ernesto interfered with my plans at breakfast the last morning you and I were in each other’s company. He’d done it before. Remember going to Rome? I intended to leave with you and Francesca while the men celebrated after the football game, but your uncle had taken our passports. You must understand after those written warnings you gave me why I needed to take Frannie to safety?’
Our eyes meet a second time. There is anguish in his. Tears well up in mine. ‘Mattie,’ I say. ‘Son.’
He tries to speak, but his voice is gravelly. I can’t pick up what he’s saying. The nurse warned me of this possibility. Tubes going in and out irritate, sometimes damage, the throat tissue. I lean over, put my ear close to his mouth. ‘Tell me.’
He groans and pulls his hand free of mine.
‘I didn’t hear. Say it again.’
He speaks slowly, more clearly. ‘You saved the wrong child.’
The room spins as I’m pulled into yet another vortex.
It will never be over.
The past will always trample upon us.
Not psychoanalysis, nor hatred, nor religion can save us.
Then I remember there is love.
‘We will get through this together, Mattie,’ I say, and reach for him.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS AND SOURCES
I would like to thank the Seresin Landfall Otago University Press Residency for gifting me the circumstances that inspired the idea for this book. Alone for six weeks at remote Waterfall Bay in the Marlborough Sounds, I experienced three unnerving events that diverted me away from my intended project, working on a second collection of short stories, and towards the writing of a third novel. Firstly, an earthquake one night shunted my bed (on castors) back and forth across a wooden floor; secondly, a power cut sent the house into a prolonged period of darkness; and thirdly, a violent storm blew open a locked front door and brought down trees on the property, ideal conditions for my imagination to take a sinister turn. For these reasons, I am grateful to Michael Seresin for his generosity, otherwise this novel may not have eventuated.
Heartfelt gratitude to Lorraine Friend and Bevan Grant, Anne and the late Robert Shaw, and Verona Cournane, who provided me with tranquil spaces in which to reflect, read and write. These retreats proved invaluable.
Grateful thanks to fiction publisher Harriet Allan at Penguin Random House (PRH) for her encouragement, astute feedback and suggestions on structure, and who, together with former PRH publishing director Debra Millar, encouraged me to find a suspenseful way to tell this story. Thank you also to the PRH team who turned my manuscript into a book, especially Abby Aitcheson and Kate Stone, and to the enthusiastic people who marketed it. Special thanks to designers Emma Jakicevich and Cat Taylor for the splendid cover. The background image is an artwork by Claire Benyon, who generously made it available; our second text/image collaboration. A special mention here also to my daughter Kate, who helped choose this work.
My good fortune extends to Stephen Stratford, who made the editing stage a pleasure from start to finish. This book benefited from Stephen’s attention to detail and ability to refine and polish the prose.
Setting a novel in the past requires significant research. To gain insights into the political, historical, cultural, economic and social contexts prevalent in Naples and London during the time periods covered in The Gulf Between, I read a range of texts, novels and memoirs. The following titles proved valuable: The Bay is Not Naples by Anna Maria Ortese; Children of the Sun by Morris West; Naples ’44 by Norman Lewis; My Brilliant Friend, The Story of a New Name, Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay and The Story of the Lost Child by Elena Ferrante; Life in London 1950s by Mike Hutton; Quant by Quant by Mary Quant; The New Italians by Charles Richards; Gomorrah by Roberto Saviano, See Naples and Die by Tom Behan; The Italian Girl by Iris Murdoch; An English Affair by Richard Davenport-Hines; Italian Days by Barbara Grizzuti Harrison; Italian Pleasures by David Leavitt and Mark Mitchell; The Quality of Light edited by Ann and Michael Caesar; The Skin by Curzio Malaparte; and The Ancient Shore, The Bay of Noon and Greene on Capri by Shirley Hazzard. I am indebted to these writers.
I also studied maps, newspaper articles, documents and photographs from the era. Four years into the writing process, I travelled to Naples, where the major storylines unfold. The day after arriving, I had the good fortune to meet Monica Di Gangi, who accompanied me and my travelling companion and friend Alison Holmes, and taxi driver Salavatore, who extracted a promise from me that he would appear in the novel, to many of the places depicted in this work. After I returned to New Zealand, Monica continued to answe
r my questions via email, sometimes consulting members of her extended Neapolitan family. The book benefited hugely from her and their input. Likewise, a conversation with Rocio Figueroa led to fruitful correspondence with Father Mauro Gagliardi who answered queries about aspects in early drafts.
My time in Naples exceeded expectations. Everywhere I went, whether on land or water, I encountered warmth and kindness from the locals. Several pointed out that if I wanted to cross a busy road I was better off ignoring traffic lights and pedestrian crossings and learning instead to eyeball the driver of an approaching car. Much to my surprise this tactic worked.
A bus trip around the Amalfi Coast with tour guide Prisca Demolli incurred the usual traffic delays, allowing me to take copious notes. Many among the affable group on board — Dilys Aslett, Sue Brazier, Janelle and Will Cook, Mandy Eales, Annette and Vern Fountion, Magdalene and Ian Hingst, Ann Hedges, Sandra Kearns and Noel Forrester, Janet and John McDornan, Judy Peak, Justine and Terry Sanders, and Sandra and Robyn Suhr — generously airdropped their photos to me of Positano and other relevant sights. When I returned home, these images served as memory triggers for scenes I created and situated along the coast road.
I am also grateful to the following people for their specific expertise: Diann Waugh on 1950s and 1960s fashion; Dante on harvesting olives for oil; Liz Ditzel on intensive care nursing; and Annie and the late Chris Price for introducing me to East Dulwich and the wider environs on trips I made to London throughout the 1990s and 2000s.
My colleague and friend the late Jude Roddick, and writing friends Jackie Ballantyne, Claire Beynon, Elizabeth Brooke-Carr and Paddy Richardson read and commented on various drafts of the manuscript and made useful suggestions that enabled me to strengthen and deepen the work. Other members of our writing group — Kath Beattie, Shirley Deuchrass, Beatrice Hall, Huberta Hellendorn, Carolyn McCurdie, Martha Morseth, Eva Ng, Jenny Powell, Penelope Todd and Jane Woodham, provided helpful feedback on various sections.
I belong to two book clubs, populated with women whose friendship I value and who take a keen interest in my writing life. Thanks firstly to Margo Barton, Pam Joan, Caro McCaw, Caroline Terpstra and Jane Venis; and secondly to Gaye Booth, Alison Cree, Kath Dickinson, Alison Douglass (who advised on legal aspects), Jean Hay-Smith, Linda Holloway (who advised on emphysema), Glynny Kieser, Karin Ongena, Alison Stewart, Sarah Wakes and Cheryl Wilson.
Although I have not included the memories my late former husband shared with me about being born and raised near Naples and living in an occupied country during World War Two and experiencing its aftermath, his stories informed my thinking about the impact of military conflict on civilian populations.
I also benefited from reading the 1943 and 1944 diaries of my uncle, Percy Johnson, who served as a regular soldier and later a lance corporal in the New Zealand Medical Corps within the Field Ambulance Units. Stationed in Italy, he spent rest and recreation leave in Naples, where he recorded his impressions of the people and culture.
As always, the love and support I received from my partner Noel, children Nic, Jo and Kate, mother Lorna Ferns prior to her death two years into this project, father John Ferns, and granddaughter Kiwa, as well as members of the extended family showing a keen interest in this novel, helped bring it into the light.
Maxine Alterio is a novelist, short story writer and academic mentor. She graduated from the University of Otago with a Master of Arts in Education and from Victoria University of Wellington with a PhD in Creative Writing. In 2010 she received an Ako Aotearoa Sustained Excellence in Tertiary Teaching award. Her first novel, Ribbons of Grace, was shortlisted for the 2008 Nielsen BookData New Zealand Booksellers’ Choice Award. Maxine won the Seresin Landfall Otago University Press Residency in 2013.
Also by Maxine Alterio
Ribbons of Grace
Lives We Leave Behind
Live News and Other Stories
Learning through Storytelling in Higher Education: Using reflection and experience to improve learning (co-authored)
LIVES WE LEAVE BEHIND
In July 1915 the hospital ship Maheno leaves Wellington with seventy New Zealand nurses on board.
Addie Harrington and Meg Dutton are assigned to the same cabin. Quiet and cautious, Addie is taken aback by her impetuous, fun-loving roommate. The two women seem to have little in common other than a desire to serve their country. But as they care for injured and dying soldiers in Egypt and France, they discover that deep connections can develop under unusual circumstances.
When Meg meets British surgeon Wallace Madison, she falls for him immediately, and amidst the chaos of overloaded military hospitals they embark on an intense love affair. Addie suspects Wallace has much to hide, and fears the relationship will destroy her friend.
RIBBONS OF GRACE
A gripping story of love and deception in nineteenth-century New Zealand.
Arrowtown, a goldfield settlement with an explosive mix of inhabitants, is the scene of this unlikely love story.
Ming Yuet, a young Chinese woman seeking riches, disguises herself as a male miner and comes to the goldfields, where she meets Conran, an Orcadian stonemason escaping a family tragedy. A secret love affair develops amidst suspicion, fear and hostility, culminating in an act of violence that irrevocably shatters the lives of those involved.
Maxine Alterio’s beautiful novel about love, forgiveness, alienation and friendship moves between past and present, homeland and adopted country, and from the living to the deceased …
PENGUIN
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Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published by Penguin Random House New Zealand, 2019
Text © Maxine Alterio, 2019
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Design by Emma Jakicevich and Cat Taylor © Penguin Random House New Zealand
Cover artwork ‘The Stilled Thread of Flight’ (oil on canvas) by Claire Beynon; with line drawing by Emma Jakicevich and Cat Taylor; and photographs © Paolo Trovo/Shutterstock.com and Malivan Iuliia/Shutterstock.com
Author photograph by Jenna-Lee Shave
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.
ISBN 978-0-14-377332-0
The assistance of Creative New Zealand towards the production of this book is gratefully acknowledged by the publisher.
THE BEGINNING
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The Gulf Between Page 28