The Heart Thief

by Richard A Swingle

  ‘Ah, Amico. It means friend.’

  Ilaria’s ears perked up. ‘Of course, it’s Italian. I should have recognised it,’

  ‘Dai, parli Italiano?’

  ‘No sorry, not really, I just know a few words. Are you from Italy?’

  ‘Si, si! Sono da Siena. Sorry, I mean, I am from Siena. You know it? A beautiful Tuscan town, close to Firenze.’

  Ilaria smiled at the man and reached down to pat Amic, who was wining at her, on the head. ‘Siena is not too far from where my family is from, I think. You speak English perfectly. I’m sorry, what was your name?’

  ‘Dai, my English is a little crazy, no? My name is Dario. I learn English here in Seville. Strange I know because ‘iz a Spanish town, but most of the jobs here are impossible to get if you don’t speak the English and Spanish so I studied at a school nearby for almost two years. And you? Where are you from? What do I call you?’

  ‘Ilaria. I am from the south of England, but my family is from Italy originally. I am trying to get there.’

  ‘You are a long way from Tuscany, Ilaria, and if you don’t mind me saying, it’s a little dangerous to travel alone, a distance such as this. Especially for one so young.’

  ‘I’m used to being alone.’ Ilaria said the words and they pricked her heart, but the strangest thing was that they clearly pricked Dario too.

  ‘No one gets used to being alone, we just somehow keep on moving.’

  The man seemed concerned as he said the words. Ilaria looked at him and suddenly her excitement at meeting Dario dwindled as she realised that what he said must be true. She was miles away from her destination and had no idea how she was going to get there with no one to help her.

  ‘I guess I’d better keep moving then…’ Ilaria couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  ‘Allora, Ilaria, I might have a solution to part of your problem. A friend of mine is sailing to Sicily tomorrow. I’m sure if you offered to help on her boat she would take you as her passenger.’

  ‘Really? Do you think so?’ Ilaria’s eyes lit up with hope.

  ‘Yes, I can call to her right away, but listen there is a problem. She is preparing her voyage already, in Malaga. I don’t know how we get you there in time.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Ilaria said, also not knowing how to get to Malaga by tomorrow morning.

  ‘Wait! Come with me, I think I know someone who can help us.’ Dario suddenly seemed optimistic and he ran off down the street with his dog Amic, and Ilaria, with no other option available, ran after him across a plaza that was lined with dozens of orange trees and then around a corner towards a loud bar that was packed with people drinking and shouting.

  Dario and Ilaria went inside and pushed their way through the crowds. It was a very dingy place and it seemed to Ilaria that growing a foot-long beard or wearing scruffy clothes must be an entry requirement; judging by all the clientele. Ilaria could barely hear anything other than the ensemble of voices and music blasting from the speakers but she watched as Dario pushed his way to the bar and leant over to shout in the ear of a very drunk man who was being propped up by the counter. The drunk turned to look at Ilaria and nodded his head in approval before shaking hands with Dario and going back to his drink.

  Dario walked over towards Ilaria and shouted in her ear, ‘This guy, he is a friend of mine, a photographer. He is leaving tomorrow with a group of people who are going to stay in Morocco to photograph the Atlas Mountains. They were supposed to fly, but as you know, it is impossible now with the ash cloud spread across the skies, so instead they will go by sea. There is one space in the bus, leaving at seven am in the morning. It is dropping them in Gibraltar but you are in luck because they need to pick up a friend in Malaga first, so you will swap places with that girl there and meet my friend, Silvia, who sets off in the evening.’ Dario clasped his hands together joyously as he laid out the plans. Ilaria’s head was spinning. Too much information.

  ‘You seem to know everyone, everywhere,’ Ilaria said, smiling.

  ‘Of course, I am a tour guide, I must know everyone and everything. Now, all you need to do is pay me twenty thousand pesetas to complete the arrangement.’

  Ilaria was silent. She barely had enough money to buy a loaf of bread. Her heart sank as she realised that she was completely stuck and just as she was about to admit she had hardly any money, Dario burst out laughing.

  ‘You British, you make me laugh. Sometimes you have no wit at all. I am joking of course, Ilaria, there is no fee.’

  ‘Sorry, this is all a bit new to me. If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.’ Ilaria recalled her grandfather’s words proudly.

  ‘When fortune smiles upon us, we must grab hold of her and never let go. Goodbye, Ilaria. Raul will take care of you, and please say hello to Silvia for me, she is a feisty one and once broke my heart but she will take good care of you. Good luck!’

  Dario ruffled her hair with his hand and led Amic out of the bar as Ilaria watched him go. She suddenly felt very strange and alone again. It was as if she had been swept along by a whirlwind and then cast aside again before she knew what was happening.

  Ilaria was afraid and didn’t trust Raul. He looked scary and she hated scary drunk men. She wanted so desperately to run but her jelly legs stayed attached to the floor of the bar.

  Too late to change my mind now, she thought as she timidly shuffled to the corner and found a small table to sleep at, staying out of the way but keeping an eye on Raul, afraid that in his drunken state he would forget all about her and his promise to take her to Malaga in the morning.

  The night passed slowly and as other photographers started to arrive in the bar as the sun came up, Ilaria relaxed with relief that everything was going to be okay.

  The journey the next day was long, but the scenery was beautiful. Ilaria sat in the back seat next to Raul who slept the entire journey, clearly having drunk too much the night before. The rest of the photographers chatted the entire way and Ilaria couldn’t understand a word, so she continued to stare out of the window, enjoying the ride and admiring the Andalusian scenery.

  She wondered what it would be like to sail across the ocean in a small boat. She knew that it wouldn’t be the same as boarding a ferry but she certainly couldn’t have envisaged the hard work and dangers of the ocean that awaited her.

  9

  A large bump and crashing sound threw Ilaria forwards and disturbed her rest. A horrible metallic sound of metal grinding against rock penetrated her ears like nails on a chalk board. Ilaria felt her stomach lurch as the bus tilted forwards over the edge of a mountainous pathway. The passengers screamed as the driver tried to reverse back onto the road but the rear wheels were elevated in the air and no contact could be made. The wheels span uncontrollably as the engine revved harder and harder.

  Ilaria could see a huge drop to their side through her window as the bus swayed back and forth as the passengers rose from their seats shouting words she could not understand.

  At the back of the bus she saw one of the photographers smashing the back window with a drink canteen, creating a hole big enough to climb through. But as the he began to climb through it the other passengers shouted at him to stop.

  ‘Espera, espera!’ cried Raul from beside Ilaria. ‘We can’t lose any weight or the bus will topple forwards off the cliff.’

  Ilaria saw Raul waving frantically at the entire bus.

  ‘We need to get the wheels back on the ground! Please stay calm.’

  Nervousness was evident in his voice and he was no longer in any kind of drunken state.

  While Raul tried to reason with the others, another one of the photographers ran to the front of the bus and demanded that the driver open the side door so they could jump out. But their weight unbalanced the bus and it slipped further down the gravel edge towards the shear drop beneath them.

  ‘Nobody move!’ screamed Raul. This time his voice was enraged and the chaotic distress of the passengers was silenced.
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  ‘The only thing keeping us alive is our combined weight, the moment that any of us exits the bus the weight of the vehicle will send us over the edge. We need to stay calm and think of a solution before we act.’

  Raul was right and they all knew it. The survival instinct of the individual passengers was a chorus and they must sing together as a unit or none of them would be heard again.

  ‘We need help from someone outside of the bus, but it’s still early and we may not see a passing car for hours. Why did we take this stupid road, it’s barely safe for a bicycle!’ said the photographer who had broken the rear window.

  The driver perked up at this and switched on his loudspeaker. ‘Excuse me! This road is the best way to get to Malaga due to all the closures and road blocks and I didn’t hear any objections until that damn boulder in the road came out of nowhere.’

  The bickering began again and Raul hung his head. They were getting nowhere and fast. He looked at Ilaria and she sensed his eyes moving up and down as though he were weighing her up. He was.

  ‘You’re the smallest of us, Ilaria, we can probably afford to lose you, but you must find help. Maybe if you climb out of that window you can head up the hill and see across the valley? I think it’s our only chance,’ said Raul.

  Ilaria gulped. Wasn’t this escapade hard enough already? Now it was down to her to save a bus full of photographers. She just wanted to escape and run away as fast as she dared. But she knew she couldn’t.

  ‘It’s okay, we’ll be fine,’ Raul continued. ‘Chicos, vamos a la parte de atrás del autobús. If we weigh down the back together while Ilaria goes to find help we shouldn’t slip further down the cliff.’

  Fortunately, the full bus agreed to the plan as in this instance a unanimous decision was essential. Ilaria felt all eyes on her as she made her way to the back window and as she clambered through it she saw a large boulder that was stuck beneath the wheel arch. If the rock moved or broke, the bus would slip and nothing would stop it careering down the slope. She felt the pressure from the gazes of the dozen passengers glaring at her, relying on her to save them. A twelve-year-old girl, away from home for the first time, was their only hope.

  ‘Vay, chica, don’t let us down, just tell the first person you find!’ was the last thing Raul shouted before Ilaria ran across the road and started to clamber up the rocky hill to reach the vantage point above.

  The early morning sun was piercing through a thin patch of the ash-filled sky and it made the climb hot work. Ilaria was sweating and coughing with all the dust that had been kicked up around her. A fragile breeze had opened up a patch of clear sky but it also loosened the dry earth and as she wiped her brow with her sleeve she could see the dirt she had smeared from her face.

  She neared the top, grappling some thin weeds to hoist her to her vantage point. She looked back down and amidst the beautiful Andalusian vista, she saw the lonely bus, precariously balancing on the edge of the cliff. On the edge of life and death. She turned to look across the valley at the other side but there was nothing other than deadly silent roads at the bottom. A small gathering of derelict houses was all she could see in the distance. She squinted to sharpen her vision and saw some hanging clothes, drying on one of the rooftops. She figured if the clothes had just been hung this morning then there could be someone there who could help them.

  Ilaria ran down the other side of the valley from where she had come, furthering the distance between her and the busload of photographers. She slipped and skidded on the loose soil but maintained her footing and when she reached the road she began to run towards the gathering of buildings. She wheezed and sweated more, as dehydration set in. But in the distance she saw a mirage-like image of a sandstorm rushing towards her. At its centre was a large truck and Ilaria began to jump up and down, waving her arms around like a crazed person.

  Before long, the truck neared her position, but it did not slow and Ilaria had to move to the side of the road as the truck careened past, covering her head to toe in dust and debris from the road.

  Ilaria couldn’t cope anymore and she fell to her knees on the grass verge beside the valley pass, curling up in a ball. She was dizzy and thirsty and her vision blurred, as she felt a nausea in the pit of her stomach and closed her eyes.

  ‘Ciao, ragazza! Hello, girl, wake up! Wake up!’ sounded an unfamiliar voice. ‘Are you alright? What are you doing?’

  Ilaria rolled onto her side and saw the face of a very concerned woman.

  ‘I-I’m sorry! I just wanted to save them,’ Ilaria said feebly.

  ‘What are you talking about? How long have you been lying there? You are lucky I didn’t run you over with my van!’

  Ilaria looked beside the woman and saw a small pickup truck, it was loaded with some form of engine and ropes and… ‘Sails! You’re a sailor?’ Ilaria blurted out.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. And you’re her, aren’t you? The girl who wants to get to Italy? I knew it, somehow when I first laid my eyes on you, that you must be the girl Dario had called me about, but, what are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘Our bus got stuck on a mountain path, they’re all in trouble. I came to find help.’

  It was a miracle that destiny would bring them together like this, but as someone who lived by the fate of the seas, Silvia rushed to the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  ‘Ilaria, I believe help is exactly what you have found. Take me to them at once.’

  Silvia had turned out to be exactly as Ilaria had expected. She felt like she had known her for her whole life at the first sound of her voice. She explained what had happened and Silvia couldn’t believe how lucky they were that she had been collecting supplies from her family estate in the valley where she had driven past Ilaria just moments earlier. Ilaria directed her to the bus where they had crashed into the rock, wishing she hadn’t experienced such a traumatic episode, but wondering whether it hadn’t somehow guided Silvia to her. It was almost like her journey was a fabled story and every part of it so far was a part of her destiny.

  They pulled up alongside the bus and Silvia tied some of her sailing rope to the back trailer clamp. She used the winch that was attached to her van to make the rope tight and then one by one the photographers jumped out of the bus.

  Once the driver, who was the last to leave, had thrown the final piece of luggage down and jumped out of the back window, they attempted to pull the bus back up but the gears grinded and Silvia’s van began to edge closer to the edge of the cliff.

  Silvia pulled out a multitool and sawed at the rope, severing it and sending the bus plummeting to the depths of the cavern below. It crumpled like a paper mâché house that a younger Ilaria had once made for her action figures, before playing the part of the giant and trampling all over it.

  She remembered the overwhelming feeling of power and superiority that the game had brought her as well as the look on her grandfather’s face as she destroyed what she had built, and the guilt that had rattled her afterwards.

  Ilaria considered how fragile they all were, stuck on that bus and how easily they could have all been killed in an instant. She thought of Speranza and wondered if a dragon regarded people as dispensable. Just as she had treated her toy paper house that day.

  10

  ‘Hoist the sails,’ Silvia cried, as Ilaria did her best to pull the lines that would allow the yacht to catch the wind and set them on their way.

  Silvia hadn’t said much more to Ilaria since the accident. Time had been short and an easterly wind was forecast to blow down the Mediterranean Sea that threatened to slow their progress to the port in Sicily. Ilaria had been given a set of instructions that made little sense to her and needed them all repeated at least twice.

  ‘Ilaria, to port side and check the rigging, I think we have too much slack.’ Silvia shouted out as she steered them at a slight angle to catch the airstream. Ilaria ran and checked the knots, which all seemed fine to her so she turned and gave a thumbs up to Silvia who set
the wheel in position and finally relaxed into the journey.

  ‘Well, that should do us for the next hour or so, but with this wind due to come against us we’ll have to zigzag all the way to Palermo, which is going to be very slow.’ Silvia gazed out across the sea as she analysed their voyage and Ilaria went to sit near her at the bow of the sailboat.

  ‘I never realised that sailing could be so confusing,’ Ilaria admitted as she shuffled onto the wooden crate beside Silvia, who laughed.

  ‘Yes, it certainly can be. It becomes trickier when you don’t have the wind on your side, but we’ll make do as it’s still blowing from the west at the moment.’

  ‘How long have you been sailing for?’ Ilaria asked.

  ‘Well, I guess about ten years now. My family come from a background of pearl divers off the coast of Gibraltar. Not many pearls left now though, so I spend the summer months transporting goods between Spain and Italy.’

  ‘It seems like a lot of work for one person.’

  ‘Yes it is. Normally I have a small crew with me but everyone got stuck in Malta after their flights were cancelled. Fortunately, I have you to help me now,’ Silvia said, smiling at Ilaria. ‘How old are you, Ilaria?’

  ‘I’m twelve.’

  ‘Oh, I thought you were older.’

  ‘I feel like I’ve aged a few years this past week alone.’ Ilaria sighed deeply thinking of the journey that had brought her here so far.

  ‘Yes, Dario told me a bit about your other adventures, before you nearly got driven off a cliff. I don’t suppose many twelve-year-old girls can claim to have had the escapades that you have.’

  ‘I guess not,’ Ilaria said with her heart sinking, wondering whether she would have been better off in the care of social services back in Southbourne. That was someone else’s life.

  Silvia gestured to Ilaria and pointed to the south.

  ‘You see that, to the starboard side. That’s the north coast of Africa. I see it all the time from this shipping lane. But I’ve never once been there.’