If You Could Go Anywhere

by Paige Toon

  It is absolutely mind-blowing to see so much raw history in every direction. I could not feel more removed from the town where I grew up. I want to pinch myself.

  In the Forum, a giant square that was once the centre of Pompeii, I stare up at a large bronze statue of a centaur. His human arms have broken off, but his horse hoof is raised in frozen motion. I get out my camera.

  ‘You know you’re taking a photo of one of the only new things in Pompeii,’ Alessandro says with a smile. ‘This statue isn’t old. It was crafted by a Polish artist called Igor Mitoraj in the eighties.’

  ‘Oh.’ I laugh and take a photo of it anyway. I still like it.

  The skies are streaked with cloud and the air is clear and cool. I’m glad it’s not too hot. There isn’t much shade, so walking around in the direct sunlight could have been taxing.

  ‘I’d love to see the Garden of the Fugitives,’ I tell Alessandro.

  A friend in Coober Pedy told me about it after coming here on holiday a few years ago. Cathy, actually: Nan’s retired nurse friend.

  Alessandro consults his map. ‘We need to take a right.’

  The properties are open to the elements in this part of the city and grass grows between crumbling walls that no longer hold up roofs.

  Alessandro comes to a stop.

  ‘I think I remember this place,’ he says quietly, stepping over a low wall into what was once a house.

  ‘You came here when you were a boy?’

  ‘Yes.’ He peers through an arched doorway into a small room where weeds grow in abundance.

  It’s so peaceful down this way. Most of the visitors are up in the main part of the city. We’ve wandered off the beaten track.

  He points at a low crumbling wall. ‘Carlotta wanted to climb that wall, I think, but fell off onto the grass.’

  My heart contracts at the mention of our sister’s name. ‘Was she hurt?’ I’m surprised – and touched – that he’s talking about her.

  He shakes his head, a sad smile gracing his lips. ‘No, she laughed her little head off. Villa D’Este also reminded me of her,’ he admits, glancing at me. ‘That was the first time I had gone to the gardens since she died. I kept picturing her wobbling about, trying to put her hand in the water.’

  So that’s why he was quiet that day.

  ‘What was she like?’ I ask.

  ‘Very funny,’ he replies with that same sad smile. ‘You saw the picture of her.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That was her, through and through. She was always laughing, always giving everyone that same cute, cheeky grin. I barely remember her crying at all, but I’m sure she must have. She would chatter. Gobbledegook mostly, but she’d look at me and I’d have these completely nonsensical conversations with her. “Is that right, Carlotta? And what did you do before that?” ’ He mimics a baby babbling and then his features contort with grief.

  ‘Alessandro,’ I murmur, feeling a rush of tenderness as I step forward to give him a hug. The muscles in his back ripple as he lifts his arms to return the gesture and we stand like that as the seconds tick by, my face buried in the crook of his neck and his head resting against mine. He’s so warm and solid beneath my palms. Then, all of a sudden, I feel wildly jittery. We break apart at the same time, looking anywhere but at each other, but our eyes find their way back and lock fleetingly before we both glance away again.

  We walk in contemplative silence along a grassy path until we arrive at the Garden of the Fugitives. Here, thirteen hollow spaces were found in the hardened layers of ash. The spaces were filled with plaster and became the statues of thirteen people – the largest number of victims found on one site.

  Archaeologists believe that they died attempting to flee the city on the second day of the eruption, when hot toxic clouds of gas and debris blasted down from Vesuvius and killed everyone who had not yet left.

  As we stand and stare through the glass window of the building that was erected here to host the statues, I feel chilled to my bones. There are adults and children, probably members of one family. The sight of a child lying face down on the ground, his or her arms raised around his or her head, prompts me to look at Alessandro.

  His traumatised expression makes me wonder if he saw Carlotta’s body after she fell. If so, he’ll never be able to rid himself of the image of her, just as I’ll never be able to rid myself of the image of Grandad being brought out from the mine. Sometimes it’s the only picture of him that I’m capable of seeing.

  I place my hand on Alessandro’s taut back and he jolts. ‘Let’s go,’ I suggest.

  He nods quickly and follows me out onto the track. In the distance up ahead, Mount Vesuvius looms.

  He consults his map again and points to our right. ‘The amphitheatre is this way.’

  ‘The thought of gladiators slaughtering lions will cheer you up?’

  ‘Rather the other way around,’ he replies with an evil grin.

  When we’re standing inside the large oval-shaped space, I hear a man nearby call what sounds a bit like ‘Alley’ as in alleyway.

  Alessandro looks sharply in his direction and then his face explodes into the biggest, widest grin.

  ‘Logan!’ he cries.

  The man comes running towards him with his arms open wide, shouting ‘ALLEZ-ALLEZ-ALLEZ!’ They slam into each other, embracing in a full-on man hug, slapping each other’s backs so enthusiastically that the man’s baseball cap falls off, revealing a head of shaggy, dark-blond hair. They break apart and grin at each other.

  Alessandro beckons me over as the man swoops down to pick up his cap. At the same time, a striking woman in maybe her late thirties, with bright pink hair pulled up into a high bun, joins us with a smile.

  ‘Angel, this is Logan,’ Alessandro says. ‘An old friend of mine.’

  ‘Angie,’ I say with a smile, shaking his hand.

  Logan is a little taller and broader than Alessandro with a short blond beard, and he looks a bit more weathered – I’d place him in his early forties.

  ‘This is Lea,’ Logan introduces his partner as she pops her sunglasses up on her head, revealing a pair of bright blue eyes. ‘This is Allez,’ he says to her. Alessandro for short, I realise. ‘Remember me telling you about him?’

  Lea’s face breaks into a proper smile of recognition and she steps forward to give Alessandro a hug. ‘It’s so great to meet you!’

  ‘Where have you been?’ Logan demands to know, slapping Alessandro’s back again as Lea and I exchange warm hellos. ‘I haven’t seen you in years!’

  Logan is British with a regional accent, but I’m not sure where he’s from exactly, and Lea is either American or Canadian – again, I can’t tell.

  ‘I lost your number,’ Alessandro replies. ‘Kept thinking we’d cross paths one day and we never did. Until we did.’

  Logan grins at him and holds his arm out for Lea to step into. ‘Lea and I have just tied the knot. We’re here on honeymoon.’

  ‘Congratulations!’ Alessandro exclaims.

  ‘Where are you from?’ I ask with a smile.

  ‘Liverpool originally,’ Logan says, ‘but now we live in California near Lea’s family.’

  ‘What about you?’ Lea asks me.

  ‘I’m here from Australia.’

  ‘Cool! Which part?’

  ‘South Australia, the middle of it: right in the desert.’

  ‘We scuba-dived the Great Barrier Reef a couple of years ago. It was one of the most incredible things I’d ever done.’

  ‘Wow, how cool.’ Another thing I’m desperate to do.

  One day…

  Lea pops her glasses back on and looks around the amphitheatre. ‘Isn’t this place amazing?’

  ‘Out of this world.’

  Alessandro and Logan start up a conversation between themselves, but Lea stays with me as we gradually make our way towards the exit.

  ‘Have you been to Italy before?’ she asks.

  ‘This is my first time. You?’

>   ‘First visit for me too. Logan’s been before. It’s somewhere I’ve always wanted to visit. We’re doing a big tour, flying out of Rome the week after next.’

  ‘Maybe we could meet up when you’re there?’ Alessandro interjects, overhearing.

  ‘That would be great,’ Logan replies, turning around and walking backwards for a few paces. ‘Are you guys staying nearby tonight? Want to get a bite to eat?’

  ‘We’re driving back to Rome,’ Alessandro replies. ‘But we could still have dinner?’ He casts me a questioning look as he says this.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I reply, nodding. ‘How long have you guys known each other?’

  ‘Jeez.’ Logan scratches his beard and eyes Alessandro. ‘Must’ve been about fifteen years?’

  Logan is a friend from the lost years?

  ‘When did you last catch up?’ Lea asks.

  ‘Six or seven years ago,’ Alessandro estimates.

  ‘Zakynthos Island, Navagio Beach!’ Logan recalls. ‘That was fun.’

  ‘Are you doing the Dolomites while you’re here?’ Alessandro asks.

  ‘Nah.’ Logan pulls a face at his wife. ‘Lea’s banned me from jumping.’

  ‘Damn right I have,’ Lea replies firmly. ‘Do you still let him?’ she asks me.

  ‘This conversation is going right over my head,’ I admit self-consciously.

  Logan gives Alessandro a look of surprise. ‘You quit base jumping?’

  Base jumping?

  Alessandro shakes his head dismissively before jerking his chin in my direction. ‘No, I haven’t quit. Angel doesn’t know… We’re just friends. We’re not together.’

  Lea and Logan look at us again and recalibrate their assumptions.

  ‘How long have you two known each other, then?’ Lea changes the subject before I can get to the bottom of what base jumping is. I’ll ask Alessandro later.

  ‘Not long at all,’ Alessandro replies, smiling at me. ‘It’s a bit of a story. Might be one for dinner.’

  ‘Deal,’ Lea says.

  Logan and Lea were on their way to the Garden of Fugitives, taking the route we’ve been on in reverse, so we part ways, exchanging phone numbers and the address for their hotel.

  Alessandro and I walk on together.

  ‘They seem nice.’

  ‘Logan’s the best,’ he replies, still smiling.

  ‘What’s base jumping?’

  He walks a few paces before answering, perhaps considering how much to tell me. ‘Skydiving,’ he replies at last. ‘Off fixed structures.’

  ‘Not like skydiving out of aeroplanes?’

  ‘Very different to skydiving out of aeroplanes. You jump off bridges, cliffs and buildings, so you’re much closer to the ground. BASE is an acronym for Building, Antenna, Span and Earth.’

  ‘And you do it?’

  He hesitates. ‘Between us?’

  I nod. He can trust me not to tell Giulio.

  ‘Yes. I do.’

  ‘Is it the same thing as wingsuit… What did you call it?’

  ‘Wingsuit proximity flying. The gear you wear is different, but you still jump off fixed structures, although I also know guys who leap from planes and helicopters. Wingsuiters look like flying squirrels – the suits allow you to track forward for a while before you have to open your parachute. With base, I jump “slick”, so it’s more of a straight drop down.’

  ‘Are you an adrenalin junkie?’ I’m trying not to judge him, but the question spills out of me.

  ‘You think I swapped one addiction for another?’ He glances at me, his lips tilted up at the corners. He shrugs. ‘I guess I did.’

  I try to push my concerns aside in order to keep him talking.

  ‘How did you and Logan meet?’

  ‘He was jumping from the Dolomites. I was on the mountain when I saw him and his friends take off. A couple of days later, I saw them again and Logan and I got chatting.’

  As we walk, he helps me to piece together some of his backstory that was missing. I knew he ran away from home when he was fifteen and slept rough for a while before falling in with a bad crowd. Now he tells me that one day he had a moment of clarity and walked away. Literally, walked away. He said the only thing he had with him was his passport, which he’d kept safe for years, and the clothes on his back. He kept walking and walking, sometimes hitchhiking – sometimes stealing from people, he’s ashamed to say – but always moving forward. Eventually he reached the Dolomites, the stunning mountain range in the Alps. It was the height of summer and he climbed up a mountain and looked down on the most breathtaking view across the valleys, lakes and Alpine meadows. Then, from out of nowhere, a group of base jumpers appeared.

  He’d never heard of the sport and he was transfixed, watching them as they got into their gear and strapped on their parachutes. Then, one by one, with only a couple of seconds between them, they launched themselves off the edge of a sheer cliff. One guy did a somersault in the air, another leapt and spun to face the sky, but all of them free-fell for what seemed like forever before they released their colourful chutes and floated to the ground.

  Alessandro was sold. When he saw them on the mountain a couple of days later, Logan took the time to talk to him. He knew someone who was selling his parachute and gave Alessandro his number, telling him he’d be happy to put him in touch with another friend about skydiving. Alessandro landed a job at an Alpine restaurant to save up enough money, and then he got in touch with Logan. Logan went with him on his first skydive, and later, his first base jump.

  ‘Where was that?’ I ask of the latter.

  ‘Perrine Bridge in Idaho, USA. The bridge spans Snake River in Twin Falls. You can practically take off from your car, it’s so accessible.’

  ‘What was it like?’

  ‘The most thrilling thing I had ever done. And also the most terrifying. The bridge is only a hundred and fifty metres high so you fall for only a couple of seconds before parachuting down to the river.’

  As he talks, I feel as though I’m seeing the real Alessandro unfold. This is the part of him he’s been keeping hidden, but now his expression is open and honest, his forehead free from creases.

  ‘And Giulio, Cristina, Serafina – none of your family know that you’ve been doing this?’ I ask, so as to be clear on that point.

  ‘No. They wouldn’t understand,’ he replies.

  ‘Why? Is it very dangerous?’

  ‘There’s an element of risk involved.’ Now he sounds cagey in a way that makes me think the risk is far greater than he’s implying.

  But I know I must be careful. I don’t want to give him a hard time if I’m one of the only people he feels he can talk to.

  The streets are getting busy again as we approach the centre of Pompeii. I go to move off the pavement to make way for a group of people coming towards us and Alessandro takes my hand to help me down from the high kerb onto the large flat stones lining the roads.

  ‘What was the Zak—’

  ‘Zakynthos Island?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes. What was that jump like?’

  ‘Aah, Navagio is one of the most beautiful beaches in Greece. The water is azure blue, it is surrounded by high, white cliffs and at the bottom on the sand is a shipwreck. You take off from a two-hundred-metre-tall rock and freefall for a couple of seconds before parachuting down to the soft sand.’

  He’s still holding my hand.

  ‘Where else have you jumped from?’ I ask, the contact making me feel nervy. Not that I want him to let me go.

  ‘All over the world. France, Switzerland, Norway, America, Canada, Turkey, China, Brazil, Italy, of course. Somewhere you might have heard of… Angel Falls in Venezuela? It’s the tallest waterfall in the world – you can feel the spray on your face as you plunge down the rock face into the rainforest.’

  My eyes are out on stalks imagining it.

  And he’s still holding my hand…

  ‘Yosemite National Park? Table Mountain in Cape Town? The view across the town
and ocean is spectacular. Mostly, though, I try to stay off the beaten track.’

  ‘So let me get this straight. You work for six months to earn enough money to go base jumping, wingsuit flying and skydiving for the next six months before returning to Serafina’s?’

  ‘I do other stuff, too, like mountain climbing, hiking and snowboarding. And I don’t skydive so much anymore.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It doesn’t give me the same thrill.’

  ‘I don’t think I could do any of that extreme sports stuff,’ I say. ‘But I do like the idea of being able to travel for six months a year.’

  He shrugs. ‘Nothing is stopping you.’

  With the hand that is still holding mine, he points up ahead. ‘See those stepping stones?’

  ‘Yes.’ They’re large and rectangular-shaped, going from one side of the road to the other.

  ‘They used to pour the waste down the roads – the sewage, everything. People would cross the roads using the stones, but here, look between them…’

  We draw to a stop and see long smooth grooves carved out between the rocks.

  ‘These were made by wagon wheels,’ Alessandro tells me. ‘The stones are spaced apart so the wheels could still run between them.’

  ‘That’s unbelievable!’ Evidence of traffic from two thousand years ago! ‘How have you remembered all of these facts?’

  ‘I read about Pompeii recently. I do a lot of reading when I’m away.’

  We walk on and in the silence that ensues, my brain becomes fixated on our palm-to-palm connection. There’s a warmth, an energy, that is traversing up my arm from the place where our skin is pressed together. It’s all I can think about, and then, involuntarily and entirely accidentally, I squeeze his hand. This prompts him to glance down and I want to kick myself. He looks up at me, but doesn’t let me go.

  ‘Is this okay?’ he asks.

  I nod, my butterflies in a frenzy. ‘Yes.’ It’s about all I can manage to say without blushing.

  ‘The last person’s hand I held was my mother’s.’

  Now my butterflies freeze. What? He’s looking at the ground, and I have to revert to doing the same so I don’t trip on the cobblestones.