The
view from the steps was breathtaking, the sea like an ultramarine carpet laid
before Vesuvius. Except that Vesuvius was lost in cloud. A good sign, according
to the courier. It meant the heat wave was certain to continue. We carried on,
treading gingerly from one step to the next, gripping the handrail firmly lest
we should skid on the rubble.
The
thicket was denser now, obscuring the view altogether. A dank smell rose from
the undergrowth making it difficult to believe a charming panorama lingered on
the other side. Then, as abruptly as they were upon us, the shrubs fell away,
permitting the sun to warm our shivery arms. It was like stepping out of a damp
dungeon and finding the world was on fire. I freed the breath I had been
holding, astonished to find I had been afraid. Me, who had faced a mugger in
the underpass and denied him the satisfaction of snatching my bag. But the
underpass was on level ground, not built into a cliff like those steps. As if
he knew, Vic took my hand and led me
along the bumpy path.
At
the next bend we stopped again to take in the awe-inspiring view. Colourful
trawlers were moored by the quay, rowing boats and rubber dinghies abandoned by
the water's edge. An ocean liner was anchored in the bay, brilliant white and
highly impressive.
'That's
my kind of boat,' Vic said, raising his binoculars.
Sweat
was running down the nape of my neck. A pair of blue tits flew into a nearby
olive tree. I scanned the harbour and wondered if the pink building was a cafe
and if we would reach it before nightfall. Once Vic
got binoculars to his eyes he was quite likely to stay there forever. I told
him sharply that I was moving on. It was far too hot to stand around.
We
progressed slowly. The steps were sheer and the handrail at this point had gone
astray. I hooked my fingers in the single strand of green plastic wire which
presumably was intended to stop us falling the eighty feet or so to the sea.
Unnecessarily, Vic cautioned me to be careful.
*****
The
pink house was open, the Signora informed us, yelling her message from the far
side of the building. Since he couldn't abide noisy women, Vic strode on until he reached a Taverna near
to where the fishermen were mending nets, brown as berries and uniformly
wearing T-shirts and mules. They worked to the high-pitched cries of herring
gulls circling overhead. Gee-ya gee-ya.
Vic
ordered the coffee in Italian, selecting the words from the phrase book he kept
in his breast pocket. It didn't sound right to me, but the robust,
silver-haired proprietor in the white vest obviously understood for he produced
two cappuccinos exactly as requested.
Vic
stretched his arms above his head. 'This is the life, Pauline .
Can't remember when I last felt so relaxed.'
The
last time I felt relaxed was at the top of those steps, before the handrail ran
out. A smidgen of apprehension skulked inside me at the prospect of climbing
back to the hotel. Tugging the straw hat to a more advantageous position over
one eye, I shrugged my misgivings away and settled back on the wooden bench; no
good marring the day with pessimistic thoughts.
Idly
stirring the cocoa powder into the froth, I watched the launches ferrying
passengers from the liner, scuttling across the water like red toads before
disappearing behind a promontory. A cruise sounded romantic, but with so many
steps to negotiate and being hauled into small vessels by rugged seamen it
would be hard going. I had enough trouble with my legs without that kind of
undertaking. The doctor said it was all in the mind when he inspected my knees.
I argued that some days I could hardly bend them, however an x-ray seemed to
prove his point. He recommended exercise but he would, being a fit young man
who looked as if he worked out every day.
'See
that, Pauline?' Vic was eyeing something through his binoculars. 'A batch of
butterflies just landed in that hollow in the wall.' He removed the binoculars
from around his neck. 'Here, have a look.'
Following
his directions, I searched for the spot. Up the ramp at the end of the quay,
ignoring the holiday-makers straining to glimpse the offloading of the day's
catch; past the quaint houses, their balconies a riot of geraniums; and on to
what Vic had labelled a hollow. It was
really a sacred grotto, graced with a bust of Our Lady, surrounded by flowers
and foliage and an illuminated cross. I adjusted the focus. The Virgin Mary
smiled. Disbelievingly, I polished the lens with my skirt and looked again. She
was smiling still. Her eyes seemed to beckon. I was surely dreaming, or else my
mind had been addled by the sun. Vic
surveyed the fishermen, unaware of the peculiar development. A single butterfly
fluttered across Our Lady's face. I mumbled, 'Be careful,' then, overcome by a
sense of urgency, I thrust the binoculars at Vic
and hurried off.
*****
I
ran all the way, down the Taverna's wooden steps, dodging the coils of rope and
trailers and mountains of nets, past the souvenir shop and its array of
tablecloths and postcards, up the cobbled ramp and round the bend until ...
until, there she was, the fairy lights barely seen in the strong sunlight, the
flowers showing no colour, foliage showing no green. Her smile was colour, her
eyes the illumination. My feet were rooted to the scorching cobbles as I gazed
at her tranquil countenance. Vic 's
fingers seized my elbow. I had not heard him come. My knees trembled, but there
was no ache. Our Lady's eyes twinkled and I knew why she had summoned me to her
cave. Cautiously, I bent one knee to genuflect. Not one twinge assailed me.
'Thank you,' I mumbled, wanting no-one else to hear my words.
Vic
pointed to the wall. 'See the butterfly, Pauline .
Isn't that a magnificent creature.'
I
pushed him playfully and suggested a race to the steps, giving a backward glance
as we moved away. A butterfly soared, brighter and more beautiful than the
rest. An aerial display of shimmering colour. Yanking my hat into place, I
squeezed Vic 's arm. I had never felt
so alive. 'Come on, slowcoach,' I said, 'or we'll miss our lunch.'
Arm
in arm we marched down the opposite ramp, past the vegetable seller and a brood
of scavenging feral cats. Canaries bravely sang from the confinement of tiny
cages attached to walls in full sun. Beyond an arch of weather-beaten
dwellings, the church bell began its forbidding toll. The sun beamed constantly
and the butterfly twisted and wheeled non-stop, sometimes alighting on the
wall, but mostly dancing ahead to guide the way.
Valerie, this was such a wonderful read because of the way you visually described everything. It was as if a beautiful painting came to life. I could clearly SEE everything!
ReplyDeleteLove the ending!
Have a great week, my friend!
X to you and Charlie
Hi Ron. I am pleased you enjoyed reading it. It was first published many years ago and I hoped it wasn't one you had read before.
DeleteYou too have a good week.
So many people... So many possibilities.... So many beliefs... :-)
ReplyDelete✨✨✨✨✨✨
Beautiful words and phrases. I almost felt I was there.
ReplyDeleteThank you, TB. I feel as though I am there every time I read it. Good to see you here again.
ReplyDeleteGreat description of the holiday setting. It could be paradise on Earth.
ReplyDeleteIt was. Dave. We went there many times and loved it there. It was the sort of place that inspired me to write a few tales.
DeleteThis story has painting-like qualities. Loved it. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteGreetings from London.
As intended, CB. I am pleased you enjoyed this story. Thanks for your comment.
DeleteAnother great read Valerie. With any excellent writer I always lose myself and morph into the book, if that makes sense. You make that so easy to do.
ReplyDeleteYes, it makes sense. Your comment is gratefully received, Denise. It gives me pleasure to know that readers enjoy the tale.
DeleteI always enjoy your writing Valerie, and came back to say again how much I enjoy each one, and to wish you a very happy weekend :)
DeleteAlways a joy to swing by your blog and read your wonderful stories. Thank you, Val.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Matt.
ReplyDelete