The Long Shadow Of A Dream

3.

Greta and the Prince moved away from the little table that was used to settle the last details of the notary’s deeds and went back to the villa. It was shaded and scented by the fragrant smell of the linden trees, pine trees, mimosas, would waft in the air, it was time for lunch. The Prince insisted on Greta to have lunch with him. In the afternoon, they would go for a tour of the island as promised.

The girl was torn: from one hand she wanted to see the island so much, thinking that such an opportunity would have hardly come by again in her whole life, from the other hand she feared she would not make a good impression of herself accepting an invitation for lunch from a complete stranger. However, making a good impression had never been her strongest point.

She accepted the invitation.

The Prince went into the villa to attend to something. While waiting for him, she saw some branches of a shrub called “

Christ’s thorn

” sticking out of the roof of the villa: they climbed from the door of what once was the dining hall as far as the top of the villa, to enjoy the view that must have been magnificent from that height.

On that little island there were all kinds of flowers, Greta noticed that the roses had withered unfortunately. Probably they would have been everywhere in May, with their colourful and scented corollas, gathered in bushes, lined up as hedges, climbing on walls, on tree trunks or pergolas. The person who planted them in such a large quantity surely thought that the wind could carry their scent as far as the shores in Capodimonte or  Marta.

Greta wandered around the villa and reached the ruins of the sixteenth-century cloister: the five arcades on each side of the quadrangular plan, were covered too by a beautiful blanket of wisteria, jasmin and honeysuckle. Not too far, next to the pine trees and the cedar trees, stood out probably the most popular tree of the island: a huge plane tree, tall, rugged, old and knobby. Even though it was supported up by sticks, his branches were stretching out over the shore as if to provide it with a cool shade as a good father would do. That old tree had lived for four centuries, four centuries of silent and incomprehensible conversations with the lake, its only and immortal friend.

Looking at the lake reminded Greta of Ernesto who was waiting for her with his little white speedboat moored at the island pier, to take her back ashore. She should tell him about the change of plans right away, apologise to him and possibly ask the Prince to invite him for lunch too. It was very impolite of her to forget completely about that boy who had been really kind and eager to tell her all about the Lake and the islands.

She was disappointed that he could not join them in the tour of the island scheduled for the afternoon to see all those wonders hidden by all the vegetation. She felt she owed that boy something after taking her there, letting her live that dream.

The Prince was coming out of his dwelling again and Greta walked towards him with her face all red due to the heat of the midday sun, and she asked him:

«Prince, I would like to go down to the pier to let my boatman know that I will stay until the afternoon. I would love to invite him to have lunch with us, it you don’t mind, he has been so kind to me.»

In saying these words Greta was wondering why she was so interested in that young fisherman…

«Certainly. I will send Gastone down straightaway to tell the fisherman. I am sure that there will be a seat for him at the table of the servants. Now if you could please follow me, I have arranged for a table to be set for us in the shade of the great plane tree.»

The Prince did not like to be contradicted so Greta did not show her disappointment for the fact that Ernesto could not sit at their table but was sent to be with the servants of the island.

A few minutes after that, Ernesto was climbing back the shore from the little harbour leading to the villa: as soon as he got to the open space where Greta and the Prince were already sitting at their table, he headed for the two of them but the butler, was quick to explain that he was not invited to sit at the table of the Prince but he was to eat with the servants of the island.

«Well, I go back to my boat if his majesty the Prince Fieschi Ravaschieri del Drago does not want me at his table. My question is though: what is the reason why he called me here? Did he want me to eat his leftovers? No, thank you. Thank you so much, but I prefer by far to stay in my boat and wait in the shade of his trees which don’t take any offence to provide some shade to an honest worker.»

Ernesto spoke quite loud so that his words could reach the table where Greta and the owner of the island were sitting. Therefore he headed back the same way he had just come up a few minutes before, gazing at the girl and meeting her eyes which were looking intensely at him, even if from afar.

While going from the sunny open space to the shade of the grassy lane leading to the pier, he felt a quiver running through his whole body. He was happy to see Greta showing disappointment for the Prince: he was convinced that if it was for her, the three of them would have sat at that table.

* * *

It was two o’clock in the afternoon. A few cicadas were chirruping, whereas Greta and the Prince had already gone for the tour of the island. The Prince started off by saying that Cardinal Farnese, who later became Pope Pius III, after the construction of St. James and St. Christopher’s Church on the Bisentina island, granted the worshippers who visited the island’s religious halls, the same indulgence that were granted to those visiting churches in Rome or in its whereabouts. This particular indulgence, hunting that was quite widespread at the time on the island and the charm of uncontaminated nature, made this little piece of land quite famous under the rule of the Farnese family, so much so that these noble men chose it to house their family sepulchres, to enjoy the peace and the beauty of the place. While talking, they got to the big rock that makes up the sharpest westerly tip of the Bisentina island: this tiny piece of land was surrounded by a little temple built in honor of S. Caterina, known as la

Rocchina6

. The Prince recounted that several men dug with a pickaxe the underlying cliff to make a wide enough passage, which is quite picturesque, for those who sail around the island with their boats. On the right-hand side, the bare walls of the cliff were overlooking the lake, whereas the top was covered with a great amount of trees on the left-hand side that descended into the lake rushing like an avalanche.

«It is said that la

Rocchina

 was given this name because it was built on the ruins of a small fortress, or because it was located right opposite la Strongholds in Capodimonte, or because its plan was similar to the one that la Strongholds has. This little temple is tiny but so perfect, it is unique in its simplicity.»

The Prince clearly loved that little oratorio; Greta found it adorable too. They came down the

Rocchina

promontory, then Greta followed the Prince climbing up, this time, the steep path leading to Mount Tabor where they came across Mount Calvary oratory

7

, also known as the Crucifix. It had the forest in the front and the cliff at the back, bare, dark, with patches of lichens, rust coloured moss whose redness seemed to deliberately clash with the emerald green water covered up by its shadow, cast in the afternoon sun. The little Crucifix Church was just a plain cell with a gabled roof which extended over, in the front part, to make up some kind of a vestibule supported by a big arch.

«You see, Miss Capua, below the Crucifix, the cliff goes straight down, going a little inwards indeed, you can still see the marks of the chisels used to get the stone for the construction of la

Rocchina

 that we have just seen and of the main church, the one next to the villa. You just need to go a little further, towards the more northerly tip of the island, to find huge pieces of rock which came off the declivous cliff spontaneously, which rolled down the sloped back of the island and stopped at some level, almost by some miracle.»

Greta was looking towards the water from the top of that cliff and was scared that the rock she was standing on could collapse into the water, mixed with the pleasure she got from getting to know all those details, gave her such a big thrill that she nearly forgot what happened over their lunch with Ernesto, who was furious and reproached the Prince for letting the butler invite him to sit at the table with the other servants. They went on with their tour to find the chapel of Pope Gregory. Up further they got to Mount Tabor oratory, also knows as Trasfiguration.

* * *

«This little temple,» explained the Prince to Greta «bore this name in memory of Mount Tabor in Galilee where the Transfiguration of Jesus Christ took place, which is actually the theme of the fresco painted inside the cell. Mount Tabor oratorio was built in the highest part of the island and it connects with two little temples which we have not seen yet. The way to get to them goes down from one end and goes up from the other. I read in some document that it was possible to have the third part of your sins forgiven if you visited this little temple on July 11

th

 and on August  6th. It is such a shame that today is not one of those dates, don’t you think?»

The Prince was glad that Greta appreciated all his explanations which he was quite happy to share, sometimes maybe too scholarly and boring, but she did not seem to mind too much, she was so eager to learn, to know, to see for herself what she had read on dusty books written by people dead and buried.

After a quick stop, they set off on their walk and they saw the fifth oratorio, the chapel of Mount Olive grove, also known as Prayer in the Vegetable Garden or Christ praying in the vegetable garden.

«Can you see these dilapidated walls, above that man made clearing which are embedded in the

tufo8

 rock on three sides? That is the oratorio dedicated to St. Francis. It was probably built on

Grottascura

9

 rocky cove to make an obvious connection to the spot on Mount Verna where St. Francis received stigmata. Time back here in

Grottascura

, there was a real cave, which then collapsed, where fishermen sheltered from the deceitful southerly winds. It is really gorgeous, isn’t it?»

To the west of the island, there was the Promontory of the Gypsy, also known as Promontory of Lion because it was close to a rock spur on the lake, where a westward lion’s face was carved. Among formidable groups of oak trees and beech trees, they found the last oratorio, in honor of St. Concordia.

The tour was coming to an end.

The Principe was watching Greta who was eager to take everything in with her dark eyes, fascinated by each and every grain of soil she was walking on. The journey back to the villa was still quite long so the Prince decided to play games Greta’s imagination, telling her quite a peculiar story.

«A guy by the name of Mery, better known as a famous French writer of the first half of the nineteenth century, invented a story set, I wonder why, right on the Bisentina island. I am going to tell you about it now.»

Her interlocutor paused, smiling, before going on with his story. Greta felt she was being watched, as if the Prince wanted to see her reaction to his words.

«Once upon a time there was a Count of Bolsena who was quite ambitious. He used to gather the adherents of a sect on the Bisentina island, and using magic and sorcery, was trying to find out the secret of immortality. A guy by the name of Viterbese lived in the island too. He stated that a few years from then he would have been able to reaveal that secret the Count of Bolsena cared for more than anything else in the world. The story goes that one day il Viterbese took two children, a little boy of five, and a little girl of three, and he locked them up in two different wonderful gardens on the Bisentina island. These children grew up without anyone around apart from the man and the woman who respectively brought them up and took care of all their needs, without saying a word. One day the two youths met: they did not know how to speak but they managed to understand each other. They fell in love and did what Adam and Eve did in identical circumstances. Il Viterbese found out that they had sinned, he killed them and then killed himself after having told the adherents of his sect that whoever had drunk their blood, mixed with wine, would have received the gift of immortality. The Count of Bolsena, longing to become immortal, drank some of it but he was intoxicated and died.»

* * *

The sky was changing its colour, going from a clear light blue colour in the afternoon to a rose colour. Ernesto was looking at Capodimonte in the distance, recognizing its contour.

He was waiting.

He was waiting for Greta. Like in a dream, she came down the grassy lane with the sun turning red at her back, with her right hand clenched to her black leather briefcase, the butler was escorting her, holding his usual upright posture, meticulous and unemotional. Ernesto thought how drab the life of that man was.

«Now, Miss Capua, safe journey back to mainland. Goodbye.»

«Farewell Gastone» whispered Greta and she turned around to see the island at dusk.

Ernesto jumped into the boat and quietly helped Greta get a seat on the speedboat. He felt her dark eyes searching for God knows what. He could feel them gazing through his blonde curls like long slender fingers, among the creases of his shirt burned by the sun: he could feel her routing in his thoughts as if she could catch one and was frantically looking for it.

He started off the engine, and the tension almost vanished: only then he could look up at Greta. He could not find the words to describe the expression on her face nor could he ever see the same expression on anyone else’s face. She looked happy but at the same time the pain was visible in her eyes with invisible and painful tears rolling down her face: hidden memories. She was looking at him but seemed to look beyond him, through his human dimension, in order to find one that was completely unknown to him.

Suddenly Ernesto remembered the rose that he had picked, probably it was the last one on the island of the spring blooming. It had a dark red colour which turned almost black in some veinings.

He showed it to Greta.

«It’s for you, Greta. The last scarlet rose of the year… its colour is as dark as your eyes, its scent is as exciting as your laughters.»

Ernesto stopped. He wanted to say many more words.

Silence filled the air when Greta reached out to take the flower. She brought it to her nostrils and looked up at  Ernesto.

«I’ll nurture it, like one of the most beautiful memories of this magic day where I rediscovered a lot of things about me, which I thought they were lost.»

Greta’s heart was heavy.

They had already sailed away from the island which  was getting smaller and smaller down to the size Greta was used to see it. She knew that from that day on, she would not look at it with the same eyes.

Never again.

4.

Giacomo was on his doorstep when Greta came back from her tour to the Bisentina island.

A look was enough for the old fisherman to understand that for the girl that day meant more than a simple job appointment: she was strolling, sniffing a rose that she had in her hand, as if she was getting rid of all the energy given to her by her thoughts.

As a matter of fact, she was thinking: she was thinking about Ernesto and about the words he had used to say goodbye to her:

«If you like, I can take you to the Martana island one of these days. We won’t be able to have the speedboat for the day but I am sure that you won’t regret it.»

She did not give an answer to that invitation nor did he expect to have one.

He was an intelligent young man. Greta felt strange emotions inside, locked in the darkest corner of her soul for years now, however the strangest thing in all these feelings was that she did not feel any dislike for Ernesto, as she usually would feel for all the other boys who showed some interest in her, after Alberto.

Looking in Giacomo’s direction, Greta quickly waved at him, as if to say that she did not feel like getting into any conversation that evening. She went into her house, walking listessly. Time went slowly during the pitch dark night and the dawn when Greta kept asking herself so many questions. She was tossing and turning in her bed haunted by many questions: “

Was it fair to let a stranger get so close to her? What was happening to her? Was it dangerous if she let herself go?

”

All she could feel, as a matter of fact, was a strong desire to see that fisherman again.

The sun was already high in the sky when Greta got up tired from her bed. The dark boats of the fishermen were already sailing on the silver lake, Ernesto was probably with them.

The bus Greta used every morning to go to work, that morning, was lit up by the dazzling sunlight, on and off, while riding fast the deserted streets and still half asleep from the night before. Greta was slowly getting back to reality, but she was left with a burden on her heart. Touring the island reawakened in her the desire to go back to her beloved Sicily, a thorny desire which scared her a little, but she could not repress it. Such a long time had gone by since she left, and too many times she had pretended to have no connections with that island and its inhabitants. How could she even think that her grandmother, the only person left of his family, could accept her after six years?

After all, over that period of time, none of the two bothered to look for the one other, apart from a couple of times, but with such a coldness which made them two strangers more than gradmother and granddaughter.

Probably that longing would disappear, as it happened before. Greta loned to feel that quiver which she felt when walking on an islnd, she strongly felt that urge.

She was going to visit Isola Martana with Ernesto.

She had made her decision.

* * *

The Notary De Fusco was enthousiastic about the job that Greta did. Although he managed to conceal the sense of satisfaction he felt to have closed that business deal in such a splendid manner, he had words of praise for Greta.

«Greta, you are really a worthy colleague. You know how to do your job and above all you are very good at dealing with people. I am really happy to have you by my side. Now we can treat ourselves to a toast for the success of our work; in the meantime, if you don’t mind, I’d love to hear something about the Bisentina island. I heard it’s an enchanting place.»

Off they went to the most prestigious Coffee shop in the small town, where the entire upper class from Viterbo goes there. They sat at a table with a long yellow tablecloth. She thought that the Notary looked really different, almost cheerful. With great pleasure, Greta told the man who was sitting in front of her, in great detail, about her short time on that island that looked so wild compared to mainland but it kept , virtually hidden from prying eyes by the thick vegetation, a suggestiveness and a beauty which are both quite rare. She told him about the monastery which was turned into a villa, about the church housing the Farnese family tombs, about the Prince’s sincere nobility, about his kindness. She recounted about the tour to find out the seven small oratory’s, spread out in the roughness of that small piece of land, about the daunting cliffs overhanging the water and the centuries-old trees. Greta was speaking with great emphasis about her impressions on the island to the notary who was listening with great interest. While she was talking, she was thinking that that man should go to the island himself because it is not possible to fully recount some things. Greta was told by Prince Giovanni that the island is owned by his family since 1912, when the wife of Duke Enzo Fieschi Ravaschieri of Roccapidemonte, Princess Beatrice Spada Potenziani, bought it. The Duke Enzo, who inspired the character of Andrea Sperelli in “

Il Piacere

” written by D’Annunzio, as soon as he had purchased the island, he got two sentences engraved on the monuments already existant, in memory of the great poet. The first one is on the door of the former monastery, which was turned then into a villa, says “Maybe one day I will bring my spirit there

away from the storm to find peace

” the second one was placed on the boundary wall of the seclusion area “

Oh longed green solitude far from bustling mankind

”.

On her part, the princess Beatrice, looked after the island so much that it was restored to its former splendors of the years where the Farnese family considered it the most precious jewel of their dukedom. It is said that in order to eradicate the annoying mosquitoes that proliferated on the Bisentina island, he got the

coregone

10

 imported from northern Europe, which is a species of fish that settled down very well in the Bolsena Lake.

«What about the sailing? How did it go? Did the fisherman who took you behave well?» asked the notary, considering that Greta had not said a word about him.

«It went well, very well…» Greta gave her answer visibly embarrassed.

«We need to drop over to him the money we owe him for ferrying you to the island… if it is not a problem for you. You looked upset when I mentioned his name. Did he by any chance behave improperly with you?»

At times, in some expressions, he was like the father she never had.

«Of course not! I will be delighted to give him the due compensation for his work.»

It was just impossible to hide the slightest thing from that man, he was so sensitive and sharp in grasping other people’s feelings.

Yet he was not married. Who knows why?

* * *

Back home in the afternoon, Greta went to the lakefront where the fishermen were fixing the nets and chatting away in small groups, in the cool shade of the big elm trees.

Ernesto was away from the others fixing a big net in the shape of a cone: he was turning his thoughts over in his mind, his hair dishevelled, he was looking down and at times would look up as if looking for something beyond the shade that was protecting him, looking towards the lake.

The water was flowing in the heat and blinding light of the month of July which made him shine like a giant pool of a blue colour. Only some bluish stripes were rippling its surface, stretching as far as the two islands which were standing on the clear surface like weightless multicoloured clouds. The water was flowing calmly while the bells in Capodimonte were striking slowing and gently, the bells from Marta, were striking clearly and loud and you could hear other far away bells echoing