Abroad (23 page)

“You see—”

“There you are!” Arthur said, walking in. He was smiling, very hard, at me.

Samuel moved his hand away ever so slightly. “Any ghosts?”

“Not that I could see. Though Ben is asking for you. Can’t seem to turn the breaker on, now that he’s shut it off.”

“Idiot. I hate to phone Fabrizio in the middle of the night. All right, I’ll go look at it.”

He left. The professor sat in a worn leather club chair and looked at me.

“Callisto,” he said. “Europa.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Leda. Alcmene. Danae. Are you getting my point?”

“Are you supposed to be Zeus?”

“I’m talking about Zeus, yes. I’m talking about young girls taken advantage of by the all-powerful. In the form of swans and showers of gold. Samuel is not your shower of gold, is what I’m saying. He is no swan, no eagle. Not even a fucking bull.”

“Professor Korloff, I think you have the wrong impression.”

“I have eyes. My patron was about to have you for a snack.”

“I wouldn’t have done that.”

“He’s an old man. You’re a young minx.”

“Minx?”

“All right, I’m a bit sauced. Here’s the deal. You’re a lovely young thing, and Samuel has taken to you. Saw it the moment I walked in the door. So I’m going to do the nice thing and save you from yourselves.”

The professor reached over for Samuel’s glass.

“I don’t need saving.”

“Well, I do, sweetheart. If Elena catches any wind of this crush, I’m screwed. Let me be straight. I need these people. I need their money.”

“I’m not—”

“It’s a shitty position they’ve put me in. The goddamned rich. They want the young smart kids at their fancy castle. What good’s a castle without the kids? But if something goes wrong, I’m out. And I can’t be out. No one will give me grants for my research, it’s too out there. My theories are completely unsupported, get it? Private donors are my bread and butter.”

“I still don’t understand what I did.”

“Nothing. You were just sitting there. A nymph waiting to be taken. You’re right, you’re completely innocent. But I need you to keep us all out of trouble and leave in the morning.”

“Leave?” All breath left my body.

“Just say you’re sick or that you have a family emergency. No, sick … it’s better. I’ll pay for your taxi, sweetheart. And I’ll not only pass you, I’ll give you an A.”

“You really have this wrong,” I said. “I didn’t start this.”

“I know, I know. But it’s started.”

I took my glass, finished the brandy, and coughed a little. “I really loved your class, Professor Korloff.”

“Thank you. You’re a smart kid. You’ll do okay.”

Suddenly, a sort of calm came over me. It was as if I were looking at myself from far away, above.

“Well, if I leave, I don’t want to have to write the final paper.”

Professor Korloff smiled. “Fair enough. Particularly since I don’t want to
read
your final paper. Or anyone’s, honestly.”

“Okay.” I rose, smoothing down my dress.

“All right, well, you’d better get to bed.”

“Wait,” I said.

“Yes?”

“You never told us what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“To the Etruscans. When they died. What they thought—where they went.”

“Oh.” He tilted his head, pleased. “See? I knew you were listening.”

“Yes.”

He cleared his throat.

“Well, the truth is, there’s never been a firm stance on the thing. How the Etruscans—before Rome, I mean—viewed death. Was it a battle, or a party? Some scholars believe that they prepared for monsters and battles. The other idea is that the Etruscans—at least, the Grifonian Etruscans—prepared themselves for a journey to a faraway land. A journey that they packed for. But there’s not enough evidence of this.”

“What would evidence be?”

“Tombs filled with items.
Optimistic
items. In Grifonia, most of the tombs have been robbed, and what are left are sarcophagi with images to ward off the evil spirits. To appeal to Roman gods. You see, the Roman view on death was pretty grim. You were pulled down into that dark hole and a dog decided where your soul would go. The theory—my theory—is that the Etruscan view was more benevolent. That they built a house for the next life, where they would just keep on existing. But other than in Tarquinia, there aren’t many artifacts as evidence of that theory. So it’s just an idea. One I like. The Etruscans looked forward to death, whereas the Romans feared it. From what we know, the Etruscans killed one another more freely. They really didn’t fear death, because they were just going somewhere else.”

“And the Romans?”

“The Etruscans didn’t particularly
like
the Romans. The Romans took their power. So their revenge was not to tell them how to prepare for the journey. On
purpose
. They didn’t want the Romans around, get it? They wanted the next life all to themselves.”

He looked at me expectantly.

“I see.”

He laughed. “I doubt that, sweetheart. Girls like you don’t spend much time thinking about death. But you will someday. So hopefully I’ve added something to that mind of yours.”

I tried to smile, but the expression disintegrated.

“All right. I hope you continue your studies, Tabitha. You’re bright, you just need to read more. But I think you should go to bed now. Get up early, call that cab. And don’t worry too much about it. Don’t get upset. This has happened before. Why do you think his marriage is so fucked?”

I got up to leave. “So I’ll count on that A, then.”

“Sure,” Professor Korloff said. “A plus.”

“All right.”

“I’ll come down late in the morning so it’s not awkward,” he said.

“I’ll be gone.”

“Okay, then,” Professor Korloff said, holding Samuel’s drink. “Good luck, honey. Good luck.”

I walked out into the black hallway. I could hear private moans coming from a room somewhere above. How much time had passed? My eyes were now used to the dark enough for me to see shapes. I’d never make it up to my room, I knew, but I could get down to the garden, if I was careful. Keeping my hand on the stone wall, I made my way down the steps. I was drunker than I’d been before, so the lack of light seemed less frightening. After what seemed like years, I was in the courtyard. The gravel glowed white in the darkness. The windows stared down at me. I ran through the archway to the garden, where our table still lay in ruin. The lawn was silent. Something was glowing on the table. I saw that it was my phone. It had one bar of connectivity, and, at 12:47 a.m., Claire had called.

The sound that came out of me—a sob of joy. There was no use waiting until morning. In the dark I’d never find our room. I pressed her number, my hands shaking as I waited for it to connect. After a tense moment, the other end rang.

“Hey!” she answered. I could hear voices behind her. “How’s royalty?”

“Claire … I can’t explain now, but I need a favor. Do you think you could find a car and pick me up here?”

“What? Wait a second.” I could hear a scuffle, and then a door slam. “Okay. What happened?”

“Nothing horrible. I just need to get back.”

“Yeah, my boss has one. Or someone does. Where are you?”

“Gubbio. I have the exact address.” I told it to her, glad that Alessandra had insisted I get it before leaving.

“Cool. I’ll map it. Okay, I think I can get out of here. It’s dead anyway. But yeah. Go wait outside in about an hour. I’ll swing it.”

“I can’t tell you what this means to me,” I said.

“We’re friends,” she said. “Of course I’m coming.”

The phone cut out before I could answer. Using the dim screen as a flashlight, I searched the ravaged table until I found Ben’s matches. There was one left in the book. Hands shaking, I lit it, guarding the flame closely with my hand, and lit one of the half-destroyed candles on the table, and then another, then took them into the kitchen and found a piece of paper and a stub of a pencil.

Girls
, I scribbled.

I’m so sorry, but I had to leave. Something came up. Please don’t worry, it’s nothing to trouble about. Mr. Webster, thank you for your hospitality.

I paused.

Professor Korloff, thank you for a stimulating class.

Sincerely,

Tabitha Deacon

P.S. Anna, would you mind terribly bringing my things?

I read the note twice, left it on the kitchen counter under a meat cleaver, then made my way back to the garden. The castle was quiet now, other than the occasional trickle of laughter. Taking one of the throw blankets from a garden chair and wrapping it around my bare shoulders, I crept to the entrance. Just as I pressed the release to open the outer gate, the lights went back on. There was a cheer and a bit of shrieking. I clanged the gate behind me and slipped down the path to wait.

It was one-thirty by the time I settled there in the dirt, my back against the cold stone of the gatepost. The road was as dark as the garden had been before Ben put the lights back on; we were too far from town for streetlights of any sort. I was tired but too scared to sleep. I could hear the forest’s small animals singing in the woods; or I hoped they were small.

As I waited there, later and later, I thought that perhaps I had made a mistake. I was being childish to leave this dramatically. After all, Professor Korloff hadn’t demanded that I leave that instant. I could just get the note off the counter, sneak upstairs, and play it off with a smile in the morning. I stood up, no doubt looking like a ghost myself in my long silk dress and white blanket. But the thought of Samuel’s face in the morning kept me there. Even though I was guilty of nothing, I had, for a moment, considered his offer.

It was three o’clock before a car came crawling up the bottom of the hill, stopping every few hundred feet as if its driver were looking for an address. Claire. But I was still frightened, so I remained behind the post, peeking out only when the car was close enough for me to see the driver, who actually wasn’t Claire at all.

Marcello looked at me through the open window.

“Devil,” he said. “You look like a drunk angel.”

“You came!” I ran to the passenger’s side. “Where’s Claire?”

“I was with her at her bar. And she told me you needed help. Alfonso has a car.”

“I’m so glad.”

“Dirty man?”

“Not so dirty. Just old and sad. Not Italian.”

“Get in.”

I opened the door and settled in, fastening the seatbelt over the blanket. I felt shy, suddenly.

“Thank you for coming,” I mumbled.

“Anything for you, Devil. But now you’re Angel. Here.” He leaned over, took a beer from the backseat, and handed it to me.

Suddenly, my phone rang with a text. It was from Claire.

Liking the switch?

“What was that place?” Marcello asked.

“It was a castle. I was with my friends.”

“And they let you run away?”

“I left them a note.”

“Strange friend you are, Angel,” he said. “They’ll be worried about you.”

“No they won’t.” There was no question—they wouldn’t worry at all. I could just see it.
Oh well
, Jenny would say, with a somewhat annoyed frown. Anna might worry about Arthur’s feelings, only to find him grimly approving. And Luka … would drink.

“Then you need better friends, Tasmania. Like me. Look at me, I came all the way just to kiss you.”

“But you haven’t kissed me.”

“No!” Marcello stopped the car, veering onto the shoulder. He leaned over and snapped off my seatbelt, then covered my lips with his.

I wonder, listener, if you have ever been kissed by an Italian. It’s different somehow. Marcello knew he had the right to kiss a woman, whereas the English and Irish boys of my youth, they were always wondering.

“All right then,” he said, starting the car again.

Marcello fiddled with the radio, singing along to songs he knew. He was the sort of person who didn’t like silence. He told stories in fast Italian. I tried to laugh in the correct places, while looking out the window at the dark houses, the sleeping families, the people who had only a few hours before it was time to get up and work.

“Where should we go?” Marcello asked, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “Alfonso’s a lazy shit. Doesn’t need his car. Florence? Rome?”

“I have class—” I stopped myself. “Sure. Rome.”

“No. Rome is too far. I know where to take you. You’ll like this better.”

We were on the outskirts of Grifonia now. I wanted to ask, but kept silent as the car climbed up the steep hills of the old city. Marcello drove fast; I gripped the door handle as we whipped around curves. We went around the square, and back down again. I breathed a sigh of disappointment as we neared the cottage, but at the last minute, he veered toward one of the outer gates, stopping just short of the walls of the old city.

“What are we doing here?”

“My friend is doing restoration there. Remember? I told you. I have a key.”

“Ah!” I said
ah
a lot when I was speaking Italian, even though it wasn’t an Italian expression, as far as I knew.

“Finish your beer.”

I put the empty bottle by my feet and got out. Marcello came around the car and looked at me.

“Angel. Let me see under the blanket.”

I dropped it from my shoulders.

“The rich dress looks good.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re wrong. You are the pretty one. You know that?”

“Stop it.”

He took my hand. I felt something like a bird fly up my throat. It was trapped, hovering there. Together, we walked to the front of the church. It was a round stone building with a lovely park where I liked to read sometimes. During the late afternoon, after siesta, it could get rowdy with lovers and pot-smokers, but tonight the place was silent. As we stood, looking at the ancient stone, I thought about loneliness. The sweet, sickening nature of it. How it tugged one downward so insistently, even when the day was sunny or your grades were good or everyone in your family was healthy. Then, just like that, you had someone with you, and it became inconceivable that you could ever experience the affliction again.