Abroad (24 page)

“How do we get in? You can’t open that door, can you?”

“Of course.” He pulled out a huge key, the sort that clanged on the belts of monks. Looking around quickly to see if anyone was watching, he unlocked the door. With a loud crack and whine, it opened.

We stepped inside. The church was completely dark, save a few candles burning at one of the altars. I imagined I could hear whispering and clutched his hand harder.

“It’s just the wind,” he said.

“Of course.”

“This used to be the Temple of the Sun,” Marcello said.

“I don’t believe you. Now you’ll say cavemen were here.”

“No, it’s true. This was an Etruscan temple. You see, there are the old stones. And then, the Church rebuilt it.”

“Are you Catholic?” I asked him, looking at the shrine.

“I am nothing. But my mother is Catholic. So I know it, I understand.”

He put his arms around me from behind, then drew my hair away and put his lips on the place on the spine just below the hairline.

“You okay, Tasmania?”

“Marcello, what is my name?”

“Shhhhhh.”

I felt faint; my knees buckled. Things progressed in that fashion until I pulled away, my dress falling from my waist.

“Wait,” I said. “We can’t do this here.”

“Why? You’re Jewish.”

“There’s still God.”

“He doesn’t care.”

Marcello put his lips to my ear. A sound came from my chest that I didn’t realize I was making, a sort of soft keen. I thought, inappropriately, of Colin.

Will I always hunger for the thing I don’t have?
I wondered.

Yet the thought died as soon as it came. Marcello led me to a spot near the door where there were no pietas in view. Before I could talk, he kissed me again and arched his body into mine. His waist was thick, but I liked it. It made me feel small.

How to explain those hours with Marcello? I have already spoken of darkness in the tomb, the carnal, cold satisfaction of it, the way it permeated the body, swallowing me whole. Now it was happening again. My thoughts of the other man—of everything in the world—were completely blotted away.

Marcello, for all his charm, didn’t love me. I knew he didn’t. And I didn’t love him. He was rough, and not truly looking at my face. But his lips did, indeed, taste of salt. And when that essence was released behind my teeth, something permanent changed in me. A sort of breaking. I yowled; I bit and bucked against the stone floor.
No one can take this away from me.
The last, cloying tendrils of childhood receded. I was, quite simply, more awake.

17

During the days I’ve described so far, I was mainly quite happy. Yes, there had been a small rift with my new friends, some homesickness, some melancholy that resulted from too much alcohol, lack of sleep, and the yawning emotional range of a girl just out of her teens. But I was comfortable in my new life. Just the physical space from home was heartening. Yet the day after I returned from the castle, everything shifted. There wasn’t one singular event that caused it. Instead, it was an all-encompassing weather change, one that affected our harmonious little house slightly but lethally, the same way a deep freeze and thaw will lead to a permanent crack in a foundation, causing the whole place to list.

It was nine in the morning when I finally came in the door of our cottage. The other girls were up: Gia draped in her underwear on the sofa, Alessandra in a robe mixing something in a bowl, Claire on the terrace despite the cold weather. When I walked in, there was an appreciative round of cheering and laughter.

“Big night,
bella
? Still in the dress!”

I knew I should be laughing, too, given my strange evening. But for some reason the cheer had the opposite effect on me, and I began to cry.

“Oh no!” Alessandra cried in English. She put her bowl down and rushed over. “
Bella, bella
. We were joking. You just look fun in your beautiful dress.”

“Funny,” Claire corrected.

Alessandra gave her a look and switched to Italian. “A long dress in the morning! You understand. Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

Gia crawled to the edge of the couch, perching like a cat. “So the kings of the castle were bastards after all?”

“I suppose.”

“And the house?”

“It really was a castle. With towers and stone and everything.”

“I do not like these places,” Alessandra sniffed. “Always cold.”

“You’ve never stayed in a castle,” Gia said.

“I have. It was a hotel in Turin. Very cold.”

Claire smiled. “So … Marcello came and picked you up like I told him to?”

“Yes.”

Gia whistled. “All the way in Gubbio!”

“Yes. Claire sent him.”

“It was no problem,” Claire said. “He was at my bar anyway.”

“And your friends?” Alessandra said impatiently.

“They stayed.”

“So this party is still happening?” Gia said. “Maybe I’ll go.”

“And Marcello?” Alessandra said.

“We had a very nice time. He was…”

“Nice,” Gia said. “Right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re back,” Alessandra said. “It never sounded like a good idea.”

“I’ll just shower.” I slipped into my room and closed the door, then stood looking out my window. The landscape seemed darker, the colors tarnished. After a moment, Claire came in.

“So what
really
happened, Taz?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you get in a fight with Jenny?”

“Jenny! No. Not at all. It was … there was just an awkward situation that came up.”

“Yeah?”

I sat on my bed. “The owner of the house came on to me, and … my professor—”

“The mythology guy?”

“Yes. He thought something inappropriate was happening, so he asked me to go.”

Claire was quiet for a moment. She played with the makeup on my dresser. I tried not to flinch when she touched my earrings, which were neatly arranged in an ivory inlaid box.

“So was it?”

“No. Samuel—the host—was old. I was lost, and there was a ghost hunt, and there was this dead nun.”

“What?” Claire asked.

“Oh, no one will believe me.”

“You can fucking sue about this kind of stuff,” she said. “Your professor should be looking out for you.”

“Oh, he was, in a way.”

“By kicking you out of the house he invited you to? You’ve got to tell the Enteria people. This guy is a class-A dickhead.”

“He’s a good teacher, actually. And I couldn’t do that to Anna.”

“Why? Is she blowing him?”

“Claire! No, he’s her mentor. It’ll cool down. Besides, Marcello came, and it was…”

“Nice.”

“Yes.”

“Did you hook up?” She plopped down next to me on the bed and poked me in the ribs.

“Claire.”

She dug in a bit harder, then smiled and crossed her arms.

“Come on! I
gave
you that guy.”

My face reddened. “It seems that he drove quite a long way of his own accord.”

“Oh my fucking God, don’t be so Jenny. I just want a little credit. Details.”

“But I don’t want to tell you,” I said. “I’m different from you.”

Claire pressed her lips together and stood up. “I’m sorry I’m such a perv. The truth is, I liked him a little, but I didn’t want to step on your toes. Like I said the other night. You’re more important to me than he is.”

“As are you,” I said, trying my hardest to mean it.

“I’ll let you take your shower.” She stopped at the door. “Hey, I have the night off. Going to hear some classical music at the college. It’s free. No booze, no creepy old men. Come?”

“Maybe.” I paused, thinking. It
would
be good to get out of the house, to let Marcello know that I wasn’t just waiting around for him. The perfect way to stay in front of things.

“Well, yes. That would be nice. Thank you.”

“We can wear our dresses.”

“I think I’ve had enough of this dress.”

Claire put her hand on the door handle as if to go. Then, in a swift, impulsive moment, my flatmate turned and sprung forward, crouching in front of me. She grabbed my shoulders and put her lips to mine, then slid her tongue onto my teeth. Our tongues flickered there. For long? Five seconds? Ten? Finally, my mind took over and I pulled away.

Claire didn’t let go. Cupping my ears, she pressed her forehead to mine.

“See?” she whispered. “Friends.”

I had no idea what to say or do. After a long pause, I nodded.

“All right,” she said. “See you.”

And then an odd thing happened. Claire … disappeared. There still is no other word for it. As I’ve said, she moved like a hunter, as if she were made of smoke. Yet on my tongue, the taste of someone else’s cigarettes. And in my chest, the feeling of something enormous turning and turning again.

*   *   *

We went to the concert as planned. If Claire felt strange about the morning’s events, she didn’t act so. Perhaps this was an everyday occurrence for her, kissing girls. Following her cue, I pretended all was normal.

When we walked through the great doorway of the university concert hall, I was met with an unexpected wave of nostalgia for Professor Korloff’s class. This room—the Aula Magna—was just as beautiful as our classroom had been. It was a magnificent place, with gilded fixtures and a Socialist mural of men toiling with rocks by the great Gerardo Dottori, the artist Luka and Anna were deconstructing the evening we met.

The concert hall wasn’t nearly full. Claire and I took seats near the back. I looked around, half expecting to see Anna or Jenny, who hadn’t bothered to call. I wondered if they were angry with me. If they thought I’d caused a scene, or was a slut. And, of course, Marcello hadn’t called either. I had a vaguely nauseous feeling, as if my very center were hollow.

“You all right?” Claire asked.

“Sure.”

“We can bail if this is boring.”

“No,” I said. “It’s fine. I’m just tired.”

The music began, Bach. As I listened, my mind wandered shamelessly. I thought of Marcello, how his palms had felt on my body, how I could feel the bruises on my lower back from the church’s hard floor.

After a while, I had the feeling of being looked at. I jerked my head, thinking it must be Marcello. But the walls seemed to fall as I saw that it was, instead, Colin, who nodded slightly and waved.

“Hey, who’s that?” Claire whispered. “He’s totally hot. You know him?”

“Ahhhh,” I said slowly. “Barely.”

“How?”

“Uh, we met at the museum. He’s British.”

“Can you introduce me?”

“Well, as I’ve said, I barely…”

The music stopped. There was a smattering of applause. The intermission was announced.

“Hey,” Claire called out.

Colin turned his eyes to her and rose from his seat. I could feel a shadow settling over me.

“Hello,” he said to Claire. Then, turning toward me: “Hello, Tabitha, how are you?”

“I’m doing all right,” I said, my hands sprouting rivers.

“Oh, she’s super,” Claire said.

“Oh?” Colin raised his eyebrows.

“Oh sure. New boyfriend. The cool guy downstairs.”

I looked down, away, at the stage—I don’t remember. Just anywhere but his face.

“I’m Claire,” my flatmate said.

“Hello,” Colin said.

“Your name?”

“Colin.”

“And I’m Claire.”

He smiled. That rare and wondrous phenomenon. Only this time it wasn’t for me.

“Right, Claire.”

She laughed, and he did, too, and as they looked at each other I saw everything happening, and felt a pin going ever so slowly into the taut balloon of my heart.

Claire laughed. “So you know Taz?”

Colin shrugged. “We’ve met.”

“Well, we should all go out after this,” Claire said. “New friends always welcome.”

“I’m actually feeling rotten.” I got up hastily, knocking my bag to the floor. The sound of coins dropping echoed throughout the hall. “Do you mind if we go home?”

Claire looked at me and—maddeningly—winked.

“Actually, I’ll stay for the second act. I like Baroque.”

“Yes, these musicians aren’t bad,” Colin said.

“Oh,” I said, as everything in the room grew smaller. “Oh yes. All right.”

“Are you okay to walk home?”

“It’s a block,” I said, recovering. “Of course.”

I waited for them to talk me out of it. Colin stared at the stage, and Claire gave me a horrid, blank grin.

“Goodnight, Tabitha,” Colin said.

Claire kissed my cheek. “See you, Taz.”

I walked out with what I hoped was an aloof manner, looking back only once to see their heads bent together in conversation. I hated them both. And then I hated myself even more. What was I hoping? For everyone in the world to be in love with me?

Eventually I reached the gate to our little house. Standing on the steps for a while, I listened to the traffic and the wind. I knew I should just go inside, but instead I crept down to the boys’ apartment. I could hear Marcello playing the guitar. The door was unlocked. I cracked it open, and was greeted by the smell of cigarette smoke, garlic, old beer.

“Marcello,” I said. “Hi.”

He looked up and saw me. His face was wan, and he had dark smudges under each eye.

“Ciao.”

“Can you come up?”

“I’m very tired, Devil. Last night, you know.”

“What happened to Angel?”

“Good question.”

I smiled, blushing.

“Tasmania. Go up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What about now?”

He tipped his head back. “All right. Just a minute.”

Marcello put his guitar down and went into the bathroom. I could hear something clinking against the sink. The water ran for a moment, and then he came out, drying his face and rubbing his nose.

“Devil, you are trouble. Another night of no rest.”

“I’ll let you rest.”

“No. I won’t rest now. No. All right, a party. I’ll bring the guitar up.”

“No.”

“Some beer.”

“… No.”

“Just me then?”

“Yes. Just you.”

Marcello laughed and took a step toward me, then stopped. He had this way of smiling sometimes that made me want to run and hide under the covers.