Travels Through Love and Time
Page 1
Travels Through Love And Time
by
Christine Hall Volkoff
ISBN 1456466119
EAN 978-1456466114
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
'Travels Through Love And Time' is published by That Right Publishing LLC, who can be contacted at:
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'Travels Through Love And Time' is the copyright of its author, Christine Hall Volkoff, 2010. All rights are reserved.
All characters are fictional, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is accidental.
NOSTROMO
One of these mornings
you’re going to rise up singing
spread your wings
and take to the sky…
(DuBose Heyward, Ira Gershwin - 'Summertime')
Day One
It had started as such a good day. I sat on the bluff amongst the pines, looking at the view of the entire island all around me. The cicadas were so loud that their hypnotic cacophony made it hard to hang onto my thoughts. The sea was calm, with a few scattered white sails. I could see the little harbor, with pieces of the village around it. I recognized the Navy fort to my right, and the white beaches to the North, and tried in vain to spot my parent’s house off the Chemin du Langoustier. It felt so good to be out in the warm breeze, taking in the scent of hot pine resin, the sweet loneliness of being with myself and my dreams. One day, I would be up here with someone I loved, and we would kiss in the shadow and protection of the maritime pines, we would own the world.
My old bicycle was leaning on the trunk of a tall pine. The brakes were so bad that my friends and I had bought some cheap sandals with high cork heels at the Porquerolles market so we could drag our feet and use the soles to slow us down. I cautiously started down the trail, bouncing the tires over roots, skidding over the pine needles.
My parents had gone their separate ways, and had left me to spend the summer on the island. My father was working in Italy and my mother vacationing somewhere in Scandinavia. I enjoyed having the house to myself. Not quite to myself, since I had Simone, my governess, to take on all the hard work and boring tasks in the house, and take care of me. It was a great deal, and I appreciated every minute. The freedom was tangible, almost unbearable, and I could only hope I could summon the experiences to make it unforgettable.
Riding through the village, bouncing on all the rocks, I took the one paved road to the left, back to the house. I had worked up an appetite, and was looking forward to sitting out in the courtyard, eating Simone’s delicious food and looking at the bees dancing around the wisteria. I was reading a mystery. I always liked to read while having lunch. At night I would usually discuss the day with Simone.
After parking the bicycle in the service entrance, I knew right away something was wrong. Simone looked worried.
“Christine! Your mother called!” she said.
“Is she coming?” I said, with a mixture of hope and fear.
On one hand, I was hopeful maybe she was taking enough of an interest in her progeny to come and spend some time with me. But I was also afraid she would come home and start taking away my precious independence.
“No, but she has invited Mrs. d’Alessi to stay here for a week”
“What?!”
I was crestfallen. Francesca d’Alessi was a distant friend of my mother’s, and I also suspected a former lover of my father’s. She was a well known Italian actress currently living in Hollywood. She was married to Marco d’Alessi, a producer who was much older than her but who seemed to have been very instrumental in the rise of her career.
I could not believe my mother had the nerve to impinge on my freedom without even coming back herself.
“Why, why is she coming? Doesn’t she have enough houses already? Why does she have to come here?”
“Your mother said she had business in France, she needed the rest, and she wants to be incognito.”
“Shit! Whatever …”I said.
Simone frowned at the word. I still could not believe it! One whole week!
“When is she coming?”
“Today. Mr. Vernet is bringing her at 3:00.”
“Oh right, like she can’t take the ferry like everyone else … give me a break!”
I liked Francesca. I had never met her, but I had seen some of her movies. I thought she was beautiful though I could not at the time really appreciate whether she was a good actress or not. She had dark skin, very blue eyes, a perfect face and a flawless body with (what I admired most) straight hair of a non-descript color, with blonde highlights in typical Hollywood fashion. Some of the films, especially the ones directed by the Italian New Wave were, I have to admit, slightly above my head. She looked good in black and white, though. Right now, however, I hated her.
Since my father worked in the film business, I had met many famous actresses and actors throughout my fourteen years, and always found them to be extremely boring in person, especially from the point of view of a kid. They seemed to always listen to themselves talk, and usually did the most stupid cutesy things to try to make me smile. I regularly gave them murderous looks, and ran away to my room.
The idea of having to contend with “La d’Alessi” for a whole week made me want to pull out all of my mother’s roses and trample them until nothing was left. I decided I would not have anything to do with her, and continue living my life as close to the way it had been so far this summer as possible. So there.
I ate my lunch distractedly. I was not even interested in finding out the next clue in my book, nor did I care at the moment about who was the murderer. Let him or her go free. Let him or her kill them all for all I care. Once they are all dead, we will know for sure who done it. Simone was busy cleaning rooms, making shopping lists, working hard. I was furious at my mother.
At 2:30, I made my escape. I hopped on the bike, rushed to my friends’ house in the village, and summoned the troops to spend the afternoon at Plage d’Argent. It was me and “the girls” - Ondine and Veronica - and “the boys” - Jean-Pierre and Jean-Remy. Veronica was older than her sister Ondine and did not join us very often. So it was really Ondine and me and the boys, who were brothers. I liked them all, but had a special feeling for Jean-Pierre whose nickname was, of all things, Bambi. I could imagine the name was left over from when he was a chubby toddler, and maybe it was going to follow him into old age. I had a crush on Bambi and I loved to watch him. He was skinny but quite strong for a fifteen year old. He had blond hair, curly in places, and it always fell in front of his eyes. He was tanned from being constantly out in the sunlight in a bathing suit. He had the looks of an angel, and the manners of a bad boy. This was probably what attracted me, but who knows … Bambi, incidentally, did not return my feelings.
So Ondine and I went to pick up the boys, and off we went. We played a game where we would pull out the old canoe we had hidden at the Plage d’Argent. The canoe leaked and the game was to paddle as fast and as far as possible before the canoe finally sank. Then, we had to drag the canoe on the bottom, turn it over to empty it, and start all over again. Bambi liked to have Ondine as his partner and I always ended up with Jean-Remy. I did not like paddling with Bambi anyway as he always yelled at me. My favorite partner whenever she joined was Ondine’s sister, Veronica. She knew how to drop the competition aspect and pretend we were on an island in the Pacific, singing and paddling slowly in unison until we sank.
A good day was when Bambi paid some attention to me other than mocking or yelling. Today was a good day. Bambi even showed me his new zippo lighter.
Francesca wanted to be incognito, so I felt I had to respect her wishes. I mentioned I was going to have to deal with an unwelcome guest, but I did not say who it was.
“Bummer! “said Ondine … “Why don’t you come to our house for dinner tonight? We’re having fish, as usual, but you are welcome!”
“Thanks, I will!”
What a relief not to have to face the awkward situation of whether I was welcome to eat with Mrs. d’Alessi or not.
So I called Simone from Ondine’s parents’ house in the village and told her I would not be home for dinner. “Is she here?”
“Yes.”
Obviously, Simone was not free to talk.
“Is she going to have dinner at home?”
“Indeed.”
“OK, see you tomorrow morning! Good night, good luck…”
I had a good time with Ondine and Veronica and their parents, and biked home as slowly as I could, as close to midnight as I could.
Day Two
The next day started with a few clouds, obscuring the ray of sunlight I used as my wake up alarm for the summer. So I got up late as I usually did on cloudy days. I took a shower, grabbed a t-shirt and some shorts to put on, and went out into the patio for some breakfast. Francesca d’Alessi was sitting at the table, buttering a slice of toasted bread.
As she looked up, I was struck by the color of her eyes. They were blue, luminous, like pools of aquamarine contrasting with her dark skin. She did not seem as beautiful as she looked in the movies, but there was something about her demeanor which somehow pulled you in even against your will. She extended her hand to me.
“You must be Christina … happy to meet you. I’m Francesca.”
I shook her hand, ignored the Italianization of my name, and sat down at the table. I proceeded to eat some toast with jam and drink some coffee, but Francesca started in. She spoke to me in English, and her English was definitely superior to my Italian.
“So you don’t mind being here all alone for the summer?”
“No, actually I like it a lot!” I tried not to sound as if I was giving her a hint …
“Do you have friends on the island?”
What do you think!? “Yes I do.”
“Are they nice?”
The grilling was really getting to me. I replied yes, and then she changed the subject. “So, to get to the harbor, I just turn left on the road and walk? How far is it?”
“Not far, and besides you cannot get lost on the island. It’s too small. You need to take the ferry? “ I was asking a hopeful question.
“I am meeting a friend at 10:30.”
“Then you better leave now … it takes about 20 minutes.”
A friend? Hell … was she going to bring Hollywood to the island? While Francesca was gathering her things to go, I went to the kitchen and interviewed Simone.
“Mrs. d’Alessi is meeting her friend Tomaso at the ferry. He will be here for two nights” she said.
I could not believe her nerve … I was being kicked out of what used to be my parents’ house, but had recently become mine thanks to Simone’s nurturing help. So the whole thing had been arranged for Francesca to meet some boyfriend behind her husband’s back? I rolled my eyes and grabbed the bike after kissing Simone on the cheek out of compassion, and telling her I would probably spend the day and evening with Ondine and the guys.
When I arrived at Ondine’s, she was doing summer homework with her tutor and they let me join in. I aced the spelling dictation as usual, but sweated a little more for the math. I had missed the first few days of class in algebra and still had not completely incorporated into my consciousness the idea that letters could be added or subtracted, even less obtained as a result.
We had sandwiches and cherries for lunch, and we were tying cherry stems into knots using only our tongues, when Bambi and Jean-Remy walked in.
“Hey you guys! What are you up to?”
“Nothing … what are you doing today?”
“We want to go fishing at Notre-Dame. Do you want to come?”
“Sure …”
And off we went on our bikes. Bambi had brought a fishing gun and snorkel gear. I had borrowed mine from Veronica. I did not remember where mine was and did not want to go back to the house and look for it.
Fishing did not mean sitting quietly and waiting for the fish to bite. Fishing meant hunting down the fish and spearing them with harpoon guns or hand held tridents. Sometimes we caught octopus and would pry the animal from the spear while it was grabbing at us with all tentacles. I had learned from a local kid how to turn the head inside out and beat out the ink before handing the octopus to the chef for lunch. I hated catching octopus and always hoped they were all busy somewhere else whenever we went fishing.
Jean-Remy caught some poor unsuspecting sand dab that day, and very soon we grew tired of looking at the sandy bottom and sat on the beach. Bambi started the conversation.
“Do you guys know that Francesca d’Alessi is spending the summer here? My dad saw her at the wharf this morning.”
“Oh, I know,” I said sighing. “She is actually staying at our house. I don’t think she is staying all summer however …”
All three of them looked at me stunned.
“And you were going to tell us when?” said Ondine. ”What kind of a traitor are you?”
I rolled my eyes.
“She is supposed to be incognito. Besides, I want nothing to do with her… she’s like using our house to meet her boyfriend behind her husband’s back.”
“Her boyfriend? “ said Bambi,” but Francesca d’Alessi is a dyke!”
Ondine was poking Bambi with her trident.
“What? Come on! How could you, little old you, of all people, know that?”
“I read an article in Cinemonde … she and Selena Hirschberg are doing it. I swear! There was a pretty hot picture of them together.”
Selena Hirschberg was the dark, intense, mysterious Argentinian star who had created a sensation at the last Cannes Festival, after her film won the Palme d’Or, by refusing all the interviews. This had driven the paparazzi crazy, and ultra grainy photos of Selena doing various menial tasks suddenly multiplied on the front pages of every single tabloid in Europe.
“You better beware,” said Bambi pointing at me “… she might attack you!”
I shrugged my shoulders … “She’s not a dyke. Her boyfriend came today. His name is Tomaso.”
“Have you seen him? Maybe he’s a she ...”
The joking continued as we all went back to Ondine’s parents who had brought a whole batch of sea urchins.
When I arrived back at the house, it was still early. No one was home and Simone had already retired to her cottage in the back of the garden. I sneaked into the guest room which had become Francesca’s. Things were quite messy in there and I could see evidence of Tomaso’s presence - cuff links, and man-sized sneakers. Various items of feminine and masculine clothing were strewn on the large bed.
I went back to my room and picked up my mystery book, finally interested in the next clue. At some point I heard Francesca and Tomaso coming in, but I was already dozing off, so I turned off the light and fell asleep almost instantly.
I was flying in the middle of a flock of large birds with long necks, like blue herons. The birds were flapping their wings and calling each other with the shrill cries of seagulls. We were all soaring above white clouds, and below us was the blue, infinite ocean. I was hanging on to one of them, feeling lighter than a feather, happy and comfor
table. Suddenly, the bird plunged into a cloud with a vertiginous dip. The move broke my balance and I started falling.
I woke up suddenly from my dream. I could still hear the bird sound. It was a soft, repeated moaning, which broke into a long, prolonged soft cry. The sounds were gentle but seemed uncontrollable, intense with sweetness, evoking pain or almost unbearable pleasure. This was no bird. I realized I was hearing Francesca and Tomaso making love and the wings flapping was the sound of the headboard on the guest room bed hitting the wall, following their movements. Nothing but silence for a while. Then the sound of laughter, and the moaning started again, punctuated by more laughter and a soft masculine voice whispering in Italian.
No way could I sleep with this racket going on. I got up and went outside, realizing they had left the door open, and I did not have the nerve to go and close it for them. Outside, the moon was bright and the breeze was a little chilly. I sat on the steps on the other side of the patio where I could not hear anything. I could see stars and some clouds, and the leaves of the wisteria were fluttering in the dark.
Without warning, an immense sadness came over me to the point where tears came to my eyes. The loneliness was palpable as I crossed my arms over my knees and waited until the swells within me subsided. It took a while. I could not get a handle on it, nor pinpoint the cause of it. I started sniffling and realized it was going to get cold. A small light went on behind the drapes in the room across the patio. Someone got up. I heard water running, more voices, and the sound of the door to the guest bedroom closing. The light went off.
Shivering, I crossed the patio and went back to my room. Safe in the warmth of my bed, I stayed awake for a while, listening. But all was quiet and I eventually went back to sleep.
Day Three
I woke up to a knock on my door. When I did not respond, the door opened slightly and some dark-haired athlete tiptoed into my room, wearing nothing but khaki shorts.