Travels Through Love and Time

by Christine Hall Volkoff

  She handed me my drink, and we sat on the deck side by side, watching the sun go down.

  “I am so glad we came here … I didn’t feel like staying on the other side after last night. Too many people …”

  “You seemed to be OK last night, though. Does it bother you when people recognize you?”

  “Well, it is flattering in a way … especially if they are friendly. But I always think my job is to act, not to be on public display like that…”

  “What is it like to act? Do you like it?”

  She graciously answered the question. “The common wisdom is that acting is great because you can be many different people other than yourself.” When she explained something, she truly talked like an Italian, with all kinds of hand gestures. “But in reality you find out eventually that all these characters you play, the good ones, the icky ones, the desperate ones, they’re all you. They are all alive within you … All these different feelings, they are not foreign to me. I’ve known them all, I’ve had them all at one point or another. It’s just a matter of filtering the right one at the right time.”

  The sun was halfway gone. Francesca was asking “Christina, have you ever seen it? Il raggio verde? The green ray?”

  “No, but I have read the novel by Jules Verne. In it, these people mount an incredibly difficult and expensive expedition to go to the North of Scotland to the Faeroe Islands, to be sure there will be no land to interfere with their viewing of the green ray.”

  “And do they get to see it?”

  Looking at her, I told the story as if I was daring to tell an intimate dream.

  “No, they never see it … the heroine and this guy she likes are up there waiting and waiting and, at the time when the ray finally happens, they are busy looking into each other’s eyes. And all they see is love … the light of love. They are so much into each other, and they miss the ray altogether. But it’s all right … ”

  “Che bello … what a beautiful story … ”

  We were quiet and looking into each other’s eyes all of a sudden. Just like in the story. Francesca looked genuinely moved, but it was only something from a book.

  I was the one who looked away first, to see the sun reaching the green ray point, but no green ray was showing up.

  She got up and decided to make dinner while I stayed outside and watched the dusk fall on the walls of the cove.

  She had made another batch of Italian pasta and I had a little bit of rosé wine. I was determined to direct the conversation. I wanted to know everything about Francesca. “How come you know how to sail like that?”

  “My family lives near Naples. My father and I would go sailing all the time. I was sailing alone when I was about your age … ”

  “Do you still live in Naples?”

  “No … my husband has a villa on Capri and we go there every now and then, but most of the time we live in Malibu, California.”

  She had mentioned her husband and it opened the door to more important questions.

  “Do you … huh … do you love your husband?”

  “Yes, I do. I love him very much.”

  “Why do you sleep with Tomaso, then?”

  “Hmm … sometimes, people like me and my husband love each other, but we are not really physically in love with each other anymore. So, I have Tomaso. I love Tomaso. He is a good friend and a great lover, but he is not the marrying kind.”

  “Does your husband know about Tomaso?”

  “Yes, he does.”

  “And he doesn’t mind?”

  “I don’t know for sure, honey … but as far as I know he doesn’t seem to mind.”

  Then, I asked the question I was dying to ask … “What is it that makes someone a great lover?”

  “Well, let me see … ”

  She was thinking hard … she was actually going to answer my question! “A great lover is someone you feel so safe with that they can take you to the edge and they are still with you. You are not left alone out there, so you can stay longer … ”

  Not that this made any sense to me, but I appreciated her effort. I was still on the attack however. “What about Selena Hirschberg?”

  “What about her?” asked Francesca … obviously taken aback by the question.

  “Bambi says you sleep with her.”

  “Bambi! That guy sure knows a lot! Where did he get this?”

  “I don’t know, but I think he read it somewhere.”

  She paused … looked down … then looked back up straight at me. “Well, you know, I’m in love with Selena. That’s enough motivation to be sleeping with her, don’t you think?”

  “You’re in love with Selena?”

  “Yes, I am. She is beautiful, fiery, and Indian. You would love her too … ”

  “Do you, like, make love with Selena and all that stuff?”

  “Yes, I do. Anytime I can, believe me.”

  I was remaining silent, trying to wrap my mind around all of this.

  “It’s not so weird you know … you’ll see … everybody does it. Those who don’t do it have thought about it at least once in their lives, and those who are angry about it are those who want to do it the most”

  “Is Selena a great lover?”

  Francesca was pensive. “Yes, she is … too good maybe, if there is such thing. .. Sometimes she can make you forget who you are.”

  “Is this good or bad?”

  “Well, it feels very good … but I think in the long run, it might be bad … ”

  I was still processing this deluge of revelations from an adult I hardly knew.

  “You love a lot of people,” I said.

  “Yes sweetheart, my heart is full … but there is always room for more, you know.”

  On saying this, she suddenly got up. “Let’s go for a swim!”

  “Now? “The water around the boat seemed black and uninviting.

  “Yes, now! Come on, let’s do it. Let’s go for a midnight swim!”

  Upon saying this, she proceeded to take off all her clothes, and to dive head first from the boat into the night, hardly making a splash.

  “Come on! It’s delicious!”

  What the hell, I thought … I’ve got to do it. So, I took off all my clothes as well and jumped off feet first holding my nose as usual, without even thinking, so I wouldn’t have time to get afraid. The water felt incredibly warm. Swimming without a bathing suit was new to me and I was surprised at the sense of freedom and vulnerability it gave me. We swam a little far from the boat, and floated on our backs looking at the stars. I could not see her very well, but I could feel the water rippling from her movements to stay afloat. There were so many stars, it was hard to distinguish the constellations.

  “Do you know the names of the stars?“ she asked …

  “Yes, I do, at least some of them … ”

  I started naming them, remembering what I had heard about them at the Paris Planetarium. I was saying the names in French: Betelgeuse, Rigel, Cappella. Francesca was listening intensely.

  “Tell me more … ”

  Sirius, Orion, Arcturus, Vega de la Lyre, the Big Bear, the Little Bear, the Medium Bear, Goldilocks ... I was making them up. She laughed.

  “More … tell me more … ”

  The night was calm and the air was still warm. Out from behind the cove, the moon started emerging like a spotlight and the stars began to fade. I could see Francesca floating on her back, looking at the sky. I could hear night birds flapping their wings, and the hollow sound of waves in the rocky coves. It all seemed like a dream. There I was, all alone in the wilderness with this woman who was treating me like her equal. I was floating too, smiling to myself and enjoying the feeling of swimming naked in warm waters. Oh, this was the life … indeed …

  Once the moon was up, the cool breeze also rose, and we decided to get back onto the boat. Fortunately, I had left the little ladder unfolded at the stern.

  Francesca went up ahead of me. The drops of water on her body were like glitter in
the moonlight. I could see the chain around her waist.

  “Do you know where the towels are?”

  I did, and I got them for both of us … We dried off inside the cabin and closed the door. Inside, the light was soft and, since we had already made the bunk beds, they looked cozy and inviting. I went into the little bathroom to brush my teeth and then settled down in my bunk with my book while Francesca took her turn in the little bathroom. The boat was gently rocking, making creaking sounds and I could hear the waves licking at the hull. I was imagining we were miles away from civilization. Me and Francesca, we were alone on the ocean.

  She came over and sat on my bunk. She was still naked, her shoulders wrapped in her towel. She took my hand.

  “You are a wonderful kid,” she said.

  Then she bent over and lightly kissed me on the lips, lingering just a little.

  When she stopped, I was bathing in the light of her smile and my heart was beating faster. She was still holding my hand. Without thinking, I brought her hand to my lips and kissed it.

  “You need to be happy, my sweetheart … ”

  As she said that, my eyes started blurring with tears. I could feel uncontrollable sobs welling up in my throat. She lifted me from the pillow and held me for a long time. “ …there … there … ” she was saying, rocking me gently. “There, my angel … May your dreams guide you to happiness”.

  In between sobs I kept trying to say “but I am happy”, but I don’t think anything intelligible came out. When the storm finally subsided, I realized her neck was drenched with tears, and I pulled back. I used a corner of her towel to dry her, and she gently patted my swollen eyes with another corner. We were so close. I could feel the warmth from her skin like a heat lamp. She took a tissue from the little night table in between the bunks and handed it to me. I blew my nose and greedily grabbed her hand again as I lay back down. I was looking at her face in wonder. I was taking in her beauty and trying to slow down my breathing. She stroked my hair and my cheeks for a while. Her touch was calming and electrifying at the same time. She kissed both my eyes and my lips, soft as a feather. Then she kissed my hand as she was letting go of it to get up from my bunk. I was still trembling as she lay down on her side and turned off the light, whispering “good night, sweetie … go to sleep … lots to do tomorrow.”

  I turned toward the wooden wall in my bunk. I could hear the blood rushing through my veins and the water against the hull. My breathing was still shallow and I was shaking for no reason I could think of. Finally, after what seemed to be a long time, I settled down and turned around to face inside the cabin. The moon had risen even higher and moonbeams were criss-crossing through the portholes. I could see Francesca sleeping with abandon, looking so vulnerable with her arms up on the pillow like a baby. She had kicked off the sheets and her body seemed to be translucent in the moonlight. I would have given anything to have the nerve to cross over and lie down next to her, holding her tight and feeling her skin against mine, her hair against my face. I watched her sleep for quite a while. As she shifted in her sleep, each movement was one more expression of beauty. How can anyone be so perfect and not be cruel, obnoxious, or dead?

  I caught my eyes closing on their own and I eventually drifted off into sleep with dreams of ocean waters and endless voyages through comfort and love.

  Day Six

  When I opened my eyes, it was late. The hatch was already open and sunshine was pouring in. I could see part of Francesca’s leg outside; she was already up. I could smell coffee in the little kitchen area. The boat was gently rocking and I could tell it was going to be a slightly cooler day. I got up, folded the sheets and put them and the pillows into the duffel bag. I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth, then went up to meet Francesca in the bright light of the morning.

  “Good morning, amore mio,” she said, “here is some breakfast for you”. She had cut melon and strawberries into little cubes, made some toast and buttered it, and arranged everything neatly for me on the placemat on the folding table.

  As we prepared for departure, I was literally floating … not cautiously stepping on the deck, but gliding, swinging around the rigging like in a Hollywood musical. Francesca and I smiled at each other a lot. At some point, I hoisted the jib and dangled from the deck to undo a line which was caught. I saw a look of concern on her face but I looked back and waved. She smiled and blew a kiss in my direction. She kept calling “amore, let’s go, ready about!”, “amore mio, let’s do another one”, and with every call, I turned into a better sailor. The sea was a little rougher on the Western side of the island but, by then, we were a well tuned seafaring team. She was my skipper and I was her first mate. I was flying about the deck adjusting this, tying that, tightening, loosening, until the boat was steadily breaking the waves, full and by, panting at a good clip. Francesca held the wheel with her feet and leaned back into the sunlight. I lay down on the cushions in the wheelhouse and rested my head on her leg. I could see the white mainsail and the sky, and with every lift of the boat I could feel the pressure of the muscles in her thigh. Every now and then she would gently stroke my hair. I would look up at her and she would smile at me. It was like time had stopped and the world was nothing but this infinite sky, dark blue sea and the wonderful isolation of our small sailboat…

  “Amore, it’s time … one last starboard tack to home … ” I got up, she sat up at the helm, and we executed our last tack perfectly. I sat at the bow with my legs dangling, watching the harbor approaching as we encountered more boats and waved at them. I started furling the jib and then we brought down the mainsail as the boat was gracefully turning in a circle. She started the motor and we entered the little harbor as I was lowering the bumpers. We had been gone for weeks, it seemed. I was arriving in a foreign country, an exciting new land. The small harbor master’s building, the flotilla of white fishing boats once familiar were like a discovery … a quiet side entrance into a new life.

  There was a large motor yacht in the harbor, the “Orion”, flying the colors of Greece in the guest slip at the far end of the dock. I busied myself doing all the chores I remembered from the last time I had sailed on the “Nostromo”. I folded the jib into the sail hold, and Francesca helped me wrap the mainsail into its blue protective cover. As I was swabbing the deck, a man was helping Francesca with the gangplank. He was dressed like a sea captain in a light opera, with white pants, a blue blazer and a white cap he took off when he started talking to her. They were speaking English, but I could not hear what they were saying. As Felipe was walking toward us to get the keys, I took our bags out, locked the last hatch, and watched as the man hopped on a little golf cart and sped off toward the Orion.

  I had left the big duffel in the cabin. Felipe said he would bring it over later and we walked off toward home. I was windblown, my skin was sticky with salt, my hair matted, but Francesca still looked like she had just stepped out of a giant clam shell like Botticelli’s Venus.

  “Sweetie, this was Stavros Spanodakis. He invited me to have dinner with him on the Orion tonight.

  Ah, the Greek billionaire. He came to the island on the Orion every now and then, but this was the first time I had actually seen him in person. I was distressed. This was my last evening with Francesca and I had been looking forward to spending every possible minute with her. I managed to compose myself and act reasonable.

  “Ah, good … should be fun.”

  I don’t think she was fooled for one second by my calm demeanor.

  “You know, Christina, he is on the list to finance my next film. The production company would love for me to give him a little push. I would much rather stay with you, carina … ”

  She put her arm around my shoulder as we walked and it did a lot to make up for my disappointment.

  Francesca had to pack in the afternoon, and I did not feel like hanging out with Ondine and the boys, so I took a sandwich and rode my bicycle to the top of the hill. I was pedaling with a vengeance, and almost made it to
my favorite spot without having to walk the bike. I could see the Orion in the harbor from up there, and I was angry that someone like Spanodakis had the money and the clout to abscond with Francesca any time he wanted. I lay down for a long time. I slept for a while, then just lay there and looked at the sky as I had on the Nostromo.

  I imagined I could have brought Francesca up here. We would have walked through the pines on a really hot day. We would have talked about all kinds of adult things, mainly about love. She would have taken my hand and maybe kissed me again like she did on the boat. Maybe even more than that … a real kiss, a lover’s kiss …

  But I was not Selena Hirschberg, I was not a lesbian, a dyke, as Bambi would say, and I was not even truly an adult. I loved Francesca, but could I imagine sleeping with her as a lover? I just liked the way she was so physically affectionate with me and called me all these beautiful Italian names. I loved the look of her skin, her eyes, her hair, and I could still feel her lips on mine, and how I had hoped she would never pull away. I sighed so loud it came out as a whimper. I rolled over and got up as if rejoining the present would ease my state of confusion. I brushed off the pine needles and walked over to where I could look at the little coves on the South side of the island. There we had been. There we had spent the night together. There we had truly loved each other, I was sure of it. No one can take this back, not even Spanodakis in his fake captain’s uniform.

  It was almost dark when I finally came down the hill and I realized I had waited so Francesca would already be gone by the time I got home. Simone and I had dinner together. She asked me if I had had a good time on the Nostromo. I said yes, and I added I was sure my parents and Felipe would be quite surprised at my progress as a sailing partner.

  After dinner, Simone went to her little bungalow and I hopped on my bicycle and made for the harbor.