Tiramisu After Midnight

by Mark David Campbell

  As they neared the bay of Castelveccana, a classic wooden Riva launch, with its throaty inboard engine and all the grace and elegance of a 1950s Cadillac, cut across their path. Enrico veered to the right, their boat bouncing and splashing as they traversed its wake. Maggie gripped tighter onto the railing with one hand and held on to her hat with the other. They cruised farther along the shoreline past elegant seventeenth-century villas with their steep tiled roofs and towers and their lush Italian gardens sloping down to the water’s edge. Wedged between the classic villas were modernist terraced bungalows, possibly inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright, with their manicured golf course lawns and hedges.

  Twenty minutes later, Enrico slowed the boat and they cruised in closer to the shore where there was a tiny patch of stony beach with a scattering of men, some wearing bathing suits, some nude.

  “That’s the gay beach,” Fabrizio said above the motor. Two men sat upright on their beach towels and Enrico and Fabrizio waved.

  “That’s Antonello and Giorgio. They’re undertakers, so they don’t really get any holidays,” Enrico said. “But as long as nobody dies, they can spend the day at the beach.”

  “They’re getting married this spring,” Fabrizio added.

  Enrico pushed the accelerator forward. The boat sped up and they motored below La Galleria, where the road and railway passed through a tunnel along the edge of a cliff strewn with avalanched rocks. Up ahead, a rock about thirty feet high stuck straight up in air out of the water, like someone’s middle finger.

  Forty minutes later they reached Laveno. The ferry boat, filled with cars on the lower deck and passengers on the upper deck, left a white churning trail as it came out from the dock, heading across the lake to Verbania. Fabrizio pointed at the cable lift that ran up the side of the peak overlooking the town. Hang gliders, riding the air currents, circled the peak like giant colored falcons.

  They continued on past Laveno for another fifteen minutes until they spotted an ancient monastery hanging from the rock cliff like some secret lair or mythical fortress. Enrico guided the boat closer to shore, cut the engine, and they drifted below it.

  “This is Santa Caterina,” Fabrizio said and held out his hand.

  “It doesn’t look real!” Maggie said with her mouth agape.

  “It looks like something out of Lord of the Rings!” Owen scanned the face of the cliff.

  “The story goes like this…,” Enrico said. “In the twelfth century there was a rich merchant named Alberto Besozzi whose boat capsized while crossing the lake and barely escaped being drowned.”

  “Afterwards, he decided to retire here and become a hermit,” Fabrizio said.

  Enrico continued. “And he built this cappella.”

  “What’s a cappella?” Maggie said

  “It’s a, um, hat,” Fabrizio said.

  “It’s a chapel,” Enrico cut in.

  “Anyway,” Fabrizio said. “He built this chapel and dedicated it to Santa Caterina of Egypt.”

  “Egypt?” Owen said.

  “Yeah, the Copts in Egypt were once a powerful part of the Christian world.”

  “At least, that’s what we read on the internet last night.” Fabrizio shrugged.

  Enrico lightly put his hand on Owen’s shoulder, stretched his arm out, and pointed. “See, the chapel’s right there.”

  “Then, in the seventeenth century, five enormous rocks fell on the church,” Fabrizio jumped in. “But they didn’t really cause much damage.”

  “So they said it was a miracle.” Enrico slowly withdrew his hand from Owen’s shoulder.

  “You know how Catholics love miracles,” Fabrizio said, and Enrico gave him a sharp jab with his elbow.

  Fabrizio held up his palms. “It’s true.”

  Enrico climbed back behind the wheel and started the engine. They motored across the lake, bouncing up and down on the waves like a ride at an amusement park. As they approached a small group of islands, Enrico slowed the boat to a gentle cruise. Owen and Maggie slid off the bow deck and stood, staring up at a splendid Baroque palace surrounded by terraced gardens. Enrico cut the engine and they drifted along the shoreline.

  “The garden is full of flowers and exotic plants, which can grow here because the island is protected in the gulf,” Enrico said.

  “It’s a microclimate,” Fabrizio added.

  “Oh look! There’s a fountain and some statues.” Maggie squealed. “Did they make this for the tourists?”

  “Not exactly,” Enrico said. “The Borromeo family made it in the seventeenth century for themselves.”

  “There is a large a statue of a unicorn, which is the emblem of the Borromeo family.” Fabrizio, who was standing close behind Maggie, stretched out his arm and pointed.

  “Wow! They must have been loaded,” Owen said.

  “Oh! Look.” Maggie pointed. “Over there, there’s a white peacock! Can you imagine living here?” Maggie’s voice took on a kind of dreamy tone.

  “Yeah, you’d have to wear one of those big hoop dresses,” Owen scoffed. “I’d probably have to wear a white wig, long stockings, and itchy leggings.”

  Maggie blew out a puff of air. “You have no sense of romance.”

  Fabrizio took a half step backward, swept out his hand, and made a deep bow toward Maggie. “My lady.”

  Maggie beamed and held out her hand.

  Enrico covered his face with his hands while Owen shook his head.

  Fabrizo took her hand in his and gently kissed it.

  “Well at least there’s one romantic gentleman on this cruise,” Maggie cooed.

  “Smetti di baciarle la mano,” Enrico said in a flat tone and reached over and swatted his brother’s shoulder.

  “What did he say?” Maggie asked.

  Fabrizio stood upright. “He said we’d better go to see the castle before we run out of gas.”

  Maggie furrowed her brow and looked at Enrico suspiciously. At which point Owen rolled his eyes, bent over the other gunwale, and began to fake like he was barfing. Enrico laughed and followed suit.

  Maggie looked at Fabrizio and jabbed her head toward them. Just as Owen and Enrico stood upright, Maggie and Fabrizio gave them a sharp shove, sending them sailing overboard. They came up flailing and gasping. But before they could exact their revenge, Maggie and Fabrizio quickly grabbed a towel and cowered under it at the far side of the boat just beyond their splashes.

  After they had climbed out of the water and toweled off, Enrico resumed his position in the driver’s seat, started the engine, and maneuvered the boat around. Fabrizio stood next to his brother and held on to the back of the seat while Maggie and Owen reclaimed their spots on the little deck in the bow. Enrico pushed the accelerator forward, the engine roared, and they cruised along the western shore, heading back in the direction of Switzerland. The boat lurched and bobbed as they bounced across the wake of an antique paddlewheel boat filled with tourists. In the distance, sailboats fluttered back and forth across the lake, like cabbage butterflies in a summer meadow. Enrico piloted the boat toward a tiny cluster of rock outcroppings in the water.

  “No!” Owen said in disbelief. “There’s a castle sitting right there in the water!”

  Maggie gasped.

  As they drew closer Enrico pulled back on the throttle, the engine went from a growl to a purr, the bow dropped, and the boat slowed.

  “This is called Castelli di Cannero,” Fabrizio said. “It’s all that remains of a group of castles built in the 1500s to defend the upper part of Lake Maggiore from the Swiss.”

  “But underneath is an older pirate’s fortress, built by the five Mazzarditi brothers,” Enrico said as he pointed to the base of the towers.

  Fabrizio piped in, “After robbing and terrorizing all the villages along the lake for about a hundred years, the Visconti family from Milan finally got mad and surrounded the islands, starving the Mazzarditi brothers into surrender, and their old pirate fortress was destroyed.”

  As they puttered a
round the islets looking up at the gray stone towers, Maggie spread her hands like a movie director explaining a panorama. “It looks like the set from Beauty and the Beast!”

  “Can you imagine doing a wedding here?” Owen said.

  “Yours or mine?” Maggie chuckled and nudged him with her shoulder.

  Enrico shut off the engine and they glided to a gentle float. “You two can dive in if you want.”

  Owen pulled off his T-shirt. “Aren’t you coming in with us?” he said as he made his way to the wooden ladder in the stern.

  “You go ahead,” Enrico said. “We’ll stay here and set up the umbrella and prepare the picnic.”

  Maggie slipped from her sitting position in the bow to her feet. Leaning against the side gunwale, she unbuttoned her baggy shirt, pulled it off, and tossed it on the deck. She was just about to follow Owen into the stern when she realized the twins were standing frozen with their eyes fixed on her.

  “What!” Maggie said. “What’s wrong?”

  “No, nothing’s wrong.” Enrico said. “It’s just we have an old photograph of our mother…”

  “…wearing a bathing suit exactly like that and standing in exactly the same place where you are right now,” Fabrizio said.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Tata lent it to me.”

  Maggie grabbed her shirt and was about to put it back on when Fabrizio cried, “No, no, don’t!” He waved his hands back and forth. “You’re a vision, like an angel.” He had tears in his eyes.

  Fabrizio’s and Maggie’s eyes locked together.

  “Hey!” Owen looked back over his shoulder. “C’mon.”

  Maggie grinned nervously and jerked her head away, breaking their stare. “Yes, I’m coming.” She moved into the stern to where Owen was perched on the bottom rung of the ladder. With a splash Owen leaped out into the water and Maggie followed.

  “I know it sounds like a cliché, but I feel like we’re inside a storybook,” Owen said as they swam away from the boat.

  “Oh, look who’s the romantic now,” Maggie said with a mocking tone and splashed him with water.

  Treading water, Owen looked back toward the boat. “I wish they had read me fairy tales like this when I was little because right now, I can see a castle and an old wooden boat with a large red umbrella.” He gulped some air and coughed. “And two gorgeous, half-naked Italian guys, holding a bottle of prosecco, a French loaf, salami, and cheese.”

  “First one back takes all!” Maggie laughed and started back toward the boat.

  “Unfair advantage!” Owen called, slapping the water after her.

  It was midafternoon by the time they returned home, and while the twins secured the boat, Owen and Maggie went back up to the house.

  Maggie burst into the kitchen to find Tata putting a broccoli and artichoke pie into the oven.

  “Remind me to give you this recipe,” Tata said as she stood upright.

  Maggie walked over to her and kissed her cheek.

  “What was that for?” Tata said.

  “You’re very… what was that word, oh yeah, furba,” Maggie said and waved her finger at Tata.

  “Whatever do you mean, child?” Tata laughed. “Oh, by the way, you can keep the swimsuit,” she called as Maggie skipped out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her room.

  After she had changed, Maggie came downstairs onto the terrace and found Owen sitting in the wicker chair with his feet stretched out resting on the cement banister. “So how is your day going, my dear?” he said in a lyrical tone.

  “Splendid!” Maggie only used the word splendid for the most splendid of things. She slid her chair closer to the railing, slumped low in it, and stretched her legs out as far as she could but couldn’t quite reach. She sat back up, slid her chair even closer, and propped her feet up.

  “There. I knew you could do it, Stumpy.” Owen handed her a glass of prosecco.

  “I’m not stumpy! My legs are petite.” Maggie’s voice always rose a little when Owen pushed the right buttons.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how my day is going?” Owen said.

  “How is your day going, my dear?”

  “Splendid. I spent the day on a boat on a lake in Italy in the company of my bestie and two lovely young Italian gentlemen,” Owen said in a mock Bostonian accent and held up his glass.

  Following his cue, Maggie held up her glass. “What are we toasting?”

  “To you, my petite treasure.” Owen chuckled. “And your wisdom. This is exactly what I needed.”

  “To me,” Maggie said, and they clinked their glasses and took a sip.

  “You know, I can’t believe I’m here in Italy.” She slopped a little wine onto her leg as she waved her glass in the air.

  “It really is like a fairy tale.”

  “Complete with two handsome princes,” Maggie said as she gazed across the garden at one of the twins walking up the path from the lake carrying a pile of life vests and the other coming up behind him carrying the paddles.

  Just then a car honked. And both of the brothers suddenly looked up. The first dumped the life vests on the lawn and trotted across the garden toward the gate. The second dropped the paddles and ran after him.

  Maggie and Owen turned to look as a BMW sedan, the sunlight glimmering off its chrome and onyx surface, pulled up to the gate and honked again.

  The boys held the gate open as the car glided through, down the hibiscus-flanked gravel lane, coming to a stop in front of the house.

  The car doors opened and a short man with a plastic-looking mop of mousy-colored hair, wearing a pink polo shirt, red chinos, and driving moccasins with no socks, stepped out, stretched, and scratched his belly. From the passenger side, a bony woman with a stretched-back face got out and strutted to the front of the car. She was wearing a white blouse, black linen skirt, and white-and-black patent leather pumps that could only have come from one of the finest fashion houses in Milan. The woman glared at Maggie and Owen with an expression of deep disapproval, took out a cigarette, lit it, and blew out a long puff of smoke.

  “I may not have gaydar, but I think my bitch alert is sounding.” Maggie dropped her feet from the railing and sat upright.

  “My little gay genes are screaming, ‘Hang on to your wigs and your ruby slippers, the wicked witch and her flying monkey have just swooped in.’” Owen remained in his slouch.

  From behind them on the terrace they heard Tata growl. Startled, they looked back over their shoulders at her.

  “Strega!” She made a loud spitting sound toward the floor, then turned and walked back inside.

  “Oh shit,” Owen said. “I hope Tata didn’t hear us.”

  Maggie snorted. “I wouldn’t worry. Even if I don’t speak a word of the language, I suspect that Tata doesn’t like them too much, either.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “WHAT A surprise!” Enrico called out as he jogged up to the car and kissed his sister on her cheek.

  “I’ll tell Tata you’re staying for dinner,” Fabrizio trotted up behind him, leaned forward and kissed her.

  “No, we can’t possibly,” Francesca said, elongating the vocal sounds and pushing them out through her nose. “We had some banking to do in Switzerland and we just stopped by to get a few photos of the house. For a keepsake, you know.”

  Pietro reached into the back seat of the car, pulled out a professional-looking camera, pointed it at the house, and snapped a few photos of the roof gables, walls, and foundation. Then he walked over to the terrace where Owen and Maggie were sitting. Eyeing Maggie like a lizard to a fly, he snapped off a few more photos of the façade.

  “I see you have guests,” Francesca said with a condescending tone. “How nice.”

  “Come up and meet them,” Fabrizio said cheerfully.

  “No. As I said, we can’t stay.” Francesca took a long drag on her cigarette.

  Pietro returned to the car and placed his camera on the driver’s seat. “It’s a fine example of
Liberty style, but the façade is in rough shape. The foundation looks sound. Very marketable,” he said as if he were writing a sales description. “Are there any major cracks in the plaster?”

  “Well, there’s a large one in the kitchen,” Fabrizio said.

  Pietro waved his hand. “The kitchen was added onto the main structure later, so it doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Maybe you could help us decide what to do first to fix up the old place,” Enrico said.

  “You wouldn’t have any plans of survey and the original deed, would you?” Pietro said.

  “It’s all bureaucratic,” Francesca quickly added. “Just to ensure the equitable separation of our dear grandmother’s estate.” Francesca genuflected and kissed her large diamond ring.

  Fabrizio and Enrico both shrugged. “We could look. There might be something in the attic, somewhere.”

  “I bet Tata would know.” Fabrizio turned his head toward the kitchen and didn’t notice, but Enrico caught a glimpse of his sister curl her lip at the mention of Tata.

  Fabrizio looked back. “I can ask.”

  “There’s no need to right now. But if you find anything, anything at all, please let Pietro know as soon as you can.” Francesca cleared her throat. “As Pietro said, it’s just for the bureaucracy. As soon as we’ve done that….” She flashed her big yellow teeth. “I can access my personal account and loan you the money you asked me for.” She held her wrist up and glanced at her gold Rolex. “We’re late and if we are to make it back to Milan in time, we’ll have to leave now.”

  Pietro shook the boys’ hands. “Be in touch.”

  “Come, dear.” Francesca clicked her tongue. “We must be on our way.” She threw the boys a Hollywood kiss. “We’ll visit when we have more time.” She flicked her cigarette onto the drive, climbed into the passenger side and closed the door.

  Pietro reached into the driver’s side and put the camera on the seat behind, then climbed in.

  Francesca rolled down her window partway. “Be sure and let us know if you find any old documents. Anything at all.” Her big diamond ring sparkled in the light as she fluttered her fingers goodbye.