Under a Sardinian Sky

by Sara Alexander

  “Yes—his son sometimes delivers wool to the studio.”

  “I’ll grab my hat.”

  Kavanagh disappeared toward the back offices. Before she could change her mind, think about what was happening, remind him that at this lunch hour any visit might prove fruitless, as everyone would be taking their siestas, they were sitting in his jeep, rattling up the familiar hills of Simius. Only now, they looked like the terrain of a brand-new world.

  CHAPTER 12

  Bacchisio Lau’s remote farm lay tucked into the hills at the end of a dusty lane lined with trees as gnarled as their owner. Kavanagh pulled the jeep up in front of a tiny stone house, shutters firmly sealed against the heat. A solitary wicker chair that had seen better days stood beside the door, the last remnants of its green paint clinging in patches. A stray chicken clucked by. The scraping of paws heralded the crazed dash of a sheepdog, from behind the house, that howled a frantic cry. Try as he might, Kavanagh’s charm fell flat on the animal.

  “You stay, Carmela, until Rover and I have become acquainted.”

  “Lieutenant, Signor Lau is not known for being too friendly.”

  “I’m sure the sight of your face will change that.”

  He jumped out of the jeep. “Come on, boy,” he called down to the dog, walking toward the house. “Let’s go find your master, yes?” The dog ran circles around Kavanagh. After a few soft knocks, Kavanagh looked back at Carmela. “I’ll go round back, you wait there.”

  Carmela nodded. She looked up at the spaces left by missing roof tiles and the dried-up geraniums in the window boxes. Bacchisio’s wife had died just after the end of the war. There had been whispers of foul play from some of the more imaginative gossips in town, stories that were mostly ignored. Bacchisio had had several boys in town work for him as farmhands, but no one would last too long here. The remoteness, and their boss’s eccentricities, were more than most could handle.

  A cat slinked toward the jeep. It looked up at Carmela with bright yellow eyes, flicking her tail into the air, sizing up the competition. Then she gave a defiant turn, walked back toward the house, and sat upon the slab before the door, on guard.

  “She doesn’t like anyone but us,” a little voice wafted out from the mottled shadows.

  “Paolo?” Carmela called, turning toward the sound. A dark face poked out from behind a tree. The boy’s hair was matted, his cheeks tawny from hours spent alongside his herd of sheep. “Is your father inside?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I have an important lieutenant here who would like to speak to him.”

  Paolo shrugged. His clothes hung on his skinny frame like tattered curtains on a rickety pole.

  “He’s a nice man. I think you’ll like him.”

  “Papa told me stay outside.”

  “You in trouble again?”

  Paolo tugged at his sleeve, trying to cover a weeping wound on his arm. “Lost a sheep.”

  “Did you get the belt?”

  He shrugged again. His eyes shifted side to side.

  There was a scrape. The door of the cottage opened.

  “Signor Lau?” Carmela called, getting out of the vehicle, thinking how rude it would appear to be yelling at the farmer from the jeep. She looked back at Paolo for a moment, then decided it better to pretend she hadn’t noticed him. The slight space between the frame and the door widened to reveal a black eye and half a crinkled face.

  Carmela stopped several feet away before continuing. “Buon pomeriggio, Signor Lau, so sorry to disturb you at this hour. . . .”

  “Chirigoni girl?”

  “Yes, Tomas’s daughter.”

  “I won’t sell to him, or any of his godforsaken brothers neither.”

  The eye withdrew and the door slammed shut. Carmela stood for a moment. The cat looked up at her, triumphant.

  How naked she felt, standing in the middle of his dusty front yard, one arm as long as the other—bearing no gift, no polite token, no symbol of respect whatsoever. Had she stopped to ask some questions beforehand, she might have prepared something by way of an olive branch. Why on earth hadn’t she found the confidence to educate Kavanagh in basic customary etiquette? To turn up like a vagabond, rattling in with an officer?

  Carmela took a breath and walked toward the door, ignoring the feline yellow eyes boring into her from below. “Signor Lau, I am not here on behalf of my father. I can assure you my only business is to introduce you to a kind American lieutenant. He is helping some of the farmers in the area. He’s promised to fix my father’s plough, in fact.”

  Silence. Paolo shuffled out from behind the tree into the light.

  Kavanagh reappeared from the other side of the cottage.

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I don’t think Signor Lau is going to talk with us.”

  “Well, hello there, kid!”

  Paolo looked at him without blinking.

  “This is Paolo, one of his sons,” Carmela said. “The older boy is probably out with the sheep.”

  “Ciao, Paolo,” Kavanagh called. The boy stood motionless, a scrawny statue.

  “He takes a while to answer sometimes, Lieutenant.”

  “Is Signor Lau here?”

  “Yes. But he does not think too much of my father. He saw me and now he won’t come out.”

  “I see.” Kavanagh moved toward the door. “Buon giorno, Signore?”

  The cat wound herself around Kavanagh’s legs.

  For a moment it seemed their first call was nothing short of a complete failure. Then the door cracked open. This time, both black eyes squinted into the light. Signor Lau stepped out toward Kavanagh. He looked into him, then offered a bony hand to shake.

  “Piacere, Signore,” Kavanagh said with the same fresh smile he had beamed at her father not so long ago. Lau reciprocated, though his lacked several teeth.

  “Io, I, and Signorina Carmela, here to speak—save me any time you want, Carmela.”

  “Signor Lau, the lieutenant would very much like to talk with you,” she said, slipping in as if they were accustomed to crossing over one another’s speech. Lau nodded without looking at her. Then he pulled his flat cap farther down on his head and started to hobble toward a smaller hut beside the cottage. “Paolo! Glasses!” he yelled. The boy dashed into the house, then ran out clutching a couple of ridotto wineglasses. Lau signaled for Carmela and Kavanagh to follow.

  There was a huge sawn-off trunk inside the tiny hut. To the side were rough shelves made from untreated wood. Upon one was an enormous, dark green bottle of wine and a tall jar filled with what looked like orange paste. Lau reached into his pocket and flicked open a knife, something he was famous for crafting, and using, especially to conclude disputes. He flashed the lieutenant a crooked smile. Kavanagh stiffened a little until Lau reached up for the jar and placed it onto the trunk. He twisted the lid off. A pungent, salty odor filled the little hut. Lau dipped the sharp blade inside. When he lifted it back out it was covered in a thick, cheesy spread, alive with skinny, white maggots. He shuffled over to a sack on the upper shelf and pulled out some flat bread. He ripped a strip. Carmela noticed Kavanagh take in Lau’s blackened nails and callused fingers. Lau smeared the bread with the moving cheese, rolled it up, and handed it to Kavanagh. Then he poured two glasses of wine. “Saludu,” Lau murmured.

  Kavanagh clinked and looked down at his wormy bread.

  “It’s delicious,” Carmela whispered. “Those worms only grow inside the cheese. It’s a delicacy.”

  “He doesn’t eat?” Lau asked, turning his palms up to the thatched roof.

  “Yes, yes, of course, he just wanted to know how you made it,” Carmela replied.

  “So tell him.”

  “You must eat it, Lieutenant.”

  Kavanagh took a polite bite.

  Carmela and Lau watched.

  Kavanagh chewed.

  “This stuff is sublime,” he said at last, relief sweeping across his face.

  “The lieutenant says thank you, it’s absolu
tely delicious, Signor Lau.”

  Lau shook his head. “’Course it is. I’m the only one in the valley who knows how to make it. Your father thinks that salt is the only thing that adds flavor. Wouldn’t know his sage from his ass—tell him. More to cheeses and smokehouse than just heat and salt.”

  “What did he say, Carmela?”

  “You’re the perfect guest, Lieutenant.”

  Kavanagh pointed outside the hut toward the fruit trees. “I would very much like to take a look at your farm, Signor Lau, vedere campagna . . .”

  “Eh?” Lau asked, looking at Carmela. “Not selling cigarettes and gum, is he?”

  “No, Signore, the lieutenant would like to see your land.”

  “Don’t need a farmhand.”

  “Can I tell Signor Lau why you’d like to look around, Lieutenant? I think it would help.”

  “Of course. I’m looking for farmers who would be interested in renting us some land.”

  “Doesn’t look like a farmer to me,” Lau answered, slugging back his second glass of wine.

  “Would it be for farming?” Carmela asked.

  “I’m not at liberty to go into details. I just want to gauge if he would be open to the idea. Please explain we have a large budget to spend on this endeavor.”

  “Signor Lau, the lieutenant tells me they have a lot of money to pay for some land.”

  “’Course they do. But I don’t want to be an American colony.”

  “I don’t believe he’s interested in money,” Carmela said, turning to Kavanagh.

  “Would you tell him I’d love to take a quick look at his land?” Kavanagh asked.

  “He really would like to look at your farm, Signor Lau.”

  “Dirty dollars can’t buy me a thing. My wife is dead. Waiting for me up there—God rest her soul. Upset stomach? I chew on my wild fennel. Tired kidneys? I pick the asparagus that grows on the hillside. I suck a lemon every day in the summer, chew on chestnuts in the autumn, eat broad beans over winter, and kill a pig once a year. My children don’t chase me salivating after my money, pretending they love me. One day I will die and my bones will grow another tree.”

  Carmela turned to Kavanagh. “He says no.”

  “Molto grazie, Signore,” he said, offering his hand, which Lau shook after a pause. “Carmela, please tell him that he is welcome to come and see me at the base anytime.”

  Lau replied with a silent nod that made it clear to Carmela that he would never set foot beyond the end of the path leading away from his home. “Tell him stick to American. He speaks it better.”

  “Arrivederci, Signor Lau,” Carmela said.

  Lau led them out of the hut. “Not if I can help it. And don’t forget to tell your father what I said.”

  With that he shuffled back toward his house and disappeared into the blackness within. The door closed behind him. The cat and dog flanked it, like breathing gargoyles.

  “I’m so sorry, Lieutenant.”

  “No fault of yours.”

  “I should have explained about Lau. He’s particular.”

  Kavanagh rubbed his forehead. “I dragged you out here without a proper briefing. My God, what must you think? I owe you an apology. I just . . .”

  “Lieutenant . . .”

  “It’s Joe. That will be the last time I remind you.” He leaned back onto the hood of the jeep. “I’m really sorry. I got overexcited to get going. You see, Carmela . . . how can I put this?”

  He looked down at his boots for a moment. When his eyes lifted they met hers. “I’ve fallen in love.”

  Carmela didn’t move.

  “No other way to say it. I’ve fallen in love with Sardinia.”

  There was a rustle from behind a tree. Carmela’s eyes darted toward the brush to spy Paolo disappearing behind a trunk.

  “The herby smell of it,” he continued, “the look of it, the people who stare at me as if I’ve just landed from another world. The food that makes me realize my first thirty years on the planet have been utterly wasted.” He looked across at Carmela, and his face crinkled into a bashful grin. “You must think me a big kid chasing after a new toy.”

  Carmela noticed how the sun highlighted the natural blond of his hair.

  He shook his head. “It’s been tough with only a phrase book and pigeon Italian. I’m sure everyone’s enjoyed quite the joke at my expense.”

  “My father was very impressed. As were all the men. They’ll never tell you that.”

  “Right.”

  A brief silence. Carmela watched Kavanagh trace his fingers across his knuckles.

  “May I be honest with you?” she asked.

  He squinted. “Always.”

  “You won’t charm all Sardinians with dollars. Especially the ones who live in the hills and couldn’t spend it even if they wanted to.”

  He shook his head with a smile. “I can see that.”

  “We’re islanders, Lieutenant. We’ve not had much luck with invaders in the past. Not everybody is in love with the Americans. Even ones who speak like you.”

  Carmela bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to make a personal remark. Something flashed across his face; he was not offended, quite the contrary.

  “Here’s the thing, Carmela,” he said, standing up and fixing his eyes down on her. “I need you. A beautiful, intelligent, articulate woman who knows this world is far more irresistible than some Yank. That much I know. I’m under considerable pressure from above to find the right place.”

  “Lieutenant, it’s the first farm. There are many others. May I suggest something?”

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s not talk about money and land when you’re trying someone’s food. It makes them think you’re not concentrating on what you’re eating.”

  “Concentrating?”

  Carmela took a breath, trying to find the right words to articulate her thought. “When someone gives you their food,” she said at last, “they are giving you a piece of themselves.”

  That naked feeling crept up again. Carmela shifted. She curled a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. Her face creased into an embarrassed smile. Their eyes met. For a fleeting moment he looked as stilted as she felt. It was of little comfort.

  Then he straightened, ran his hands through his own hair, returned to a familiar composure. “We’ll head back,” he said, confident. “I’ll show you the map of the farms and people I would like us to meet. I’ll schedule a meeting before our next excursion so that you and I know what we can expect. We can pack food for the day and cover several places at once. Make the best use of both our time.”

  At the mere mention of it, Carmela began scrolling through her list of favorite dishes she might make to impress him.

  “I ask you to forgive my impetuosity with regard to our first trip,” he said, once again the cool professional. “It was brash. I saw an opportunity and seized it. Time is of the essence. I’ll be sure to clarify our payment rates too.”

  He turned toward the jeep and opened the door for her. She stepped up and sat down.

  “Wow, I’ve really done this all backward, haven’t I?” He sighed.

  Carmela watched his wide chest rise and fall. It felt as if they were the only two souls in the wilderness. Two floating lights.

  Kavanagh nodded and closed Carmela’s door. He leaned an elbow on the side. “I hope you won’t change your mind about the position.”

  She smiled. Nothing could be further from the truth. Her eyes followed him as he moved across the front of the jeep and climbed in with one graceful leap. He started the engine. She felt a spark of fearlessness. Or was it recklessness? The soft caress of pine-scented breeze lifted the strands of loose hair resting on her shoulders. Dappled sunlight sparkled in her eyes.

  Carmela turned to meet Kavanagh’s gaze, his eyes rich blue in the golden rays. “Sardinians very rarely change their minds.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Carmela arrived home late in the afternoon. Franco and her parents looked up at her from t
he kitchen table as she stepped inside. The surprise gathering caught her off-guard. She felt a pang of self-consciousness as she walked over to Franco, planting a polite kiss on each of his cheeks. His skin felt hot, clammy even.

  “Buona sera, Franco, Mamma, Papa,” she said.

  Her parents nodded.

  “Your father has some important news, Carmela,” Franco said. “You’d better sit down.”

  Had some tragedy befallen one of her sisters or brother? Nothing else would warrant an unexpected gathering such as this. “What’s happened?”

  “Everyone is fine,” Tomas began, his voice gruff. “But we have some difficult news.”

  Carmela braced.

  Tomas shifted in his seat. “It’s about the wedding.”

  “The wedding?” Carmela’s gaze shot to her mother, but her eyes were lowered.

  Franco stepped in for his future father-in-law, now taut with embarrassment. “We have no choice, tesoro. We cannot be married before the spring.”

  “The spring?” Carmela asked, wishing the feeling in the pit of her stomach was closer to disappointment.

  Franco looked between Carmela’s parents and stiffened. “A family matter.”

  “What’s happened, Franco? Is your family all right?”

  “Everyone is fine. Your father has spoken his wishes. We will not celebrate in September as planned. We will marry next summer.”

  “Papa? This is what you want?”

  Tomas cleared his throat, as if the truth were sticking to the back of it. “We decided this is for the best.”

  Her breaths became shallow. Tears welled. Guilt? Relief? “I see.”

  “My darling, tesoro,” Franco cooed, reaching for her hand. “It’s only a few months. It will pass quickly. Another winter, is all.” The words washed over, didn’t penetrate. The last of the afternoon light fought in through the tiny window of the hallway, but nothing about the chocolate glow it cast on him moved her. She looked at him like someone staring at a snapshot of another’s life. A tear trickled down her cheek. Carmela’s mother stood up and put an arm around her.

  “Leave us for a while, Franco,” Tomas said, also standing now.