The road to Chia was a trail of treacherous curves across the southern cliffs. The fuchsia yellow of the sunrise reminded Carmela of her mother’s birthday cakes, light layers of sponge smeared with pale yellow custard, streaked pink with alchermes liqueur. Kavanagh’s jeep began its descent. His deft driving reassured Carmela, as did the thought that should God decide to send them trailing to their deaths it would not be so great a tragedy. She would have Kavanagh by her side, after all. They turned another bend, and the majesty of the southern coast stretched out beneath them. Unlike the humble, inviting coves of her coast, this sea was immense, profound. Huge rocks rose up from the cobalt water, mossy islands of antiquity.
They approached a long stretch of deserted beach lined with rich fauna. Kavanagh pulled over. For a moment they listened to the dawn. Carmela stepped out onto the cold sand. The horizon sent ripples of excitement through her, its endlessness alluring. She stared out to sea, as if gazing at the infinite would somehow prolong her time alone with Kavanagh. He moved in behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
She felt his soft kiss on the back of her neck.
“If we start swimming, we could be in Africa for lunch,” he said. She laughed and turned to face him, breathed his scent. She rubbed her cheek against his, then found his lips. A swirl of starlings swooped overhead. Then their tiny black silhouettes spiraled into a different direction and disappeared toward the hills.
“I’m scared, Joe.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want this to end.”
“It can’t. Not now.”
Carmela took his hand. They walked toward the water. “I can’t lie anymore.”
Kavanagh moved around before her, knelt down, and looked up at her. “I don’t want you to. And I don’t want you to start hating yourself, or me, and that’s what will happen if we keep on scurrying around like guilty kids.”
“Joe—”
“Carmela, listen. I want to be with you. I want to be old with you. Will you—”
“Stop.” She placed a finger on his lips, though those were the precise words she had fantasized hearing from him. Yet to speak of it now, so soon, inside their make-believe bubble on the south coast of her island, felt as if it would jinx what little time they had before Carmela faced reality back home. She knelt down and met his gaze. “I want you to ask what I think you were about to say. I want nothing more than to stand beside you. Forever. But don’t ask me to promise anything while I’m still promised to Franco. It feels even more wrong than lying together somehow.”
He looked at her with a gentle expression, reassuring her he had not mistaken her words for rejection.
“Let us just be here,” Carmela murmured.
He stood up. “Follow me.”
Kavanagh walked to the jeep, picked up a small canvas duffle bag, and paced across the beach, back toward the cliffs. Carmela brushed her skirts free of sand and ran to catch up with him. She slipped her hand into his. They walked in silence. Ahead of them was a small opening in the rock. He led them inside. Carmela hesitated, but Kavanagh’s grip was firm and reassuring. “It’s okay.”
It was dark for the first section of the passage before the tunnel curved around and opened up into a larger space. Kavanagh reached into his bag, pulled out a candle, and lit it. Carmela gasped. All around them, the orange light caught the glistening tips of stalactites and stalagmites. He reached back into his bag and began lighting a dozen more candles. Carmela stood, without moving, watching him let a few drops of wax fall on the smooth floor of the cave. Soon there was a warm glow where they stood. He placed the last candle, straightened, and looked at her, expectant.
Carmela had tears in her eyes. “I think I’ve died.”
“I think you’ve just been born, my love. And so have I.”
“How did you know this place?”
“Casler and I came across it on one of our first reconnaissance trips. We couldn’t believe how many rocks are still intact here. Up north, most of them have been stripped.”
Kavanagh walked toward her through the candlelight, and then wrapped his arm around her waist. He pulled her into him. Their faces, hearts, and hips pressed against one another.
Carmela leaned back against the cool smoothness of the rock. Kavanagh reached up her thighs. Carmela’s breath caught. They stopped, looking into each other.
“Everything, Carmela.”
“Take it.”
Their pleasure echoed into the blackness of the cave.
It was almost the middle of the day as they reached the town of Dorgali, halfway up the eastern coast toward Simius. They left their cave with reluctance, but once on the road, Kavanagh had wasted little time. The jeep rattled through streets just wide enough for a donkey carrying a load, jerking along the sharp cobbles. The houses were squat, unlike the Simius homes in the center of town that rose several floors high, topped with columned terraces. These homes lined the alleys like a crushed crowd at a fair. Every shutter was snapped tight against the heat. Not even a stray cat meandered on the hunt. It was as if the entire town had been evacuated for lunch.
“So much for my timing!” Kavanagh yelled over the engine. “I was hoping to find someplace to grab food.”
“I’m not much help—it’s my first time here. . . . I’m a tourist on my own island!”
A near right angle turn demanded Kavanagh’s full attention. The never-ending warren continued downhill until they reached a tiny piazza with views of the jagged turquoise bay below. Along the edges of the dusty square stood a meager choice of establishments: a small bar with one table outside, a closed tabacchi, and a narrow building with a sign that read OSTERIA.
“There’s our place, Carmela!”
He pulled over. A group of men, the first people they had seen all day, sat beneath the tree in the center of the square. They looked up, squinting from under their flat caps, and their conversation fell silent. Carmela felt their eyes follow them like targets.
Inside, the eight gingham-covered tables of the Osteria lay empty. The door swung shut behind them. The bell sounded a halfhearted jingle. A boy approaching puberty appeared from a door at the back. When he saw unfamiliar faces, his eyes widened and his thick, black eyebrows furrowed.
“Sit where you want,” he said.
Kavanagh chose a table by the window, though not much could be seen of the outside through the lace curtains.
“Vino?” the boy asked.
Kavanagh nodded. The boy disappeared again.
Carmela looked around, the corners of her mouth lifting into a secretive smile.
Kavanagh laughed. “Don’t say I don’t take you places, right?”
The boy reappeared with a cork-covered carafe of garnet liquid that tasted as pungent as it looked and a basket of crispy, warm pane carusau. Two sips later, Carmela already felt light-headed.
“Do you think they have menus?” Kavanagh whispered.
Just then, the boy reappeared with two huge enamel bowls of fresh mussels steaming in their vernaccia-wine infused juice. He laid them down and vanished again. “I think not,” Carmela said, unfolding her napkin.
She looked down at the bowl, breathing in the rich, salty smell. She clasped a shell and forked out the steamed mollusk, then used the empty shell as a pincer to pull out more. The fresh, metallic tang of seafood merged into the earthy garlic and parsley. The delectable intensity of the flavors commanded their full attention. Neither of them spoke as they devoured their lunch.
The trip had been a sensual overload, and she didn’t want it to end. When all that was left was a pile of shells, the boy appeared and took everything away. They sat, satisfied, filled with each other and the food. It was excruciating to resist touching one another. Carmela gave a fleeting glance toward the kitchen, then traced her foot up the inside of Kavanagh’s thigh, a little shocked at being so forward and not caring. She watched the look on his face and realized no one had ever made her feel quite so beautiful. Only a few days ago, the traj
ectory of her life was so different. But now her possibilities unfurled in wild tangents, like the spiraling sparkles of fireworks.
The boy opened the back door.
She slammed her foot back to the floor.
He reached the table and laid a steak before each of them, then put down a plate of charred radicchio. He placed a small enamel bowl of coarse salt between them. They sliced their meat and ate it, remembering their morning. On the boy’s final visit he presented hot seadas with a small espresso cup containing a shot of tarlike coffee. The melted cheese oozed into the warm honey and reminded Carmela of summer, and then her mother. She laid down her fork, unable to think of anything but the expression on her face as she watched her leave yesterday. She couldn’t eat another mouthful.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Kavanagh asked.
“Nothing.” She shook her head, peering out through the lace curtains. The men were still watching. “I’m feeling nervous. The closer we get . . . I don’t feel ready. I have to protect my family, Joe.” Tears pricked her eyes, which she refused to let fall. “They’ve given me everything. They’re relying on me. I won’t be an ungrateful daughter. If they find out anything about this—”
“They mustn’t find out.”
Her cheeks blushed. “Will we be a secret forever, Joe?”
“Of course not.”
“So they will find out.”
Kavanagh reached for her hand, but she withdrew it. “I leave for Munich in three weeks.”
Carmela looked at him, feeling as if she’d been teetering on a cliff’s edge and the sandy bank had just given way.
“Join me?” he asked.
His words hung over the table. Before she could answer, the humorless waiter was beside them clearing off the last of the dishes. He left a strip of paper with a rough scrawl of sums. Kavanagh laid money on top of it and rose for the door. He held it open for Carmela. They took a moment to adjust to the brightness. Carmela noticed that the men had left their outpost. Lunch, and harried wives, had won out over spying after all.
She stepped up into the jeep. Before he turned the key in the ignition, Kavanagh looked at her. “There’s a way.”
“You don’t know Franco.”
“I knew him the minute I set eyes on him.”
“You want me to pack a bag and run away from everything?”
Kavanagh let out a faint sigh. “I want to give you the world, Carmela. It might not be as hard as we think. Casler has recommended promoting me.” He straightened. “In Germany I’m going to hold a lot more weight than I’ve had here, though he’s offered me a lot more freedom and responsibility than other captains might have.”
“He has a lot of nurses to keep him occupied.”
He smiled. “I’ll go ahead first, arrange for suitable housing for us, and get the lay of the land. After I’ve been stationed I can mail you your ferry ticket crossing to Rome. From there you catch a train straight to me.”
It hurt to not touch him. How she would get through her daily life after this was unimaginable. “It’s all happening so fast, Joe.”
“I know, but maybe it’s for the best. There’s no time for fear this way. How could we start a life here in Simius? It would be way harder than being together, out of gossip’s way, don’t you think?”
“I love my family, Joe.”
He wrapped his hand around hers. “They’re wonderful people. I felt it the moment I met them.”
Carmela shifted in her seat. “So you want to take me away from them?”
Kavanagh’s eyes hardened. “I need to be with you, Carmela. And I think you feel the same.” He turned to her. “I’ll make sure that Casler’s plans involve a generous payment to your family in return for the use of their land. I’ll have him sign an agreement by next week. Everything else is up to us. It’s time to summon our courage, not cave in like deserters. We choose, Carmela. But we have to be honest with ourselves.”
“This is not a military offensive, Joe. You can’t organize feelings and people like this!”
“Yes, you can. If you want to.”
“Is that what you’re doing to me?”
He let out a deep sigh.
“I’m sorry, Joe. I’m allowed to feel scared.”
“So am I. I’m also allowed to tell you that you’re the best thing that’s happened to me and I won’t sit back and let this slip away. Not ever.”
Carmela gave in to the tears. A shutter creaked shut nearby. Who had been listening? The sooner they got out of here, the better.
“Drive, Joe. I’m tired of making an exhibition of myself.”
“Look at me, Carmela.”
She turned to him, feeling the streaks of fear drip down her face.
“Do you love me, Carmela?”
“More than anything.”
“So take the rest of this month I’m stationed here to think. If you believe that what we have is worth chasing after, then I know how to make it happen. I know how to build us a life in a land neither of us understands yet. It’ll be strange at first but not as hard as you think. If once you’ve thought carefully, and you decide the life you want is in Simius, if you can’t picture growing old anywhere else—then stay. I won’t be the one to take you away against your will. I’d never forgive myself for that.”
“So we run away? Live in exile?”
He wiped a tear from her cheek. “At first it might feel that way, but once everyone has got used to the idea we, or at least you, will be able to come back and visit whenever you want. The world is smaller than it used to be.”
He pressed his lips against hers with a tender kiss.
The decision was sealed.
He started the engine. After an hour or so, Dorgali and their conversation faded into the distant hillside.
It was late afternoon when the roads grew familiar. They passed along the coast of Orosei once more but didn’t stop. The sun dipped toward the water as the jeep rattled toward the road for the base. Kavanagh took an unexpected turn into the woods. Carmela grabbed the handle on the door to steady herself. He stopped, sharp.
“Promise me you’ll keep talking to me. The next month will be hard. It might not be as easy to see each other as much as I’d like. But you have to promise me you won’t shut me out.”
Carmela looked at him.
His face softened. “We can’t suffocate what we have. Not now.”
“Hold me.”
He took a breath, placed her palms in his, and looked into her. “Be my wife.”
Those magic words. They ought to feel like lazy afternoon sunshine, a dip in a warm sea. But they stung, a sorrow-tipped arrow. Her heart pounded, but not with delight.
“Yes,” she said, wanting to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. She thought about her gown hanging in her mother’s wardrobe. She thought about Piera sleeping alone. She thought about the shadow of shame that would hang over her family. She thought about her other sisters, who would have to hear the nuns whisper about Carmela’s journey to hell. She thought about her grandmother, who would pummel her parents with her wrath and embarrassment. She thought about Rosa, smiling with twisted revenge. She wanted to think about Kavanagh by her side, his ring on her hand, his heart in hers, but the pictures faded before they could even appear clearly in her mind, shipwrecked treasure floating up to the surface only to sink back into the deep.
The woods ahead of her looked dark. Where were those fairy-tale trees that had sheltered them, hiding their first tryst? Where was the beach of Orosei? The cave? Had any of these been real? How long before the consul of Cagliari would be smearing her name around the base? How long before everyone found out that the unit consisted of two lovers, no more? Their interlude had been ill judged. How could Carmela face her reality again after that? It was impossible.
“And Virginia?” she asked suddenly. The name felt cold in her mouth.
“Virginia counts the minutes till our divorce is complete. She and her beau plan to marry.” His expression unsettled Carmela.
She liked to think those scars would not be tender for the rest of his life, but it was impossible to convince herself of the fact. Virginia’s shadow would linger like a faded stain.
Kavanagh took her hand up to his mouth, kissed it, traced a finger with his tongue. She would die without a touch like that. A studio could be established in other places, a language could be learned, a broken engagement would be in the past eventually. But a lie? A lie would kill her. The tip of her finger was inside his mouth. She rose from her seat and straddled him. Tenderness and intimacy gave way to a ferocity that thrilled and terrified each of them. She guided him inside her, gazing into him, unswerving, as he climaxed. His expression of surrender gave way to liberation and desire. But then, for a moment, a glint of hopelessness flashed in his eyes. It sent dread racing through her veins. She folded into him, breathed at his neck, and traced her teeth gently down it. He softened inside her.
“I have never loved anyone like I do you, Joe,” she whispered. “I don’t care if it kills me.”
He looked up at her. “We can do this, my love. The hurt to others will be less than the betrayal of living a lie.”
Was this the calm before a storm? “I will talk to Franco.”
“I’ll talk to Casler.”
“Then?” she asked, pushing her forehead against his.
“We’ll be free.”
Their lips danced together until the garnet sun streaked low in the thicket.
And then Kavanagh started the engine.
CHAPTER 26
A platter of artichokes and potatoes steamed in the center of a Sunday table around which the Chirigoni family sat. The plate’s aroma infused the kitchen with garlic and parsley, but the comforting smell had little effect on Carmela. The last few weeks had smudged into an interminable blur. She wished Franco’s hand was not on her knee below the table. She looked down at her hands. The artichokes had left tarry marks on her fingertips and under her nails, as if she had been clawing at the earth. The image of herself suffocating underground flashed into her mind, digging herself out of her own grave. She brushed it off with the rest of the night wakings that had forced the much-needed sleep she craved to elude her. There was a tiny bead of dried blood where one of the artichokes spines had poked into her. She turned her palms down onto the tablecloth and bowed her head as her father said a swift grace.
Under a Sardinian Sky Page 28
