Читать книгу The Long Shadow Of A Dream - Roberta Mezzabarba - Страница 10

Greta and the Prince moved away from the little table that was used to settle the last details of the notary’s deeds and went back to the villa. It was shaded and scented by the fragrant smell of the linden trees, pine trees, mimosas, would waft in the air, it was time for lunch. The Prince insisted on Greta to have lunch with him. In the afternoon, they would go for a tour of the island as promised.

The girl was torn: from one hand she wanted to see the island so much, thinking that such an opportunity would have hardly come by again in her whole life, from the other hand she feared she would not make a good impression of herself accepting an invitation for lunch from a complete stranger. However, making a good impression had never been her strongest point.

She accepted the invitation.

The Prince went into the villa to attend to something. While waiting for him, she saw some branches of a shrub called “Christ’s thorn” sticking out of the roof of the villa: they climbed from the door of what once was the dining hall as far as the top of the villa, to enjoy the view that must have been magnificent from that height.

On that little island there were all kinds of flowers, Greta noticed that the roses had withered unfortunately. Probably they would have been everywhere in May, with their colourful and scented corollas, gathered in bushes, lined up as hedges, climbing on walls, on tree trunks or pergolas. The person who planted them in such a large quantity surely thought that the wind could carry their scent as far as the shores in Capodimonte or Marta.

Greta wandered around the villa and reached the ruins of the sixteenth-century cloister: the five arcades on each side of the quadrangular plan, were covered too by a beautiful blanket of wisteria, jasmin and honeysuckle. Not too far, next to the pine trees and the cedar trees, stood out probably the most popular tree of the island: a huge plane tree, tall, rugged, old and knobby. Even though it was supported up by sticks, his branches were stretching out over the shore as if to provide it with a cool shade as a good father would do. That old tree had lived for four centuries, four centuries of silent and incomprehensible conversations with the lake, its only and immortal friend.

Looking at the lake reminded Greta of Ernesto who was waiting for her with his little white speedboat moored at the island pier, to take her back ashore. She should tell him about the change of plans right away, apologise to him and possibly ask the Prince to invite him for lunch too. It was very impolite of her to forget completely about that boy who had been really kind and eager to tell her all about the Lake and the islands.

She was disappointed that he could not join them in the tour of the island scheduled for the afternoon to see all those wonders hidden by all the vegetation. She felt she owed that boy something after taking her there, letting her live that dream.

The Prince was coming out of his dwelling again and Greta walked towards him with her face all red due to the heat of the midday sun, and she asked him:

«Prince, I would like to go down to the pier to let my boatman know that I will stay until the afternoon. I would love to invite him to have lunch with us, it you don’t mind, he has been so kind to me.»

In saying these words Greta was wondering why she was so interested in that young fisherman…

«Certainly. I will send Gastone down straightaway to tell the fisherman. I am sure that there will be a seat for him at the table of the servants. Now if you could please follow me, I have arranged for a table to be set for us in the shade of the great plane tree.»

The Prince did not like to be contradicted so Greta did not show her disappointment for the fact that Ernesto could not sit at their table but was sent to be with the servants of the island.

A few minutes after that, Ernesto was climbing back the shore from the little harbour leading to the villa: as soon as he got to the open space where Greta and the Prince were already sitting at their table, he headed for the two of them but the butler, was quick to explain that he was not invited to sit at the table of the Prince but he was to eat with the servants of the island.

«Well, I go back to my boat if his majesty the Prince Fieschi Ravaschieri del Drago does not want me at his table. My question is though: what is the reason why he called me here? Did he want me to eat his leftovers? No, thank you. Thank you so much, but I prefer by far to stay in my boat and wait in the shade of his trees which don’t take any offence to provide some shade to an honest worker.»

Ernesto spoke quite loud so that his words could reach the table where Greta and the owner of the island were sitting. Therefore he headed back the same way he had just come up a few minutes before, gazing at the girl and meeting her eyes which were looking intensely at him, even if from afar.

While going from the sunny open space to the shade of the grassy lane leading to the pier, he felt a quiver running through his whole body. He was happy to see Greta showing disappointment for the Prince: he was convinced that if it was for her, the three of them would have sat at that table.

* * *

It was two o’clock in the afternoon. A few cicadas were chirruping, whereas Greta and the Prince had already gone for the tour of the island. The Prince started off by saying that Cardinal Farnese, who later became Pope Pius III, after the construction of St. James and St. Christopher’s Church on the Bisentina island, granted the worshippers who visited the island’s religious halls, the same indulgence that were granted to those visiting churches in Rome or in its whereabouts. This particular indulgence, hunting that was quite widespread at the time on the island and the charm of uncontaminated nature, made this little piece of land quite famous under the rule of the Farnese family, so much so that these noble men chose it to house their family sepulchres, to enjoy the peace and the beauty of the place. While talking, they got to the big rock that makes up the sharpest westerly tip of the Bisentina island: this tiny piece of land was surrounded by a little temple built in honor of S. Caterina, known as la Rocchina6. The Prince recounted that several men dug with a pickaxe the underlying cliff to make a wide enough passage, which is quite picturesque, for those who sail around the island with their boats. On the right-hand side, the bare walls of the cliff were overlooking the lake, whereas the top was covered with a great amount of trees on the left-hand side that descended into the lake rushing like an avalanche.

«It is said that la Rocchina was given this name because it was built on the ruins of a small fortress, or because it was located right opposite la Strongholds in Capodimonte, or because its plan was similar to the one that la Strongholds has. This little temple is tiny but so perfect, it is unique in its simplicity.»

The Prince clearly loved that little oratorio; Greta found it adorable too. They came down the Rocchina promontory, then Greta followed the Prince climbing up, this time, the steep path leading to Mount Tabor where they came across Mount Calvary oratory⁷, also known as the Crucifix. It had the forest in the front and the cliff at the back, bare, dark, with patches of lichens, rust coloured moss whose redness seemed to deliberately clash with the emerald green water covered up by its shadow, cast in the afternoon sun. The little Crucifix Church was just a plain cell with a gabled roof which extended over, in the front part, to make up some kind of a vestibule supported by a big arch.

«You see, Miss Capua, below the Crucifix, the cliff goes straight down, going a little inwards indeed, you can still see the marks of the chisels used to get the stone for the construction of la Rocchina that we have just seen and of the main church, the one next to the villa. You just need to go a little further, towards the more northerly tip of the island, to find huge pieces of rock which came off the declivous cliff spontaneously, which rolled down the sloped back of the island and stopped at some level, almost by some miracle.»

Greta was looking towards the water from the top of that cliff and was scared that the rock she was standing on could collapse into the water, mixed with the pleasure she got from getting to know all those details, gave her such a big thrill that she nearly forgot what happened over their lunch with Ernesto, who was furious and reproached the Prince for letting the butler invite him to sit at the table with the other servants. They went on with their tour to find the chapel of Pope Gregory. Up further they got to Mount Tabor oratory, also knows as Trasfiguration.

* * *

«This little temple,» explained the Prince to Greta «bore this name in memory of Mount Tabor in Galilee where the Transfiguration of Jesus Christ took place, which is actually the theme of the fresco painted inside the cell. Mount Tabor oratorio was built in the highest part of the island and it connects with two little temples which we have not seen yet. The way to get to them goes down from one end and goes up from the other. I read in some document that it was possible to have the third part of your sins forgiven if you visited this little temple on July 11^th and on August 6th. It is such a shame that today is not one of those dates, don’t you think?»

The Prince was glad that Greta appreciated all his explanations which he was quite happy to share, sometimes maybe too scholarly and boring, but she did not seem to mind too much, she was so eager to learn, to know, to see for herself what she had read on dusty books written by people dead and buried.

After a quick stop, they set off on their walk and they saw the fifth oratorio, the chapel of Mount Olive grove, also known as Prayer in the Vegetable Garden or Christ praying in the vegetable garden.

«Can you see these dilapidated walls, above that man made clearing which are embedded in the tufo8 rock on three sides? That is the oratorio dedicated to St. Francis. It was probably built on Grottascura⁹ rocky cove to make an obvious connection to the spot on Mount Verna where St. Francis received stigmata. Time back here in Grottascura, there was a real cave, which then collapsed, where fishermen sheltered from the deceitful southerly winds. It is really gorgeous, isn’t it?»

To the west of the island, there was the Promontory of the Gypsy, also known as Promontory of Lion because it was close to a rock spur on the lake, where a westward lion’s face was carved. Among formidable groups of oak trees and beech trees, they found the last oratorio, in honor of St. Concordia.

The tour was coming to an end.

The Principe was watching Greta who was eager to take everything in with her dark eyes, fascinated by each and every grain of soil she was walking on. The journey back to the villa was still quite long so the Prince decided to play games Greta’s imagination, telling her quite a peculiar story.

«A guy by the name of Mery, better known as a famous French writer of the first half of the nineteenth century, invented a story set, I wonder why, right on the Bisentina island. I am going to tell you about it now.»

Her interlocutor paused, smiling, before going on with his story. Greta felt she was being watched, as if the Prince wanted to see her reaction to his words.

«Once upon a time there was a Count of Bolsena who was quite ambitious. He used to gather the adherents of a sect on the Bisentina island, and using magic and sorcery, was trying to find out the secret of immortality. A guy by the name of Viterbese lived in the island too. He stated that a few years from then he would have been able to reaveal that secret the Count of Bolsena cared for more than anything else in the world. The story goes that one day il Viterbese took two children, a little boy of five, and a little girl of three, and he locked them up in two different wonderful gardens on the Bisentina island. These children grew up without anyone around apart from the man and the woman who respectively brought them up and took care of all their needs, without saying a word. One day the two youths met: they did not know how to speak but they managed to understand each other. They fell in love and did what Adam and Eve did in identical circumstances. Il Viterbese found out that they had sinned, he killed them and then killed himself after having told the adherents of his sect that whoever had drunk their blood, mixed with wine, would have received the gift of immortality. The Count of Bolsena, longing to become immortal, drank some of it but he was intoxicated and died.»

* * *

The sky was changing its colour, going from a clear light blue colour in the afternoon to a rose colour. Ernesto was looking at Capodimonte in the distance, recognizing its contour.

He was waiting.

He was waiting for Greta. Like in a dream, she came down the grassy lane with the sun turning red at her back, with her right hand clenched to her black leather briefcase, the butler was escorting her, holding his usual upright posture, meticulous and unemotional. Ernesto thought how drab the life of that man was.

«Now, Miss Capua, safe journey back to mainland. Goodbye.»

«Farewell Gastone» whispered Greta and she turned around to see the island at dusk.

Ernesto jumped into the boat and quietly helped Greta get a seat on the speedboat. He felt her dark eyes searching for God knows what. He could feel them gazing through his blonde curls like long slender fingers, among the creases of his shirt burned by the sun: he could feel her routing in his thoughts as if she could catch one and was frantically looking for it.

He started off the engine, and the tension almost vanished: only then he could look up at Greta. He could not find the words to describe the expression on her face nor could he ever see the same expression on anyone else’s face. She looked happy but at the same time the pain was visible in her eyes with invisible and painful tears rolling down her face: hidden memories. She was looking at him but seemed to look beyond him, through his human dimension, in order to find one that was completely unknown to him.

Suddenly Ernesto remembered the rose that he had picked, probably it was the last one on the island of the spring blooming. It had a dark red colour which turned almost black in some veinings.

He showed it to Greta.

«It’s for you, Greta. The last scarlet rose of the year… its colour is as dark as your eyes, its scent is as exciting as your laughters.»

Ernesto stopped. He wanted to say many more words.

Silence filled the air when Greta reached out to take the flower. She brought it to her nostrils and looked up at Ernesto.

«I’ll nurture it, like one of the most beautiful memories of this magic day where I rediscovered a lot of things about me, which I thought they were lost.»

Greta’s heart was heavy.

They had already sailed away from the island which was getting smaller and smaller down to the size Greta was used to see it. She knew that from that day on, she would not look at it with the same eyes.

Never again.