Roberta Mezzabarba - The Long Shadow Of A Dream

On her part, the princess Beatrice, looked after the island so much that it was restored to its former splendors of the years where the Farnese family considered it the most precious jewel of their dukedom. It is said that in order to eradicate the annoying mosquitoes that proliferated on the Bisentina island, he got the coregone 10imported from northern Europe, which is a species of fish that settled down very well in the Bolsena Lake.

«What about the sailing? How did it go? Did the fisherman who took you behave well?» asked the notary, considering that Greta had not said a word about him.

«It went well, very well…» Greta gave her answer visibly embarrassed.

«We need to drop over to him the money we owe him for ferrying you to the island… if it is not a problem for you. You looked upset when I mentioned his name. Did he by any chance behave improperly with you?»

At times, in some expressions, he was like the father she never had.

«Of course not! I will be delighted to give him the due compensation for his work.»

It was just impossible to hide the slightest thing from that man, he was so sensitive and sharp in grasping other people’s feelings.

Yet he was not married. Who knows why?

* * *

Back home in the afternoon, Greta went to the lakefront where the fishermen were fixing the nets and chatting away in small groups, in the cool shade of the big elm trees.

Ernesto was away from the others fixing a big net in the shape of a cone: he was turning his thoughts over in his mind, his hair dishevelled, he was looking down and at times would look up as if looking for something beyond the shade that was protecting him, looking towards the lake.

The water was flowing in the heat and blinding light of the month of July which made him shine like a giant pool of a blue colour. Only some bluish stripes were rippling its surface, stretching as far as the two islands which were standing on the clear surface like weightless multicoloured clouds. The water was flowing calmly while the bells in Capodimonte were striking slowing and gently, the bells from Marta, were striking clearly and loud and you could hear other far away bells echoing in the still air.

Greta’s arrival caused some commotion among the fishermen which abruptely stirred Ernesto.

At the very same moment when he looked up to see what was going on, Greta was looking at him.

Their looks were so passionate.

He could not move while she walked past the fishermen who were looking at her.

«I brought you the money for your work. Notary De Fusco is very grateful to you to have taken me to the Bisentina island, and I am very grateful to you for the patience you showed in waiting for me when I went on the tour of the island in the afternoon.»

Greta was talking slowly, her voice was soft and deep. Everyone there was listening to her.

Ernesto took the envelope that Greta was handing over to him, without saying a word, almost frozen with the unexpected emotion rather unhoped for to see her again.

The girl was leaving and had already turned around. All the fishermen, disappointed with how trivial their conversation was, had already got back to their activities.

It was then that Greta, following her wishes, turned around and looked right into Ernesto’s eyes and said:

«I’ll go with you to the Martana island tomorrow.»

After that quick encounter on the beach with Greta, Ernesto got back quietly to his work, finished fixing the net and disappeared.

Some of the fishermen who were there when they had their strange conversation, were talking about him at the bar, making fun of him.

«That guy, Ernesto, is a real dork. He could not utter a word with that girl. Imagine, she went looking for him, right where he was, on the beach.»

Everybody knew that no woman was allowed in there, only the most daring wives would venture to that place.

«He looked bewitched, did you see him? If I were him, I would have invited her somewhere for sure.»

«What do you know? He has already brought her somewhere… I was told that they spent a whole day on the Bisentina island…»

People were talking as usual, gossiping about the unfortunate people who happened to be the subjects of their conversations.

Ernesto however did not listen to them. He could not have, he was miles away from what was around him. He was far away from that meaningless talk, far away from his mates who did not hear for sure Greta whispering those few words which gave him long quivers. He was happy but could not explain the shadow that clouded Greta’s look.

The next day Ernesto did not go to pull in the nets he had cast the night before with his father, as usual, but stayed at home to polish his boat he was going to use to take Greta to the Martana island. That day he was going to be the prince to take her around the island.

The morning went by so slowly, like drops falling one after the other, with the awareness that there will be a great joy at the end of it. He was really fascinated by that girl who appeared to be so hard on the surface but deep down she was quite a sweet person. He had seen her sometime’s before taking her to the Bisentina island, getting out of the bus coming from the town or getting some shopping but she was always serious looking and on her own, but he did not know what to make out of her.

He did not understand her desperate call, shouted out so quietly. He did not understand much of it until there was only water around them, everything had become clear. She was quite different from the others. She was different from the women he had met, very few indeed, but they were always so silly…

All he wanted was to get lost in the depth of those eyes and swim in those dark skies, with some scattered stars to light them up, far away looks. He’d like that but he realised that there was some hostility in her, she seems to hide fear of some kind.

But fear of what? Or better… of whom?

* * *

The sun was burning up in the sky: it was high and so powerful; it could give life to nature and at the same time destry it with its dazzling heat.

The grey pier was hot and virtually burnt and it was from there that Greta saw Ernesto already in his boat, dark-coloured, with a flat bottom, its squared off stern and a mast with a snow white sail hoisted up.

They were near the water again.

Ernesto, with the aid of the oars, managed to come out of the little harbour in Capodimonte, then he released the sail. Past the little peninsula where the centre of the town was, Greta saw in front of her, beyond the water gently rippled by the afternoon breeze, the town of Montefiascone, perched on a litte hill, towered by the big dome of S. Margherita’s church: she was looking around. Her eyes were looking at the lake coast, lingering on Bolsena first, to continue then towards Gradoli and Grotte di Castro where the sky, in the distance, seemed to be covered with clouds which were white and fluffy like whipped cream, which were thinning out as far as Valentano, which seemed to pierce the blue sky with its two towers.

Greta felt embarrassed.

She was embarrassed with that silence that she wished was full of thousand words.

Ernesto spoke first.

«You know, Greta, today my father went back home after his fishing and he was furious: the current must have pushed the nets towards Fittura , and they tore while he was trying to pull them in. It was quite a bad morning.»

« Fittura ?» Greta asked listening to her voice which was as if it was coming from someone else.

«We call Fittura some sort of a fence under water. I heard that it is made of a lot of wooden poles cut to size with the saw and stuck into the bottom of the lake with a mallet. Some scholars presumed that they could be what was left of a lake village. However this theory did not prove right because looking at Fittura more carefully, you could see that it was built on just one line and at the edge of a landslide. It is plausible then to think that it was conceived and built to support a bank.»