This is a re-worked, and, I hope, better version, but still open to criticism and needing feedback
Beneath the steep slope, he saw a small town, houses with white walls and flat roofs, and the high tower of the church overlooking the multitude of buildings. Then the plane left the scene behind, and several minutes later landed on a deserted airport, where the heat was reaching almost 40 degrees. He took his bag and walked straight into the airport lounge, his passport was checked and he patiently waited for his luggage. A slim tall man was waiting for him outside, sitting in his dusty car, and the radio was on and loud. He sat next to him, avoided the conversation and watched how the barren fields replace the small groves and return again until they reached the slope, adroitly went down the steep road to the white town and reached the seafront. There he left the man and the loud radio disappeared behind the corner. The place was a three storey white house with a wide terrace on the roof, with small windows with white blinds, and a strange scent of flowers. He walked in, followed by the fiery air, and looked to the plump woman behind the reception desk. She said she was the wife of the owner, who appeared in a minute, short man around 60 or more, with bald head and wide smile, very eloquent and talkative. He was tired and wanted only some rest after the long flight going straight to his room, neat but small but he did not mind it; he locked the door, closed the windows and lay down in the cold white sheets, under the turning fan on the ceiling, falling asleep immediately.
As soon as he woke up, he opened the windows and looked to the sea, blue and calm under the setting pale lights of the summer sun, and the beach just beneath his balcony. There was a girl lying on the sand, in a dark blue swimming suit, a white hat with wide brim and a pair of sunglasses. She was motionless, with tanned skin, long legs crossing at her feet, palms resting on the sand surrounding her. Her lips were pale, a bit childish, without lipstick, no colour on her fingernails. A white bag was left half a meter away from her. He stood looking at the beach, the waves, the sun going down in the far distance and the girl who was not moving, as if not breathing at all. Then, just when he was about to go back into the room, he heard a voice, the voice of the plump woman at the reception desk, who shouted “Giulia! Giulia!”. The girl turned her head to the left, then to the right, sighed and stood up, took the white bag and slowly walked away, stepping in a gracious and light manner. She noticed the man leaning over the balcony, and gave a faint, ephemeral smile, curving the ends of her long lips. The woman shouted again and the girl said, with low tone and lazy voice, “I am coming, grandma” and disappeared in the hotel’s building.
He took out a new shirt, washed his face and put went down to the restaurant. The place was quiet, without any people, and he ate slowly under the vibe of the local radio coming from the kitchen, as the door was left ajar. Another man approached, a tall one over fifty wearing a black suit and a white shirt, with stylish haircut and a cigar between his fingers. He stopped at his table and shook his hand – “Francesco, or Francis if you want, mister, I am the only other resident here.” He introduced himself and they went out in the hot night, walked down to the beach and talked, listening to the waves.
“Signor Silvio…”
“Who?”
“Silvio, the owner of the hotel…he said that a new guest has arrived. I am very happy, Mr Mark, I hate to be alone, I really hate it. I am a traveler, Mr Mark, I have lived in America too, and I love to see new places, that’s why I came here but, Mr Mark, here it is dead, dead, Mr Mark, nobody to talk to, only one or two old fools in the tavern nearby. And, if you had not arrived, I would have left with the next flight, yes, Mr Mark.”
Mark was standing under the moonlight, staring at the line of silver crossing the black waters, and decided not to speak.
“Where do you live, Mr Mark, in America, or England, eh?”
Francesco took a new cigar out and waited for an answer. Mark shook his head and decided to say something and make him go away. “Now in England, I write for a magazine.”
“Really?! Brilliant, Mr Mark, brilliant!” Mark told him, in a few short sentences, that he was making interviews with actors, artists, politicians, sportsmen and he had decided to edit them and collect them in a book. But the city was distracting so he decided to move to a small unknown town where he can complete his work and present it to the publishers. Francesco was very impressed, asked about the people Mark has interviewed and shared a number of views on world order and global politics. Mark stood in silence, smoking. Francesco felt a bit tired and said he was going to the La Italiana, the only tavern in the town, where he would meet the “ladies”. He wanted to take Mark there too, but Mark politely refused. He took off his brown shoes and lay on the sand, the waves were touching his toes with watery licks. He was smoking, watching the moon in the centre of the night sky. Then he felt a body next to his, he turned and saw the girl, Giulia, sitting on the sand, but it was too dark to recognise the details of her face. Her body was slim, her legs and arms were very long but somehow gracious. She weaved her hands round her knees and asked for a cigarette in bad English and in a lazy tone. He took out one and lit it, as she leaned to the left and stared at the sea.
“What is your name?”
“Mark. You’re Giulia?”
“Yes”
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen”
“You should not smoke”
“I don’t care”
She sat there and kept silent, he was silent too, both of them tried not to speak and they just smoked. Mark said in the end – “Do you live here?”
“No, she replied, I live on the main land, with my parents, I am here only in the summers to help grandma and grandpa. How long are you staying here?”
“A couple of weeks, maybe more, maybe less”
“Grandma said you are a writer and come from London”
“A bit of both”
“But you write?”
“Yes, I do.”
She threw the cigarette and stood up. “And you are from London, right?”
“Now I live there”
“I watched a movie, last week, and there was a street there, with big, great shops, do you know it?”
”That’s Oxford street”
“Yes, I like it, it should be nice there”
“Should”
“I have to go now, do you have a gum, grandma should not know I smoke” He took out a packet of gum, and she took it from his palm, her fingers were long and warm, even fiery. “Thank you” She walked away, disappearing with slow lazy steps.
On the next morning, he took his laptop, a cup of coffee and an ashtray and sat on a chair on the beach, working on his book under an umbrella and next to the roar of the waves. The sun was up in the centre of the sky, Mark was sweating, a bit tired amidst the hot air, but the coffee managed to keep him awake. First the plump woman from the reception, then Francesco came along, looked at him sitting on the lonely beach, and tried to start a conversation, but it was a hopeless effort, he was staring at the screen of his laptop and his fingers quickly wandered on the keyboard, concentrated and perseverant. In the late afternoon, Giulia, in a long white dress and a white hat, walked down the beach and lay on the chair next to Mark’s. He threw a glimpse at her and noticed the deep brownness of her eyes, and her long hair, very black, silky, loosely streaming along her left shoulder and arm. She put on her sunglasses, took an apple out of her white bag and started eating it, while silently watching Mark work. He tried to ignore her presence and concentrate, reading through his notes and combining them in a coherent text.
“Tell me how London looks like”, she said in her low and lazy voice. He said nothing for a minute or so, then he put the computer aside and said:
“A big city, bright lights, lots of people in a hurry, buying, selling, clubs, bars, nights out…lots of stuff”.
It took her several minutes to understand him, then she shook her head, still eating the apple. “I want to go there, I think it is…fabulous”.
Mark was staring at the oncoming waves, and the wet sand.
“Are you married?” she asked.
“Not really”.
“How…not really?”
“When I go back to London, I will divorce. But, formally, I am married, though we live apart. I have not seen her for ages.”
“Other woman?” the ends of her lips devilishly curved.
“No, we can’t get along, that’s all”. She threw the remnants of her apple and proposed a game. “I will try to guess your age, Mark” He grinned, leaned back and waited while she was guessing until she reached 39. Yes, he replied, that’s correct.
“I have never lived in a big city” she started again, unbuttoning her white dress and lying again on the chair, in her dark blue swimming suit, her body, her elongated arms and legs exposed to the afternoon sunrays.
“I don’t like it”, Mark said while trying to return to his work.
“Why?”
“It’s big”
“That’s…perfect” she retorted, with a faint smile, and turned her face to him. He could not see her eyes behind the sunglasses but he was sure they were playful, curious, scrutinizing every inch of him.
“You think so because you have never lived in a big city. The dirt, the noise, the people…” he stopped.
“This is why you came here, isn’t it?”
“I had to be away for a while”.
She took a female magazine out of her bag and started reading, motionless, mute and silent; only the cackle of the keyboard and the moan of the waves could be heard.
“Do you want another game?” she asked suddenly. He shook his head, he did not want but he could not refuse. She was about to start talking when her grandma appeared on the hotel terrace and shouted “Giulia! Leave Signor Marco alone and come give me a hand!” Giulia frowned, threw the magazine in her bag and stood up, slowly putting her white dress on the thin waist of her slim body. Eventually she nodded to Mark, gave a smile curving the ends of her lips, and walked by, waiving with a hand, while the plump woman was shouting overhead. Mark glanced at her figure, lazily climbing the stairs to the hotel, slightly swaying to and fro, and instantly shook his head as if trying to clear it.
After a short afternoon nap, Mark walked around the small town, passed by the remnants of old castle walls overlooking the harbor, and met Francesco who was just leaving the tavern, a bit drunk. They walked together, Francesco was trying to enumerate the virtues of Italian women, and suddenly proposed –
“Hey, Mr Mark, let’s rather go to the beach, now is so cool there, we can smoke a cigar, you know…”They stood by the waves, chatting, smoking until it was so late that Francesco felt overwhelmed by the wine drunk at the tavern that he retreated in his room, singing loudly a local song of women and love. When Mark was alone again, he sat on the sand, and watched the silver streak of decomposed moonlight floating on the waves.
“Mark!” he heard Giulia’s voice, she was running down the stairs, her black hair gathered in a shock, in long red dress, smiling, “Mark, stay for a while!” She sat next to him, weaved her long hands round her knees and started:
“I wanted a game, do you remember?”
“What is it?”
“Come!” She took his big palm and dragged him to the water, while he was bewilderedly shouting “What are you doing, what do you want…’ as they reached the water.
“Swim, swim with me!” She turned to him, now her hair was all over her shoulders, her face was excited and smiling, begging for this little adventure. He threw his shoes away, then slowly walked, the waves were crashing, at first, into his feet, then into his knees, until he was all wet and stopped on the sandy sea bottom. Giulia was far ahead, swimming in the darkness, just a long slim silhouette floating under the pale moonlight. “Come on” she waived with a hand, shaking her head and long wet hair. But he stood still, entranced, as if afraid to step forward. She appeared now and then, shouting from afar, but he slowly walked back to the beach and sat on the sand. After a while she came along, emerging from the waves, with her long red wet dress sticking to the curves of her slim body, her wet hairs resting on her shoulders, her face so wet, excited and sublime. When she reached him, she unbuttoned the dress and threw it with a sudden waive of hand, leaving her wet body half naked but for the dark blue swimming suit. She sat on the sand and said in her low and lazy voice:
“Did you like it? I love swimming at night!”
He said it was perfect trying not to look at her. She sighed with a strange feeling of relief, and lay on the beach, breathing heavily, tired. He took out a cigarette and gave one to her. They smoked in silence, she was still breathing heavily, until it was around eleven when she said she had to go now. Giulia took the wet dress and kissed Mark’s left cheek, then slowly walked away, disappearing in the night shades.
As he was unlocking the door of his room, Francesco, far more sober now, approached Mark and touched his shoulder – “A good swim, eh?” He had seen them from the windows of his room. “She is a nice child”, Francesco said, “but her grandparents love her so much, and are very suspicious, don’t get angry with them.” Mark nodded with gratitude and went in.
Every morning he would wake up early, around seven, have a breakfast and a coffee, and go down to the empty beach. Silvio, the owner of the hotel, told him that tourists rarely come to the island, and the inhabitants of the small town were mainly old people, who used to stay at home until it gets cooler after sunset. The work on the book was going on well, he managed to compile nine chapters of interviews centered on the main problems of modern urban life. Somehow he was always seeking to link the words of his interviewees with city culture, the land of big money, expensive malls, skyscrapers, clubbing, etc. He thought his book was slowly becoming a mosaic of facets to one and the same thing.
Usually, while he was reading or writing, Giulia would come and sit beside him, sometimes asking about London and other faraway places, sometimes trying to find something about Mark’s wife, or his home, or his hobbies. He was avoiding her, but tried not to be rude. She was very curious, very joyful and in the end he would always say what he would have rather concealed. The days were long, she was going up and down, in her white dress or her red dress, lazy in the hot afternoons, always with hat and sunglasses, and she was tender as well as playful. Francesco, smoking a cigar at his balcony, would nod to her and say to Mark, “a nice child, a nice kid”. Yes, she loved games, midnight swimming, playing cards, smoking under the shade of the umbrellas, childishly asking Mark whether he had seen such and such movie or TV star she was reading about in the female magazine she was always carrying with her. Sometimes she would run to the top terrace where her grandpa, Silvio, who she loved much more than her grandma, used to sit and read a newspaper. She would cuddle in him, kissing his forehead, telling him what Mark had explained about the big cities, and pushing Silvio’s fat stomach with her forefinger, because she wanted a quick game of cards, where Silvio always deliberately used to lose. These were long and hot days, but went by in a blink of Mark’s eye, because he almost finished the book and thought about leaving.
He made a quick call to London and arranged a divorce issue with his solicitor, there were so many things to do home, and it was time to fly to the big city again. He talked with Silvio, had a cigar on the beach with Francesco, and decided to find Giulia too. But the beach was empty. Her window was closed and dark, and it was too early for her to be asleep. So he walked along the beach, further from the hotel and approaching a lonely place of rocks and roaring waves. The white houses of the small town were left far behind, it was so quiet, so calm.
Then he recognised her silhouette, sitting on one of the big rocks, where she had stretched her long legs forward. Giulia saw him and waved with her hand. He climbed the rock and sat next to her, she was smiling, smoking, her hair gathered in a shock.
“Full moon” she said, and he nodded.
“I am leaving tomorrow”.
She turned to him, he could feel her breath, he could see the brownness of her eyes.
“So soon” she mumbled, and threw the cigarette away, weaving her arms round her knees. “I will come to London, I will, I can visit you”, she smiled, curving the ends of her lips, with starry eyes. She leaned forward, gave him a kiss on his cheek, and was about to stand up. Mark looked to the sea, washing the empty beach, the lights of the town were glittering in the distance. So he turned to Giulia, took her hand, pulled her arm and she lost balance, fell next to him and looked at him in bewilderment. He tried to kiss her but she turned her face and said “No” in her usual low voice. But he pulled her hair, which went loose and fell on her shoulder. She tried to push him away but he was stronger, much stronger, and grabbed her slim body, kissed her cheeks, forehead, neck, quickly reaching her lips, locked and cold. Mark felt hot waves coming on, he unbuttoned her white dress, his right hand going up and down the skin of her stomach, touching the stiffness of her breasts, his legs pressing hers. She tried to shout but her voice was suddenly so weak. He blocked her mouth with his but she bit his lips, he felt blood running inside his mouth and went furious. Her hands were too weak, all her moves were paralysed by his bigger and mightier body, and she was breathing heavily, her face wet and covered by tears. She could not scream, and she was away from the town, the houses, the hotel. When her body was naked, he could feel the quick beats of her young heart, the vibrations of the blood beneath the tender, gentle and mild skin. Her face was turned to the left, until she suddenly looked straight into his eyes, hers were wet and full of big tears, her lips twisted and slightly opened. In the end, he pushed her hard and roughly, she was feeling the pain, her whole body was shaken by it, but he could not care less, he could not recognise anything and his receptors and senses were deaf and dead now.
When he stood up, she was still lying motionless with her dress opened, her skin sweaty and hot but her face was numb and only her eyes were energetically blinking as if trying to see something written on the night sky. He looked around, slowly coming back to reality, and then took her hands, helped her stand up, buttoned her dress, wiped the sweat and tears from her face with his big fingers, and they walked side by side in the dark night. Now tried to kiss her again, said a few strange words of apologise and regret, but she was shivering and staring at the sand beneath her feet without saying a word.
“I was so rude, I know it, I am sorry, but…” he tried again but her silence made him anxious and he continued, in a much more confident voice: “I know you meant it all the time, all these days, but I was rough…I am sorry, it should not have happened so suddenly, but in a nice room…however, you know we could not have done it in the hotel, not there, you see, you hide even when smoking, we cannot do it in my room, no…” She said nothing, walking faster and faster until she disappeared in the hotel building. He lit a cigarette on the balcony of his room, thinking of the night, and felt he had done something he long waited for, and it was okay, it might have been a shock to her, but it was what she wanted all the time, he thought, every day since he arrived here. Yes, some pain, tears, but she will be okay, probably she will sleep so well now.
Mark’s flight was early in the morning, even before breakfast. A car was waiting for him to take him to the airport. Silvio shook his hand and invite him again, maybe next year. “Definitely, I will come again”, said Mark and looked to the hotel, as a curtain suddenly moved and he saw her face within the frame of a window. He smiled, nodded, but the curtain moved again and she disappeared. The car took him to the dusty lonely road across the island, as he was considering how he would mingle, tomorrow, in the big city life again.
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That's a rough draft but I need feedback to check whether to work on it.
Goodbye, city lights
Beneath the steep slope, he saw a small town, houses with white walls and flat roofs, and the high tower of the church overlooking the multitude of buildings. Then the plane moved on, leaving the small town behind, and several minutes later landed on a deserted airport, where the heat was reaching almost 40 degrees. He took his bag and walked straight into the airport lounge, his passport was checked and he patiently waited for his luggage. A slim tall man was waiting for him outside, sitting in his dusty car, and the radio was on and loud. He sat next to him, avoided the conversation and watched how the barren fields replace the small groves and return again until they reached the slope, adroitly went down the steep road to the white town and reached the seafront. There he left the man and the loud radio disappeared behind the corner. The place was a three storey white house with a wide terrace on the roof, with small windows with bluish blinds, and a strange scent of flowers. He walked in, driven by the fiery air, and looked to the plump woman behind the reception desk. She said she was the wife of the owner, who appeared in a minute, short man around 60 or more, with bald head and wide smile, very eloquent and talkative. But his face was tired, they saw he wanted only some rest after the long flight and showed him the way to his room. He went in, it was neat but small but he did not mind it; he locked the door, closed the windows and lay down in the cold white sheets, under the turning fan on the ceiling, falling asleep immediately.
As soon as he woke up, he opened the windows and looked to the sea, blue and calm under the setting pale lights of the summer sun, and the beach just beneath his balcony. There was a girl lying on the sand, in a light blue swimming suit, a white hat with wide brim and a pair of sunglasses. She was motionless, with tanned skin, long legs crossing at her feet, palms lying on the sand surrounding her. Her lips were pale, a bit childish, without lipstick, and she had no fingernail polish. A white bag was left half a meter away from her. He stood looking at the beach, the waves, the sun going down in the far distance and the girl who was not moving, as if not breathing at all. Then, just when he was about to go back into the room, he heard a voice, the voice of the plump woman at the reception desk, who shouted “Giulia! Giulia!”. The girl turned her head to the left, then to the right, sighed and stood up, took the white bag and slowly walked away, stepping in a gracious and light manner, still turning her head first to the left and then to the right. She noticed the man leaning over the balcony, and gave a faint, ephemeral smile, curving the ends of her long lips. The woman shouted again and the girl said, with low tone and lazy voice, “I am coming, grandma” and disappeared in the hotel’s building.
He went back in and took a new shirt out of his suitcase, washed his face and put a pile of books on the night stand. Then walked down to the reception desk and into the restaurant. The place was quiet, without any people, and he ate slowly under the vibe of the local radio coming from the kitchen, as the door was left ajar. Another man approached, a tall one over fifty wearing a black suit and a white shirt, with stylish haircut and a cigar between his fingers. He stopped at his table and shook his hand – “Francesco, or Francis if you want, mister, I am the only other resident here.” He introduced himself and they went out in the hot night, walked down to the beach and talked, listening to the waves.
“Signor Silvio…”
“Who?”
“Silvio, the owner of the hotel…he said that a new guest has arrived. I am very happy, Mr Mark, I hate to be alone, I really hate it. I am a traveler, Mr Mark, I have lived in America too, and I love to see new places, that’s why I came here but, Mr Mark, here it is dead, dead, Mr Mark, nobody to talk to, only one or two old fools in the tavern nearby. And, if you had not arrived, I would have left with the next flight, yes, Mr Mark.”
Mark was standing under the moonlight, staring at the line of silver crossing the black waters, and decided not to speak.
“Where do you live, Mr Mark, in America, or England, eh?”
Francesco took a new cigar out and waited for an answer. Mark shook his head and decided to say something and make him go away. “Now in England, I write for a magazine.”
“Really?! Brilliant, Mr Mark, brilliant!” Mark told him, in a few short sentences, that he was making interviews with actors, artists, politicians, sportists and he had decided to edit them and collect them in a book. But the city was distracting so he decided to move to a small unknown town where he can complete his work and present it to the publishers. Francesco was very impressed, asked about the people Mark has interviewed and shared a number of views on world order and global politics. Mark stood in silence, smoking. Francesco felt a bit tired and said he was going to the La Italiana, the only tavern in the town, where he would meet the “ladies”. He wanted to take Mark there too, but Mark wanted to be alone and politely refused. When Francesco left, he took off his brown shoes and lied on the sand, the waves were touching his toes with watery licks. No sound beside the waves. He was smoking, watching the moon in the centre of the night sky. Then he felt a body next to his, he turned and saw the girl, Giulia, sitting on the sand, but he could not recognise the details of her face. Her body was slim, her legs and arms were very long but somehow gracious, she weaved her hands round her knees and asked for a cigarette in bad English and in a lazy tone. He took out one and she lit it with her own lighter, leaned to the left and stared at the sea.
“What is your name?”
“Mark. You’re Giulia?”
“Yes”
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen”
“You should not smoke”
“I don’t care”
She sat there and kept silent, he was silent too, both of them tried not to speak and they just smoked. Mark said in the end – “Do you live here?” “No, she replied, I live on the main land, with my parents, I am here only in the summers to help grandma and grandpa. How long are you staying here?” “A couple of weeks, maybe more, maybe less” “Grandma said you are a writer and come from London” “A bit of both” “But you write?” “Yes, I do.” “I cannot write but I can sing” she threw the cigarette and stood up. “And you are from London, right?” “Now I live there” “I watched a movie, last week, and there was a street there, only big, great shops, do you know it?” ”That’s Oxford street?” “Yes, I like it, it should be nice there” “Should” “I have to go now, do you have a gum, grandma should not know I smoke” He took out a packet of gum, and she took it from his palm, her fingers were long and warm, even fiery. “Thank you” She walked away, disappearing in the dark with slow lazy steps.
On the next morning, immediately after breakfast, he took his laptop, a cup of coffee and an ashtray and went to the beach, sat on a chair and started working on his book, under the umbrella and next to the roar of the waves. The sun was up in the centre of the sky, Mark was sweating, a bit tired amidst the hot air, but the coffee managed to keep him awake. First the plump woman from the reception, then Francesco came along, looked at him sitting on the lonely beach, and tried to start a conversation, but it was hopeless effort, he was staring at the screen of his laptop and his fingers quickly wandered on the keyboard, concentrated and perseverant. In the late afternoon, while Mark was having his third cup of coffee, Giulia, in a long white dress and a white hat, walked down the beach and lied on the chair next to Mark’s. He threw a glimpse at her and noticed the deep brownness of her eyes, and her long hair, very black, silky, loosely streaming along her left shoulder and arm. She put on her sunglasses, took an apple out of her white bag and started eating it, while silently watching Mark work. He tried to ignore her presence and concentrate, reading through his notes and combining them in a coherent text. “Tell me how London looks like”, she said in her low and lazy voice. He said nothing for a minute or so, then he put the computer aside and said “A big city, bright lights, lots of people in a hurry, buying, selling, clubs, bars, nights out…lots of stuff”. It took her several minutes to understand him, then she shook her head, still eating the apple. “I want to go there, I think it is…fabulous”. Mark was staring at the oncoming waves, their quick motion towards the beach and the wet sand. “Are you married?” she asked. “Not really”. “How…not really?” “When I go back to London, I will divorce. But, formally, I am married, but we live apart. I have not seen her for ages.” “Other woman?” the ends of her lips devilishly curved. “No, we can’t get along, that’s all”. She threw the remnants of her apple and proposed a game. “I will try to guess your age, Mark” He grinned, leaned back and waited while she was guessing until she reached 39. Yes, he replied, that’s correct.
“I have never lived in a big city” she started again, unbuttoning her white dress and lying again on the chair, in her dark blue swimming suit, her body, her elongated arms and legs exposed to the afternoon sunrays.
“I don’t like it”, Mark said while trying to return to his work. “Why” “It’s big” “That’s…perfect” she retorted, with a faint smile, and turned her face to him. He could not see her eyes behind the sunglasses but he was sure they were playful, curious, scrutinizing every inch of him. “You think so because you have never lived in a big city. The dirt, the noise, the people…” he stopped. “This is why you came here, isn’t it?” “I had to be away for a while”.
She took a female magazine out of her bag and started reading, motionless on the chair, mute and silent; only the cackle of the keyboard and the moan of the waves could be heard. “Do you want another game” she asked suddenly. He shook his head, he did not want but he could not refuse. She was about to start talking when her grandma appeared on the hotel terrace and shouted “Giulia! Leave Signor Marco alone and come give me a hand!” Giulia frowned, threw the magazine in her bag and stood up, slowly putting her white dress on, then weaving the sleeves around her long arms and the thin waist of her slim body. Eventually she nodded to Mark, gave a smile curving the ends of her lips, and walked by, waiving with a hand, while the plump woman was shouting overhead. Mark glanced at her figure, lazily climbing the stairs to the hotel, slightly swaying to and fro, and instantly shook his head as if trying to clear it.
After a short afternoon nap, Mark had a dinner and walked around the small town, passed by the remnants of old castle walls overlooking the harbor, and met Francesco who was just leaving the tavern, a bit drunk. They walked together, Francesco was trying to enumerate the virtues of Italian women, then saw the building of the hotel and said – “hey, Mr Mark, let’s rather go to the beach, now is so cool there, we can smoke a cigar, you know…They stood by the waves, chatting, smoking cigars from Francesco’s collection until it was so late that Francesco felt overwhelmed by the wine drunk at the tavern that he retreated in his room, singing loudly a local song of women and love. When Mark was alone again, he sat on the sand, threw the cigar and watched the silver streak of decomposed moonlight floating on the waves. “Mark!” he heard Giulia’s voice, she was running down the stairs, her black hair gathered in a shock, in long reddish dress, smiling, “Mark, stay for a while!” She sat next to him, weaved her long hands round her knees and started: “I wanted a game, do you remember?” “What is it?” “Come!” She took his big palm and dragged him to the water, while he was bewilderedly shouting “What are you doing, what do you want’ as they reached the water. “Swim, swim with me!” She turned to him, now her hair was all over her shoulders, her face was excited and smiling, begging for this little adventure. He threw his shoes away, then slowly walked while the waves were crashing at his feet, then at his knees, until he was all wet and stopped on the sandy sea bottom. Giulia was far forward, swimming in the darkness, just a long slim silhouette floating under the pale moonlight. “Come on” she waived with a hand, shaking her head and long wet hair. But he stood still, entranced, as if afraid to step ahead. She appeared now and then, shouting from afar, but he slowly walked back to the beach and sat on the sand. After a while she came along, emerging from the waves, with her long reddish wet dress sticking to the curves of her slim body, her wet hairs spilt on her shoulders, her face so wet, excited and sublime. When she reached him, she turned to the sea, unbuttoned the dress and threw it with a sudden waive of hand, leaving her wet body half naked besides the dark blue swimming suit. She sat on the sand and said in her low and lazy voice, “Did you like it? I love swimming at night!” He said it was perfect trying not to look at her. She sighed with a strange feeling of relief, and lied on the beach, breathing heavily, tired. He took out a cigarette form the box he managed to save before going into the water, and gave one to her. They smoked in silence, she was still breathing heavily, until it was around eleven. She threw the cigarette and said she had to go now. Giulia took the wet dress, leaned and kissed Mark’s left cheek and slowly walked away, disappearing in the night shades.
As he was unlocking the door of his room, Francesco, far more sober now, approached Mark and touched his shoulder – “A good swim, eh?” He had seen them from the windows of his room. “She is a nice child”, Francesco said, “but her grandparents love her so much, and are very suspicious, don’t get angry with them.” Mark nodded with gratitude and went in.
Every morning he would wake up early, around seven, have a breakfast and a coffee, and go down to the empty beach. Silvio, the owner of the hotel, told him that tourists rarely come to the island, and the inhabitants of the small town were mainly old people, who used to stay at home until it gets cooler after sunset. The work on the book was going on well, he managed to compile nine chapters of interviews centered on the main problems of modern urban life. Somehow he was always seeking to link the words of his interviewees with city culture, the land of big money, expensive malls, skyscrapers, clubbing, etc. He thought his book was slowly becoming a mosaic of facets to one and the same thing. Usually, while he was reading or writing, Giulia would come and sit beside him, sometimes asking about London and other faraway places, sometimes trying to find something about Mark’s wife, or his home, or his hobbies. He was avoiding her, but tried not to be rude. He tried very hard, she was very curious, very joyful and in the end he would always say what he would have rather concealed. The days were long, she was going up and down, in her white dress or her red dress, lazily in the hot afternoons, always with hat and sunglasses, and she was so tender, but also playful. Francesco, smoking a cigar at his balcony, would nod to her and say to Mark, “a nice child, a nice kid”. Yes, she loved games, midnight swimming, playing cards, smoking under the shade of the umbrellas, childishly asking Mark whether he had seen such and such movie or tv star she was reading about in the female magazine she used to bring with her. Sometimes she would run to the top terrace where her grandpa, Silvio, who she demonstrably love much more than her grandma, used to sit and read a newspaper, and she would cuddle in him, kissing his forehead, tenderly and lazily telling him of what Mark had explained about the big cities, and pushing Silvio’s fat stomach with her forefinger, wanting a quick game of cards, where Silvio always deliberately used to lose. These were long and hot days, but went in a blink of Mark’s eye, because he almost finished the book and thought about leaving.
He made a quick call to London and arranged a divorce issue with his solicitor, there were so many things to do home, and it was time to fly to the big city again. He talked with Silvio, had a chat with Francesco, who was very pleased by their acquaintance, they smoke a cigar at the beach, and he decided to find Giulia too. But the beach was empty. Her window was closed and dark, and it was too early for her to be asleep. So he walked along the beach, further from the hotel and approaching a lonely place of rocks and roaring waves. The white houses of the small town were just above the place, their windows like small candles in the blackness of the night. But it was so quiet, so calm. Then he recognised her silhouette, sitting on one of the big rocks, as she had stretched her long legs forward. Giulia saw him and waved with her hand. He climbed the rock and sat next to her, she was smiling, smoking, her hair gathered in a shock. “Full moon” she said, and he nodded. “I am leaving tomorrow”. She turned to him, he could feel her breath, he could see the brownness of her eyes. “So soon” she mumbled, and threw the cigarette away, weaving her arms round her knees. “I will come to London, I will, and I can be your guest!” she smiled, curving the ends of her lips, with starry eyes. She leaned forward, gave him a kiss on his cheek, and was about to stand up. Mark looked to the sea, washing the empty wide beach, the lights of the hotel were glittering in the distance. So he turned to Giulia, took her hand, pulled her arm and she lost balance, fell next to him and looked at him in bewilderment. He tried to kiss her but she turned her face and said “No” in her usual low voice. But he pulled her hair, which went loose and fell on her shoulder, she tried to push him away but he was stronger, much stronger, and grabbed her slim body, kissed her cheeks, forehead, neck, quickly reaching her lips, locked and cold. Mark felt hot waves around him, he unbuttoned her white dressed, his right hand going up and down the skin of her stomach, touching the stiffness of her breasts, his legs pressing hers. She tried to shout but her voice was suddenly so weak, he blocked her mouth with his but she bit his lips, he felt the streaks of blood running inside his mouth and went furious. Her hands were too weak, all her moves were blocked by his bigger and mightier body, and she was breathing heavily, her face wet and covered by tears. She could not scream, and she was away from the town, the houses, the hotel. When her body was naked, he could feel the quick beats of her young heart, the vibrations of blood beneath the tender, gentle and mild skin. Her face was turned to the left, until she suddenly looked straight into his eyes, hers were wet and full of big tears, her lips twisted and slightly opened. In the end, he pushed her hard and roughly, she was feeling the pain, her whole body was shaken by the pain, but he could not care less, he could not recognise anything and his receptors and senses were deaf and dead now. When he stood up, she was still lying motionless with her dress opened, her skin sweaty and hot but her face was numb and only her eyes were energetically blinking as if trying to see something written on the night sky. He looked around, slowly coming back to the reality, and then took her hands, helped her stand up, buttoned her dress, wiped the sweat and tears from her face with his big fingers, and they walked side by side in the dark night. Now tried to kiss her again, said a few strange words of apologise and regret, but she was staring at the sand beneath her feet without saying a word. “I was bit rude, I know, I am sorry, but…” he tried again but her silence made him anxious and he continued “I know you meant it all the time, all these days, but I was a bit rough, I am sorry, it should have happened not so sudden, in a nice room, but we could not have done it in the hotel, not there, you see, you hide even for smoking, we cannot do it in my room, no…” She said nothing, walked faster and faster and disappeared in the hotel building. He lit a cigarette on the balcony of his room, thinking of the night, and felt he had done something he long waited for, and it was okay, it might have been a bit of shock to her, but it was what she wanted all the time, he thought, every day since he arrived here. Yes, a bit of pain, a bit of tears, but she will be okay, probably she will sleep so well now.
Mark’s flight was early in the morning, even before breakfast. A car was waiting for him to take him to the airport. Silvio shook his hand and invite him again, maybe next year. “Definitely, I will come again”, said Mark and looked to the hotel, as a curtain suddenly moved and he saw her face within the frame of one window on the top floor. He smiled, nodded, but the curtain moved again and she disappeared. The car took him to the dusty lonely road across the island, as he was considering how he would integrate, tomorrow, in the big city life again.
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