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What are you going to do? It is what it is.
The ferry turned around before it backed in to the pier. The crowd had gathered at the back, and as the huge metal drawbridge dropped down, the pedestrians were able to walk on the sides. The few cars and one tractor drove down the middle. The pier was long as he followed everyone else, buried in the throng of former passengers debarking.
He scanned the crowd waiting behind the fencing but saw no signs with his name, no Moira. He looked for someone who might be trying to catch his eye and found an older gentleman who was no more than five feet tall, wearing a grey tweed cap with a visor. He waved like Dimitri was his long-lost son. So he waved back and kept walking straight for him.
Again, the gentleman tried to take his suitcase, and once again, Dimitri declined. He judged they were about the same age, but the Italian looked much older, his leathery skin showing years of standing on a deck in the ocean, pounded by wind, salt water, and unrelenting sun.
“Amario,” he said as he slapped his chest.
“Dimitri. Nice to meet you.”
Grinning, the man said in fairly good English, “Welcome to my home, Capri.” And then he added an “eh” at the end of it.
He knew what yes was. “Sì, sì,signore.”
Amario erupted into smiles and chattered so fast Dimitri wouldn’t have understood him even if he spoke English.
“Me,” and he tapped his chest. “Home,” he said next and pointed to the top of the hill. Dimitri knew it wasn’t just a hill, but an extinct volcano. At least he hoped it was.
“Grazie,” Dimitri said carefully.
Again, the gentleman was impressed with Dimitri’s effort to speak the language he’d never spoken.
The tiny Fiat Amario owned was almost too small for Dimitri’s luggage, and at one point, he thought he would have to choose whether to send his bags and take a taxi to follow. But Amario was persistent, and finally, they jammed everything in. He sat down in the bucket seat next to Amario, the dash coming to his chin, his long legs sending his knees to his chest so tight he could feel his heartbeat against his kneecap on the left.
It was a strange sensation.
He’d driven Knob Hill and the Lombard Street snake street before, but the winding back and forth up this hill was worse. The occasional tourist bus, always rushing and always taking up two feet of their lane, would appear suddenly from around the curve in the road. Amario never slowed down, except to avoid hitting something. He had to tap the brakes several times, one time nearly hit a smoking older Vespa scooter with a rather large rear-ended woman on the back seat. Even without the heavy baggage, the thing would only go about fifteen miles an hour, so in no time, there was a long line of cars behind him.
As drivers lost their patience and started shouting from their windows, banging on their roofs, the Vespa driver turned around several times, surveying the commotion, and eventuallypulled over. For his efforts, he was yelled and honked at by every one of the two dozen cars who had been so greatly inconvenienced.
Dimitri was wondering how anyone could call this a tourist mecca. There wasn’t anything relaxing about his ride, about this culture. He had no time to view the breathtaking vistas on the switchbacks because he kept his eyes on the road in case Amario needed help.
And then, all of a sudden the Fiat pulled off, drove down a side street not much wider than the little toy car, and stopped just before a turnabout.
“Bella, bella. Bene,” he said. His hand swished, flicking over to the right to draw Dimitri’s attention to the vision of Moira standing on the curb in a dark blue trench coat, big floppy rain hat, and dark glasses like Audrey Hepburn used to wear as Holly Go Lightly.
He was stunned to see her at last. He couldn’t move.
“Sì, sì, sì,” Amario shouted, almost angry.
Looking at his knees, Dimitri wasn’t sure he’d be able to get out of the car, but he did it in stages. It probably didn’t look very graceful. But he wasn’t going for graceful. His heart was beating so hard he didn’t care if he dumped himself on his knees on the cobblestone street. First one long leg and then the other. And then he hoisted himself up tall and just stood there, taking it all in.
She lowered her chin, embarrassed, pulled her hands together in prayer, and touched those beautiful bright red lips with the tips of her long second fingers.
Amario was still shouting. Moira leaned over but stayed on the curb, put her forefinger to her lips, and frowned at him.
Dimitri this time had to retrieve his luggage and his duty bag all by himself. Amario was done with the whole thing. He set his bags on the street and leaned to give the driver some money butwasn’t fast enough. Amario took off with the passenger door still open. He could hear the man still swearing, in Italian of course.
He knew he shouldn’t run up to her and hug her, and she turned her back to him just in case he had those unwise thoughts. He picked up the bags and followed a few paces behind her, never having a formal greeting. Like she was just one of the messengers sent to direct him to his hotel or to his waiting party.
He watched her torso, studied her tiny waist cinched by the belt of the trench coat. The breeze flew at the back of her neck, sending some reddish-brown strands to the side. From behind, he smelled her perfume, that mixture she said was specially formulated for Audrey Hepburn.
So many things roamed in his head, visions of past days of sunshine, all the laughter, when the world was alive. It was like stepping off the ferry suddenly turned the world to living color from black and white. He heard traffic, talking, and ringing of bicycle bells. In the distance, he heard the ferry horn again. It made pigeons foraging on the red tile roofs fly off in a flock, dart around and come back to the same spot again.
At a large wooden door that looked hundreds of years old, she turned a key in a lock, heard it click, and pushed hard as he was ushered into a living room space. It was a small apartment with a kitchen, and on the left, a sliding glass door looked out on a balcony overlooking the whole island and the sea below. But he was following her until she stopped next to the couch.
His mouth was parched as he watched her slowly remove the hat, and beneath the bug-eyed glasses, her beautiful brown eyes flashed a bigger smile than her lips did. He waited, not wanting to spoil the moment as she untied the belt on the trench coat and let it slide to the ground.
