Lovely Poetry and Lots of Hot Laundry

"Filomena, I don't think this is a good idea." Mama is ladling lentil soup into a bowl, and nodding her head. I am sitting at the table.

"But Mama, I can make so much more money this way. The man says he is willing to pay three times what the others pay. And that's just to start."

Mama swivels around. "Yes, but what does he expect you to give him for all that money?"

"Well, to start I am helping to serve at dinner. And I will have other duties too. But he also wants to write with me. He has friends staying with him who are writers."

"Oh Madonna mia, that writing again! Filomena, he has not asked you for anything improper. Not yet. But just wait! Aspetta!"

Mama places the bowl of lentil soup on the table but I get up without eating it. "Mama I can't eat this now. I have no appetite." Looking around the kitchen at the stone walls and the wooden beams in the low ceiling, I am feeling closed in.

"But you must eat something. Please. Try it. Come on Filo, calm down. Sit please and eat."

I stand by the table with my arms hanging down on either side. My chin is practically resting on my chest. I inhale. And then, moving slowly, I take a seat in the chair and pick up the spoon.

"Mama, I just wish you could be there with me to see how grand and beautiful the house is. And outdoors, the palm trees and the flowers, everywhere. And stairs right down to the sea."

Mama takes the chair opposite. "Filomena I know you have been swept away by all this beauty! But must I remind you that you come from very very humble origins?" She folds her hands on the table. "How will you be able to say no to this charming and wealthy man if he makes demands on you? Tell me that?"

I stop eating. Ever since the other night, I have felt torn. I woke up the next morning and immediately I wanted to go back to the glorious villa where Giovanni lives. Because it is so beautiful, and it feels dreamlike, and it makes me feel good about myself that I can tell others that I work there. But at the same time, I have to admit, I am a bit scared. I don't know if I belong at the villa. And what will I do if Giovanni makes demands on me sometime in the future? Will there come a time when I can't say no to him?

"Mama, you would be proud of me, because I stand up for myself when I am there. I keep reminding myself that I am a good decent woman and I want to protect my dignity." I begin eating again but after swallowing a few more mouthfuls of the soup, I push it away. "I'm sorry Mama I just can't eat any more today."

"OK Filo. I understand that you are excited. Because this man has promised you so much. But please Filo, please don't let him touch you!"

Immediately I am flooded with guilt. What would she say if she knew he touched my jaw and my chin and my lips? I remain quiet.

"I will pray for you, Filo, I will pray that you will know when it's time to stop going there."

On Thursday I dress in the uniform I wore the other day. I'm so glad I don't have to wear that same old dress I always wear, the navy blue one with the white collar. I pick up the dress now and I notice that the collar is soiled at the neckline. I will have to remember to wash it this evening.

I braid my hair in one long braid and then coil it around the back of my head. I slip into my new work shoes and go out to the kitchen to give Mama a hug. "You shouldn't save dinner for me," I tell her.

And then I leave, and I wind my way through town and out the portal. I am full of so many emotions: incredible excitement at the prospect of returning to the house. Curiosity about Giovanni. Pride that I was chosen for such a grand job. And some dread about what work I will have to do.

In a few minutes I am outside of town, walking on the road to San Lucido. Will Giovanni really send the carriage for me? "Filo, you need to be patient," I say to myself out loud. After another kilometer, the carriage appears. There is a new driver. He pulls the horses to a halt. Gets down and helps me into the carriage.

"Grazie," I say, and the driver smiles. He has very rough hands. And then I realize: I know the driver. He is the father of one of my childhood friends, but for the life of me, I cannot remember the name of the child, who would now of course be a grown man.

"Maybe that's for the better," I whisper to myself. "Why would I want to draw attention to myself with this man?"

In a few minutes we are back at the villa. "Every bit as beautiful as before," I think. I let myself out of the carriage and ring the bell. Pietro answers the door. He bows. "So nice to see you here again, Signorina." He opens the door wide and I step onto the pink and white marble floor. The sun is shining and the glow of the marble raises my spirits.

"Nice to see you too, Pietro." I curtsy and then feel foolish.

"I will tell Signor that you are here."

I make a slow circuit around the palatial room, stopping at each window to gaze out at the sea and the palm trees, the staircase and the flowers. I am staring out to the terrace where I napped the other day when I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. I whip around. Giovanni takes hold of one of my hands. He bends over and gently kisses my hand. I pull it away.

"It's very nice to see you again," he says in a low tone. "But I see you are as nervous around me as ever."

My heart is pumping. "It's because I...because I am here to do my job," I say, realizing that I'm not being truthful.

"Oh Filomena, please tell me that you will join my friends and me on the terrace again," he says, and he is so earnest and so attractive (today he is wearing a yellow shirt the color of sunshine!) that I suddenly want to give him a hug. But I don't of course do that.

"Well, but is there time? Doesn't Sofia need help today?"

"I suppose we should ask her, yes, but before we do, come and say hello to Tullio and Edoardo again."

I follow him out to the terrace. Today the two other men are sitting at a small round table. Edoardo has his hair in a ponytail. Tullio is wearing a billowing silk scarf that is white and red and gold. Piles of paper are piled to either side of them. And each of them has a journal open and is holding a pen.

"You've returned!" Tullio says. "How nice to see you again Filomena. Have you brought your diary?"

I glance at Giovanni. "I...no it's at home," I say, feeling embarrassed, and then irritated. I am about to say "no one told me to bring my diary!" when Edoardo holds up a small leather notebook.

"Here you go! We have no shortage of journals in this house!"

My eyes widen as Giovanni takes the leather book from Edoardo and hands it to me. The leather is soft and buttery. I flip through the white pages. The paper is edged in gold! I am breathless! It's enough just to hold this book!

"Sit down, Filomena," says Giovanni, "you can write with us for an hour before you go to work."

I follow his directions and sit down. Giovanni sits down beside me, and slides a pen over to my hand. Suddenly I am holding the most remarkable pen I've ever seen. I hold it up to my face. "That is a new invention," Giovanni says, "called a fountain pen. The ink is inside the pen! It is slender and made from a dark brown wood! If only I could own one of these! I open the leather book and stare at the blank page. I'm about to panic and as if by magic, Giovanni can tell.

"Of course, Filomena, you may not be accustomed to writing like this at home, right in the middle of the day. But the way it works, we start by reading out loud a sentence from a story or a short poem."

"I see," I say, shaking my head. But I'm still not sure I can just start writing.

"How about we give it a try. I will open this book of verse to a random page and see what comes up." He takes hold of a book, opens to a center page.

"I am going to read from a book called "Vita Nuova" by Dante. It is one of his later works, and he wrote it in honor of his beloved Beatrice, who Dante believed was the perfect woman." Giovanni begins reading from a sonnet:

"Riding along a road the other day, --

abstracted, rattled, feeling loath to go --

I saw Love dressed in tattered clothes

as though a wanderer, walking toward me on the way..."

Giovanni puts the book down. "Now if you would, please write anything that comes to mind. Write something that you feel in your heart!"

He sets his pen moving, as do the other two men. I sit there, staring at the page. I hold the beautiful pen in between my fingers. The wood feels so incredibly smooth. I want to write something, something beautiful, but what? I stare out to the sea. It's a warm day and I can imagine myself floating in the clear blue green water. Some time goes by. I look up. Giovanni and the other two are busy writing. I close my eyes and then a sentence comes to mind and I write it down.

"I love to walk by the sea, just me and me alone."

I read it over. I like this simple sentence because it is the truth and because it makes me happy to think about walking along the seashore. I write some more.

"Yes, I too dress in tattered clothes, but the ocean always opens its arms to me, even so. I love the feel of the cool sand beneath my feet, sand that has been washed over and over by the sea. I love the way the sunlight glitters on the water. The ocean is my home and it always welcomes me back. I am happy right now, staring at the sea."

I stop writing. Giovanni looks up. "Are we done?" he asks. Edoardo raises his head. "Un momento, pia piacere!." Tullio puts down his pen.

When Edoardo is finished, it's time for us to read. I am nervous, as I know what I wrote is probably childish. Giovanni turns to me.

"My dear Filomena, would you honor us by reading first?"

"I will, but I... please understand that I need help with my writing."

"And so," says Tullio, "that's exactly why you are here with us, as we all need help with our writing. The worst thing you can do is keep your writing to yourself. We need each other to hear what our hearts want to say!"

I smile. "Yes, I agree," I say. In that moment, I feel like a real writer!!! So I clear my throat and read what I have written. As I finish, I stare at the page, feeling a little embarrassed.

"That is just marvelous," says Edoardo. "It's so fresh and honest!" "Yes," says Tullio. "Do you realize, Filomena, that you have turned the ocean into your lover?"

My face turns red. I am speechless. I study the table as he goes on. "I love how you write, 'The ocean always opens its arms to me!' and 'The ocean is my home and it always welcomes me.' That is so lovely Filomena!"

"Well, thank you very much, Tullio," I say, my face still enflamed. "No one has ever praised my writing before." And then I think, of course not, because no one ever reads it!

Giovanni speaks. "I agree with Edoardo that this is very beautiful Filomena. I think you need to come every day to write with us!"

My heart is beating fast, and I feel carried away by the idea that I have written something that real writers like. I am starting to relax with the idea that I belong here, when out of nowhere, Sofia appears. Her words are like a kettle of cold water poured over my head!

"Excuse me Signore, but as I told you this morning, I am in need of Filomena's help with the laundry this afternoon. I hope she will be able to assist me soon."

"Ah Sofia, yes, I did promise you that I would have Filomena help out." He turns to me and I can see that he is uncomfortable. "You see you are in great demand, here on the terrace, and there with Sofia as well."

I feel my heart sink like a stone. Just when I start to think of myself in a new way, and I get a bit more comfortable at the villa, I realize that I can't let myself relax.

I get up and close my journal. I leave the pen. "Well thank you all," I say, nodding. "It was such fun!"

"I think your writing is molto bene," Tullio says, and he blows a kiss in my direction. "When you finish the laundry please come back!"

Giovanni rises and walks me across the terrace to the door. "If you would be willing to come back tomorrow morning, we could do more writing," he says.

"I...I'm not sure," I say. I'm about to add, "it's so hard to go from sitting on the terrace writing to scrubbing laundry." But I decide to keep hush. "I will try," I say. And then, forcing myself to smile, I turn and walk away, following Sofia into the villa.

*******

It's a hot afternoon, and in the basement laundry room, it's beastly. Several large cauldrons sit over wood fires, and each contains boiling water. Sofia explains to me that after we scrub the clothes of stains, we will place the bedding in one cauldron, and the towels in another, and in others, clothes of different colors.

We spend what seems like forever scrubbing the clothes on washboards. Some of the stains -- wine, and spaghetti sauce especially -- require white vinegar, and still, the stains don't want to come out. I scrub so hard and so long that my hands are stinging.

And when I come to Giovanni's powder blue shirt, I stop. It hurts to look at the shirt. I don't want to be buried in this steaming hot basement working as the laundress! Giovanni showed me his world -- with grand dinners and writers spending their days reading poetry and writing pretty entries in their journals.

Just as Mama had said, I am not part of his world, and I won't ever be.

My next task is to load the clothes into the cauldrons. The sheets and towels are heavy like rocks. Once the clothes are loaded, I use two hands on a long piece of iron to stir each of the cauldrons.

Standing over the steaming cauldrons, I am soaked through in sweat after only a few minutes. And my arms are already so sore! As I pull the iron in slow circles, my mind races back to the table on the terrace. Sitting there, pushing that beautiful pen across the white page. Sitting in the sun, staring at the sea.

I force myself to stop thinking about that. I have to attend to the clothes. I go from one cauldron to another, stirring, stirring, stirring, and sweating, sweating and sweating. I am so terribly thirsty but I don't dare ask Sofia for water.

Time goes by, the clothes boil for at least three quarters of an hour. Sofia returns, and tells me that our next step is to lift the clothes out of the boiling water with the iron pole, laying them onto the wooden planks set up beside the cauldrons. There, the clothes will cool off. "Then we squeeze all the water out and hang them here on these lines."

It occurs to me that it will take a bit of time for the clothes to cool off, so perhaps I will get a break. But no, Sofia is determined to make me work every moment she can. "I want you to go upstairs to help chef with dinner," she says. "Set the table, too."

I do what she says. Leaving the basement the air upstairs feels so cool and fresh with the fragrance of the sea. I go through the hallway that leads to the kitchen. It occurs to me to wonder where Giovanni is, but I don't dare wander looking for him.

Giuseppi is waiting for me in the kitchen. "Ah, Filomena, so nice to see you again, bella signorina!" I smile at him. And then, like last time, he takes care of me. "You look like you have been boiling, along with the clothes! Here, cara mia, have a glass of cool water." He fills a large tumbler with water and I accept it with both hands. In seconds, it's empty. He fills it again, and again I empty it.

"Grazie grazie," I say, putting the tumbler aside. "What do you need help with today?"

"Oh, so there are the makings of a salad over there, if you would, wash and dry the lettuce, pare and slice the carrots, cut the tomatoes and radishes and combine them all in that large bowl." He points. "Oh, and we will need dressing. A simple oil and vinegar, with the herbs on the counter."

I set to work and within a half hour I have assembled the salad. I make the dressing, and wipe the counter.

"And now I will set the table?" I ask.

"Yes, but first I need you to slice the calamari into rings, and then I will show you how to batter them. I will fry them." So I get a lesson that I don't need, as Mama on Christmas has always made fried calamari. But I don't mind watching Giuseppi, as he is such a cheerful and kind man. He lets me do the slicing and battering and then he sets me to work setting the table.

Giovanni has only the two guests this evening, so I am able to set the table for three in no time. I want so much to walk out to the terrace for some fresh air, and to see him and his friends again, but no. Sofia appears in the dining room and tells me it is time to return to the basement to start wringing out the laundry.

The whole afternoon is slipping by as I sit there, in the miserable basement, twisting the heavy wet towels, and the bedsheets. My face is dripping, and I can't do a thing about it.

All I can do is roll and twist and squeeze. My uniform is sopping wet, and my arms and my shoulders are so terribly sore. But I just keep going, until finally, all the laundry is wrung out.

And no doubt it is going to be my job to hang it on the clotheslines. More agony. Thankfully, however, Sofia helps out so the work goes faster.

When at last my workday is done, the sun has gone down. I have grown up working hard, but somehow toiling at the villa is far more exhausting.

I don't even bother to try to find Giovanni. I search for Pietro and when I find him, I politely ask him to call the carriage, which he does.

I slide out of the villa, and I am just about to climb into the carriage when suddenly, Giovanni is there calling out to me, "Wait Filomena, please wait!"

Turning, I meet his gaze. I must be such a sight - wet, sweaty, flushed and exhausted.

"I missed you so much this afternoon," he says, putting one hand on my arm just below my shoulder. The muscle hurts so much there, but I don't dare tell him.

In his other hand is the leather journal, which I had forgotten about completely. He hands it to me. "I want you to be here every day," he says, and at that moment I want to scream at him, "Do you know how hard I am working? Do you care?"

But I can see from the look in his eyes that he has no idea what I am going through. He is a wealthy and spoiled man who has only known the world of pleasure and indulgence.

I remain silent. I feel tears welling behind my eyes. But I don't want to share anything with him.

"Will you please come back tomorrow?"

I let my eyes close. God knows, I am so tired, I feel like I could sleep for days. As odd as it sounds, I decide that I will pray for guidance before I answer his question. Please God, please Divine Mother, what shall I say?

"Filomena?"

I realize that with my eyes closed, I am actually starting to fall asleep!

I open my mouth and speak. "I hope you will understand, Giovanni, but I will not be able to return. I'm afraid that I made a mistake accepting your offer of a job."

"But I don't understand. Filomena, please, you must tell me, what can I do to convince you to come back?"

I inhale. "The trouble is, that..."

And then a horrible realization descends on me like a veil. I see that his shirt is open at the throat, and suddenly I want desperately to touch his chest. I want to set my lips there. I remember so well the way he touched my chin and my jaw and my lips that day in the church. The truth be told, I want him to hold me in his arms. I clasp my hands together tightly.

"I must go now," I whisper, and climb into the carriage.

"Please tell me, Filomena, what have I done?"

"You have done nothing wrong," I say, but to myself I say, 'Yes you have done something wrong, you have shown me a world that can never be mine!' "Please, Giovanni, I am very tired. I need to go home now."

Oh how stubborn he is! He climbs up to sit beside me in the carriage. There are only a few inches between our faces. I smell his cologne and once again, I am mortified thinking what a distasteful odor I must have!

Maybe it's because of this -- because I am feeling so thoroughly exposed -- that I decide I must be honest with him. I set my red and bleeding hands together and rest my forehead against the tips of my fingers.

"So if you must know. I am terribly confused. On the one hand, you have shown me how you live, and I can imagine, for the first time in my life, what it must be like to have great wealth, to have enough money so that you can spend your days writing and enjoying life and the outdoors. But at the same time, because I am here, I am working as hard as I have ever worked in my whole life!" I stop and shake my head. And very quietly, I say. "I dream about you, Giovanni. I dream that..." I stop.

"You dream what, what do you dream, my dear Filomena? Because I too dream about you! I dream about your face, it beckons to me, I dream about your exotic eyes, they enchant me! I dream about unpinning your hair." He stops there and I am glad he does. Because what use is it to know all this?

I stare into the darkness. I hear a seagull calling in the distance. I see a star just above the horizon. What crosses my mind is this: I want to be your wife, Giovanni, can't you tell?

"It's time for me to go home," I say quietly. My eyes are closed so I am shocked when I feel Giovanni's lips press into mine. And I feel his hand behind my head. His mouth is soft and so warm and suddenly I feel like my lips are melting into his.

But then I realize what I'm doing and I pull away. Now the tears pour out. "Please please Giovanni please let me go home! I must go, right now!"

"As you wish," he says. "Driver, please take us to Paola." I turn. I wasn't expecting him to ride with me. But he does. He hugs me to him, holding tight onto my shoulders with his arm. We ride in silence until we get to the portal leading into Paola. "You are so tired, Filomena, please can I take you all the way home?" he asks quietly, moving a stray hair away from my face.

"No, no." I start to move and he holds me in place. He takes his hand and gently cradles my face.

"I think I have made a terrible mistake asking you to work for me. When all I ever wanted to do was just to spend time with you."

My head is spinning. It hits me in that moment that once again, I have eaten nothing all day. "I don't know, Giovanni. I don't know. All I know is that I am so very very tired and I am going home now." I tear myself out of his grasp and jump down from the carriage. As I hurry away, he yells after me.

"There will be a carriage waiting for you the day after tomorrow at eleven. Please tell me that I will see you then, Filomena? Please!"

I don't know if he can see, but I shrug my shoulders and then I lift my hands to either side!

Only God knows, I think, and I hurry home.

She's a Guest -- and a Working Girl -- at the Villa

I arrived in the central square at 3 pm but didn't see Giovanni. I stood by the fountain and felt so embarrassed, as if everyone was watching me. But how silly that was because no one was paying any attention to me.

After a few minutes I decided that maybe Giovanni had changed his mind. Maybe I wasn't the kind of young woman he was looking for to be his maid. I decided I would count to 300 and if he hadn't come by then, I would gladly disappear.

I reached 267 when I heard the clip clop of horse's hooves. I looked through the town portal and there was the black carriage, with a driver, and a fine white horse. Giovanni sat in the seat in back. He had a pen in his hand, and he was looking down into open notebook on his lap. I was suddenly feeling petrified. What was I getting myself into? Who would protect me?

My heart start beating like crazy and I put both hands over my chest.

The carriage came to rest beside the fountain. Giovanni put aside his notebook and stepped down, all the while smiling his charming smile. He extended one hand to me. "Buon pomeriggio mia cara ragazza," he said. "Good afternoon my dear girl." He bent over, and his curls, fluffy and thick, fell forward as he lifted and kissed my hand.

"Ciao," was all I could get out. My throat was dry and my tongue felt too big for my mouth. I ignored his hand and grabbed the side of the carriage and pulled myself up. I sat down next to the notebook and noticed a page filled with black scribbled writing, much of which had been crossed out. Giovanni climbed in.

"Ah, just ignore all this," he said, "closing the notebook."

"You are writing while you ride in the carriage?"

He chuckled. "My dear I am writing while I sleep! I cannot keep from writing all night and all day -- tutta la notte e tutto il giorno!"

That made me smile, to think of someone writing in the dark all night long.

Suddenly, I noticed several villagers gathered around the carriage. There were a few older women I knew, and any one of them was bound to tell my mother what they had seen. What was I thinking? How could I possibly do what I was doing but keep it all a secret?

Giovanni told the driver to proceed through the portal.

I was nervous about looking in Giovanni's direction. As we began the trip to San Lucido, he asked me a couple of questions: "Have you ever travelled outside the village?" and "Have you lived here your whole life?" I answered no and then, yes. So then I asked him two questions: "Where are you from?" and "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, that's only fair. So I am from a small village in Tuscany called Volpaia. I have spent most of my life there except for visits to see my father's family in Florence. Oh and vacations elsewhere, including Paris."

I nodded. A wealthy northerner, for sure. Travelling to Paris was as likely for me as flying to the moon.

"And I am here because I wanted to get as far away from my family as I could, at least for a while."

I wanted to ask more questions. Why was he trying to escape his family? How long was he planning to stay? And one other question in particular. At first I decided I was too shy. But then I thought, "Why not ask?"

"So, Giovanni, do you have a wife travelling with you?"

Without turning my head, I looked sideways and saw him shake his head. "Oh no, don't worry about that, my dear Filomena!!"

And then I wondered, did he perhaps have something against marriage? Was he a confirmed bachelor -- uno scapolo confermato? Or worse, un Casanova?

He leaned toward me. "Please call me Vanni, would you? All the people I love in this world call me by that nickname."

My face turned very warm, and I felt a rush of emotion swarm through me. I didn't know what to say so I remained silent. I felt fear mixed with great great excitement.

After that we were silent. I noticed how pretty the ocean was as we travelled alongside it. The waves were lively, rising large and then falling in pools of white froth. I remembered a time when my Papa was still alive, he and Mama and me went swimming together, and Papa carried me on his shoulders into the cool green water. I remembered Mama wrapping me in a linen towel and carrying me, cold and shivering, across the sand.

And then I was back in the carriage and before I knew it, there stood before me a house, no no no, it was a villa bigger than anything I'd ever seen before. It was a gigantic square block, with three or more stories, decorated with arches and huge windows, and a black iron railing across the front. It stood on a hillside above the ocean and was surrounded with huge palm trees.

I covered my mouth with both hands and whispered into my fingers. "Madre Maria di Dio aiutiami e proteggimi in questa casa gigantesco ti prego!" -- Mother Mary of God help and protect me in this gigantic house please!

"So Filomena what do you think? Is it big enough for you?" Giovanni had stepped down from the carriage and was standing on the stone driveway, with his hand extended toward me. I wanted him to see me as someone who could take care of herself so I refused to give him my hand, and I jumped down to the driveway instead.

"I think it will not be easy to keep this whale of a house clean," I said, trying to sound a little miffed. "I hope you don't expect me to work like a slave." Instantly I regretted saying such a stupid thing because who knew what he expected me to do?!

"Oh don't be concerned about that at all!" He laughed his easy laugh, one that suggested he was now in complete control over me. I was seeing myself from his eyes and I didn't like what I saw. A naive young woman wearing the only good dress she owned.

I followed him across the cobblestones. Bright red flowers grew alongside the long driveway. I saw my worn leather shoes and wished I could hide my feet. Soon I was at the monstrous wooden door, beautifully carved with swans and other birds and then I was standing on a thick blue carpet, sinking into it. I have never seen or felt such a luxurious carpet. Giovanni pulled on a giant satin rope, and a bell rang. Soon, a tall man in a black suit opened the door.

"Greetings, Signor," the man said.

"Greetings, Pietro," Giovanni replied, nodding his head at the man.

The first room of the villa is one so grand that I cannot fully describe it. The ceiling rises to a towering height. It might fit 100 people, or maybe two hundred or maybe even more! The floor is the most beautiful pink and white marble. There are white marble sculptures, too, mostly of nude women, in every direction. I kept silent but I turned my head this way and that trying to take in the majesty and beauty. Strangely, the room had a positive effect on me. It started to give me confidence. I told myself, "Filomena, you have been selected to visit this remarkable villa. You can be proud of yourself that you have had this honor bestowed upon you by a man who seems to like you very much!"

I held my head high. I decided that I had control of this situation so long as I kept my wits about me.

"Pietro, this is Signorina Filomena Scrivano, and she has agreed to help out while I am here at Le Palme." Pietro nodded in my direction.

"And Filomena, this is Pietro, our principal butler. He has been with me and my family for many years. There are others you will meet, too. Right now though I would like you to meet my friends from Florence.

"Where are they Pietro?"

"On the terrace Signor."

"Good. Pietro, will you please ask Sofia to bring four glasses of Fragolino out to the terrace, and make sure she adds plenty of strawberries to each glass?"

I saw Pietro smile for the first time, and I wondered why. Was there something about this drink that I should know?

"Filomena, please come with me." I followed Giovanni across the pink and white marble, which was polished to a high sheen. We passed through a double glass door, out onto a terrace that led to a grand staircase that gradually descended all the way to the sea. To either side of the staircase was a long row of giant palm trees. Flowers grew in huge pots in every direction. I stood there and thought, is this really happening to me?

"Look at you two, sleeping the afternoon away!"

I turned to my left. Giovanni was speaking to two young men, sitting in reclining wooden chairs. The first thing I noticed about them was their hair. Both of them had long wavy hair that fell over their shoulders.

"Oh there you are Vanni! We need our beauty rest, no?"

"Filomena, may I present Edoardo here. He never gets enough beauty rest. And Tullio, who never gets enough to eat."

Both of the men stand up and bow.

" "Ed and Tully, may I present my new friend Filomena Scrivano who is also a writer like the three of us."

"Bongiorno," I said, smiling. Edoardo has a thin face, with high cheekbones that stick out. Tullio is chubby-faced and very cheerful looking. He wears a bright purple scarf with long fringe. I wonder, why would he wear this scarf when it is so warm?

"Please take a seat, Filomena." I was about to ask Giovanni if it isn't time I get to work, but something stopped me.

We sat down in two long chairs where we raise our legs up. I was mortified to see how ragged my boots looked. So when Giovanni slipped off his canvas shoes, I took off my leather boots and slid them under the chair. I kept my dress tightly covering my legs. In those days, hair grew to a long length on my legs, and it made me self-conscious. br />
So there we all sat: me in the company of three men! I thought about Mama and how horrified she would be.

It's at that moment that a short round woman appears carrying the drinks on a silver tray. She handed each of us a tall crystal glass filled with a reddish purple wine, along with a long spoon. "Grazie," I said. Suddenly I felt silly. Aren't I supposed to be a servant helping too?

Maybe Giovanni can read my mind. "Filomena, I'd like you to meet Sofia, our housekeeper. She is the person you will be helping tonight at dinner."

Sofia smiled at me and nodded.

"It is nice to meet you," I said, feeling awkward. This afternoon I am a guest and tonight I will be a servant? God help me I was so confused.

Sofia left, and we sat in silence, sipping our drinks. Then Tullio pulled out a sheaf of papers.

"So are you ready for the next chapter?" he said.

"Yes, go forth brave writer!" said Edoardo.

Giovanni turned to me. "You see what we do here Filomena? We spend all our time writing and reading out loud to one another. It helps to ferment the imagination.

" I nodded.

Tullio began reading. The story was about a young man named Victor who travels to a "far off land" where he is being pursued. He ends up in a forest. He wanders for a long time and finally decides to climb a tree. At the end of the chapter, he decides he prefers to stay there. It's a very odd story indeed.

When he finished, Giovanni spoke first. "I like it Tully, but I am wondering how long Victor can stay up in that tree."

"Not to worry, Vanni, I know exactly what will happen to him."

"But of course you won't tell us will you?" asked Edoardo.

"You know better than to ask," Tullio responded. I was wondering if I should say what I thought. But how could I possibly criticize this brilliant man when I've never written a story!

Giovanni turned to me. "So my dear Filomena, what do you think? Would you like to hear more of Tullio's novel?"

"Oh, well, you are writing a novel!" I said. "That is remarkable!"

"Yes, it will be remarkable," Tullio said, "that is, if I ever finish it!"

"There is only one thing I am wondering," I said. "Where could he be that there is such a thick forest?"

"Ah, yes, good question," Tullio said. "Honestly, darling girl, I have never myself seen such a forest, but I hear tell that way up in the north, such forests grow."

"Oh but does it even matter?" asked Giovanni.

"Well, no, not really," Tullio replied.

"You see Filomena," Giovanni said, turning to me, "the lovely thing about writing stories is that you can do exactly as you please, making up whatever you want to!"

I nodded. My head was starting to spin. It was thrilling to be among real writers! But I also had drunk about half the tall glass of wine, down to where the strawberries were piled on the bottom. I noticed that my mood was improving by the moment. I inhaled the salty ocean air and stared at the waves crashing on the beach in the distance. Suddenly I realized tat the nervousness that I had been feeling on the ride over from Paola had completely melted away. I even felt a little playful.

"So is this part of the maid's job, listening to wonderful stories?" I asked Giovanni.

He laughed. "You are a writer first, my dear Filomena. Yes, you work as a maid, but your soul is that of a creative spirit."

As if she knew to appear then, Sofia returned. "Signor, your guests will be arriving in about an hour," she said.

"Yes, yes. I guess you are needed now, Filo. But I hope you will join us again? Tomorrow perhaps?"

I shrugged. "Uh, yes," I said. "I guess so." I was having a bit of difficulty focusing. I set my glass down and put on my boots. "See you," I said, waving to the three men.

"Ciao," they said in unison.

I followed Sofia back into the villa and down a long hallway. When we got to the kitchen, she introduced me to Giuseppe, the chef, a very hefty man with a red face. His white apron, tied tight around his bulding middle, was heavily stained with spaghetti sauce and red wine.

"I am grateful to make your acquaintance," he said, bowing deeply.

"Thank you," I said, feeling like some kind of royalty.

But then, without warning, Sofia knocked me off my pedestal!

"Yes, this is the maid who somehow is also a guest!"

My mouth dropped open. "I...I hope you don't think that was my choice, to sit there on the terrace just now."

Sofia smiled, but her eyes narrowed. "Let me show you where to change into your uniform. And your shoes." She looked down at my scuffed boots and honestly at that moment I wanted to kick her in the shins!

The rest of the night was frightening, because I had to serve a big table full of rowdy guests, carrying heavy silver trays. I was used to housecleaning, but not at all experienced serving.

Giovanni was busy with his friends, and drinking a lot of wine, and he didn't introduce me, which was just fine with me. Once or twice, I caught him gazing at me as I served salad, and then later as I set soup bowls down in front of each person dining. I had to focus carefully, so as not to spill the stracciatella -- egg drop spinach soup -- into each person's lap.

Every person at the table looked like no one I had ever seen. There was a woman with long blonde hair, blonde! And around her neck was a thick gold chain, with a large diamond ring, glittering in the candlelight! She wore dark eye make up and bright red lipstick. Every time I looked at her she was drinking from her wine glass.

Next to her was a man who was bald, except for a long lock of black hair hanging down his back. He had on a shirt with a large white ruffled collar, which looked so uncomfortable to me! And with it, a ruby red velvet vest. And in one ear, he had an earring!

I saw a woman in a pink silk gown, with a plunging neckline that exposed the top of her bosom. Her fingers were filled with rings, with sparkling gems of different colors.

Giovanni was wearing the powder blue shirt, but his vest was made of brightly colored woven fabric, perhaps made by his family's factory?

Oh it was so hard to keep my attention fully on my work!

The next course was bracciole, in spaghetti sauce. "Be very careful," Sofia warned, and I vowed not to make a mistake. The meat was cut in thick slices. It smelled heavenly of garlic and parsley and cheese, and it made my mouth water. And half-way through serving it, I realized that I hadn't eaten anything all day. No wonder I was so dizzy.

I went back into the kitchen and confided in Sofia that I was starving.

"I'm sorry Filomena but you are working now. Somehow you think that you deserve special treatment. But you will have to wait to eat until after the dinner party is over."

My face turned hot, and I was tempted to say I was not going to stay for the rest of the dinner party. But then I realized what a mistake that would be. I picked up the next tray and left the kitchen, to serve the rest of the bracciole. I was very proud of myself that I served the whole platter without splattering a single drop of spaghetti sauce on any of the guests.

When I got back to the kitchen, Giuseppe called me over to the stove. He set his finger to his lips and then took my hand and set a thick piece of cheese into my palm. I smiled at him. I stood at the stove and gobbled the cheese up in three bites. Then he slid a small plate over to me: on it was a chunk of the bracciole. I ate that too, facing the stove, with my fingers!

He smiled at me and I squeezed his arm. "Signor, you are a saint and a divine chef!" Giuseppe smiled triumphantly.

That food kept me from fainting! I finished serving the main course and had a short break before it was time to collect plates. During that time, I stood at the counter -- out of sight of Sofia -- and ate a chunk of bread, which Giuseppe had cut and buttered for me.

I carried 12 cups of panna cotta to the table, and was able to serve them with no difficulty. I followed this up with tiny cups of espresso. By this point in the evening, I found myself smiling to think I had survived my first day at the villa.

When I had collected all the dishes from the table, it occurred to me to ask when I would be able to leave. But Sofia answered my question, saying I was needed to help wash and dry all the dishes too. Naturally, I thought, who else is going to wash them?

When I had collected all the dishes from the table, it occurred to me to ask when I would be able to leave. But Sofia answered my question, saying I was needed to help wash and dry all the dishes too. Naturally, I thought, who else is going to wash them?

When I had collected all the dishes from the table, it occurred to me to ask when I would be able to leave. But Sofia answered my question, saying I was needed to help wash and dry all the dishes too. Naturally, I thought, who else is going to wash them?

It was close to 9 p.m. when Sofia and I finished washing and drying the piles of dinner plates, salad bowls, dessert cups and wine and water glasses and all the pots and pans. As we finished, I thought to myself "can I really do this job day after day?"

I was just removing my apron, wondering how I would get home when I looked up. Giovanni was standing in the door of the kitchen. His eyes looked reddened by wine.

My face was sweaty, and my hands and arms were red from plunging into hot water. I was not in the best mood and I think Giovanni could tell. He wasn't smiling.

"So, how did your first night go?" he asked.

"Oh, you know, it went well," I said. "A lot of work though. As you might expect." I nodded. "I must get home now," I said. "My mother will be upset if I am any later."

"Of course."

"I will change my clothes and..."

"There is no need. Just take your own clothes home with you."

"Oh, of course." I didn't want to say what I was thinking: I'm not sure I want to come back.

Once again, it was as if he could read my mind.

"So do you think this is too much work for you Filomena?" Giovanni approached me. I could smell his cologne and I worried that he could, unfortunately, smell me too.

"Well, I'm ...I'm not sure. I'm used to working hard, but this is...different...and difficult."

"I hope you know that whatever you are earning at your other jobs now, I will pay you more."

"More? May I ask how much more?"

"What are you making now?"

"Ten lira to clean a house," I said.

"Oh, well, I will pay you three times that to start. How does that sound?"

"Uh...that sounds wonderful."

"So you agree?"

"I...I guess so," I whispered. "But right now I am feeling quite...tired, Giovanni, and...confused, so I would like you to take me home."

"But have you eaten?"

"I had a little bit."

"You are dizzy my dear because you have not had a proper meal. Sofia always has her dinner beforehand, and it's my fault that you didn't eat first. I will have Giuseppe fix you something..."

"No, no, I'm sorry but I couldn't possibly eat anything. Please, please I just ...I must get back to Paola."

"Yes, alright, I will arrange that immediately. But I need you to tell me that you will be coming back tomorrow, please say yes?"

"Tomorrow?" I couldn't think straight. "I guess so...oh...no...no, I think I need a few days, say, Thursday?"

"Thursday, OK, but not so late as today. How about we say ten? Or eleven?"

"Eleven. No. Noon."

"OK then, noon, by the fountain, I will see you..."

"No no, not by the fountain, too many people there could see me, uh, how about outside the portal on the road. I will be walking."

"As you wish!" Giovanni left the kitchen and directed Pietro to get the carriage. And just before I walked out of the massive wooden door carved with all the birds, Sofia brought me my boots, polished to a high black sheen.

I looked at her and she raised her face so as not to look at me.

As the carriage, with the silent driver, brought me back home -- Giovanni hadn't accompanied me -- I felt like I had been having a dream all afternoon, some of it very good and some of it not so good at all.

At some point on the way home it occurred to me to wonder why he wanted me back at noon? Wasn't I there just to serve dinner? What were my other duties going to be? I felt my eyes closing, but soon, I was back in Paola. As I jumped down from the wagon onto the ground, I realized that I was going to have to tell Mama something about what had happened! "

"T is for Temptation!"

I didn't see Giovanni for almost a week. I didn't seek him out on the beach and I didn't speak to anyone about him either, not Mama, of course, but not even Nunzi. I decided that the best thing for me would be for Giovanni just to disappear from Paola. But in my heart of hearts -- cuore dei cuori -- I had a feeling I hadn't seen the last of this handsome poet.

One morning, a Thursday, I slept a little later than usual. As I awoke, I heard a knock on the door. After a minute or so, I heard Mama open the door. There was a brief but muffled exchange and then the door closed again.

I yawned, thinking nothing of the visitor. I got up, knelt by my bed and was in the middle of saying a hurried prayer when I heard my own door open.

"Good morning Fi," Mama said. "I hope you slept well."

"I did Mama," I answered, smiling at my mother. I felt good that going forward I would no longer have anything to hide from her.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt your prayers."

"Oh no, that's OK," I said, making a quick sign of the cross. I rose and turned to face her.

"I don't know why, but Father Crudele is asking to see you at the sanctuary right away."

My eyes opened wider. "Oh," I said, feeling sweat gather at the edge of my scalp and across my back. What could he possibly want with me? Did I dare tell Mama about the encounter with Crudele when I was in the company of Giovanni? "Maybe he wants me to do some cleaning in the church."

Mama eyed me. "Maybe. But the messenger he sent said he wanted to see you within the hour. Somehow I don't think he would be in such a rush if he was simply asking for housecleaning."

I nodded, all the while thinking, "Dear God, I am innocent of any wrongdoing. Please keep me from sinning!" A wave of anger passed over me at the very same time. I always sought out the beloved pink and blue sanctuary when I was troubled or wanted inspiration for my writing. But now that space had taken on a certain danger. Where could I go to be alone to pray and think?

"Fi, I am happy to go with you," Mama said. "You shouldn't have to see the priest on your own."

"Oh, well, that's not necessary," I said, shrugging. "Really, Mama, I'm old enough to go alone." I smiled at my mother again, and took one of her hands and squeezed it gently. "But I should get dressed, seeing as how he wants to see me in a hurry."

Mama left the room, and I stood beside my bed, trying to calm my beating heart. I inhaled deeply. And then I held my breath briefly, and let it out slowly. I took off my nightgown and dressed in one of my housedresses that I refer to as my sacks, "i miei sacchi," as they have no shape at all.

I left the house without having breakfast or even a coffee. "Save me something," I told Mama. And then to myself, I said, "And please save me!! -- E per favore salvami!" As I walked quickly over the cobblestones toward the sanctuary I started to feel more courageous. And sure of myself. After all, I had always behaved like the perfect young lady, and I had no reason to think that the priest could find fault with that.

At the sanctuary, I wandered up the aisle and then through the door that led to the rectory.

No one answered the door when I knocked. I waited a couple of minutes and knocked again. And then I tried the handle. It was locked. Feeling satisfied that I had done what I could to see the priest, I turned and went back into the sanctuary.

I gasped and my heart sank as I saw the priest walking casually up the aisle in the company of Giovanni, who looked even more dashing today than the week before. He wore a powder blue shirt with very blousy sleeves and over the shirt, a soft and loose-fitting leather vest, the color of caramel.

Why is this happening to me? I thought. What have I done to deserve this temptation? And why didn't I take Mama's offer to come with me? Am I, down deep, hoping to fall in love with this man? I shuddered at the thought of him touching the skin of my back, my neck, my arms.

"Ah Filomena!" The priest called out my name in the same loud manner that he might have in the town square, "la piazza cittadina." My cheeks flushed warm and my body was now swarming with sweat. I inhaled again, and was determined not to let my black nerves -- nervi nidi -- show.

We were now standing about half-way up the aisle. Father Crudele was laughing at something that Giovanni had said. "Are they talking about me?" I wondered, and this thought too played on my black nerves. I raised my head high, the way Mama had taught me.

"Father, you wanted to see me?" I could hear the flutter in my voice. But what mattered is that I stayed strong. And that I would stand up for myself.

"Oh yes, yes, my dear Filomena, will you please accompany me and Signor Masiero to my office?"

Giovanni spoke. “It is wonderful to see you again, Filomena!”

I smiled at him but I didn’t speak.

I turned and walked behind Giovanni and the priest into the rectory. I was completely undone by the smell of Giovanni's cologne. The odor was lemony and sweet like some flower I couldn't identify. No one in Paola wore such aromatic cologne!

In the priest's office, Father Crudele sat down and offered Giovanni the chair across from him, leaving me to stand there, like a servant.

Father looked up at me. "My dear Filo, this fine gentleman has come to Paola for a holiday, and he asked me if I might help him find una domestica, a maid to help with housekeeping. I thought of you right away, and when I mentioned your name to Giovanni, he was enthusiastic."

Giovanni smiled at me, and spoke before I had a chance. "Yes, I am enthusiastic, Father, as this lovely girl seems very intelligent and she also shares my love of writing."

I stood there, trying to think fast. On the surface, the priest's suggestion didn't sound terribly dangerous to me. But then, who is this man, Giovanni? And why is he so "enthusiastic" about me? And what will Mama think of all this? And also, how can I dare say no to the priest? No one ever challenges him!

"Maybe," I said, my chin falling to my chest.

"What? Speak up Filomena," the priest commanded, "and for heaven's sake, pick up your head!"

I didn't like the priest's tone, but I complied. I looked up, but still I averted my eyes away from the priest's. "I said perhaps I could be his...domestica." Here I hesitated. "That is, if Mama agrees." Ah, I thought, proudly, I have left myself an out.

"Oh for heaven's sake, my dear Filomena, don't tell me that at your age you have to ask your Mama for permission -- autorizzazione -- to take a job? Do you need her permission to breathe as well?!" He laughed out loud, one short denigrating laugh and raised both of his hands; he turned to face Giovanni as if he were fed up with me. Giovanni, I noticed, wasn't laughing, and I appreciated that! But even though the priest was looking at Giovanni, his words were still directed right at me. "I know for a fact that you and your mother can use the money, Filomena. And so, aren't you old enough to make up your own mind?"

And now, Giovanni came to my defense. "Father, I'm afraid I may have frightened Filomena a bit the first time we met. I regret that now." He turned to face me. "Filomena, I want you to know that there will be plenty of other servants in the house so you will be chaperoned. Isn't that correct, Father?" "Oh yes, of course." I didn't trust myself to say to the priest what was on my mind, so I simply smiled at him. And then I said, "Thank you for making it clear that I would be chaperoned. And Father, of course I am grateful that you thought of me, because yes, we do need the money."

"Well, then, it's settled." Father turned to Giovanni. "When would you like her to begin?

Giovanni cleared his throat, and then he turned to me. "I could use your help later today," he said. He looked at his watch. "Perhaps about three o'clock? A small group of people are coming for dinner." He smiled at me, and I felt warm shivers down to my toes.

"Okay, then, goodbye until then," I said, my heart starting to hammer again. I turned to leave.

"Ah but don't you need directions?" He laughed a very soft laugh. His eyes were dancing mischievously.

"Oh yes of course," I said, feeling stupid.

"So the house is in San Lucido, so we will need to go by carriage. I will be in the square at three o'clock with the carriage."

My eyes opened wider. A carriage? Were there carriages in Paola? I had only ridden in carts pulled by donkeys. I stammered an OK and hurried out of the rectory.

It didn't take me long to get back home, but I walked very very slowly, because I desperately needed time to concoct a story for Mama. How could I explain the predicament I now found myself in? I knew it was time to get Nunzi involved, and so I headed in that direction.

*********

When I got to Nunzi's, my friend was hanging T shirts and underwear that at one point had been white, but were now grey, on a short clothesline. Her son, Vincenzo, who is three, was handing her the clothespins. Nunzi, who had a few clothespins in her mouth, has two older sons, one named Claudio, and the other named Georgio, who is eleven and old enough to help his father in the olive orchards.

"Hello my dear Nunzi," I began, and as soon as Nunzi caught the look on my face, she stopped, and removed the clothespins from between her lips. "And why are you here so early, my friend? And why do you look like such a frightened kitten?"

"Oh, well, I was thinking about you, so I decided to pay you a visit."

Nunzi clipped a pair of socks onto the clothes line. "How is it I can always tell when false words are falling from your lips, eh Filo?"

"Oh Nunzi, you are impossible. But that's why I love you."

"It's him again, isn't it? The man on the beach?"

She smiled. "I had a feeling this man was not going to disappear!" I raised the back of my hand to my forehead. "Oh Nunzi, I was just at the church, where Father Crudele asked me to work as a maid for the man on the beach!" "You're kidding!" "No, I am not kidding. The man's name is Giovanni, and he was sitting there with the priest, and he kept smiling at me. And before you tell me why I should say no to this job as a maid, I will tell you that I have already said yes!" I dropped onto a large rock wall next to Nunzi's house. "So please don't lecture me because I just got a lecture from the priest." "I promise I won't lecture you. But tell me, what did the priest say?" "When I hesitated about taking the job, he made a big stink about how I can't think for myself. 'Do you need your mother's permission to breathe too?'" "Oh forget that old fool!" She sat down beside me on the rock. I looked up and let the exquisite sunshine glow on my face.

"Tell me dear Filo, what does this Giovanni expect of you?" I took in a big breath. "Oh it's very straight forward. Giovanni is looking for a maid and the priest thought of me." I shrugged. "It's only while Giovanni is here on holiday. I could hardly say no. Oh, and they made a big point of saying that there are other servants working there, so I will be chaperoned."

Nunzi put her arm around my shoulders. "Well, it sounds rather exciting Fi. To be working for someone who is so handsome, and obviously so wealthy too. But of course I do worry about you. I don't need to tell you why."

"No, you don't." I sighed. "Oh Nunzi, I am excited but also, I'm confused too. I wonder why would this man choose me?" Nunzi threw her head back and laughed. "Because you are a beautiful young woman, Filomena. I've been telling you this for years." I stared at Nunzi, but was thinking about Giovanni. Was I beautiful in his eyes? I have never really felt like a beautiful woman. "You know what Nunzi? This man told the priest that I was very 'intelligent.' That's the word he used. And he said he likes the fact that I am a writer because he is a writer too."

"Oh, my dear Filomena, I'm so glad for you, but I am also scared for you. I don't want you to get hurt, my sweet friend." "

I stared at Nunzi, weighing how to say what was next.

"So, there's one more thing."

"Oh dear." Nunzi took her son onto her lap and pushed her thick fingers through his dark curls. "Tell me Fi, please."

"Giovanni's house is in San Lucido so we need to take a horse and carriage there...and he asked me to come this afternoon, at three, as he is having a few guests for dinner."

"This afternoon? But you haven't even told your Mama yet have you?"

I sighed, and slowly shook my head no. "But Nunzi what choice do I have? You know that foolish priest. He humiliated me into agreeing. He made fun of me for being hesitant! And you know how he is: there is no refusing "il Papa di Paola," the Pope of Paola!

Nunzi inhaled. And shook her head. "That priest will be the death of us women yet. Look, what are you going to tell your Mama? I mean, what do you know about this man?"

"Well, as I said, he is a poet. And he seems very kind. So I am going to tell Mama the truth, well, at least part of the truth. I will say that the priest asked me to do some housecleaning."

"And when she asks where?"

Filo inhaled. "For the time being, I will say that I'm working for a visitor in Paola. But that's where I need help from you."

"Oh?"

"I need to be able to tell Mama that I am having dinner here with you after I finish my work, because I will arrive home later tonight."

Nunzi moved Vincenzo off her lap. "Okay, Fi. But I am not happy keeping things from your mother. I think, once you are settled there working, you need to tell her what's going on."

I stared at Nunzi. "Yes," I said. And to myself, I said, "I hope and pray that time comes soon."

"D" Stands for Diavolo!

I was tired that morning, because I had cleaned two cottages in a row. In the second one, I had to scour the tile floor on my hands and knees, scraping with a butter knife. The man who rented the cottage must be a painter and a sculptor too. Why had he not thought to use a cloth to cover the floor? My God, some people! What he left behind were scraps of hard clay, and large splotches of pink and yellow, light purple and a shade of green, the ugliest color I've ever seen.

But now I was done, I had a break of at least an hour and a half before Signora Strada's house. I was looking for a place to sit in the sand and eat my bread and provolone. I had brought along my diary because more often than not, I would write down a thought, an impression, another description of the clear turquoise water, that sparkled like gems in the sunshine.

Afterward, when my fall from grace was sealed and complete, I would blame my misfortune on the fact that he had the most beautiful reddish blonde hair, his head was chock full of curls, each ring with a kind of shadow. Nobody had hair like that, certainly not in Paola -- for sure not in Paola. Or for that matter, no one in all of Cosenza.

Nobody was as tall as this man was either! He had to be, I tried to calculate, almost two heads taller than me, making him nearly six feet! I had never seen anyone blessed with such stature, nor had I seen such clear blue green eyes like his -- eyes that exactly reflected the sky or the ocean or both.

When he approached me, at the edge of the sea, he stopped. He was carrying a pair of casual shoes the likes of which I had never seen before. They looked to be made from cloth or linen. Who wore shoes like that? How could you possibly keep them clean?

But it was the fact that he had a rather large leather notebook in his hands that made me so curious. Could he be a painter? Or a writer like me? He smiled at me, a wide and comfortable smile, as if he already knew me. So surprised was I by this confident gaze that I too stopped. Right away I felt my heart bumping in my chest. Our eyes locked, and then color rushed into my face and I forced myself to pass by. I glanced down at the stained apron I wore and the sack-like dress beneath and I felt a wave of such deep shame.

I picked up the apron and twisted it off over my head. And then I looked back at him and I was astonished to find that he was still standing there staring at me. He was clutching his notebook as if it was a lover. He smiled again, and nodded in a knowing way, as if he was certain that one way or another, something would be coming from me.

Who was this man? How could he have such "facia," such face? So rude, and yet so handsome and so perfectly at ease with his boldness! Where had he come from? But instantly I knew. He was one of those wealthy people from far up north, the folks who come to visit "the boot" as they call it. Southern Italy. They come to be here in the sun and the sand, "sole e sabbia."

I passed my hand over my hair, tightly bound in a knot. What was this feeling? Was I, could I be in love, oh but how could I be, I was barely 17, and I had seen him for only a few short minutes. In that moment, though, I could imagine him touching the skin of both of my arms and I shivered.

I walked as far as I could to get away from him and sat down in the sand near my favorite pile of rocks. I wrapped my arms around my knees. I sat there feeling locked up. I couldn't possibly eat a thing. I couldn't stop trembling. No matter how tightly I held onto my knees my arms shivered. As hard as I could, I tried as hard as I could to put him out of my mind. I vowed that I would forget that I had seen him by the seashore.

But a vision of his eyes and his hair and his smile and his towering height, all of it was branded front and center in my mind.

All this happened on a Friday at the end of February. It was Lent, and so when I finished wiping and sweeping and scouring the Strada cottage in the afternoon, I walked to the Sanctuary of Saint Francis of Paola where I often go to think about life.

I sat there, drinking in the pale pink and blue walls. I thought that if I could just fill up my mind with images of Jesus and all those saints and holy ones then I wouldn't think about the man with the blonde curls and eyes the color of the sea.

No matter that I remained in the chapel for well over an hour. No matter that I breathed slowly in and out the whole time, and that I kept squeezing my eyes shut tightly, hoping to rid myself of all temptation. Still, when I opened my eyes, he was right there, square in sight.

And then the pink of the walls turned on me: they made me think of pink flesh and I grew so terrified of my thoughts and feelings that followed -- skin, skin, skin -- pelle, pelle, pelle -- that I quickly left the sanctuary and hurried into the street. My body was consumed by a strange heat that felt like it wrapped me in a warm blanket.

When I got home, Mama was washing escarole in a wooden tub in the sink. She asked me why I was so late coming home and I felt so fortunate that I was able to tell her the absolute truth: "I felt that I needed to be in the church today Mama. I needed to pray. So I went and sat."

Mama looked at me with one eye slightly shut, an accusatory glance, and suddenly I felt like a slut, una "puttana" as Mama would say, a term she used so often when she saw a girl with a blouse that pulled too tightly across her bosom, or a woman who dared to wear her skirts above her ankle. Certainly the word suited me today.

That night I sank into bed, my head filled with images of this man I labeled "diavola," the devil. I took my diary into bed with me and wrote a description of him followed by the words: "And then he was gone! Amen!" I had never touched myself before, because the priest so often talked about that evil, but now I couldn't help it, I gave into the urges, all the while hating myself for being such a lowly sinner. I vowed that the following day, I wouldn't dare walk on the beach. That thought calmed me and finally I sank into sleep.

I dreamed that I lived in a tiny cottage beside the ocean with a blue and white tile floor. I had filled my cottage with more and more statues -- the Virgin Mary, Saint Francis, and even a statue of Saint Filomena, my namesake, the saint of infants, babies and young people. I was sitting there in my cottage, drinking a cafe when there was a knock on the door. I knew who it was of course and still, knowing what I did, I opened the door wide. Diavola came inside, smiling the whole time.

I awoke with a start, my heart pounding, and I sat up straight in bed. I took up my diary again. I scribbled: "Dear God, I hate feeling this way: like someone has turned me inside out from head to foot, so that nothing I feel or think can be hidden from anyone!"

I decided to visit my friend Nunzi that morning. Nunzi is my best friend but more like a big sister. But would she understand if I confessed what had happened?

"Wait," I cried out, holding the palm of my hand against my forehead. "NOTHING HAS HAPPENED!" As soon as the words had escaped my lips, I worried that I had spoken too loud, that Mama in the next room had heard.

I dressed quickly and left the tiny room where I sleep and I crept into the room that holds the woodstove. I took the wooden pail off its hook and left the house and walked the cobblestone streets until I came to the central square where the communal fountain is. I filled the pail at one of the spigots, grateful that it was so early that no one else was awake. I came back to the house and filled the espresso pot with water and coffee. I would make coffee as soon as Mama woke up.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door and I started. My heart started slamming against my chest. I had to answer it, didn't I? But what if it was... Oh but how foolish I was being! How could he possibly find me?

Slowly I opened the door, hoping against all logic that it was him, the man I now referred to in my thoughts and my diary simply as D.

There was Nunzi! I held one hand against my heart, hoping I could stop it from pounding.

"Come in, come in," I said, amazed that she would show up so early.

"So my friend, what is going on with you? I haven't seen you in two days!" Nunzi stood with hands on her hips.

My lips trembled. My arms started shaking too. How was it that Nunzi always knew when something was up with me?

"I...I don't know what you mean," I said, busying myself by lighting the woodstove.

"Look at me Filo," Nunzi said.

And so I slowly turned to face my friend. I kept my gaze low.

She started chuckling. "I said look at me, ragazza! Show me your eyes!"

I stood up tall and gazed at Nunzi. And then I smiled. I feel like my friend can peer directly into my soul!

"I don't understand how you always know." I lowered my gaze again. "But when I tell you what happened you will understand that it is nothing, really nothing at all."

"Oh yes, well if that's so, how come your cheeks are flushed with such a lovely rosy color?"

I shook my head and proceeded to tell Nunzi about my encounter with D. In the telling, though, I left out certain points, namely that I hadn't been able to stop my trembling. Naturally, I left out the dream too.

"Well, my dear friend, it sounds like you have a crush on this handsome stranger! I am glad that someone finally recognizes how beautiful you are. But just be careful Fi, you know how men can be!"

"Oh Nunzi, really, I told you, it's absolutely nothing. And you know too that I hate it when you lecture me..." I was about to say "like Mama does," but I didn't because at that very moment, Mama came into the kitchen.

"Well and what is the lecture for, my dear Nunzi?"

Nunzi smiled her most beguiling smile. "Oh Signora I am just trying to convince Filo to take a job for me. I have more than I bargained for this week." Nunzi winked at me.

"That sounds like something Fi ought to do! Wouldn't you agree Fi?" Mama smiled at me and turned the heat under the coffee. When it was done, she poured for the three of us. We sat and sipped, as we so often do, and soon Nunzi excused herself.

Later, when I was sweeping the kitchen, I thought back to what Nunzi said. She is very protective, and I am grateful for that, but when she lectures me, ah, it makes me crazy. When I was a little girl, and Papa was still alive, I remember his stern words, and his creased forehead. I dreaded when Papa, a normally loving and cheerful man, got this way, and today I found myself irritated that my best friend felt she had to warn me once again about how men can be! We have talked that subject to death!

Which is how I justified going back to the beach again, just about the same hour as the day before. In my mind I deserved this walk by the sea, just to make myself feel better. I wouldn't admit to myself that I was dying to see D again.

Today, however, I made sure to sweep my hair up into an elegantly braided top knot. And I wore my navy blue cotton dress, with a large white collar. It might not be at all suitable to the beach, but it is the only decent dress that I own.

My heart started beating faster as soon as I unlaced my boots and stepped into the sand. I had my shoes dangling from my first two fingers, just the way that D had his cloth shoes swinging from his hand the day before. I walked the entire length of the beach and when I reached the end I had to decide: should I pace the beach back in the other direction? And in that moment I knew it would be sinful to search for this handsome stranger.

Altogether embarrassed by my desire, I decided to leave the beach. If anyone from Paola saw me parading back and forth on the sand, wearing my best dress, they would get "a half idea" --"una mezza idea" about me, as my mother put it. The idea being that the woman, me in this case, was looking for something -- or someone-- she shouldn't be looking for.

As I wiped the sand off my feet and put on my stockings and boots, I decided to visit the St. Francis sanctuary for a second day in a row. I had found my time there calming and if I needed anything right now, it was to calm myself.

As I left the beach I sat down on a low wall momentarily, and gazed out at the sea. I thought, if only I had brought my diary. But Mama doesn't approve of me "writing in the street," as she puts it -- "scrivere per strada." We have big arguments over this! You see, my last name being Scrivano -- scribe in Italian -- I feel it is my right, to write as much as I can, and anywhere I please. Mama is not of the same mind and it makes me furious!

"I love if you write, but Filo, please, honey, do it at night when you are in your bed, in private!"

I bent over to brush the sand from my boots. I stood up and gasped. There was D right across the street. I'm sure my mouth dropped open. He smiled at me and crossed the street.

"Why are you leaving the beach on such a lovely day?" he asked. He was carrying his leather notebook again, and a pen, but he slipped them into a colorful cloth bag. He didn't stop smiling. I looked up at him and squinted into the sun. I felt the blood flushing into my cheeks again. And instantly I was tongue-tied. He spoke such beautiful Italian, I was ashamed to think that as soon as I spoke, he would know that I was of a low class.

And because of that, I didn't say a word, at least not at first. I smiled, though, and nodded, and I pointed in the direction I was walking. He followed me, taking one step for my every three.

"Oh so you are unable to talk?" he asked, looking serious for a moment. "How sad and difficult that must be for you!" And then he smiled that smile that stops me dead in my tracks!

I stopped walking and found myself laughing.

"Ah but you are able to laugh," he said, "which after all, is probably so much more important than speaking."

I turned to face him. "I am perfectly able to speak, but I generally do not speak to strangers!"

"Oh well that. Let me introduce myself: I am Giovanni Masiero, so now you know my name, I am no longer a stranger."

Ah, I thought, here we have what Mama would call a smooth talker -- "un parlatore tranquillo." I cleared my throat. "I'm afraid you are still a stranger to me." I spoke softly and I tried to hold my head high, and I continued on my way to the church. Naturally, I hoped he would follow. Which he did, all the way staying a respectable distance behind me.

Soon we were there, in the square before the church. I was trying to decide how I could politely take my leave of him before I entered St. Francis. I walked slowly up the stairs, and turned.

"May I accompany you inside?" he asked, sounding very polite.

My eyes widened. It never occurred to me that he would want to go into the sanctuary. And of course there was no reason he couldn't except...

What if someone happened to see us together? I wondered whether it was a sin for me to be seen inside a church in the company of a man who perhaps was ten years older than me, a man I cannot stop thinking about. My heart hammering, I was about to tell him he couldn't come in. And then he smiled at me again and my resolve evaporated.

"I suppose that it wouldn't hurt if..." and before I could finish, he met me at the top step, scooped up my hand in his and led me inside the pink sanctuary.

The walls were so much the color of flesh, the smell of the incense was so strong, and his hand felt so warm and supportive holding my hand. Here I was growing dizzy going down the aisle of the church.

"It is a most beautiful sanctuary, don't you agree?" he whispered. I nodded my head yes. Before I knew it, my thoughts were tumbling forward and I actually saw myself walking down the aisle in a wedding dress, while he awaited me at the front near the altar. At that exact moment, the priest, Father Crudele, stepped into the front of the church. My eyes flew wide and I felt sweat sprouting out of my scalp and my armpits and the white neckline of my navy blue dress.

Without thinking, I steered D into a pew and plunked myself down. I let go of his hand and kneeled and right away clasped my hands in prayer.

"Please God," I prayed in silence, "Please let there be an earthquake right now so that I don't have to make an introduction of this man Giovanni to Father Crudele, because I know the priest well enough and he will certainly tell me to my face what he has told me and so many others before: "You are headed straight to Hell!" -- "Sei diretto dritto all'inferno!"

As I watched the priest come down the aisle, my heart began slamming at my ribcage and my mouth grew so dry that my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Oh my dear God what what what shall I say to him, how can I possibly explain that I was just holding hands with this handsome stranger?

And then, just when I felt so woozy I thought perhaps I would faint, I saw something I rarely see: Father Crudele with a broad smile, and his hands reaching out to either side, as if he were the Pope welcoming his flock.

"My dear Signore, how kind of you to do us the favor of a visit!"

I blinked. My mouth dropped open. I could be forgiven for thinking I was hearing things. But no, the priest was actually standing three feet away, in the aisle, and he was actually talking to Giovanni in a manner that I rarely if ever hear him speak to anyone. His eyes had a sheen of kindness that I had never seen directed at me or Mama or anyone else I know for that matter.

"Hello Father, I am pleased to see you looking so well." Giovanni bowed his head slightly and then stared at the priest while he gestured his hand toward me. "I had the great privilege of meeting one of your parishioners, and she asked me to accompany her here." My head was in a kind of spin by now. How was I to make sense of all this? How could I possibly....

And then it hit me. Money. Whoever this Giovanni character was, he or his family had donated handsomely to Crudele's coffer. Otherwise, why would the priest offer Giovanni such a sleasy smile?

"Oh yes, Signore, Filomena Scrivano is one of my favorites," Crudele said, nodding his head -- with that thin balding hair -- in my direction. I nodded too, and attempted a smile, thinking all the while that I had never before heard the priest refer to me as one of his favorites. I was still kneeling, and then I realized I ought to be standing up, as both men were. I pushed myself to stand and held onto the back of the pew in front of me.

Just wait until I tell Nunzi, was all I could think.

"When you two have finished with your prayers, please come to the rectory for a glass of wine!" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Had I ever heard the priest invite anyone in all of Paola to share a glass of the wine he so carefully hoarded? My stomach started into a roll, and then it twisted, and for one horrible moment, I thought I might vomit. I took a big breath in, and wondered if I could bow out of this invitation. Again I felt dizzy and so I was profoundly relieved when the priest finally turned back toward the front of the sanctuary and disappeared from view.

I dropped into the pew. I turned to Giovanni and without thinking I said, "Who exactly are you that our priest is so glad you are here?"

D threw back his head of dirty blonde curls and laughed out loud, so loud that I grew nervous. "I am a just a poet, Filomena Scrivano. And because of your last name, I think that you too are a scribe!"

It felt like he was seeing right through me. He knew my name and he knew that my heart beats for writing.

He placed his hand on the cloth bag he was carrying. "Perhaps I will write a poem for you, my dear girl!" And then he stared straight at me and drew one hand very gently beneath my chin, as if I were a child, and then I felt his fingers trace my jaw, and land on my lips. The feeling sent warm chills through me, but scared me to my core. No one had ever touched me like this before!

I couldn't take one more minute of this. I rose and Giovanni tried to take hold of my elbow but I pulled away and stepped in front of him and into the aisle.

"I must go home," I whispered.

"But this is a church, dear girl, you are quite safe here, I promise you," he said.

I gazed at him and his curls for one more minute and I realized that I was just as afraid of myself as I was of him. Raising my hand in goodbye, I fled the sanctuary, grateful for the fresh air and sunshine. I smoothed a few stray hairs into my bun, and with my hands and arms trembling at my sides, I headed as calmly as I could toward home.

And when I got there, Mama was out. Thankfully. I went directly to my bed and pulled my diary into my lap and wrote:

Who could this man be

who overnight has turned me upside down

with simply a smile?

Already I have walked down the aisle of

the Sanctuary of St. Paola

with him,

me in a white dress.

At that moment, I heard Mama walk in the door, so I slipped the diary under my mattress.

What a day it had been! What was I going to tell Mama about it?

I shook my head.

Absolutely nothing! Assolutamente niente!