"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?"
"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.
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