Writing Brings Out the Best -- and Lots of Honesty -- in Filomena

By the time we arrive back at the villa, it is time for lunch. Giuseppi has prepared a delicious bean soup and braised dandelion greens. Ah, I think as I sit down, certain foods are eaten by both the rich and the poor! Mama always steams dandelion greens for me, because she knows how much I love them.

Giovanni insists that I drink a little wine with lunch, which I know is a dangerous thing. I am not capable of consuming too much alcohol. But I sip the half a glass of Chianti he has poured me.

We finish lunch with a platter of cheeses and fruits. Figs and pears, apples and oranges. Oh how I wish I could have taken some of this bounty home for Mama to sample!

When Giovanni attempts to fill my glass a second time, I place my hand over the rim.

"I am afraid I'm already getting dizzy," I say. And to myself, I add: "I won't be able to work at all today if this keeps up!"

A cup of espresso finishes off the meal for us. I feel ready for a nap, and as it happens, Giovanni leads me out to the terrace to sit in the lounge chairs. The sun, the warm breeze, all of the food and drink, it's easy for me to fall asleep.

I wake up to the sound of voices arguing inside the house.

"Signor, I am faced with a pile of guest sheets and towels this high, I thought she was going to help me." It's Sofia's voice. She sounds as though she is panicked and stressed. And so cranky!

"Sofia, I can find someone else to help you. I promise I will do that immediately because I do appreciate the fact that you need help."

"But Signor, with all due respect, isn't that young woman capable of assisting me? She did fine the other day."

"Yes, well, I'm sorry, Sofia, she is not available today. As I said, I will find help for you. Leave the laundry for today."

"Oh Signor, I couldn't possibly do that, it's my job."

And with that I hear her disappear. And even though I am thrilled that I will not be washing laundry in that hellish basement again any time soon, I find myself feeling guilty. Somebody has to do the laundry, and if isn't me, it's going to be another poor somebody, like Sofia.

I hear Giovanni approaching. I close my eyes. I realize that he has freed me from this sorry chore, but once more, I am confused about who I am and where I belong. Am I Filomena when I dine at the villa and occupy these lounge chairs?

He sits down and I open my eyes and turn to face him. "Good afternoon," I say. "I suppose I should begin my workday pretty soon."

"Ah well, I suppose. But what would you say if we spent a few minutes sitting here writing?"

A smile blooms on my face. "I can hardly refuse your offer!"

"That's just one thing I love about you Filomena, you are honest and you say what's on your mind!"

Ah, well, I think to myself, there are many things that I don't tell you, Giovanni!

I have my journal and now he hands me the fountain pen which I adore. I sit there, my buttery leather journal in one hand, and the handsome wooden fountain pen in the other, and I think to myself, "I am so grateful that I have this opportunity to be a real writer!"

He opens a book I haven't seen before. "So Filo -- may I call you that?"

I smile. "Yes, I answer to that name, and also, just so you know, some people just call me Fi!"

"Yes, and my friends call me Vanni, and I wish you would do that too!"

"I promise that I will think about it!" I recall at that moment how I first nicknamed him D for Diavolo. Now, that doesn't really fit the Giovanni that I am getting to know.

"So this book, Fi, maybe you know of it, it's one of the most famous of Italian novels, if not the most famous. It's called 'The Betrothed,' or 'I Promessi Sposi.' Have you heard of it?"

"I have heard of it but I have not read it. As you might expect, our schools are not the best."

"Yes, well, one of the reasons I am so excited about unification is that it opens up the possibility that we will someday have national standards for education. But that discussion is for another day. Today I want to read to you a small passage from the novel, which tells the story of two lovers who are prevented from marrying, at least at the start."

My heart starts racing. It must be the wine, but his mention of the two lovers prevented from marrying suddenliy washes over me with fear. He's talking and I'm not listening.

"Would you like to try?"

I blink. "I am so sorry Giovanni but I think the wine has lifted my head into the sky like a bird taking flight. Please, would you repeat what you were saying?"

Giovanni chuckles and reaches over and briefly runs his fingertips softly back and forth under my chin. Instantly, I am flooded with goosebumps. "What I was saying is that we can read novels and then we can be inspired to write our poetry. Would you like to try?"

I consider his proposal and something inside me recoils. Shall I be truthful? "Honestly, Giovanni, if you wouldn't mind, I would prefer for you to read another sonnet like the other day!"

He seems surprised at first, but he quickly adjusts. "OK, I am glad you feel that you can be honest with me Filo! So give me a moment and I will get another book."

When he leaves, I am free to gaze out at the sea. I feel so dreamy and relaxed. How can I possibly go to work after this? Perhaps I will ask for another espresso, so that I can wake up!

And as if my thoughts are transmitted instantly, Sofia appears with a silver tray bearing two cups. She sets them down on the table between the lounge chairs. I watch her carefully, wondering if she is going to speak to me. And when she does, her words are like a sharp knife across my throat.

"So he lets you do exactly as you please." She gazes at me narrowly. "There is a price you pay for that."

I open my mouth to respond but I realize that I have nothing to say. And now Giovanni is on his way back carrying a large book. She gives me one last dark look and disappears from the terrace.

As he sits down, I realize that Sofia is right. Giovanni is spoiling me. And maybe there will be a terrible price to pay! Once again, I start drowning in fear. Suddenly I want to run away, to go home to Paola and hide. Oh how awful I feel. Sofia has managed to ruin the afternoon!

Meanwhile, Giovanni is casually flipping through pages. He stops. "I think you will like this one my dear. It's the most famous sonnet Petrarch ever wrote. It's called 'I'd sing of Love in such a Novel Fashion.' Are you ready?"

I nod my head yes, but inside, my heart is all aflutter. Oh how insecure I feel!

He begins to read:

I'd sing of Love in such a novel fashion

that from her cruel side I would draw by force

a thousand sighs a day, kindling again

in her cold mind a thousand high desires

I'm only half listening as he finishes the rest of the poem. The only words that stick out are "her cruel side" and "her cold mind."

"So are you ready to write Filo?" I stare at him blankly. "Uh...yes, sure." Inside I'm churning. I feel like not just my face but my whole body is burning up with shame and confusion. "But would you mind terribly bringing me a glass of water? Actually, a pitcher of water?"

He eyes me curiously. "Are you feeling ill Filomena?"

"Just very very warm. Perhaps we should move into the shade?" And then I hear myself, asking for water, then a pitcher, and now asking for shade. When did I start making so many demands on him?

"Whatever you'd like. I'll get you some water and then we can move to the table over by the palm trees."

He gets up once more and I decide I should too. I walk around the terrace and then come back to the lounge chair. I take a sip of the coffee but it is supremely bitter. Another thought haunts me: maybe Sofia spiked it with poison!

Soon Giovanni and I are sitting at the table with water and coffee and our journals and pens. I'm tempted to ask him to reread the sonnet and then I think, no more demands Filomena!

"And so, now are we ready to write, my raven-haired sweetheart?" I am feeling so touchy that I am about to protest his calling me that. But reason returns.

"Yes, I'm ready." I open the journal to a fresh page. The gold edging glitters in a shaft of sunlight. I run my finger along the gold. Such a sumptuous journal!!! I force myself to concentrate. As I consider the phrases I recall from the poem, I have an idea of what I might write. I start:

"Her cruel side came out this afternoon. And as soon as she said what she did, I realized that perhaps she was right. Perhaps I am alreaady becoming a spoiled girl. Perhaps I will regret it. But never mind. She isn't the kind of person I like or find attractive. She seems to have no love for anyone including herself. She seems to have a cold mind and an even colder heart. What made her that way? Is it because she has worked too long in the hellish basement, stirring laundry in boiling water? Maybe what is really troubling me is the fact that I know now how hard she works. And even if I don't have to do the laundry from now on, some other girl will, maybe even someone I know! How do I feel knowing that? I do feel guilty, I must say. Why is it that some people are born to wealth and others, like me, and so many many others, are born to poverty and endless toil? When I hear about the unification bringing equality to all of Italy, I wonder if that is true. Will there ever really be equality throughout our newly formed country?"

Giovanni and I stop writing about the same time. I'm worried about what I have written. Will I get Sofia in trouble? That's the last thing I want to do, even though I really dislike her. But there's something else that concerns me: will Giovanni be shocked by what I feel about the endless divide between the rich and the poor?

"Would you please read first, Giovanni?"

"Sure, I can do that." He begins:

"If love were a novel

I would write a thousand,

no a million

pages, celebrating

the sweet girl who enchants me."

"She's got such exotic eyes that sparkle

dark dark and shaped like almonds.

Her hair -- I can only imagine unbraiding.

I see it falling in black ripples

there, low down on her back."

"But it is her soul

that really attracts me.

She holds in her unspoiled heart the whole of the sea

and all the stars dotting the night sky.

Hers is a spirit that is infinitely alive.

She reflects everything that is good

and so much that I've never known before."

When he stops reading, I feel like I need to hide my face.

"So?" he says.

I'm looking down at the table. "Oh it's...it's just lovely Giovanni...but...is it...is it really...about me?" Of course I know it is. I look up. He cups his hand against my face.

"Yes it is absolutely about you and it is really how I feel. You are a gorgeous young woman, Filomena, but it's your soul that has really hooked me. I've never met anyone who is quite as earnest as you are!"

I'm overwhelmed by what he wrote, but also, scared to share what I've written. But what choice do I have? I'm going to have to read it. "Thank you Giovanni. I have never met anyone like you either." I stop.

"So? Will you read please?"

"I know I have to read. But...I am not sure you will appreciate what I've written. In fact you may hate it!"

"Please Fi, let me be the judge of that, will you?"

I take in a long breath and I read:

"Her cruel side came out this afternoon. And as soon as she said what she did, I realized that perhaps she was right. Perhaps I am alreaady becoming a spoiled girl. Perhaps I will regret it. But never mind. She isn't the kind of person I like or find attractive. She seems to have no love for anyone including herself. She seems to have a cold mind and an even colder heart. What made her that way? Is it because she has worked too long in the hellish basement, stirring laundry in boiling water? Maybe what is really troubling me is the fact that I know now how hard she works. And even if I don't have to do the laundry from now on, some other girl will, maybe even someone I know! How do I feel knowing that? I do feel guilty, I must say. Why is it that some people are born to wealth and others, like me, and so many many others, are born to poverty and endless toil? When I hear about the unification bringing equality to all of Italy, I wonder if that is true. Will there ever really be equality throughout our newly formed country?"

I stare at the table. I hold my breath. Giovanni is silent. Oh dear, I think, I went overboard, being too honest. Now I've done it.

Finally he speaks. "Filomena, what you have written is just so pure and wonderful. It's ...yes...it's disturbing, mostly because I know who and what you're talking about. But it is also so exciting because it really makes me think. It makes me see the world through your eyes. And I realize that there is so much that I don't see, ever, not the way that you do!" He sets his hand over mine. "Do you see how very powerful...and persuasive your writing is?"

The exhileration I feel when he says this just adds to my dizziness. How can this be happening to me, a girl who grew up in such poverty? I speak quietly and I keep my eyes low, studying the table.

"Thank you...thank you so much, Giovanni. You make me feel like.." I raise my eyes and smile at him. "...like I might actually be a writer someday!"

And then it hits me. I need to work. It will make me feel a lot better if I go to the kitchen and put on an apron and help Giuseppi. I will feel as though my pay is justified. "But right now, I must be the assistant chef. I have a job to do -- I must earn my pay!"

He chuckles. "OK, Fi. I will not argue. But tonight I have no guests so there won't be a huge meal to prepare."

And when I get to the kitchen, I see that he is right. Giuseppi is sitting at the counter with a newspaper, drinking espresso. He offers me one, and I decline. "I've had my fill of wine AND coffee today," I say. I don my apron. "So what can I do?"

He smiles. "I was going to make stracciatella today. Would you like to try to make it?

" "Oh yes. I have made it for holidays before, as that is the only time we are fortunate enought to have eggs."

Giuseppi shakes his head in agreement. "It makes us appreciate them so much more when they are scarce, doesn't it?" And for the next few minutes he tells me how he grew up, very poor, in Sicily, not far from Syracusa. His family had a small restaurant, and Giovanni's family, vacationing in Sicily, used to be regulars. When Giuseppi's father died of a heart attack, Giuseppi at age 13 became the chef. Eventually, Giovanni invited Giuseppi to work at the villa.

"I have a very good job, thanks to Giovanni," he says.

I proceed to make the stracciatella, starting first by making a chicken broth. How exquisite it is to have a chicken (already plucked by Giuseppi.) I cut the carcass into pieces, and set them in a large kettle with water and sliced onions and carrots, oregano and some other spices that Giuseppi recommends.

While the chicken broth is simmering, I tell Giuseppi about my situation, how my father also died young. And how difficult it has been for Mama and me to scratch out a living in Paola. I tell him that I'm honored and excitd to work at the villa.

"Yes, I understand completely," he says. "And now maybe your whole life will change, just like mine did!"

I consider what Giuseppi says. What I want to say is, "I'm not sure that for me, it's that simple." But instead, I smile at him, and begin to wash the spinach and prepare the eggs and bread crumbs.

Later as I am finishing setting the table for one -- for Giovanni -- he comes into the kitchen. When he sees one place setting, his face turns sad. "I had hoped you would have dinner with me tonight, Filomena."

I take a moment to think about how to speak diplomatically. "My dear Giovanni, you are so generous and so very kind to me, and I so much appreciate all you have done and are doing, by hiring me and by helping me with my writing. But I ate lunch with you today and honestly, I think Mama would really appreciate a small bowl of this magnificent stracciatella I have made. Would you be insulted if I took my dinner, and some for her, and returned home?"

He studies me, and slowly, a smile emerges. "I don't mind at all. I urge you to take as much food as you need. Please please feed your Mama, as you can see that we have more than enough here." He reaches out and sets his hand gently on my forearm. "But in exchange, can I send the carriage for you tomorrow at eleven? Can we arrange for you to come every day, to write and also to work, so that I can look forward to having lunch with you each day? And then we will write, either the two of us alone, or with my friends, whoever is here?"

His stating the arrangement in this straightforward fashion makes me feel more relaxed than I've felt all day. Here now I can see how it will work to be both Filomena, the writer, and Filomena, the working girl who earns her keep, cooking!

I look at him and once again, love floods me. "Thank you so much Giovanni," and for the first time, I can imagine calling him Vanni.

After I am finished in the kitchen, I remove my apron and seek him out on the terrace. He is fast asleep, with a wine glass, half empty, by his side. I decide not to wake him. Instead, I remove the white ribbon from the end of my braid, and tie it into a bow that I lay gently on his chest.

The rest of the evening is wonderful, because Mama is so thrilled with the soup, and I am so thrilled that I will be going back to the villa every day from now on. Well, except for Sundays! I love the idea of working in the kitchen, and I am proud and delighted that I might become a real writer!

Poetry and Politics

I creep so quietly into the house, Mama doesn't wake up. Thank God! I can't begin to explain to her how horrible I'm feeling after the day I spent at the Villa.

I remove my uniform and drop into bed without washing or eating a thing. As I'm falling asleep, it occurs to me that I need to return that uniform -- it lies in a black and white heap on the floor.

"Tomorrow," I think. "I will worry about that tomorrow!"

When I wake up the next morning, the sun is bright in the sky. I blink. My mind is a blank cloud. I struggle to sit up. My arms and my chest and my neck and my back are all so sore that it takes everything out of me.

Then I remember all the lifting and stirring I did, moving that giant iron pole around and around and around in the steamy cauldrons. The whole of yesterday starts to fill my mind like a dark vapor. But then I shake my head no, I won't think about it now.

I listen for Mama. I hear nothing. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I move my head in circles. My neck screams out in every direction.

Thank God I don't have to return today, I say to myself. I gaze at the dirty uniform on the floor. More images from yesterday arise: the wringing of soaked towels and hot heavy sheets...pulling them out of the cauldrons with the iron pole...hanging them on clotheslines.

"No more!" I cry out loud. I will wash the uniform today and meet the carriage tomorrow and send it back to the Villa without me.

And so will end my brief "affair" with Giovanni! I will, if he seeks me out, tell him that I cannot be a guest and a house slave all at once.

I am in the kitchen fixing coffee when Mama enters. "Bongiorno," she says. "You came in so late last night I didn't hear you Fi!"

"Yes, Mama, it was really late when I finally finished with the laundry. What a day it was!"

As I say those five words, something comes over me. Instead of thinking about the long suffering afternoon, I begin to recall the intense pleasure I had in the morning, sitting in the sun on the terrace with the three men, all of us writing and listening to Giovanni read poetry. Suddenly I have a strong urge to go back, just for that blessed experience writing! But how can I possibly manage that?

"So tell me all about it," Mama says, "I'm anxious to hear everything."

I pour a coffee for me, and one for Mama who has taken a seat at the table. I'm trying to decide how to tell her what transpired.

"Before I speak, Mama, I must eat something. I am sfamatta!"

Mama gets up from the table and produces a loaf of her delicious bread, and some provolone and figs. I devour it all!

"I worked so hard yesterday afternoon I thought I would drop!" I proceed to tell her the long hot story of the laundry.

"Ah so you are earning your money!" she says, and I can tell she is pleased. I know she was so afraid that I was not actually going to work as a maid!

"Yes, I am," I say, pouring a second cup of coffee. "I will be very honest Mama. When I left the villa last night I was more tired than I have ever been before. I decided...I couldn't do the job any more."

"Oh," Mama says, a look of surprise on her face. "But I have always known you to be a girl who works extremely hard." "Yes, that's true, Mama, but they asked me to do heavy work I am not used to!"

How odd, I think, now Mama seems to be arguing in favor of me working at the villa! I decide to tell her about the morning. I describe the bliss I felt sitting at the table on the terrace staring at the sea and writing more freely than I ever have before.

"Oh Mama," I say, "they loved what I wrote! I so much want to be a writer like these other people are!"

Mama shakes her head. "Oh my dear Filomena, do I really need to remind you that these people are of the highest class? Their lives involve nothing but leisure activities. They can afford to play all day long and they never have to think about working. Please, Filomena, don't start getting fancy ideas! I guarantee that you will end up a very unhappy girl!"

Something inside me feels like rebelling against what Mama is saying. I took to heart what Giovanni said to me yesterday: that I may work as a maid, or a housecleaner or a laundress, but I have the soul of an artist!

Mama asks me if I will return to the villa and I say I'm not sure.

"Well if this Giovanni is really behaving like a gentleman, and he is willing to keep paying you so well for your work, perhaps you should stay!"

I laugh to myself. If Mama only knew how Giovanni was professing his love for me last night, she would be singing a different tune!

I finish my coffee in silence. I know what I need to do today. I take two pails from the kitchen and walk to the fountain for water. My arms ache carrying them when they are full. I decide to take my time. I walk 20 paces, and set the pails down and stand with my face up to the sunny sky. I close my eyes and once again I am sitting on the terrace staring out at the sea. When I open my eyes, Signore Padilla --with his bushy grey mustache-- is passing me. I smile at him but he -- a big grump -- frowns at me. He must wonder why I am standing in the middle of the cobblestone lane staring up at the sun. I pick up my pails and continue on my way, slowly, and feeling a kind of pleasure in my own company that I have not felt before.

Back home, I pull out the wooden washtub and I begin scrubbing my uniform and apron. Ah but my fingers are sore and the three of my knuckles are threatening to bleed. I wrap a clean rag around my hand so I don't soil the uniform. My navy blue dress is next, and then, the pile of underwear and towels and all the other laundry Mama has left for me. When I finish, I step outside into the sun again. Then I return to the house and sweep and mop the floors. In the afternoon Mama sends me to Signora Spada's house, where I do her laundry too, as she has a young baby.

Late in the afternoon, Signora Strada asks me to hold baby Ernesto, as she is preparing dinner. I sit with the chubby little fellow, bouncing him on my knee, all the while watching his beautiful little face. He has bright eyes, and he smiles a lot and makes the funniest gurgling noises. As I am walking home from the Strada's, it occurs to me that I would like to have a baby at some point in my life. And then I think, "Oh to be wife to Giovanni,! We would write together every day and we would have a nanny, una bambinaia, to help care for our babies!" And then I realize that I have been dreaming, and I force myself to stop thinking such farfetched thoughts!

When I reach home, the sun is pouring into the small window in the kitchen. Mama is out. I bring my new journal into the kitchen and set it on the table. From the shelf I get my precious dip pen, and the bottle of ink Mama got for me for Christmas almost two years ago. I open to a fresh page and sit there. Nothing comes. I turn back to the first page I wrote in the company of Giovanni and his friends. I smile, because I really like what I wrote.

I begin writing. "The sun is pouring through the window into my eyes. I realize that I can write about whatever is happening to me, at any given moment. Yesterday I went to the Villa and I had the most splendid morning writing -- and the worst afternoon working -- all in one day. I thought this morning that I would never return. But now as I sit here writing I think, "I would do anything to be on the terrace again writing with D and his friends!"

Clouds have moved in to block the sun. I sit there, staring into the grey blue sky. I write "How quickly the weather has turned tonight. How quickly I change my mind! I am not certain about anything anymore!"

I am done writing. I walk to the back of the house where we hang clothing. My uniform is dry, and so is my apron. And also, my navy blue dress. What shall I wear tomorrow morning when I meet the carriage? I smile because I never really made a decision to go back. It's as if my heart spoke, and that carried me. And I suppose, it's the writing that got me in touch with my heart.

Before I go to bed, I fold the uniform very carefully. And then the apron. I set them both at the end of my bed, on the left side. Then, on the right side, I lay my navy blue dress. I blow out my candle and slip into bed early, thinking that when I wake up in the morning I will decide what to wear!

*******

The next morning, I wake up early. I feel the excitement I always feel when I am going to see Giovanni. Somehow I am convinced that the job will work out. But God knows how! I kneel on the floor and pray to the Divine Mother, asking her to guide me. When I finish my prayers, I take the two buckets from the kitchen and walk to the fountain. I am going to wash my hair -- which is down to my waist! So there is never enough water to rinse it clean!

But I do a good job this morning. When I sit down for breakfast, Mama asks me if I am going to return to the job. "Yes, I think I will," I say. "I will meet the carriage today at eleven."

And even though I know a hellish afternoon is in store, my heart is full as I think about seeing Giovanni again, and I am so so excited about writing. When I walk into my bedroom, I decide to wear the navy blue dress, so I can sit at the table feeling -- or pretending to feel -- that I am fully equal to D and his friends (even though I know I'm not!) I will change into the uniform in the afternoon!

Soon it is time to meet the carriage so I braid my hair in one long rope. I tie a white ribbon around the end. Then I collect my things, including my new journal, and hurry outside. My boots clatter on the cobbles and my heart pumps with excitement. I walk through the portal and start up the road to San Lucido. And almost immediately there is the carriage! And to my amazement, standing beside the carriage is Giovanni, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His shirt is the most beautiful acqua color -- the same color as the sea! And the same color as his eyes! My heart is racing!

He smiles at me. And without thinking, I walk into his embrace. He takes hold of both my hands and swings me in a circle. And then another. I laugh and pull away.

"Something wild has gotten into you today," I say.

He laughs again. "Well you see my dear Filomena I wasn't at all sure you would appear today. And when I saw you, my heart twirled and danced inside me!"

I step up to the carriage with his help, and he gets in and settles next to me. The carriage starts up. I notice a straw hat with a large brim. He takes my hand in both of his.

"So, I am wondering Giovanni, what would you have done if I hadn't appeared?" I am smiling.

He squeezes my hand hard. "OUCH!" I squeal. He eases up. I lift my hand. "You see what doing the laundry will do!" My knuckles are raw and the skin of my hands is dry and rough.

"Oh cara mia, I am so sorry. No more laundry for you!"

I stare at him. Could it be? Could I be free of laundry duty? Is that possible? Well I guess so, since he is after all the boss!

"So back to your question. If you had not appeared today, I was prepared to go to the church and ask the priest to help me find you!"

"Oh, you're not serious?" I think he is kidding but he looks very solemn.

"I am absolutely serious. But seeing as you are here, let's not dwell on that!"

We ride for a while in silence. "I see you have brought your journal," he says. "I'm very pleased."

"Yes, well, I hope you will include me in your writing circle again today."

"Ah, I'm afraid my friends had to leave," he says and instantly, I feel a wash of disappointment. It must show on my face.

"But do not despair, you and I can sit together and write, Filomena!"

"Well I wrote yesterday, at home." I say proudly and suddenly I feel like a small child reporting to a parent.

"Wonderful! I will look forward to you reading out loud!"

We are almost at San Lucido, when Giovanni leans forward and speaks to the driver. "Don't stop at San Lucido, Mauro," he says. "We are continuing on to Amantea today!"

"Si signore!"

I turn to him in amazement. "What? Where are we going?" For a moment, I panic. Where is this man taking me?

He hands me the straw hat. "Here you will need this for the sun. Please do not worry yourself, Filomena. Amantea is 20 kilometers, and so we won't be traveling too long." He turns to face me. "I wanted a chance to talk to you away from the villa." My heart thumps. I am wondering what he will say.

He lets go of my hand and sets his hands on his knees. He closes his eyes briefly. "So what I have to tell you today is something that maybe I should have talked to you about when we first met. But there wasn't an opportunity. Now I know I have to share with you more about my life and...my passion."

Oh no. His passion? Another woman, of course.

"Filomena, you are familiar I'm sure with the movement to unify our country, yes?"

I stare at him. "I...yes, I guess so. Although I really don't know that much." Before I stopped going to school, we had a class in Italian history, and the teacher spent a few days talking about the Risorgimiento. "I know that there are those who are in favor of having all of the states be united in one league..."

He nodded. "Yes, so the movement has been central to my life for the last few years. I am part of a group of writers and poets and musicians who are dedicated to fighting for a unified Italy, to make all Italians, from the very north to the south, feel pride in our shared history, our great heritage. All Italians deserve to feel equal and connected. We will be one country, Filomena, after centuries of separation. My friends and I are part of a group called the National Society. Some people in the past have labeled us Liberals, or worse. Revolutionaries. Or just troublemakers! This is another issue between my father and me. His head is in the sand and I've long since given up trying to talk to him about politics!"

I sit and listen. I'm still stuck on the word passion. What he is saying doesn't seem very...passionate. And I wonder why exactly he is telling me about it now. But then he explains.

"One of the things we have as our goal in the National Society is the adoption of a national language so that all of us -- no matter where in Italy we live -- will speak the same tongue! My goal in coming here to Calabria is to help to lead the unification in the south. I have studied the dialect of your region and I want so much to speak to people here about the fight for Italian unity, which is the goal of Tullio and Edoardo and all of friends, the artists and writers and musicians you served at dinner. I am hoping you will join me in this crusade!"

I blink. He wants to bring me into the fold. But what does that mean? I am scared to tell him I don't really understand. But then I think, I have no choice.

"What does this mean, Giovanni? Are you asking me to join your cause? What exactly do I have to do?"

"Well Filomena, it's not just my cause, it's the cause for our whole nation. Think about it, a united Italy!"

"Yes. I see. Well. I am quite willing to be a member of the National Society, as long as it doesn't cost too much."

He laughs. "You are priceless, Filomena, just priceless!"

"And I do believe in unification, at least, I think it's a good idea to the extent that I understand it."

Giovanni takes my hand again and leans over and kisses my cheek. "I am thrilled that you are open-minded my dear dear girl. That makes me so happy."

We ride in silence. The sea is glittering in especially beautiful shades of blue and green. I'm still not sure what all this talk of unification means for him and me. I'm far more concerned about us! And about my job at the villa. I decide that now is as good a time as any to broach that subject.

"Giovanni, you said to me before that I would no longer be doing laundry. Are...are you serious?"

"Of course my dear. I don't want you to slave over the wash. If I could, I would have you do no work at all in the villa!"

My eyes widen.

"Yes, Filomena, but I understand that I absolutely cannot bring you into my home without a legitimate reason. One that protects your honor and dignity! Part of the reason that I am telling you all this about my passion for political unity in Italy is so that you begin to understand why I am so deeply attracted to you and to your province."

My head is spinning. No laundry? Politics instead of work? Mama will have a fit because she won't understand a bit of it.

"Giovanni, I am not sure what you are saying. You are paying me. I must work for that money in a way that is honorable."

"Yes. Exactly. So let me ask you: is there any work at the villa that you can do without making your hands bleed?"

I blink. I think about the days I've worked at the villa. A solution pops into my mind.

"Well I always find it enjoyable to work in the kitchen with Giuseppe. He is very very kind..." what I don't say is, "unlike Sofia, who is a slave driver!"

"Fine. It's settled. You will be the assistant chef from now on. You will chop and stir and cook and set tables and yes, serve dinner when guests are visiting. And you may have to wash dishes if that isn't too disagreeable."

I chuckle. I've just gotten a new job. And all I had to do was ask. In all my life I've never had a job like this one!

Suddenly the driver pulls up the horses. Are we already at Amantea? I look up.

The town -- a cluster of orange roofs -- is set into a hillside above the ocean. Giovanni addresses the driver. "Please leave us off here, Mauro, we will walk to the beach."

And so we do. We walk on the beach out to a sandy point. Standing there, Giovanni tells me a story about when he was a little boy. "It must have been the first time I was at the beach," he says. "My parents had taken a house. And of course I had a nanny, and I remember so clearly that she was fighting with me because I insisted on wearing a jacket, made of a beautiful red wool, to the beach. She finally gave in! So there I was walking in the sand in the heat of summer, wearing my bright red jacket!"

I laugh. I can imagine a little boy with soft blonde curls in a red jacket. Walking the beach.

My heart is full of love for Giovanni. I reach for his hand, and surprising myself, I kiss it and hold it against my cheek.

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."