Michele - 3. Chapter 3

Michele awoke the next morning feeling less than rested. Still badly troubled by the day’s events, he had tossed and turned in his bed as he tried to get to sleep. His familiar old bedroom had seemed unusually airless and stifling, and he had stripped down to just his underpants as he tried to cool down. Eventually he had passed out on his back, and that was how he awoke now, staring at the ceiling.

One thing had become clear to Michele during those long midnight hours: he really missed Toto. The sight of the other boy in the square the previous day, sitting at an outside table and enjoying lunch with that girl, had seemed so wholesome and normal somehow. It had reminded Michele of all the good times he and Toto had had together as friends, before that kiss – the kiss that had, for the moment anyway, ruined everything.

I want my friend back.

Michele wished desperately that things could just go back to the way they were before this had all begun… before the kiss, and before Enzo and his goons.

But they can’t, can they? Toto changed the rules.

That moment in Toto’s bedroom had taken the two of them past a point of no return. What was done couldn’t be undone. Michele didn’t know how long Toto had felt this way, but the truth was out now and couldn’t be put back.

I wish he’d never told me.

But that wasn’t quite right either. What was so great about living a lie?

Michele sighed. The kiss had taken them into a world Michele wasn’t ready to enter, and he didn’t know how to react. He felt ashamed and disgusted, but he couldn’t quite get the thought of it out of his head.

In the one moment when it really counted, Michele had pushed his best friend away. How would Toto feel about him now? Yesterday, from a distance, Toto had seemed happy to be having lunch with his new friend… his friend who was a girl. Had Toto already moved on and put his old best friend behind him?

After a while, Michele heard his mother get up and take her morning shower. When she had finished, he forced himself out of bed and had a quick wash of his own.

A short while later, Michele arrived in the living area wearing some fresh clothes and found his mother sitting at the dining table, eating an apricot and reading yesterday’s newspaper. She was already dressed for work.

Chiara lowered the newspaper and smiled. “Buongiorno, Michele,” she said. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

She was putting a brave face on it, but Michele could tell she was worried.

Michele shrugged. “I’m okay, Mamma.”

Chiara looked at her watch, frowning slightly. “I have to go soon,” she said. “Would you mind popping into Salvatore’s today to pick up a few things?”

Perhaps this would give Michele a chance to track down his friend. “Sure, Mamma,” he replied.

Chiara smiled again. “Thank you, caro,” she said warmly, gesturing at him to come closer. Michele did so, accepting a kiss on each cheek without complaint. “There’s a list and some money on the sideboard.”

Michele made his way to the kitchen area to collect the small pile of paper. While he was there, he popped a lemon croissant on a small plate and made his way back to the dining table with it and a small glass of freshly squeezed orange juice from a jug on the sideboard.

“How’s Toto?” Chiara asked as Michele returned to the table.

Michele glanced at her suspiciously. “What do you mean?” he said, a little more harshly than he’d intended.

Chiara looked a little shocked. “Nothing, caro! I was just asking. I haven’t seen him for days.”

Michele relaxed a little. “Sorry, Mamma,” he said. “He’s fine, I guess. We didn’t meet up yesterday.”

“You didn’t meet up?” his mother repeated in surprise. “You two are normally inseparable… everybody says so.”

Michele looked down and took a sip of his juice. “Just a little fight,” he said evasively.

Chiara shook her head in concern. “That’s not like you. I hope you make up soon… you’ve always been such good friends.”

* * *

Once his mother had set off for the bus stop, Michele made his way back up the steps into town armed with a shopping bag, the money and his mother’s shopping list.

The cathedral square was its usual quietly bustling self. The cafés were doing a brisk trade in morning coffees and the pigeons were already scavenging for crumbs of breakfast. Over by the railings, the cicadas scraped away in the tall pine trees.

As Michele passed the foot of the cathedral steps, a voice called his name from above. Michele looked up and saw Father Stefano standing by the open doors. He made his way up the steps to greet the priest.

“Buongiorno, father,” he said dutifully.

“Is everything all right, Michele?” Father Stefano asked quietly. “One of my congregation said she saw you bombing up Via Lacco with Enzo and his friends yesterday. She said they almost ran her over.”

“I’m okay,” Michele said. “It wasn’t the best day.”

The priest sighed. “Find Toto,” he said. “Try to clear the air. It worries me to see you straying down this path.”

“I will,” Michele replied. “Thanks, father.”

Michele said goodbye to the priest and made his way distractedly back down the cathedral steps. He was just making for the shady entrance to Via Roma when he was hailed by another voice.

“Hey! Michele!”

Enzo had appeared from a stone bench on the left where, from the sight of a folded-up leather jacket and a half-drunk bottle of water, he must have been waiting for a little while.

Enzo looked Michele up and down, examining his white shirt and denim shorts. “You’re looking sharp today.”

“Thanks,” Michele replied, slightly nonplussed by this pretence at friendliness.

“Filippo, Toni and I are taking a walk to the Torre dello Ziro tomorrow,” Enzo informed him. “I’d like you to come along.”

Michele had heard of the Torre dello Ziro. It was a tumbledown old watchtower below Scala, which stood on a tall rocky crag above the coast between Amalfi and Atrani. He had heard rumours of unfenced ledges and loose stonework.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Michele replied hesitantly.

“It’ll be fine,” Enzo said casually. “Filippo says he’s been going there for years.”

“I’m not sure I can, tomorrow,” Michele tried. “I mean…”

“You’ll be there, Michele,” Enzo replied. “Ten thirty, at the usual place.”

Michele gave up. “All right.”

Enzo gave a big, false grin and cuffed Michele on the shoulder. “Good boy,” he said, and went on his way.

Michele stood for a moment, shoulders slumped in defeat.

I’m doing this for you, Toto.

Something – a feeling that he was being watched – made him look back over his shoulder. Father Stefano was leaning on the low wall of the cathedral steps, watching Michele with a frown of concern upon his face. Michele wondered how much the priest had heard.

* * *

As he approached Salvatore’s store, Michele started to have doubts about his clever plan. After what Salvatore had walked in on the last time he had seen him, was he really likely to help him find Toto?

Michele decided that the best thing to do would be to appear as unworried by what had happened as he could.

Salvatore was serving another customer when Michele arrived. Michele waited at a safe distance outside until the woman left, so that they could have the shop to themselves.

Mustering his courage, Michele stepped into the shop, shopping list and carrier bag in hand.

Salvatore’s cool, dark and cramped little shop was piled high with stock from floor to ceiling. Groaning shelves leaned in from all sides, loaded with packets, bottles and cans. A multitude of pasta shapes jockeyed for position with huge jars of olives, bottles of oil and multipacks of mineral water. A refrigerator cabinet contained a variety of cold drinks and perishables. The proprietor looked on from behind the counter under the cool blue glow of the strip lights on the ceiling.

“Buongiorno, Michele,” Salvatore said. His manner was as courteous and formal as ever, but his face had a closed look.

“Buongiorno, signore,” Michele replied. He placed the shopping list on the counter. “Please may I have these things?”

Toto’s father consulted the list, nodded curtly and began fetching down the items that were kept on shelves behind the counter. Michele took the things he could reach from the front of the shop. Soon, a respectable pile of shopping was building up on the counter, from linguine pasta through tomato passata to dried chillies and a little fresh mozzarella cheese. Thinking he probably had enough cash to spare, Michele added a Coke for himself.

“Seventeen Euros and forty cents, please, Michele,” Salvatore said.

Michele handed over a few notes and began to bag his shopping.

“Is Toto home, signore?” Michele asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

A flicker of a new expression passed briefly over the shopkeeper’s composed features; it was gone before Michele could work out what it was.

“Toto?” he replied stiffly as he handed over some change. “I haven’t seen him for two days.”

Michele stared. “What?”

“Last time I saw him he was with that… young man… Gianni Fortuna,” Salvatore said.

“Is he okay?” Michele asked.

“I’m told he is safe,” Salvatore replied curtly.

Michele felt this didn’t really answer the question, but he didn’t press the issue. That same uncomfortable feeling of shame was seeping back into his consciousness once more.

“Is this… because of me?” he asked.

Salvatore was silent for a moment. “Michele,” he said at length, “you can hardly be held responsible for my son’s misguided actions.”

But what if I am? What if it was something I said or did?

“I miss him,” Michele said lamely.

Salvatore gave him a hard, considering sort of look. “You don’t object to the way my son behaved towards you?”

Michele shrugged. “Sure, I guess, a bit,” he said. “but for the last couple of days…” he tailed off. “I just really want to find him.”

Salvatore nodded and spared Michele any further uncomfortable questions.

“With that,” the shopkeeper said, “I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

Michele took his loaded shopping bag and turned to leave, but then he paused on the threshold, feeling there was one more thing he needed to say.

“Please ask him to come home, signore,” he said over his shoulder. “I know things have changed, but… I don’t think it should be like this.”

“Arrivederci, Michele,” Salvatore replied, and it seemed to Michele that the subject was closed.

I tried, Toto.

Michele made his way back to the square, shopping bag dangling by his side. Toto and Michele had spent many hours playing together in this familiar space. He remembered a time when they had both been seven years old. They had been playing a game of chase around the square and Toto had fallen hard off his bike, badly skinning his knee. Toto’s wail of pain had set the pigeons flying. Strangely enough, as Michele recalled, it had been Angelo and Gianni – Enzo’s queer boys – who had come to their aid that day.

Enzo would probably say it was contagious.

Michele popped open his Coke and took a sip. He needed to get the shopping home before it got too hot. Reluctantly, he started the journey back to his empty house.

* * *

That afternoon, Michele set out for a walk. He would not usually have done so on his own, but the loss of his friend had left a big hole in his daily life that he was struggling to fill.

At least I’ll have something to do tomorrow.

Michele stopped in his tracks. Could it be that he was actually looking forward to another day with Enzo and his friends?

I guess it beats being alone.

Putting the deep blue sea in front of him, he set out down the steep flight of steps that led straight down the hill into the terraced farmland below his house.

Lizards scattered and cicadas scrapped as he descended, leaving the houses behind him. Olive groves, grape vines and lemon trees overhung from the sides, cultivating the giant steps of the carefully terraced landscape. The afternoon sun beat down relentlessly and he hugged the stone wall, making the most of the paltry shade that it offered.

Once upon a time, he and Toto had explored all of these lanes together. If they had put their heads together, they could probably have produced a more accurate map of the maze of hidden paths and stairways than anyone else had to offer.

Michele continued down the endless steps until he came out on one of the few quiet roads that traversed the mountainside. From here, he was more than halfway down to the sea, and the rooftops of the buildings on the coast road down below could just be discerned through the leaves of some of the trees.

We used to talk about how it would feel if we could fly. We would spread out wings and soar right down to the sea.

Instead, Michele turned up a nearby lane and began the laborious climb back up the hill. This path was even narrower and quieter than the last, but its overhanging trees did give him a little more shade than he had had before.

Toto and I used to compete to climb these steps. Neither of us would admit to being tired or wanting a rest.

Michele finally had a chance to catch his breath when he came out in the small square at San Cosma, just a short distance up the road from his own house. Here, a small community wound its way around the base of a sunny, sand-covered cliff. He paused before a shrine set into a small cave at the base of the rock wall.

This was it: this was the place they would usually meet. Michele closed his eyes and imagined his friend appearing at the end of the street. They would walk along the lane to the next olive grove and chill out under the trees, or maybe even play a game of ‘spot the cicada’ like they used to when they were younger.

But, for now, Toto was nowhere to be found.