Between Two Mountains - 12. Chapter 12

Several days later, a small knot of people stood on the sun-drenched terraces of the cemetery in Scala. Marco hung back at a respectful distance with his friends, watching as Elisabetta’s ashes were interred in the Montefiore family tomb. Considering the trouble she had brought to his door, Marco thought it was generous of Maurizio to welcome her into his family in death… but he supposed everybody deserved a peaceful resting place in the end.

Flanked by their foster families, Cosmo and Giorgio were the only true mourners present. Maurizio stood stolidly at Giorgio’s side, with an arm around his nephew’s narrow shoulders; there, at least, adversity only seemed to have made them closer. Luisa and Mario hovered a little less certainly at Cosmo’s back; apparently, that particular fractured family still had some way to go.

A flight of swifts darted shrilly by, drawing Marco’s eyes to the sky for a moment. As he stared up into the fierce summer blue, he wondered at the absence of Elisabetta and Giorgio’s parents, who were apparently too enmeshed in the consequences of their wrongdoing even to make their daughter’s funeral.

Or maybe they just never gave a crap…

Luca had also turned out to support Cosmo. Standing side by side in neat, matching suits, they looked like real brothers for the first time since Cosmo had come to town.

As Luca had turned out to support Cosmo, so Emilia, Giacomo and Daniele had turned out to support Luca. They stood with Marco, dressed as sombrely as they could manage in casual clothes. Marco had also come for Giorgio… but not for Cosmo. Marco thought their days of being friends were well and truly done.

Poor guy. I hope he makes some friends his own age when he gets his life back on track… someone more worthwhile than Vincenzo.

Yes, Marco could find pity for Cosmo, but little more. Since that day at the old farm buildings, the older boy had well and truly marked his card with Marco.

It was Giorgio who concerned him the most. Since the tragedy in the valley, the younger boy had done his best to be brave and stoical, but Marco could tell there was something eating away at him. He could see it in his every action and reaction… the dark shadows under his eyes, the way he looked determinedly at his feet whenever Marco tried to catch his eye. But whether it was something in the manner of his sister’s death that haunted him, or something uncomfortable that Giorgio saw within himself, Marco wasn’t sure.

“It must be so strange for them,” Emilia murmured, watching the two young mourners. “Elisabetta’s gone, and here they both are, left behind with families they hardly know in a place that’s never been their home.”

“I don’t think Cosmo’s ever had a real home,” Marco observed. “Just places he’s happened to live.”

“Do you think he’ll settle down now?”

Marco shrugged. “I dunno. I kinda don’t think it’s my concern. Not anymore.”

“What did he do to you, exactly?”

“Something stupid that would have really hurt Giorgio.”

The details, Marco thought, were best left unsaid.

Emilia gave him a squeeze around the shoulders. “I think it’s cool, what you’re doing for Giorgio.”

Marco frowned slightly. “I’m not just doing him a favour, you know. He’s my friend.”

“Is that all, though?” Giacomo whispered. “I mean… we’ve been wondering.”

Daniele cringed. “Giaco!” he protested. “This is supposed to be a funeral!”

The dark-eyed boy looked chastened, although he couldn’t quite suppress his smile. “Right. Wrong moment.”

Emilia rolled her eyes. “Ignore him,” she told Marco. “I think it’s cool that you two have found each other, whether or not you’re… you know…”

“Jesus!” Marco whispered. “Can’t you guys just… you know… butt out?”

Giacomo twisted his mouth as he weighed the question. “Sorry,” he murmured. “It’s just… we’re your friends, too. We want to know if you’ve finally been getting some well-earned smoochies.”

“Smoochies?” Emilia repeated incredulously, then the three of them – even Daniele – descended into rapidly stifled giggles, earning them a glare from Luca. Fiercely embarrassed, Marco facepalmed, peering balefully out at his friends through the gap between his fingers.

“Should never have let you all come,” he grumbled.

Daniele brought himself under control and silenced the dark-eyed boy with an elbow to the ribs. “We’ll be good. I swear.”

With peace restored Marco turned his attention back to the committal. The ceremony was coming to a close; Elisabetta’s urn had been placed, and the tomb re-sealed.

Luisa stepped hesitantly forward to place a bunch of flowers in one of the vases mounted to the fascia of the tomb; Giorgio followed suit from the other side. Their shared gesture, it seemed, was finally too much for Cosmo. He sagged suddenly and wiped at his eyes; even from a distance, Marco could see his shoulders shaking. With what looked like genuine feeling, if not total comfort, Luca inched a little closer and placed an arm around his brother’s back.

Marco found that he didn’t want to watch anymore. Turning away, he stared across the open valley at Ravello, spread out along its mountain ridge, beckoning him home. The strong mid-July sun picked everything out in vibrant shades of white, terracotta, green and earthy brown. The summer was barely halfway gone; it still had much to offer, even if Elisabetta would never get to see it.

Suddenly, he felt incredibly glad for everything he had; from his drawing desk to his little bedroom under the eaves, but most of all for the people who had invested their time, their lives, into him.

What IS a life without love, and a safe place to call home…?

That there were people in the world who had to go through their lives with neither felt profoundly sad. He wondered about his old life before Gianni and Angelo. What if Daniele had never sought to repair all their bridges, and Marco had remained friendless and alone? How many more years would it have taken to turn him into Cosmo, or even Elisabetta?

Marco heard movement and voices, indicating that the committal was over. He turned back round, and his eyes found Giorgio. He was walking with Maurizio, who had an arm around his shoulders once again, looking up into the older man’s eyes.

“I never thought I’d have a family, you know,” Maurizio was saying. “My lifestyle never really allowed it and, to be honest, I thought my moment had probably passed. To have you and Elisabetta suddenly come to live with me was a true baptism of fire. But…” he hesitated, glancing back at the newly sealed tomb. “Tragic as this moment is, it’s brought a few things into focus.”

“Like…?” Giorgio replied uncertainly.

Maurizio sighed. “I’ve run that bar almost all my adult life. I suppose you could even call me a successful businessman… but I’ve never once had someone to come home to, until now.” He paused. “I know our arrangement was only meant to be temporary, but… you’ve sustained such terrible losses already. I would hate for you to have to move on and lose everything again, not when you’ve just started to make friends, build a life here…” he tailed off, scratching his moustache anxiously.

“Are you… asking me to stay?” Giorgio asked; the look that had crept into in his brown eyes was almost painfully hopeful.

Maurizio nodded. “If you’d like to. I mean, my hours, they’re hardly conducive… but I would try my very best to be a father to you.”

With a strange, choked sound, Giorgio sprang forward and wrapped his arms around the older man’s generous waist.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

Startled, Maurizio encircled the younger boy in his own arms. “Oh, my… you’re welcome.”

When they finally broke apart, Marco approached the younger boy.

“That’s awesome, Giorgio,” he said. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” the younger boy replied. He was attempting to smile, but that strange shadow was still there, just behind his eyes. “Can we get out of here?”

Marco nodded. “Sure… if you want.”

Giorgio turned to his uncle. “Zio, can I walk with my friend for a bit?”

“Of course,” Maurizio replied, giving Marco a curious glance. “I’ll see you back at home.”

“Yeah,” Giorgio replied, although, just for an instant, Marco thought he saw his eyes flicker away from his uncle’s attentive gaze.

They turned for the path that led to the exit. Marco’s friends watched curiously as they passed.

“We’re going to take off for a bit,” he told them. “I’ll text you later.”

Exchanging the briefest of glances with Giacomo and Emilia, Daniele nodded. “Take your time.”

They moved off to join Luca, leaving Marco and Giorgio free to make their escape.

The two boys slipped out through the cemetery gates and down onto the tarmac road. Giorgio took off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder, then they began to trail slowly up the hill. There was no breeze, and the sun seemed to be getting fiercer all the time; it beat down upon them, lighting Giorgio’s white shirt up like a beacon and sending a shimmer rising up from the dark tarmac of the street. On the terraced slopes of the valley below them, cicadas scraped insistently among the trees.

“Where are we going?” Marco asked.

Giorgio grunted. “I’ve just been thinking.”

“Thinking what?”

The younger boy left the question unanswered and continued up the sun-drenched road in silence. Soon, they had reached the small cluster of houses that announced the hamlet of Minuta, and they left the road behind them. Giorgio led them onto a steep and endless-looking flight of steps that wound up the mountainside towards Campidoglio, and they climbed together in silence, grasping, when they could, the narrow strips of shade cast by the high stone walls and villas that dotted the terraced hillside.

Marco was full of questions, but he sensed that the younger boy needed the quiet. He would talk when he was ready.

At last, they reached the highest level of the village. Marco had assumed that the younger boy would turn right towards Campidoglio and his uncle’s house, but instead he turned left onto a path Marco had never been along before. Through dwindling numbers of houses and quiet, stepped smallholdings, the deserted path traversed the hillside, heading, Marco supposed, for the mountains high above Amalfi.

After a while, they rounded a corner and abruptly emerged from the Valle del Dragone completely. Where there had been chestnut trees, terraced olive groves and grape vines there were now nothing but wild pine trees. Below, them, the land fell steeply away to a cliff overlooking the distant Valle delle Ferriere hundreds of metres below and the blue sea far beyond.

When they had reached a point where the pine trees had thinned and the cliff was particularly sheer, Giorgio stopped. He dropped his jacket, allowing it to flop uselessly to the ground, where it lay among a litter of dry grass and last year’s old pine needles and cones. Giorgio closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, then stepped up onto the top of the low stone wall that was all that separated them from the abyss below. He stood there with his arms spread out for balance, staring down into the distant depths.

What is this…?

Marco watched anxiously from the sidelines, unsure what the younger boy was about to do, but ready to leap into action if there was any way he could help.

“Giorgio?” he asked quietly. “What are you doing?”

Marco had never had a particular fear of heights, but the sight of the younger boy perched so vulnerably – as if on the very edge of the world itself – made him feel weak at the knees.

“Why did Elisabetta let go?” Giorgio asked. “Why did she fall…? Why was she so keen to leave?”

Marco shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The younger boy turned a tear-stained face towards him. “Is there really nothing worth living for? I’ve been trying to figure it out, to feel what she felt, but…” he looked back down into the valley far below. “I can’t.”

“Are you still worried you’re going to turn into her?” Marco asked. “Is that what this is about?”

Giorgio shrugged and shuffled his feet a little on top of the wall. “Maybe.”

Marco took a deep breath to try to settle the rapid pounding of his heart. “I think Elisabetta turned out like she did because she never really knew what it felt like to be loved,” he said, “but I think she loved you.”

Giorgio’s damp eyes turned towards him once again. “You do?”

“It’s not too late for you, Giorgio,” Marco pressed on desperately. “You can have love here. Don’t you feel it? Look at me, look at my friends. We’ve all found our way to it in the end. It’s in Maurizio. And… I think it’s in you, too.”

Giorgio nodded. “Yeah. It feels different this time.”

“So… you’re not really going to jump, are you?” Marco asked anxiously. “Not after everything that’s happened.”

For a second or two that felt like an eternity, Giorgio continued to stare down into the void… but then he shook his head and stepped back down from the wall.

“No,” he replied. “I could never do what Elisabetta did.” He offered Marco a watery smile. “We’re not the same.”

Relief crashed over Marco like a wave and drove him forward. Before he knew it, he had pulled the younger boy into a tight embrace. He held him tightly, feeling Giorgio’s tears splashing down against his neck and shoulders, until the adrenaline began to ebb away from his body.

At last, they broke apart and stood facing each other on the sun-drenched footpath, suddenly awkward.

“Jesus,” Marco mumbled. “No wonder Giaco and the others have been talking about us.”

Giorgio frowned slightly. “Huh?”

Marco shook his head with an embarrassed laugh. “Never mind. Let’s just go back, shall we? I need a drink.”

* * *

It was dusk. The cathedral square was at its lively best, every chair occupied by cheerful, relaxed people. Children played in the friendly glow of the streetlights beneath the darkening sky, and the air was warm and soft like syrup. The enforced confinement of the spring felt like a distant memory.

They had pulled three tables together at one of the bars. Gianni and Angelo sat facing Pietro and Anna, who had left the restaurant in the capable hands of Marta and the rest of the team for a much-needed night off. Giorgio sat demurely opposite Marco, looking a little uncomfortable. Marco supposed he was wondering what he was doing there. In truth, it had been Angelo’s idea to invite him to stay for the evening. Marco suspected his foster father had sensed an opportunity to clear the air.

“No, it hasn’t put me off helping people,” Pietro was saying. He was well into his second beer, and had shaken off his usual businesslike air for once. “I think I’d do it again.”

“You paid a high price for it, though,” Gianni said.

Pietro nodded. “I did… but, if anything, the business with Cosmo has made me realise… you know, better than I ever did before… just how low people can go if they don’t get the help they need.” He glanced at his wife. “We’ve all had it pretty easy, haven’t we? With the love and support of our families behind us.”

Anna smiled. “Not always. Not all of us.” Her dark eyes flicked meaningfully to Gianni, and then back to her husband.

Pietro took the subtle rebuke on the chin. “I suppose that’s true.”

“You’re right, though,” Anna offered. “It helps to put things into perspective.”

“The sad thing is that Cosmo had potential, even if he couldn’t see it himself. Maybe not in the kitchen, but in other aspects of the business.”

Anna sighed. “I’m sure he’ll find his niche in the world, especially if Luisa, Mario and Luca stick with him. It might just take him a little longer than the rest of us.”

“You wouldn’t consider hiring him again, now everything has settled down?” Gianni asked.

Pietro shook his head. “I don’t really think anyone would really want that now, least of all Cosmo.”

“What Elisabetta did to you…” Gianni said, “it never would have happened if we hadn’t asked you to find a position for him.” He exchanged a glance with Angelo. “It tears me up a little inside when I think of the part we played in it.”

“Don’t think that way, Gianni,” Pietro assured him. “Honestly, who could have foreseen what happened? Neither of you are responsible.”

Opposite Marco, Giorgio set down his Sprite and reached miserably for one of the peanuts the waiter had set out in the middle of the table. Angelo gestured subtly towards the younger boy, holding his older brother’s gaze intently with his dark eyes.

Pietro took the hint. “That goes for you, too, Giorgio,” he said, turning to the younger boy.

“Huh?” Giorgio looked up uncertainly.

“This,” Pietro replied, gesturing at the bruises that were still fading on his face. “Elisabetta made her own decisions. You’re not your sister, and you’ve nothing to fear from me.”

“I’m still sorry,” Giorgio mumbled.

Pietro smiled and clapped the younger boy on the shoulder for a moment. “There are good people in this town,” he said. “It seems to me you’ve been given a second chance. I suggest you take it.”

Giorgio looked a little startled to find Pietro’s hand on his back, but he nodded.

“I will, signore.”

“With a good man fostering you and the right friends, you’ll be fine,” Pietro went on. His gaze flicked to Marco for a moment. “And I think you’ve already made a good start on that.”

Marco offered him an awkward smile and then turned back to his orange juice. Across the table, Giorgio’s brown eyes found his, and Marco saw the younger boy flush a little; flush with acceptance, but also with something else.

“Can we get up from the table for a while?” Marco asked.

Gianni and Angelo exchanged a glance; neither of them seemed to have an objection.

“Go ahead,” Angelo said with a gentle nod.

Dashing off the last of their drinks, they slid out of their chairs and headed for the railings overlooking the valley, where they hoped to find some peace and quiet. Excitable children darted around them, chasing a football; Marco dodged them automatically, barely registering their presence, so focused was he on Giorgio. He looked more at ease than Marco had ever seen him, as if the last of a long-endured weight had finally been removed from his shoulders.

“Pietro’s right,” Marco said. “It’s a whole new start. You don’t need to be defined by Cosmo or Elisabetta anymore.”

“I’m not sure who I am without them,” Giorgio murmured.

But Marco thought he was doing himself down. With his tousled hair clean and fresh, clad in dark shorts and a new shirt with a bold, black and white floral design, Giorgio looked like a boy who was on his way to finding his own style and character for the first time in his life.

“You’re Giorgio Pellegrino,” he said. “You’re fourteen years old and you live with your uncle Maurizio, high above the Amalfi coast in a village between two mountains. You’ve been through a lot, but now you’re finally learning to love. You like maps and art, and…” he hesitated, “you’re kinda cute.”

Giorgio shuffled his feet slightly in embarrassment, but he smiled.

“And you’re Marco Fardello,” he replied. “You help people without expecting anything in return, but when something’s not right, you burn. Around your friends, you’ve always felt like the odd one out… you’ve never thought anyone could really like you. But…” He leaned closer to whisper into Marco’s ear. “you’re way hotter than you think you are.”

Hot…?

Marco flushed at once; the word was barely in his lexicon.

“You think I’m hot…?” he mumbled incredulously. “You must be crazy.”

Giorgio shrugged. “So what if I am?” He glanced around the square, taking in all the people, young and old, who populated it. “Who isn’t, in the end?”

Marco inched a little closer, reaching for Giorgio’s hand. “Do you want to…?” he began, but then he tailed off. He no longer had the other boy’s attention.

Following Giorgio’s eyeline, Marco realised they were being watched. A small, dusky figure with short black hair and large eyes like dark chocolate was standing with his arms folded, watching them intensely. A battered football lay discarded at his feet, and he was flanked by two friends, who were looking on with equal interest.

“Oh…!” Marco mumbled. Why did he have the strange feeling he had just been busted? “Hi, Sami. This is Giorgio.”

“I saw you almost holding hands,” Sami declared. “It was just like before, with Dani.” His accusing gaze flicked from one embarrassed boy to the other. “Are you boyfriends?”

One of Sami’s friends tittered. “Marco loves Giorgio, Marco loves Giorgio,” he chanted.

“No, ah…” Marco exchanged a glance with Giorgio, who offered him a helpless shrug in return. “Of course not!”

Sami, however, looked deeply unconvinced.

“I know what I saw,” he declared, but then he spun haughtily away, taking the football and his friends with him.

“I’m the last single boy in Ravello, everybody knows that,” Marco mumbled.

But then Giorgio was at his side, and Marco felt the other boy’s fingers brush briefly against his own. He gave the younger boy a sideways glance, and they exchanged an awkward smile.

He wasn’t in love. Not yet. But who said they couldn’t dabble just a little?

After all… would that be so bad?

- End -