He glances at me, treading water in place for a few moments. A wet piece of hair flops onto his forehead, making him look boyish. “What do you think about Capri?”
“I love it,” I say, but it’s an automatic response. I’m not sure if I love it, per se, but I am loving parts of it. I don’t love my job—yet—but this is the setting we’re talking about. And how can I not love it after what he’s shown me today? I feel like I’m swimming in God’s pool. “It’s almost mythical.”
He nods and spits out some water. “Yes, there are many myths about Capri. You have heard of the Grotta Azzurra? Blue Grotto? That is here. You will have to go some time.”
I’m about to say something cheeky like, “Will you be the one to take me?” but then I remember that the Blue Grotto is only accessible by tiny boats, like gondolas, and that probably wouldn’t go down so well with him.
“Where else should I go?” I ask instead.
He points up at Mount Solaro. “Up there. Picnic among the flowers. Great views.”
I give him a look. “Don’t you have to take a chairlift up there? Fear of heights, remember?”
He nods. “I remember. Perhaps you will face your fears.”
“Are you going to be there holding my hand?” I say, half jokingly.
He smiles softly. “The chairlifts only fit one person. So, no. My arms don’t reach that long.”
“Then no fucking thank you,” I say. Then I immediately clamp my hand over my mouth, realizing I swore in front of the children. Somehow this is the first time it’s happened.
Alfonso bursts out laughing at my profanity and then launches himself off the step and into the water, splashing us. He’s yelling, “Merda!” which I’m pretty sure is Italian for shit.
“Eh, smettila,” Derio admonishes Alfonso. Alfonso just giggles and swims back to Annabella, who is poking her fingers into the rocks near my caftan.
“Sorry,” I apologize to Derio. “I forget I say bad words sometimes.”
“Just another bad habit,” he says. “Apparently I have the same one. Maybe we are more alike than I thought. Of course, you don’t smoke.”
“No.”
“But alcohol and sex, that’s okay with you?”
I nearly sputter in the water. My mind reels, trying to think of something clever and witty to say to that. “I like both those things,” I say, like a total noob.
He gives me a grin and then swims away, doing a fast front crawl through the water, slicing through the shades of blue and around the corner of the rocks.
“Where are you going?” I call after him but he can’t hear me.
“He comes back,” Alfonso says from the steps. I eye him in surprise, not only because of his English but for being so forthcoming.
I swim over to him, finding a non-jagged part of the rocks to hold on to. I’m amazed that these kids aren’t bleeding all over the place from cuts and scrapes.
“Where does he go?” I ask slowly, in my teacher voice.
He gestures. “Around the . . . the . . .” He points at the lighthouse.
“Lighthouse,” I tell him. “In English we call that a lighthouse.”
“Si, lighthouse,” he repeats. “Then he comes back.”
“And he leaves you alone like this?”
He shakes his head. “Oh no, Felisa, she is here. He never leaves me, Annabella, alone.”
“Good,” I say. “He takes good care of you, you know.”
Alfonso shrugs and kicks at the water. “Certo,” he says noncommittally. I think it means sure.
Suddenly, Annabella bursts into a fit of laughter and I look to see her waving my caftan in the air before she lets go. The breeze hooks it and carries it away, floating down to the rocks on the other side of the narrow cove.
“Annabella!” I yell at her. “That isn’t very nice!”
She only smirks at me and makes the motion of a bird flying away.
I sigh and say, “Stay here,” to the twins, repeating, “Non muovetevi.”
I swim across the cove and reach the rocks. I look over my shoulder at them before I start climbing. They’re sitting side by side on the steps and watching me in anticipation.
I’m not so bad climbing up things as I am climbing down things, and the lump of rock isn’t high enough to give me vertigo or anything like that, but I don’t really like how my ass is probably hanging out of my bikini while I try to lift myself up. I’m glad that Derio has decided to go for his lighthouse swim so he doesn’t have to see this.
Once I’m close to the caftan, which is snagged on a sharp rock, I steady myself, my toes hooked into one small ledge. I grab on to a solid rock with one hand to balance and stretch across to my caftan, my breasts smushed painfully against the rock, my arm reaching as far as I can. The caftan suddenly lifts, about to be blown away, and I make a grab for it.
At the same time, my whole body tips to the left, completely off balance, and as my fingers wrap around the edge of the cloth, I know the victory will be short-lived. I let out a cry as my body dips toward the sea and I try hard to twist away from the rock.
Despite my efforts, my left shoulder and the corner of my head still hit the rock, and I feel a sharp stab of pain at my temple and scraped skin at my shoulder bone before I plunge into the sea.
I’m not knocked out but I’m in deep water and disoriented. I let go of the caftan, which has wrapped itself around my head underwater, obscuring my sight. I don’t know which way is up or down, and in a moment of panic I open my mouth to breathe. Water seeps into my lungs and I try to cough but I can’t, and my arms and legs don’t seem to be working. I don’t know where the surface is. I want to scream but I’m drowning and I can’t breathe.