Finally, I have to ask, “Where are we going?”
“You will see” is his totally non-helpful answer.
But then I do see. We are on Via Grotta Azzurra, which leads to the famous Blue Grotto, Capri’s shining jewel and one of the places I’ve wanted to visit. The renowned light paints the water in the cavern electric blue, but because you have to pass through it on a small gondola, I figured Derio wouldn’t want to do it. It’s not quite the open seas but it doesn’t help.
“Here we are,” he says, parking the bike next to an empty café. We are the only people in the small parking lot overlooking the cliffs.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“Going for a swim.”
“A swim?” I repeat, looking at the water. Though it’s calm, with only small waves rhythmically lapping against the rocks, it’s still kind of dark. The sun is barely touching the tops of the few trees scattered about.
“Yes,” he says. “I used to do this when I was a teenager. All the locals do. But I haven’t done it since . . . you know . . .”
I nod and he says, “This is the first step toward facing my fears. You did it with the bike, on Mount Solaro. Now I must do the same.” He pauses and gives me a serious look. “If you are with me, I know I will be okay.”
He takes my hand and we walk over to a locked gate, which he helps me climb over, lifting me up like I weigh nothing at all. We walk down steps carved into the rock and stop at the end. There are no stairs leading down into the water, which seems deeper and darker than I imagined. It’s one of those jump-in-or-don’t-get-in-at-all situations.
Now, I’m not afraid of the sea the way Derio is, but I’m also not a fan of deep water, especially when I can’t see to the bottom.
“Is this safe?” I ask him as he takes off his shorts, revealing his buck-nakedness underneath. I blink at his penis because it’s such a wonderful but unexpected sight. It even seems to grow under my watchful gaze.
“It is as safe as anything,” he says, gesturing to my dress for me to take it off. “Hurry, we only have so much time before the first boat shows up.”
“You don’t want them to catch you naked.”
He gives me a cocky look. “I don’t mind if they catch me naked. I might give a little old lady a thrill. But we could get in trouble and I don’t want that to happen to you.”
I can’t argue with that. I tear my eyes off his body, not surprised that he’s not the slightest bit bashful about it, and take off my dress, tucking it under his shorts on the platform. I can’t even see the entrance to the grotto from here; it’s just nothing but steep rock.
“I’ll jump if you jump,” he says, gripping my hand tighter. He smiles and his face looks so bright against the grainy light. It seals the deal.
“Okay.”
“Uno, due, tre,” he counts down.
And then we jump.
The icy water surrounds us and my first reaction is to kick for the surface. I let out a little yelp as my head breaks through and I stare right at Derio’s grinning face, his wet hair flopped over on his forehead, making him look a little like Elvis.
He lets out two hoots and pulls me close to him. We are still close to the rocks, though I’m not sure how we’re going to get back on the steps since the platform seems so high above the water now that we’re in it. I make the mistake of looking down between us. Beyond the pale white of our legs treading in the navy blue, the bottom remains dark and mysterious and out of reach. The cliffs must go straight down.
“Come on,” he says, pulling me along. We swim toward the opposite rock face and only then do I noticed the tiny entrance to our right. The hole to the cave is even smaller than I thought. I’m surprised a boat would even be able to pass through it. I can see why in rough seas, going in there wouldn’t be an option.
Once we’re at the mouth of the cave, Derio leaps upward out of the water and grabs hold of a chain that threads along the roof of the cave entrance. He pulls it down and tells me to hold on. “This is meant to guide gondoliers in and out of the cave. The water is not rough so you do not need it but it might make you feel better.” The fact that he’s holding on tells me I should do the same.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Let’s go for it,” I tell him.
He goes first, pulling himself along, and I have the pleasure of watching his beautiful back and shoulders work above the water, mirrored by his ass and legs below the surface.
I am not as graceful. I hang there like a fat orangutan and shuffle myself along until we’re just inside the cave. Then I let go of the chain, falling into the water, but Derio’s arms are around me, keeping me afloat.
The cave seems so black and dark in front of us and behind us; the tiny opening only lets in so much light.
“I thought the cave would be blue,” I tell Derio. By now the water is a lot warmer and my body is getting used to treading water.
“Just wait a moment,” he says and swims farther in.
Now this is feeling a bit more like nightmare territory. I paddle after him and try not to think of what could be lurking beneath my feet.
“Did you know,” Derio says, his voice bouncing off the unseen walls of the cave, “that in ancient times, Tiberius, the emperor who built Villa Jovis, used this cave? They have found sculptures and artifacts from that time period at the bottom.”
“So there is a bottom,” I muse, spitting out some of the salty seawater.