Spring in
Trinacria
Chapter Seven
Thursday morning was as bright
and sunny as any photographer could wish. Forming plans to take pictures before
walking to into Taormina for lunch, Lucy got up cheerfully, and made her way
down to the kitchen to get some breakfast.
Settled at the table, with a cup
of strong Italian coffee, a plate of croissants and a bowl of oranges,
listening to the sound of a motor laboring up the hill, Lucy examined her
travel guide, looking for interesting sights within walking distance. However,
she was distracted by a persistent tapping on the door. She lay down the
volume, and scampered over to the door, where she peered out the little glass
window.
"Peter!" she exclaimed
in delight. There, standing on the doorstep was her beloved half brother,
unshaved and looking positively exhausted, yet also excited and cheerful.
"Lu!" he replied,
jovially. "It's marvelous to see you. Will you let a fellow come in?"
"Certainly. Where are your
bags? Is that a car?"
"Observant girl. I've hired
it for the year. One motor at your service. At the port they mentioned the
terrain, and I figured we'd want to go sightseeing anyway."
"You're an angel. Let me
get a bag. I was just getting breakfast. Why don't you sit down once your
things are in. I'll make you another cup of coffee. You look exhausted."
"I just flew from Geneva to
Rome last night. Got a boat to Messina this morning, and drove down directly.
Let me look at you, I haven't seen you in an age." Peter held Lucy at an
arm's length for a moment, taking in the light tan, the new haircut, and the
clothes Lucy had bought in Rome. "You're a sight for weary eyes. I'll go
park the car along that little extension of the road by the back of the house,
and we can take the bags in from the back way. Coffee would be wonderful,
yes."
Lucy gave her brother one last
hug, and set about brewing more coffee. He came back in at last, carrying two
bags and a briefcase, as well as his laptop. He grimaced as he stored the last
item in the china cabinet.
"Current is all wrong. Hope
I can get the thing to work. I suppose it is too far out here to get an
internet cable. I'll live off the internet cafes for a year. Won't hurt me. I
might have to run out on business trips every once in a while, but don't mind
me. How are things with you? What is this place like?" Peter's gaze was
level and curious.
"Lovely. I'll have amazing
material. To quote from Frances, in The Moonspinners, 'the very dust
of this country is so damned photographic'. We have splendid neighbors, the
Crispinis. Signora is a capital cook. And Caterina and Paulo are friendly
children, well young adults, I guess. Then I've met a charming Anglicized, or
at least Scottish educated, Sicilian who is here digging up a villa, Marco de
Luca, he's wonderful as a guide around. And I've met his friends, Luis, Aldo
and Gianna. Everyone is so friendly, and everything is beautiful, I know that
this was a splendid idea. But what on earth were you doing in Geneva? I thought
that that silly yacht sank in the Channel."
"So it did. Connected
business. Anyway, I'm here, and I've brought you a splendid little green
Renault. Runs beautifully. And I've worked everything out, I'm glad you did the
business with your license, so we can both take trips about this little island
all year. If there is time, I'm thinking that I'd like to visit Florence for a
weekend or so, and I have yet to see half the treasures in Rome. And, even on
this island, there are treasures. The Roman villa at Piazza Armerina is a
fabulous place, and Palermo has some museums I've read about, and the
archeological park at Agrigento is worth a visit, not the mention this dig you
mentioned near here."
"You've been doing your
research," smiled Lucy, handing Peter his mug of coffee.
"Thanks. Nice little house.
I suppose you've bagged the bets bedroom?"
"Of course. You get the
other upstairs one. I'm using the scullery as a darkroom, so don't go in there
if you can help it. Say, I've got some prints already, care to see?"
"Of course." Peter
languidly sat back in his chair, as Lucy rushed up to fetch the prints. He was
a tall man, very athletic and fit, with alarming intelligence, which caught
many people unawares. He had a passion for all sorts of art, and eagerly
accepted Lucy's prints, eager to judge the artisticness of them as much as
eager to see his sister's work. Though only half brother and sister, they were
close, and as both liked art, had spent a good amount of time together at
classes and museums whenever they were together.
"This is a splendid
one," said Peter, taking up one of the view from the back of the theater.
"I can't believe that ocean. I'll have to see the original. And this is a
charming print of workmen... what on earth are they doing?"
"That's at Marco's dig.
He's rather clever, but busy, so he had this fellow named Luigi show me about.
There is the most lovely little mosaic of a man with a donkey... there. Isn't
it wonderful?"
"Lovely," said Peter.
"I'd like to see that. Third or Fourth Century CE, I'd suppose," he
murmured, falling into his art expert mode.
"Something like that.
They've found coins or something nearby."
"Who is this?" asked
Peter, coming to a charming print of Marco de Luca.
"That's Marco, the site
director, the one I've been telling you about. We met on my first night, at a
pub in Castelmola, and he showed me around Taormina, and the theater and things
the next day. I'm sure I'll run into him again, and I'll introduce you two. You
both like ancient art, so you'll have something to talk about."
"Naturally." Peter's
curiosity had been aroused by he fact that Lucy was running about the
Mediterranean with an attractive Sicilian, and it was further piqued by the
fact that this was a man who shared his interests. They would have to meet.
"What are you up to today?" asked Peter, bringing his thoughts to the
present.
"I'm not quite sure. I had
intended to go shoot, but now that you're here, I just want to spend time with
you. Your work has positively eaten your time recently."
"It's interesting stuff.
Anyway, I was thinking about a little trip to Mt. Etna. Would you like
that?"
"I'd love it!" cried
Lucy, smiling.
"Good. Let's take a spin up
to see what we can. After the eruption in December, I'm afraid that the skycars
are down, and the van doesn't run up anymore. But, we'll see what we can, and
we could always hike a little. Care for the idea?"
"Yes. I'll go change. You finish
eating and get a shower or something."
"I will." Peter lay the prints
on a side table, with the one of Marco on top. Lucy made friends quickly, and
this one might be useful. He had a nagging problem involving ancient mosaics to
work out, and Signore de Luca might have a fresh view on the matter.
An hour and a half later, they
were well on the road to Mt. Etna. Peter drove well on the narrow, winding roads.
Occasionally they saw buses of tourists, and managed to pass the lumbering
vehicles. Lucy was radiantly cheerful with the prospect of photographing Mt.
Etna, Europe's most active volcano, and one of the most celebrated. It was said
to be the home of the Cyclops, and Lucy kept making Peter stop the car on the
narrow shoulder, so that she could take pictures of the massive volcano. It was
no longer steaming, but it was imposing, surrounded for miles by black rocks
and covered in snow.
"This is exactly what I
think Mordor would look like," said Lucy, "if it snowed there, which
I can't imagine. But this really is all barren along the road."
"Further down the slopes is
all the good farmland," said Peter, cheerfully. "They've got a system
to divert some of the lava, you know."
"Didn't save the sky
cars," aid Lucy. "Oh well. I still have two feet, and I'm rearing to
go."
They drove on for some time,
finally finding themselves in a large parking lot surrounded by a number of
shops, all proclaiming that they sold volcanic rocks, film, and postcards. The
ground was covered in snow, and Lucy was glad that she had brought along her
heavy jacket. Peter slipped a wool hat over his thick brown hair, and squinted
out at the blinding white hill alongside one end of the parking lot.
"Well," he said,
"We're here. Where to go first?"
"Over there," said
Lucy, pointing. Peter's gaze followed her line of vision to a heap of volcanic
rocks and ash, partially covered with snow. There was steam rising from the
pile, which, they soon discovered was from the snow melting. The ground was
oddly warm, and the snow melted as it touched the hot ashy soil. Lucy was
enraptured, and made Peter stand still at the stop of the pile while she
snapped pictures of his and of the surrounding area. After a short time, they
packed up the camera, and set up a little path to see whatever else they could.
There wasn't much to be seen, just the hillside and snow and steam. However,
from the altitude, Lucy managed to get charming panoramas of the view.
When they had hiked as much as
they wanted to, the brother and sister headed back to the parking lot, where,
inside the largest shop, they ordered ciocolatte from the man behind the
counter. While Lucy was reasonably fluent in Italian, she was pleasantly surprised
by the rapid fluency with which Peter ordered the drinks. They sat down at a
narrow counter, surrounded by shelves of tourist items, to sip the hot creamy
liquid. Lucy stirred the contents of her little cup lazily, watching the
tourists run up and down the slope outside. When they had finished the hot
drinks, Lucy purchased a few postcards, so she could send one to Susannah, and
to her parents. Peter escorted her back t the car, and the stowed the camera,
before starting back down to Taormina.
"That was a lovely
treat," said Lucy, smiling at Peter, who was masterfully driving.
"I'm glad you arrived. I was worried that they'd keep you forever. What
were you doing?"
"I was a consultant on the
recovered paintings. Tiresomely enough, one proved to be a fake. I had faked
Impressionist pictures. So tiresome. It was an antique fake, however, so it was
more interesting. basically, it wasn't by Monet, but it was a wonderful
composition. I offered to buy it from the folks, but they weren't interested.
They liked it, even if it wasn't the real deal. It had been in the family for
the better part of Twentieth Century."
"That's interesting,"
said Lucy. "Old fakes. Huh."
"You'd be bored, sister
dear. Go take your photographs. I can recognize the good from the bad, but
that's about all I know of them. I thought yours were charming. Does this mean
that you spend all the day out shooting, and all the nights in developing and
printing?"
"I'm trying to be sociable.
I had planned on getting lunch in Taormina today."
"It is a little late for
lunch now, but what if we go in for tea? You're American all the way through,
and can't appreciate the meal properly, but my British half exalts in it. Tea
in Taormina?"
"That sounds ideal. Thank
you."
"I'm interested by all of the
stone on this island. Quite a lot of these temples and theaters and things must
have been native stone, don't you think?" asked Peter, changing the
subject as they drove by a very dilapidated ruined wall.
"Lots of stone about. I
found a little thing that might have been a quarry. Lovely colored stone. I
wonder if they used it in the construction of Marco's villa?"
"Perhaps. I want to meet
your Marco, by the way. This isn't brotherly guardianship, you are too old for
that. He knows about ancient stone, I would bet, and it is a passion with me.
That first paper, and all."
"Maybe we'll meet him in
town. You two can talk antiquities all day. Turn here."
They managed to get into
Taormina, where they found a cafe, and snacked on espresso, biscuits and marzipan.
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