Ulysses picked up the card and went inside. The heat escaping the kitchen was already intense, and the overhead fan out of action again. Ulysses went to the telephone and dialled the number. Massimo picked up straight away as if he’d been waiting all morning by the telephone. Which, in fact, he had.
He spoke quickly and precisely in case the connection cut out. He said his mother had gone back to the mainland on account of her lower body discomfort and had taken his sister and lice-infected nephew. One of his brothers had decided to go to Elba and the other brother would come in a few days. So – and this was really the crux of the matter – the house is empty. Come and visit for Ferragosto!
What? Come out to—？
Giglio. Drive down towards Grosseto, then Porto …
Michele handed Ulysses a pen and a scrap of paper. Porto? said Ulysses, nodding his thanks to Michele.
Porto Santo Stefano, said Massimo. Leave the car there. Get the morning ferry to Isola del Giglio.
Ulysses writing it all down.
You need to leave tomorrow because of the Ferragosto weekend.
The ferra what? said Ulysses.
Public holidays. If you don’t, you’ll be strand—
The line cut. The sound of the tokens being swallowed. Ulysses replaced the receiver and turned back to the room. The bar had fallen silent. Everyone was looking at him, and not all of them were pleased. Someone said, You going to Giglio now?
They left early the following morning, as instructed. The sun had barely lit the eastern sky when they stepped out of the building. They walked across the square, clutching rucksacks and bottles of water, and Claude flew on ahead to Betsy.
They travelled south through Tuscany as the sun rose and eventually a landscape of hilltop towns gave way to thick forests of chestnut trees and fields of sunflowers and it was quite a sight to behold. Cress leant out of the window and kid said, First one to see the sea, but the sea had spied her long before. Stripped down to her new swimming costume she was, face pressed close to the glass, not missing a thing.
From Orbetello they crossed the lagoon and drove up into the wild Monte Argentario, a rocky promontory surrounded by the Tyrrhenian sea. Roads were overgrown with forests and the smell was salty and herbaceous and at the base of the great cliffs, glimpses of coves and beaches could be had.
The dark green canopy thinned out as the road veered down towards the port, the aftermath of wartime bombardment still evident. Ulysses parked away from the main road and they grabbed their bags and ran towards the ferry up ahead. They were the last to board and the klaxon blared and the slow chug of the engine pushed clouds of dark smoke into a pristine sky. The water was as crystalline and turquoise as they had ever seen, and Claude flew free. A soft headwind brought the sun’s rays to their noses and foreheads and kid put on her sunglasses. Kid had never been to an island before and she stood up suddenly and punched her arms in joy.
When Giglio came into sight, it reflected the long hot parchment of summer. Rocky granite crags were tufted by macchia mediterranea and little else. As they drew near to the harbour, the klaxon sounded, and a crescent of bright sand came into sight, and fisher cottages, and donkeys waiting to transport luggage up the steep island slopes. It was like stepping back in time, the whole scene overlaid with a sepia tint. And as the ferry moored alongside the harbour wall, they looked about for Massimo. Claude was the first to spot him, though, standing in a small boat and waving furiously.
You made it! he shouted. Mio Dio! You made it.
You look so well what about this heat I like your hair you still got lice? no no all gone I’ve got a new swimming costume Cressy’s spying on the stone bench signore.
Ready? said Massimo, catching his breath. Ready, they said, catching theirs, and Massimo pulled the cord and whatever peace had settled across the harbour and whatever conversation was still to be had was swallowed by the ugly whine of a two-stroke.
The boat hugged the curve of the island, which revealed a little more to its excited visitors – hillside vineyards and pear-laden cacti and granite steps from which to swim. Kid leant over the side to catch every wave that slapped against the hull. Eventually, the engine steadied and the boat veered right towards a vast expanse of shingled beach. They glimpsed a house near the back, protected by native pines and eucalypts. Massimo tilted the engine and the shallow hull glided effortlessly to shore.
Cressy was the first onto the island, all he needed was a flag to plant. He looked about at the bounty of existence, full consciousness in the soles of his feet.
This way! shouted Massimo.
Across the shingle, the metronomic fall of waves overlapped with the call of doves. Massimo marching ahead, waving his arms in a manner most peculiar. He was nervous and shy and had never had anyone visit before – never invited anyone, truth be told – and he felt grateful when the shingle ran out and the house reared up in its charming incongruity. Part cottage, part shack.