Domenica stopped to consider their options. Her feet sank into the soft sand by the water’s edge. She allowed the gentle lapping of the incoming tide to fill in the impressions around her feet. She sank ankle deep into the cool sand until she was eye to eye with Silvio. His curly hair was thick from the ocean mist, making him seem taller than her at last. Domenica stood up straight so he wouldn’t be. “Do you want to find the buried treasure or not? Because if you don’t, I can do this by myself. And if I am alone when I find it, I don’t have to share it with you.”
“I don’t want to miss the festival at Chiesa della Santissima Annunziata,” Silvio lamented. “This is the day of the bomboloni.”
“Is that all? A doughnut is more important to you than a lifetime of riches?” Domenica tried to balance herself by putting her hand on his shoulder, but her feet were stuck like two rubber stoppers in the wet sand. Silvio gave her a good yank to release her, but instead they tumbled onto the beach laughing.
“The map!” Domenica held the parchment cylinder high in the air to keep it dry.
Silvio snatched it and stood. “I’ve got it.”
“Thief!” A voice bellowed from the peak of the dune behind them. The children looked back to see Signore Aniballi, the town librarian, looming over them wearing his rumpled waistcoat and wool pants. “Bring that map back to me! Subito!”
Domenica grabbed the map from Silvio and began to run down the beach.
Silvio ran after Domenica.
“I thought no one saw you!” Domenica panted as Silvio caught up with her. A pack of boys appeared on the peak and formed a line like a row of black crows on a wire.
Aniballi pointed. “There he is! The Birtolini boy! Get him!”
Aniballi’s army scattered down the dunes. When the boys reached the beach, they began to chase Domenica and Silvio along the water’s edge. Aniballi slid down the sandy hill in his work oxfords, until his feet got tangled in seaweed. He fell forward and tumbled down to the beach. He stood, cursed, dusted off his trousers, checked the pocket of his waistcoat for his watch, making certain it had not been damaged in the fall, and followed the boys.
Domenica and Silvio ran down the beach; the mob followed them. Domenica’s heart pounded in her chest. It felt as though it might burst through her skin, yet she relished the feeling of danger from the thrill of being chased. She heard her name called but ignored it and ran faster. She pretended the map was a baton in a foot race. She held it high in the air, kicked back her heels, and pumped her arms. Her jumper, which her mother had noticed was too short and needed the hem let out, was the right length for a chase. She had speed.
The boys’ taunts carried over the sound of the surf. Domenica ignored the insults, but Silvio heard them and was afraid. His heart was pounding for a different reason from hers. The mob had chased Silvio before. When he was alone, he had only himself to worry about. He could calculate exactly how long it took for the bullies to lose interest in the chase, and knew where he could hide to wait it out. Domenica was slowing him down, but he would not leave her. He kept pace with his friend to protect her.
“This way!” Domenica pivoted. She scanned the beach and scrambled across the sand to the dunes in the direction of the steps that led up to the boardwalk.
Silvio stopped. “No, this way!” He pointed to the dune that would take them into the pine woods, where he knew of places to hide.
“Follow me!” She ran.
Silvio followed behind her. The boys, who were bigger and faster, soon gained on them.
“Papa’s shop! Come on!” Domenica panted as Silvio joined her at the bottom of the steps. Together they had turned to climb the steps when Domenica heard a loud thump.
A spray of blood exploded in the air like red pearls.
The rock, aimed at Silvio, had hit him in the face and torn open his skin.
“My eye!” Silvio cried as he fell to the ground. Domenica knelt next to him. The gang chanted “Il bastardo!” as they surrounded them.
Domenica felt claustrophobic; the pungent scent of the breath and sweat of the mob mixed with seaweed sickened her.
“Enough!” Domenica shouted.
Guido Mironi, the tallest boy with the thickest neck, grabbed the map from Domenica.
“Step aside, boys!” Signore Aniballi panted, pushing the boys out of his way. Mironi handed the librarian the map.
“Grazie, Guido, grazie,” Aniballi gushed. “Good boy.”
Domenica was on the ground next to Silvio, shielding him with her body. The boy was in agony. He had curled up tightly in the shape of a snail’s shell, his hand covering his eye, protecting it as blood streamed through his fingers.