Last Voyage of the Valentina(63)

He caressed her cheek, shook his head, and frowned. “Of course I will. Once we are married we will leave for England. What are you frightened of?”

“Of losing you again,” she replied hoarsely.

“I’ll never leave you as long as I live,” he said gravely. “The only reason I survived this war is because I had you to live for. Then I had you and Alba to live for and my life became more precious than it had ever been. I’m going to look after you, I promise.”

She smiled and the light returned to her eyes. “I know you will. You don’t know how much I love you. You don’t know how much it hurts.”

“It hurts me too,” he said and before them the hill rose up to the ancient lookout point that was exactly as it had been that previous spring. How much my life has changed, Thomas thought to himself. And how changed am I. Jack was right. I’m no longer like him. My life has purpose. I never chose to be responsible, responsibility chose me, and now I’m grateful for it.

He carried little Alba in her basket up to the crumbling tower. She was still asleep, her hands beside her ears and her head on one side. She looked angelic, like one of Raphael’s sleeping cherubs. She might just as well have been on a cloud and if she had turned over to reveal wings he wouldn’t have been in the least bit surprised.

“She’s just like you,” he said as they sat down in the shade. The aromatic scent of the hills was carried on the breeze with the fresh smell of the sea and Thomas felt that in all his life he had never been filled with such lightness, such happiness.

“I hope she does not grow up to be like me,” she replied, but Thomas shook his head.

“How lucky she would be if she were to grow up like you, Valentina.”

“I don’t want her to make the mistakes that I have made in my life.”

“But you’re so young. What mistakes could you have possibly made?” He laughed at her and she grinned bashfully.

“We all make mistakes, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do. But…”

“The best thing I ever did was meet you.” She wrapped her arms around him and they lay down on the grass and kissed. As much as he wanted to make love to her he didn’t feel it was right while their baby slept beside them. He knew Valentina felt the same, for small beads of sweat had collected on her brow and nose and her breathing had grown heavy, but she did not encourage him to take it further.

They waited as long as they could before returning to Immacolata’s house. They lay entwined as the day slowly drained away. Alba awoke and Valentina put her to the breast. Thomas was moved. He had never seen a child suckled before. Valentina looked luminescent, serene, unattainable somehow. As she fed her baby she no longer belonged to him, but to Alba. Once again he sensed her ethereal nature. That quality he had recognized the year before that placed her beyond his reach. He suffered a moment of possessiveness. It didn’t matter how much she told him she loved him, or that the child she fed was his child. He felt as if a hand squeezed his heart.

“Christ, Valentina,” he said in English. “You do the strangest things to me!” She turned her head on one side and looked puzzled. “You’re so beautiful,” he continued in Italian. “I just want to hold you forever.”

Now she laughed at him. “You don’t know me, Tommy.”

“You like lemons, the dark, the sea, and the color purple. You wanted to be a dancer when you were a little girl. You see,” he chuckled wistfully, “I remember everything about you.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other.” He swept her hair over her shoulder so that it did not obscure her face. “It’s going to be the greatest project of my life.”

“We will have more children,” she said, stroking Alba’s forehead as she suckled. “I want Alba to have brothers and sisters. I don’t want her to be alone. I’ve been alone in this war. I hope she grows up in a peaceful world,” she said suddenly and her eyes filled with tears. “War reduces men to animals and turns women into shameful creatures. I want her to see only the good in people. Not to be cynical. To be able to trust without that trust being broken. I want her to be sure of who she is. To be confident. Not to have to rely on anyone. To be independent and free. She will be all these things in England, won’t she?”

Thomas was confused. “Of course she will. That is what we fought for, Valentina. For peace. So that children like Alba can grow up unafraid, in a free, democratic society.”

“You are so brave, Tommy. I wish I was brave like you.”