Maria went on living one day at a time – and enough days one after the other made weeks, and eventually an entire month. It didn't take long for her to settle into a routine. In the morning, she would take Alberto to do deliveries and chat with the people they met along the way. As her initial nervousness faded, Maria started to enjoy this very much. After a year and a half on that Island with only Giancarlo, small talk seemed wonderful. It didn't matter that there was nothing to say. The weather, how big Alberto was getting, and the day-to-day lives of the townspeople warmed her heart.
When the deliveries were done, they sometimes went straight home to help Helena, who was less and less mobile as her pregnancy neared its end. Other days, they would go to the relatively isolated eastern beach and play in the water. The rumours of a sea monster, bolstered by a couple more sightings that Maria assumed were also of the lost oarfish, kept other people away from the spot. Swimming made Alberto much happier than baths did, and made their new life more nearly resemble the old. Then they would head back to the Pescheria for supper.
Once or twice a week, they would also visit the Aragostas.
The two old women sometimes got other visitors. There was a young man who seemed to be some kind of relative, as he addressed them both as Zia , and an older woman who would stop by to gossip and eat gelato. Maria tried to avoid these people. She thought they were probably also sea monsters, and worried that if they knew she had a sea monster son, they might insist Alberto come live with them instead.
If none of these were present, however, Maria would knock on the door, and the women would welcome her in with tea and treats. Alberto could splash in their little garden pond, hidden from the street by the stone wall and a well-placed olive tree, or drag a string for the cats to chase. That was where they were the day Maria looked up at the crescent moon rising in the blue eastern sky, and recognized the phase. It had been an entire month since she'd arrived home.
"Oh, hello, Placido!" Concetta called out suddenly.
Maria's eyes went immediately to Alberto, but he was quite dry, watching in fascination as a little snail made its slow, slimy way across one of the paving stones. Still, she went and scooped him up as the young man who sometimes visited opened the garden gate.
" Buongiorno , Zia Concetta!" he said, and then noticed Maria. "Oh, I see you've got company."
"It's all right," said Maria. "I was actually just thinking of heading home."
"I'm not staying long," Placido said. He held out a basket with a cloth over it. "I just wanted to drop this off."
"Why, thank you," said Concetta, accepting the gift. "Do say hello to Atinnia and Gino for us. It's been far too long since we saw them – we'll have to stop by at some point."
"I will," Placido promised. "See you later. You too, Zia Pinuccia."
" A presto , Placido," said Pinuccia.
Concetta lifted the cloth, revealing a selection of seaweeds and some astonishingly large oysters. "Oh, how nice," she said pleasantly. "You don't need to worry about Placido, Maria. He's my... I think he's a second cousin of some sort. He's not going to be telling anybody any secrets."
"Him and Libera are the only ones who really come up here regularly," Pinuccia added.
"Most people are too worried the humans will recognize them," Concetta agreed. "As if we'd still be here!"
Maria nodded, and sat down again with Alberto in her lap. Nobody had noticed anything odd about her son yet, it was true, but the idea of letting anyone look too closely continued to worry her. She'd made excuses to Dr. Calcagno a couple more times in the past weeks.
Concetta took the basket of food inside to put it away, while Pinuccia kept working on some knitting. She counted a few stitches, then glanced up at Maria.
"You look worried, dear," she said. "If you keep frowning like that, you're going to get wrinkles before your time."
Maria made an effort to relax her forehead. "Sorry"
"Don't apologize!" laughed Pinuccia. "Is there something on your mind?"
Maria let Alberto slide out of her lap and return to his snail. "Will you promise to be honest with me?" she asked.
"Of course," said Concetta, coming back outside with a fresh glass of lemonade.
"If it's something to do with Alberto, we'll certainly tell the truth," Pinuccia agreed. "We wouldn't do otherwise if it might hurt him."
"Good. I'm glad." Maria took a deep breath. "Am I really the right person to be looking after him?"
"Of course you are," Concetta said, without stopping to think about it. "You're his mother. Who could be better?"
"Well... maybe your nephew there, or the other relatives you mentioned," said Maria. "Somebody... another sea monster. There are places I can't take him and things I can't do for him." Their games of hide and seek in the water were fun, and Alberto seemed to know his mother's limits, but what if someday he wandered too far or too deep and she couldn't go get him? What if someday, when he was older, he took it into his head to run away from home and went to sea?
"He's part human," said Concetta. "You're as much like him as we are."
"It's not the same," Maria insisted, looking at her hands in her lap.
There was a brief silence, and then Concetta said, with a warning in her voice, "don't you dare ."
Maria looked up, puzzled, but found that the woman was not talking to her. She was addressing her partner Pinuccia, who'd sat up a bit in her seat.
"She ought to have the option," said Pinuccia. "Maria, dear, have you ever read the poems of Ovidio? Le Metamorfosi?"
That was an odd way of changing the subject. "Um... a little," Maria replied. "We studied parts of it in school. A translation, at least." She remembered the tale of Medea, who had taken revenge on her cheating husband by murdering their children, and a shudder passed over her. Were all the stories in the poem so awful?
"Do you remember the story about Glauco the Fisherman?" Pinuccia asked.
Maria shook her head. "We didn't read that part."
Pinuccia explained: "Glauco brought his catch back to shore one day, and emptied the nets on the beach. The fish that were still alive began nibbling at a plant that grew there, and it made them jump in a lively sort of way until they'd hopped right back into the water. Glauco was astonished by this and tried the plant himself, and he was seized by a desire to dive into the ocean. When he did, he transformed into a sea god, and lived there forever afterwards as a protector of sailors."
Maria didn't remember that from the poem, but the story tickled some distant memory. Perhaps she'd found it in another book of mythological stories once. "Is that the origin of sea monsters?" she asked.
"No, no, just a story humans tell," Pinuccia said. She got out of her chair and puttered over to a back corner of the garden, where she pulled a spring off a shiny bright green plant and offered it to Maria. "Here you are. If you really think Alberto needs a sea monster for a mother, then eat these and go swim in the sea."
Maria reached for it, then stopped herself. "That's it? That plant will make me a sea monster?"
"It'll make you transform when you get in the water, like we do," Pinuccia said. "Whether that makes you a sea monster is a matter of opinion. I can't promise anyone you meet will be terribly welcoming. We're a suspicious lot, I'm afraid."
"I..." Maria hesitated. It would be a great relief to be able to follow Alberto if he went out too far... but then she would have to protect two people's secrets, instead of just one.
Concetta shook her head. "I told you not to," she said disapprovingly to her partner. "Don't feel like you must, Maria. You're Alberto's mother, and you're his mother whether you can Change in the water or not. That's the important thing. Throw that away."
"Don't throw it away," Pinuccia protested. "I'm not trying to pressure you, I'm just giving you a choice. You do what you think is best." She pressed the sprig into Maria's hand. "It keeps its potency for a few days. You can think about it. And if you need longer to think than this will last, it's right there in the herb garden. You can always come back."
"Thank you," said Maria uncertainly. She wrapped the plant in a handkerchief, and put it in her pocket.
Soon after that, a chilly wind came up, and dark clouds began to gather over the sea. Rain was a dangerous thing for sea monsters, so the Aragostas wished Maria a pleasant evening and went inside to stay dry. Maria got Alberto back into his shoes – he still didn't like them, but was willing to tolerate them – and headed back down the hill to her family's home above the Pescheria.
"Do you wish your Mamma was a sea monster, too, Alberto?" she asked.
Alberto did not answer her. It was hard to tell how much he understood the question, though Maria suspected he understood more than most people would give him credit for. He'd learned several new words since they'd arrived in town. What would he say if he could give an answer? The little packet of herbs felt... not heavy, but very present in her pocket.
The first raindrops were just beginning to fall as Maria waved to Dario, who was moving the chalkboard inside, and let herself into the house. Nobody else was there. Massimo was still out fishing, and Helena had left a note on the table, saying she'd gone with a friend from Genova who'd stopped by for the day, and apologizing for the mess: before she left, she'd been organizing the kitchen spices. There were jars and canisters of them set out on a towel on the kitchen table, some of them with new labels.
Maria put Alberto down for his nap, then returned to the kitchen and took out the leaves Pinuccia had given her.
They looked so innocent as she broke them from the stem, just like any other garden plant. Could they really be magical, or did Pinuccia only want to make Maria think about her worries more critically? If that were true, it was working, because she couldn't stop mulling over the scenarios in her head. If Maria were a sea monster, she would be able to take Alberto into his element. Maybe they could meet some members of the community the women had said was nearby... maybe some of them would even have children Alberto's age for him to make friends with.
On the other hand, it would limit where Maria herself could go and what she'd be able to do for him. She certainly wouldn't want Massimo to find out – despite Helena's occasional reminders, she still refused to tell him the truth about Alberto and his father. She wouldn't be able to go swimming or boating if there were strangers around, and would be less able to protect Alberto if he got wet because she would have to worry about her own safety, too. Was that sensible, or selfish?
If she did decide to take the leaves, how was she supposed to do it? Should she just eat them like a salad, or brew them in a tea, or even smoke them like tobacco? Maybe Pinuccia would have told her if Concetta hadn't interrupted. Should she ask? Or would that just give Concetta another chance to disapprove?
A splattering sound made her look up. It was starting to rain in earnest, and drops were coming in the open window. Maria wrapped the leaves in the handkerchief again and set them down on the counter, and went to close the shutters.
When she looked out, she could see that Massimo had just returned. His little boat was right at the stone quay below the building, and he was holding his jacket over his head to keep the rain off as he stepped out. He put one foot on the stone, then gave a yelp and vanished from view behind the fence.
Maria cried out, too, and turned towards the door. Her skirt caught on one of the kitchen chairs and she yanked it free, banging the chair against the table and sending Helena's spice jars rolling. Maria ignored them. They could be cleaned up later. She dashed down the steps two at a time and ran out into the rain to find her brother.
The steps down to the quay were steep and could be slippery, but Maria didn't even remember descending them. At the bottom, she found Massimo clinging to the edge of the quay with his one arm, his lower body in the water trapped between wall and boat. There was blood on his face. Maria grabbed his shirt and hauled him up. She was strong but Massimo was big, like their father had been, and it took all her strength to get him up onto solid stone.
"What happened?" she asked.
"I slipped," he grunted, wiping his chin with one hand, then examining the blood that came away. There was a deep, fresh cut on the left side of his jaw, where he must have hit the edge. "Banged my chin and went straight into the water."
"That looks like it's gonna need stitches," Maria observed. She took his arm again as she stood, but he shrugged her off.
"I'm all right," Massimo said, and tried to take a step, only to hiss in pain.
"No, you're not!" Maria said. She looped his arm over her shoulders and helped him shift his weight – the left leg was the painful one. "We need to get you to the doctor."
Massimo scowled. He didn't like showing weakness. Their father had used to praise him as 'my sturdy boy' and Massimo had very much taken that to heart. Avoiding the doctor was a frequent part of it.
"Don't look like that," Maria scolded him. "If you can't walk on it without help, then you need a doctor. And no, we can't wait a couple of days and see if it gets better," she added. That had been how he'd used to avoid such things as a teenager. "What if it gets worse? Imagine what Helena will say!"
They found out what she would say a few moments later, as Maria helped Massimo to hobble up into the piazza. Helena was just on her way into the Pescheria with a newspaper over her head, having said goodbye to her friend at the train station. She gasped in shock when she saw the blood on Massimo's face. Dario, peeking out the door, did likewise.
"Signor Marcovaldo!" the boy exclaimed.
"I'm all right," Massimo told everybody.
"He is not," Maria repeated. "I'm taking him to Dr. Calcagno." Fortunately the doctor's place was just around a corner and up a short flight of stairs.
"Let me help." Helena waddled over, then paused. It would be difficult to support Massimo from the right when he had no arm on that side, and with the baby due to arrive in only a couple of weeks, Helena was already quite encumbered. She wouldn't be able to do much, and she knew it.
"Alberto is asleep upstairs," said Maria. "Would you keep an eye on him?"
"Of course!" said Helena.
"Grazie mille! Dario," Maria added, "go back inside, we've got it handled."
Dario nodded, and retreated into the Pescheria.
Massimo was grumbling as his sister got him up the steps, one at a time, to the doctor's door. "You two are going to be clucking over me for the next month," he complained.
"If you didn't want that, you had your chance to throw me out when I first arrived!" Maria told him. She banged the knocker. "Doctor!"
Doctor Calcagno opened the door, and found himself gazing after the middle of Massimo's chest. He pushed his glasses up his beaky nose and craned his neck to look up at Massimo and Maria.
"Oh, dear," he said. "That looks nasty. Please, come in." He stepped aside to let them, observing Massimo's limp as they struggled over the threshold. "And your leg, too? I don't know how you survived on your own, young man. You're never here unless one of your women brings you in."
Massimo just grunted.
Maria got him into a chair. "Helena and I will give him the full lecture," she promised. "He slipped getting out of his boat. Twisted his ankle, cut his face, and fell in the water."
"Then we'll clean and stitch the cut first. No telling what nasty infections are lurking in the sea," the doctor said. "Let me just wash my hands."
Massimo sat scowling while they waited for the doctor to wash. Maria scowled right back.
"You are not Mother," Massimo said.
"I'm a mother," Maria pointed out. "Helena will be too, soon."
"Mannaggia," said Massimo. "I will never get a moment's peace again."
Calcagno returned, wearing an apron and a cloth mask, and pulling on a set of gloves. He looked overdressed for Massimo's comparatively minor injuries, but he was known to be very cautious of infection. He'd seen it carry off far too many men during the war.
"Let me look at that face," he said to Massimo. "You know that even something that small can kill you if it gets septic."
Massimo scowled.
The doctor continued to talk as he cleaned the cut with alcohol and put the sutures in, telling stories of tetanus and sepsis. Then he examined Massimo's ankle, and declared it sprained but not broken.
"I'll wrap it up," he said, unrolling a thick cloth bandage. "It doesn't need a plaster cast, though I'm tempted to put one on anyway, just to keep you off it." He glanced significantly at Maria.
"Don't worry. Helena and I will keep him from trying to use it," Maria promised.
"Who will do the fishing?" Massimo asked her.
"I will," said Maria. "I've done it before." Even Massimo had, once or twice, been too ill to get out of bed, and then the job had fallen to Maria. It was on such a fishing trip that she'd first met Giancarlo.
"What about Alberto?" he tried.
"Helena can watch him. She's doing it right now. And Dario will mind the shop." Maria had gotten used to Dario, but had never thought she'd actually be grateful for him.
"Then I will have to sit and die of boredom," Massimo declared.
Although his tales of woe made it seem much longer, it took about half an hour for the doctor to finish patching up Massimo's wounds. He found a number of other cuts and bruises in his inspection, but none were so deep as the cut on his cheek and chin, and the doctor was happy to clean and bandage them without more stitches.
"I expect it's pointless to offer you a crutch," Calcagno observed.
"He won't use it," Maria agreed. "I could smack him with it, but that will only hurt him worse."
"I doubt I've got one big enough for him anyway. Keep off that for at least a week," the doctor told Massimo. "Put it up on a stool when you're sitting, and ice it to reduce the pain and swelling. I'm sure your sister or wife will be happy to haul you back here so I can check it again in a few days. They're doing God's work when they do."
"Of course, Doctor," Maria said.
Massimo rolled his eyes and shook his head.
They made their slow, shambling way back to the Pescheria, and were about to go inside when Massimo realized that his boat had floated a few metres from the quay. His fall had pulled the rope partly free of its mooring. He moved to go get it, but Maria held his arm.
"Don't," she said. "I'll get it. Dario!"
"Yes, Signora Scorfano?" The young man appeared in the doorway.
"Take Massimo upstairs. I have to get the boat."
"I thought I wasn't allowed in the house," said Dario.
"This is an emergency. Massimo, go with Dario," Maria ordered.
"Yes, Mamma," he groused.
Maria turned her brother over to their employee, who looked daunted by the idea of supporting Massimo's huge frame but was, as always, determined to do his best. Maria then went back down the steps, much more carefully this time, and tugged on the rope to get the boat back.
Unfortunately, all she managed to do was pull it entirely free, leaving the little vessel bobbing with no mooring at all. There was only one thing to do now. It was still raining, so at least she was already wet. Maria tied up her skirt so it wouldn't tangle her legs, and climbed into the water to get it.
The sea was shallow enough here for Maria's toes to touch the bottom. This gave her something to brace against as she pushed the boat towards the wall, so the job wasn't nearly as difficult as it might have been in open water. Even so, as she brought boat and rope back together again, Maria did think that now would have been a wonderful time to be a sea monster.
She returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, with water still dripping from her hem and hair. Massimo was sitting on the bench with his foot up on a cushion and a sour expression on his face. Helena had tidied up her spices and was now busy making dinner, and Dario was kneeling on the floor, doing card tricks for the delight of Alberto, who was clapping his hands and bouncing up and down with glee.
Normally Maria would have protested that Dario should have gone straight back down to the shop, but at that moment she only saw one thing: there was no sign of the magical plant Pinuccia Aragosta had given her.
She opened her mouth to ask what had happened to it, but quickly shut it again. If she mentioned it, she might be asked what it was, and she could not explain in front of Massimo, never mind Dario. Helena had probably put it in the cupboard with the seasonings. Maria could ask her once they were alone.
"Santo Parmigiano!" Helena exclaimed. "Did you go for a swim?"
"I had to bring the boat back," Maria said. "I'm going to go change, and then I'll help with supper." That might give her an opportunity to ask about the herb.
Dario looked up. "Should I stay a little longer?" he asked.
"No, you're fine," said Maria.
"You can go back down to the shop and close up properly," Helena said. "If there are any customers, tell them we're having an emergency and they'll have to come back tomorrow."
"Yes, Ma'am!" said Dario.
Maria toweled her hair and hung up her dress, and put on a dry set of pyjamas. Then, before she went back downstairs, she took a quick look around her old room. This was no longer the nursery – Massimo and Helena had moved the things for their own baby into the master bedroom. Once she'd found the magic herb, she would need a place to hide it... maybe in a book. She could press it between the pages and nobody would bother it. Satisfied with that plan, she put her slippers on and joined the rest of her family.
"Oh, good timing," said Helena, who was draining pasta. "Supper's ready! I've tried my hand at pesto again. Hopefully it's an improvement."
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Maria said. Helena's last attempt hadn't been that bad. She hadn't ground the herbs thoroughly enough, leaving a few entire pinoli, and so the flavour had been rather uneven, but it hadn't been nearly the disaster Helena liked to make it sound.
There was a knock on the kitchen door, and it opened a crack to reveal Dario. "I got everything closed!" he said. "Do you need anything else?"
"No, Dario," Helena replied. "You can head for home. Or..." she looked out the window at the rain, which was now absolutely tipping down. "Or if you want to wait and see if the rain stops, maybe you could stay for supper. Would that be all right?" she asked Maria.
Maria wasn't sure how to answer. It was probably safe, but what if somebody spilled a glass of water on Alberto? Massimo, as a member of the family, might be persuaded to keep the secret, but Dario...
"Grazie, Signora Marcovaldo," said Dario, "but no thank you. We're eating with my grandpa tonight."
Helena nodded. "Have fun, then."
"See you tomorrow," Massimo said.
The door shut, and they heard Dario's footsteps heading back downstairs.
Maria collected Alberto and sat down, and Helena served out her latest attempt at the family's trenette al pesto Massimo was given a plate to keep in his lap so his ankle could stay elevated, and Maria got an extra half-serving for Alberto so he wouldn't help himself to hers. When the bowl was put in front of him, the baby immediately grabbed two handfuls of noodles and began stuffing them into his mouth.
"Alberto always appreciates your cooking," Maria noted, picking up her fork to eat.
"He doesn't exactly have a discerning palate," Helena laughed. She eased herself into a chair, groaning. "Any time this one wants to arrive can't be soon enough," she said, rubbing her belly.
"It certainly looks like it'll be any time," Maria remarked. "You look like you're going to pop."
She kept her voice casual, but she couldn't help a brief shiver as she remembered that horrible night on the Island when Alberto was born. There'd been nobody to help her. There hadn't even been a bed, just a couple of blankets on the floor, one of them folded to make an improvised pillow. Maria had spent hours squirming and sobbing as her baby fought to be born and her body didn't seem to want to let him. Giancarlo had held her hand for a while, until he just couldn't stand it any longer and fled back to the sea, leaving Maria all alone in the dark.
Giancarlo had come back the next morning, pale and hung over, and explained that he'd thought she was dying and couldn't bear to watch. He'd apologized and hugged her tight, telling her over and over how frightened he'd been. He had probably meant it, too... but Maria had never been able to bring herself to forgive him. She probably should have left right then, because she'd known full well that things could never be the same after than kind of betrayal. She still had nightmares sometimes...
"Maria?" asked Helena.
Maria blinked and brought herself back to the present. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
"Did you have a good time at the Aragostas' today?" Helena repeated.
"Yes," said Maria. "They're showed me some of the herbs they're growing in their garden." She met Helena's eyes, hoping to communicate silently that they'd given her something special. "Alberto found all kinds of bugs and creepy-crawlies there. There are tadpoles in their pond and he kept trying to grab them, but they're too quick for him."
"A fisherman in the making," said Massimo, the corners of his moustache twitching as he tried not to smile.
"His father always said he's one who would survive in the wild," Maria agreed, though she'd never liked it phrased that way. It made her picture Alberto left alone in the sea to forage for his own food.
Massimo replied with a small affirmative noise through a mouthful of pasta.
"I showed Costanza around the town," Helena said cheerfully. "You and her would get along, Maria. She thinks Portorosso looks like a place where nothing ever happens. She did offer to buy one of my paintings though."
"Which one did she want?" Maria asked.
"The one of the grape-pickers," said Helena. "She thought it looked like a Monet. And she was very intrigued by my sketches of sea monsters! I told her they're based on eyewitness descriptions, but she didn't believe me."
They managed to fill the rest of the meal with small talk, without any more uncomfortable moments. Afterwards, Maria collected the dishes, and she and Helena did the washing-up while Massimo sat on the bench, glaring at his injured ankle.
"I'll be up early tomorrow so I can start the fishing," Maria said. "You think you can handle Alberto? He's fast."
"I'll be fine," Helena assured her. "You can hardly take him out on the boat with you," She glanced over her shoulder after Massimo, but he was not paying attention.
"Heavens, no," Maria agreed with a forced laugh.
It was then that she noticed the aftertaste. It came up with a small burp of air, a vegetable flavour that reminded Maria of the time she'd tried to eat grass as a child, just because she'd been curious. It has tasted dreadful, and she'd been left wondering how sheep could possibly eat that all day. What she tasted now was not that bad, and very fleeting. No sooner had she noticed it than it was gone.
She was hoping that before they turned in for the night, she would get a chance to ask Helena about her missing plant, but Massimo stayed in the room until he decided to go to bed, and then he needed both women to help him up the house's very steep and narrow stairs. Maria hoped Helena would go back to the kitchen, but she was yawning, and declared that she, too, would go to bed early.
"The little one didn't want you let me sleep much last night," she told Maria.
"That's not going to change once he's born," Maria told her.
"I know. I'm not looking forward to it," Helena grimaced. "Buona notte, Maria."
"Good night," Maria replied.
Helena shut the door, and Maria turned to her plan b – she went back downstairs and began searching the kitchen.
She did her best to be quiet about it, not letting the jars clink or clatter so that she wouldn't disturb the couple trying go sleep upstairs. Alberto sat and watched solemnly for a while, hut eventually curled up on the floor and fell asleep.
Shortly thereafter, Maria had to concede defeat. There was nothing in any of Helena's seasoning jars that looked like her plant. The closest was the basil, but even then the leaves didn't have those two little prongs at the base. With a sigh, Maria shut the cupboard. Maybe Helena, not able to identify the leaves, had simply thrown them away. That was probably for the best. Maria could find an opportunity to ask tomorrow, and if she wanted more, she could ask the Aragostas.
"You're right, Alberto," she told her son as she gathered him up. "It's time for bed."
The odd grassy taste was still in her mouth as she lay down to sleep. It seemed Helena's pesto could still do with some improving.