Passeggiata (complete 2016)

He looked around the table: everyone looked at him expectantly.

"Anyway. Pliny the Elder. Yes. Pliny tells us that this village was, from Roman times, known as Portus Delphini, which you, Mister Goodwin, would call the Port of the Dolphin."

"He is, Ludvico, this is doctoré Goodwin," Paulo corrected the old man. "He is a physician. A heart surgeon."

"Oh, really? But I thought he was the man you went swimming with this morning, Paulo?"

Goodwin smiled when Paulo looked down at the table; he saw the poor fellow smiling and shaking his head -- all while turning pomegranate red. "This will never end, never," Paulo said, looking up with a warm smile on his face. "I am ruined."

Goodwin smiled, because he understood all too well.

"Anyway," the old man continued, "there have always been dolphins in this sea, eh, what is your word, doctoré? This gulf we call the Tigullian. We have always been fishermen, in this village, and long after the Arabs and the Americans leave this is what we shall be again. We are linked, yes, this is the word? To the sea. Over many thousands of years. And as we have come to depend on the sea for our lives, so too the sea has had her gifts to bestow upon us."

The old man took his glass and passed it to Paulo. "Do I have to ask again? Some wine, please, Paulo, or I will die of thirst!"

"I asked Paulo if the things we saw tonight have happened before," Mary Ann interjected. "That seemed to upset him, you - Paulo, and I wonder why?"

"It is only legend," Paulo replied. "An old story told to school children, nothing more."

"And, what is this legend?" Malcolm asked, a twinkle in his eye -- as if he was waiting patiently now, though only he knew how expectantly, for the keys to the kingdom.

"Let us come to that later, professoré," the old man said. "First, we shall have some oysters and Pinot Grigio." He clapped his hands and the chef wheeled out a cart heaped with fresh shellfish on a mountain of ice. Another boy brought fresh glasses and ice cold bottles of wine. The old man looked at Paulo and decided he'd better pour this round.

The chef shucked oysters and put them on plates next to shrimp and tiny lobster tails and, Goodwin saw, slender bits of what had to be octopus. He tossed off the rest of the red wine -- then suddenly wished he hadn't.

When everyone had been served the old man looked at them and smiled. He picked up his glass. "To health and love," the old man began, and the others raised their glasses. Next, he looked first at Goodwin, then at Margherita. "And to miracles in the night," he whispered.

"To health and love!" the rest said.

"Indeed," Doncaster said. "That's as it should be."

The old man put down his glass and looked at his hands for a moment; he shook his head as if what he saw there was very disagreeable to him. "It is nauseating to get old," he said. "My eyes see the same world they saw when I was twenty. But then I see these hands, or even my face in a mirror, and I wonder about the gifts that time bestows."

"So what of this legend, sir?" Mary Ann asked again -- in her reporters questing voice, for she was now clearly exasperated and wanted to get to the bottom of it all.

"Ah, yes. Well, you are all educated people, at least I assume this is so. You all know that throughout human history, dolphins have turned up in various mythologies?" He looked around the table, meeting their eyes.

"Of course," Malcolm Doncaster said pedantically. "But do we see merely shadows on the wall of the cave, Ludvico. That is the more important question. Will men ever emerge from the shadows? Can our eyes stand the sight of truth in the plain light of day?"

"Eh, professoré, this is not an evening for Plato. No, my old friend, this night belongs to Bacchus, to Dionysus, perhaps."

"My point exactly, Ludvico. How can we see what we do not know. There is no context. Believing and knowing masquerade as much the same thing, you understand. Yet without knowledge, belief is a very shallow vessel indeed."

Paulo looked around the table nervously, first at his sister, then at Goodwin. This day, which had begun with such innocence and pleasure, was even now turning toward something beyond his understanding, to something he suspected was beyond all their understanding.

"So, professoré," the old man continued, "you would not believe it if you saw Him tonight, in the sea, would you?"

"Him? You don't mean Dionysus, do you? That's bloody ridiculous!"

"Ah, so then, we are left to wander the caves. Indeed, perhaps this will be harder than I anticipated." The old man took his glass and emptied it in one long pull and poured himself another. "Anyway, Mary Ann, dolphins are inextricably linked to this village, and as I said, our people have always looked to the sea for their living. No, for our very survival. It is said that when times have been hardest, when plague or famine or war have taken our men from the boats and the women have had to take to the sea, the dolphins have come to our aid. They come and drive fish into the net, they tend to women who fall into the sea, and as such, our families have survived. For thousands of years it has been against the laws of our land to kill a dolphin, and in years past, indeed until quite recently, this was a crime punishable by death. They were to us as the Gods, and we knew this on a very elemental level! But this is not so today. No, not at all today. Today we despair to worship anything other than money."

"Just so, Ludvico, but you digress. In fact, isn't there that remarkable tale of Dionysus and his Etruscan captors? If I'm not mistaken, wasn't that supposed to have happened nearby?"

"Si, professoré. Yes, as you say, just so, for that tale leads to the heart of the matter. Dionysus was captured by pirates who mistook him for a nobleman, a prince, perhaps. He waited until they were far out to sea, before he struck. He caused the boat to turn to vines, the oars the sailors used turned to serpents in their hands as they rowed. In their panic the pirates jumped into the sea and began to drown. But Dionysus took pity on his captors, on these stupid mortals, and he turned them into dolphins. He commanded them to come to the aid of humans for the rest of their days on this earth. Surely I do not have to recite all of the stories of seamen being rescued by dolphins to table full of sailors?"

He finished this glass of wine while he looked around the table, then poured himself another and took a deep breath. "And yet even so, professoré, since that day at least, dolphins have been an intimate part of life in Portofino. They have helped our fishermen, they have helped sailors who have fallen from their boats make it back safely to their homes. All true." He looked at his hands again and sighed. "But there has been so much more to this story, Malcolm, that even you do not know."

"That's why we've kept coming back, Ludvico. Year after year. This has been my quest, you know. For many, many years."

"I know, old friend. But there was never reason to tell you the tale until now, until tonight. You could not understand. You could not, my friend, because you see only the shadows on the wall."

"Is it just me," Margherita said, "or has there been something more than unusual about this day, and this night?"

"Yes, indeed," Malcolm sighed, "Margherita, I feel we are about to enjoin our mythologies tonight, bring them back into the light."

"Oh dear God, no," Mary Ann wailed in mock-hysteria. "Welcome to Mythology 101, starring Dr Malcolm Doncaster!"

"Oh piffle, Mary Ann! Really, must you be so quaintly boring!"

"Yes, lovey, I must. It is a great need of mine -- to be as obtusely boring as I can possibly be, especially when you set-out to launch into one of your blasted literary tirades! You see, dear," she said, turning on a syrupy sarcasm that was as humiliating as it was endearing, "it is my lot in life to serve you -- your daily ration of humble pie!"

"Bah! Woman!"

"You two are simply amazing," the old man said. "I have known you for twenty years -- have I not? -- and in all those years you have never changed. Never!"

"Nor shall we ever, Ludvico!" Malcolm said. "Now get on with it. I'm ready to hear this."

"My, my, professoré! Such haste! Well, as I'm sure you know, accounts in the oldest, deepest mythologies depict dolphins as messengers of the old gods, but particularly of Poseidon, or Neptune as the case may be, and these dolphins were charged to run errands for Neptune, often to warn sailors of impending danger..."

"Holy shit!" Goodwin said. He turned pale as memory overtook conscious thought.

"What?" Malcolm jumped at the exclamation and turned to Goodwin. "What on earth's the matter with you?"

"Something just came back to me." He looked shocked as deeper insight gathered in the air around him. "Right after I left the states, just as I was entering the Gulf Stream, a pod of dolphins came alongside. I took their photograph, as a matter of fact. Anyway, one of them seemed very agitated, slapped his tail a lot as he swam alongside, standing right out of the water, swimming backwards and chattering away at me like he was trying to talk to me. That's what I thought, at the time. Anyway, about an hour later the entire sky behind me filled with dark clouds and lightning, and a really vicious storm came on. I mean fast. Barely had time to get the boat ready for it. Funny, too, though it was really strong it lasted only minutes, maybe a half hour at most, then it was gone. The sun came out a few minutes later, and then the dolphins came back. I had the distinct impression that they had come back to check on me. The same one swam beside me for several minutes. We stared at one another for the longest time, and I remember his eyes."

"I would like to see the pictures you took, doctoré."

"Why?" Doncaster asked, now suddenly very intrigued.

The old man only smiled, took another sip of wine.

Goodwin looked at him. "You don't think it's the same one, the one out there tonight? That's..."

"Not impossible, doctoré Goodwin?" the old man said. "Improbable, perhaps, but not impossible. What do you think, Malcolm?"

"No, no, Ludvico. I will wait until I have seen these photographs."

"Understandable, professoré. But at any rate, while it may help to prove a point, several more need to be made before we achieve an understanding. This mystery has followed me all my life, so perhaps I can afford to wait a while longer."

Margherita looked around the table, feeling plainly confused. She had been holding Goodwin's hand for some time, at least until the wine started flowing easily around her, yet now her feelings were wrapped in turbulence, falling into a void. Their simple lovemaking earlier in the evening had now grown into something distorted and otherworldly, and was even now turning into the grotesque parody of an academic lecture. She wanted to leave, to go out under the stars and cry...but there was something in Ludvico's voice that held her to the table, held her as if she was but a moth -- to his flame...

"Well," Goodwin said, "you've got my attention. Do go on."

"Yes? I choose to believe there is something to this as well, my friend," the old man said. "Yes, we know from our history the truth of the accusation: dolphins help men, and they do so with apparent purpose. Did you know, doctoré, that alone among all animals, only dolphins look at themselves in a mirror with a sense of recognition? Self awareness, doctoré! Awareness of others in the context of selfhood! Think of the implications! Where did this charge come from, this desire to aid humans in need? Dionysus? Why do they continue to be so inclined when faced with so much human malevolence to their kind? No, no, we will find no simple explanations to suffice the need, doctoré."

Malcolm Doncaster was frowning now, deep in thought. He was searching his memory for...

"Now, before the next part of our dinner arrives, somebody must tell me exactly what happened in the sea tonight."

Margherita felt the overwhelming desire to run now, but she remained planted in her chair as if held by forces beyond her control. She felt Goodwin's eyes on hers, felt herself grow hot and flush with embarrassment.

"Margherita," the old man said. "You must drink some more wine or this evening will grow intolerable for us all!"

"I am not so thirsty as some," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Sorry."

"And neither am I, but there are things we need to say to one another tonight, and it is not so easy sometimes to talk with strangers. So please, Margherita, drink some wine. It is good wine, and it will cause you no harm."

She tossed off her glass and held it out petulantly, waiting for it to be refilled. "It is indeed fortunate this is a good Grigio, Ludvico. And because I get tipsy most easily, I hold you responsible for my actions tonight!" She tossed off this second glass and held it back out. "More!" she said, and Ludvico filled her glass.

Paulo looked-on, mortified, as if he finally understood where this evening was headed. The implications of loose tongues terrified him.

A course of broiled fish was served, and everyone turned to the food as an escape from the hazy implications that drifted lazily in the air above the table -- like vultures circling a wounded animal.

The thought hit Goodwin and Mary Ann at exactly the same time, but she beat him to the punch. "Assume for a moment," she began, slapping the table, "that the two dolphin we saw this evening are residents of this area. If that dolphin you photographed out in the Gulf Stream is the same one that came to you tonight, I'd say the implications would be beyond staggering. Wouldn't that imply purpose?"

"Ah, si," Ludvico said, smiling. "Very much, purpose, yes. Perhaps more than simply purpose."

"How so?" Paulo asked.

"Well, a dolphin, or dolphins, from Portofino," Mary Ann continued, "venture across the Atlantic to warn a sailor of an approaching storm, check up on him afterwards then disappear. This sailor then comes to Portofino where he is approached -- in the water, mind you -- by this same dolphin, and this dolphin compels two people into a commanded union?"

"Why, Paulo, the implications are clear as day!" Malcolm almost shouted. "That animal knew where Doctor Goodwin was headed months ago, perhaps before even Dr Goodwin was aware! That dolphin is, or was, protecting Doctor Goodwin! Has knowledge of, or understands the movement of people derived in a manner completely beyond our understanding! Margherita! What's wrong?"

The young woman was trembling, holding on to the edge of the table as if her world was spinning violently out of control. Wide-eyed, turning pale, they heard her whispering: "It couldn't be, it couldn't be -- no, it must not be...?"

"No!" Paulo shouted, slamming his hand down on the table. "Enough of this! Margherita! Come with me, now! We must leave!"

Her eyes full of remembrance, and terror, Margherita began to shake and cry. Goodwin instinctively put his arm protectively around her.

Ludvico stood and with both hands on the table leaned toward Paulo. "You must not interfere! Go if you must, but do not interfere, Paulo. There is too much at stake!"

The Doncasters looked at one another, then at Goodwin and Margherita. Even they were both rattled now. Mary Ann stood and went to Margherita's chair, yet Malcolm stared now. At Ludvico, and the power he beheld in the old man's eyes.

"Come with me, Margherita. Let's go wash up, shall we?"

Margherita came back to them, looked around the room as if to make sure of her surroundings, then she stood and left with Mary Ann.

"Paulo, sit down!" the old man said.

"Eh...?"

"Sit, you fool!" He pointed at the table while he glowered at the young man with surreal fury in his eyes. "And doctoré? Perhaps you would be so kind as to go find this photograph? Would be a good idea, no?"

"By all means," Malcolm said, "go. In fact, I'm going with you, old sport. I find myself in need of some fresh air."

Goodwin pushed himself back from the table and stood. He looked from Paulo to the old man and back again, saw the contours of their need in faces he suddenly realized he'd known for ages, and he was disturbed by growing implications he could only now begin to fathom. "Yes. A good idea," he said absent-mindedly, as his father came to mind. "Yes, Malcolm, let's go."

When the others were all gone, the old man looked at Paulo with sad eyes, for sad thoughts filled his heart. 'So much to tell the boy. So little time.'

"So many things you could have been," he said silently to Paulo, regret pure in his heart. "Why did you have to become the fool?"

+++++

"So, what do you make of all this?" Goodwin asked Doncaster when they were safely outside the ristorante. "And what was that stuff about you being on some sort of a quest?"

"Ah, well, come on Goodwin, let's get your photographs, shall we? My interests here are probably of concern to only a few moldy old academics like myself. Now, how big are the photographs?"

"Well, they're not printed up yet, they're still on the card, but I figured I could download them onto my iPad and show them that way."

"Can you print them up later, if necessary?"

"Yup, I have a printer onboard."

"Smashing! Good to know."

"You know Malcolm, you're a hoot."

"Only when absolutely necessary, old boy."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that." Goodwin hopped from the quay onto Doncaster's Diogenes, then they made their way across to Springer. He dropped below and rummaged around until he found his camera bag, then took the CF cards to the chart table and powered up his Macbook.

"Might I come below?" Doncaster asked, his face peeking down from the companionway.

"What? Oh, sure, of course."

"Holy Mother of God!" Doncaster said when he was fully below. "They must have felled whole forests to build this boat! It's bloody fantastic!"

"What? Oh, yeah. Thanks." Goodwin slipped the first card in and opened the catalogue. "Whew! This is the right card. I was afraid I'd have to sort through a dozen to find the right file." He tapped a few keys and images flooded the screen; when he found the ones he was looking for he downloaded them to his iPad and put them in a slideshow, then closed the laptop. "Okay, that's it. Let's boogey!

"Boogey? My God! Are you one of them? A real hippie? I've never met one before, you know?"

"Yeah, Malcolm, that's me. Peace, love, dope, and keep on truckin'! Come on, let's get back."

"You don't want to watch it first?"

"Doesn't matter much, Malcolm, does it? I mean, without some record of what the dolphin here looks like, there's no real proof, is there?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if Ludvico knows."

"Nothing would surprise me about the guy, Malcolm. Not one goddamn thing."

+++++

Maria Theresa Morretti sat by the open window that looked out over the dark sea, a black shawl draped over her shoulders to ward off the night air. She had been sitting in the same chair since coming in from Passeggiata earlier that evening; now she watched moonlight dancing on tiny waves in the harbor below. She had, she thought, so much to be grateful for. Only that one dark spot on her soul remained. Would that time allow, she drifted on waves of stillborn hope, hoping for a return. She wanted to see him -- again.

She had not seen the encounter off the cape; her eyes were no longer good for seeing things so far away, but she had known on the most elemental level of instinct what was happening out there in the darkness, and between whom. She leaned back in her chair, looked at the inconstant moon and the many moods that swung in her orbit, and she smiled. 'If not me, then perhaps...'

Yes, it is good to have so many memories, she thought -- even bad memories have their time, their place. The chance glancing warmth of memory is so comforting, especially when all that remains on a darkening sea is the coming of night.