Passeggiata (complete 2016)

He turned on his back to rest, stroked along slowly, looking up at black-bellied clouds as they raced by just over head, just out of reach. How easy this would all be, he dreamt, if he could just reach out and grab a cloud and drift along with them. He began to feel the storm-chilled waters seeping into his bones, his teeth began to chatter, and he reached up for a passing cloud, tried to grab onto it -- and fly -- again...

Water washed over his face, into his eyes, and he lazily spit the water from his mouth as he paddled now slowly in aimless circles. Time passed, waves rolled by, yet in the end Goodwin felt himself slowly giving way to a softly beckoning voice, to the ever seductive call, to the sweet release of sleep...

+++++

Ludvico and Trini cast off the lines and pushed the boat away from the stone quay and drifted out into the harbor, then Trini started the old one-cylinder diesel and steered clear of harbor moorings on their way from the harbor out to the sea. The boat slipped past the cape and into deeper water; they waved at a group of German troops manning an anti-aircraft emplacement near the lighthouse and watched as the troops looked at them, then waved back. They continued well offshore and threw nets over, began to fish -- or at least they hoped they appeared to be fishing. When they were far enough away that no one could see them, they lifted the bodies from the well and wrapped them in an old rusted chain, then rolled the bodies into the sea and watched them sink into the blackness.

They set more nets, ran back and pulled in the first line and landed what was actually a pretty good haul of mackerel and sea bass. They kept at it for another couple of hours, then brought up all their nets, packed the haul in ice, and with tired backs and wicked grins turned towards the harbor. Trini lit a cigarette and checked the compass, took a drag and let the fag settle lazily into the corner of his mouth. Smoke trailed from his nostrils as cold wind blew through his hair; Ludvico set about cleaning trash from the nets and mending all the small tears and frayed lines that inevitably cropped up after an afternoon's fishing.

They waved at the Germans again as they closed on the cape; Ludvico stood by the cockpit ready to head for the bow and snag their mooring buoy for the night. He was tired, but the adrenaline from the kill still rushed maddeningly through his veins, alternately confusing, then washing over him like jittery fingers. His eyes watered in the cold air, and he reached up and wiped them dry with a careless knuckle from time to time, and once he thought he saw something in the water, so he rubbed his eyes once again and looked again.

There. Something yellow.

It's moving.

"Trini! Look! There, by the entrance marker! What is that?!"

Trini backed off the throttle and the boat settled bow-down into the water as it slowed; he craned his neck out the cockpit and looked. He saw it, rubbed his eyes then looked again.

"It's moving!" Ludvico shouted.

"Shut your goddamn mouth, or every German between here and Rome will be down our ass before we can get tied off!"

Ludvico went forward, held on to the rail as the boat pushed through the last of the wind-driven swell, and then he saw it clearly.

The yellow he had seen was a life vest, the type worn by airmen; now he saw the airman was alive, indeed awake, and he was holding onto the dorsal fin of a dolphin! The man looked at him and smiled, shot him the 'thumbs up' so typical of an American, and Ludvico turned, looked at Trini to tell him to get between the man in the sea on the people on the quay. Trini's mouth hung open, the cigarette dropped from his mouth, then he caught Vico's gestures and tried to listen to what he said. Finally he nodded, maneuvered the boat alongside the man in the water and shielded him from view; Vico knelt beside the man and talked to him while he pretended to work with his lines, told him his plan, and Trini slowed as they approached their mooring. Vico took up the mooring pendant and tied off the line, motioned to the airman, asked him to get off the animal's back -- and the man did so, though obviously with no small amount of reluctance. The dolphin circled the man once, twice, surfaced between the man and the boat; the man reached out, rubbed the dolphin's face with intense affection, and to Vico it was obvious the dolphin understood the feelings and meaning behind the man's movements.

"He must be American," Trini said. "Who else but an American could do this?"

The dolphin appeared to nod his head at the man in the water, then looked at the man one last time and slipped silently into the blackness, and he was as gently gone.

Ludvico spoke enough English to at times make a complete fool of himself, but today he somehow managed to make his thoughts clear. He got the American aboard, told him to go into the tiny cabin and wait; they would bring him shoes and dry clothes and food as soon as they could, move him off the boat in the night and up into the hills. Trini hollered to men on the quay; one of them rowed out to pick the two men up.

"Go now, below!" Vico said. "Blanket downs below, gets warm. Engine warm. Be backs soon." They unloaded their catch and hopped in the little dory and were gone...

Paul Thomas Goodwin slipped below, found a pile of rope and lay down on it. He found a blanket and pulled it over his body. He dug some chocolate out of his flight suit; it was soaked but still, 'thank God!' tasted a little like chocolate! He found an orange and some bread in a little bulkhead mounted cupboard and ate those as well, and fell asleep without one more thought of the day's events.

Vico and Trini made it ashore and hauled their catch to the ristorante, only to pause when they saw dozens of uniformed Gestapo milling around outside, as if waiting for something, or someone. The two men drifted into shadow, watched as a group of Germans hauled his father out of the ristorante and threw him into the back of a truck and drove off into the night.

Vico looked at Trini, then after his father as the truck disappeared into the soft fog that was just settling over the harbor, and the village. Then he looked back at the fishing boat.

"We could maybe trade the American for your father," Trini said.

"No."

"But they will kill . . ."

"No. We must hide until we can get the American off the boat. Then we must get up into the hills."

"But . . ."

"Trini, do as I say. There is no time to argue. Let's get food and clothing and some rest. Come, we will be at it for a long time tonight."

"But where can we go?"

"I know a place." And he did. He knew she would take them in, knew she would help. He turned to the darkness and made his way into the night.

+++++

07 July 1943 2320 hours

Portofino

He was floating now. Of that much he was sure.

He knew he had been asleep for hours, but it might have been minutes, or days. He looked at his watch, it's face a fogged-over wreck -- and he simply had no point of reference anymore, only the queasy sensation of floating in absolute darkness. But his back was sore, he knew that much, and after his head cleared he reached down to find what was causing the pain. He felt a huge coil of damp rope backed up against the damp wooden hull; the rope was slick with sea-snot, but still as hard as a rock, and he felt indentions in his back...rope shaped and cold.

'Yes, that's it. Oh . . . pain . . . move . . . my God! What is that smell?'

He wrinkled his nose; this darkness was rich with gut-twisting smells of old fish and even older seaweed mixed in with what had to be diesel fuel dripping into a bilge full of black, scum-filled water. This world, this little womb Goodwin found himself in, was almost completely devoid of light, his only frame of reference was the opaque sound of water lapping against the hull echoing all around him. Somewhere far away a bell was clanging in the night, perhaps atop a buoy rolling on an unseen breeze, and memory came rushing in as if borne on an inrushing tide.

Of course he was floating. He had been afloat all day.

First on hell-borne wings, then during his descent, looking up through burning silk at storm ravaged clouds, and finally, on endless, storm-tossed seas. Yes, the sea. Floating on the sea. Cold sea-fingers reaching from the depths, drawing 'round his soul, pulling him from life on vaulted clouds into darkness, cradling him in soothing embrace, each afraid to let go. He remembered the inevitability of it all; surrender had seemed the logical, the easy thing to do. He remembered sinking -- yet with his eyes open, and he saw cool gray water, the sun a receding memory of blue-filtered ripples echoing like memories of happier days. Like he was running in lazy circles through flower-tossed fields. He could see his mother standing outside the house, trees swaying in warm summer breezes, leaves dancing to silver-green music, and she was calling him...calling him...

In his soul he could smell cookies and milk, his mother working in the kitchen, his father out in the fields...a cold nose rubbing against his leg...he looked down, saw his best friend in the world, the dog he had always called Ready...because she always was...

The old Springer's nose was white with age, her eyes clouded by milky lenses that could only have been earned by thousands of afternoons running under carefree skies by his side, and yet Ready was rubbing her cold nose against his legs insistently now, her little stump of a tail wagging in excited purpose, that low growl she used to tell the world she had something to say, 'and you'd better listen if you know what's good for you...'

The cold nose slammed into his side again, but harder this time, and he turned, saw he was sinking deeper into the sea, felt the loneliness of solitary death surrounding him and, there it was...a cool grey form gliding by just in silence, a black eye following him, looking at him, measuring him...

The dolphin came closer, rubbed against Goodwin's body, it's gracefully arced dorsal fin thumping into him as it flew by. The dolphin turned again, seemed perplexed, then drifted by again, closer still, slowly...

'Take me, see me, you can be free of this...'

Goodwin reached out, took hold of the offered fin and rose gently back into the light and air of his beginnings. He held onto the dolphin as air rushed into starved lungs, his body draped over the dolphin's cold gray back, and as he drank in ragged breaths he began to cry. From joy or sorrow he couldn't tell, but to the others the song remained the same. He felt them rise from the sea, quietly, by his side, and he turned, looked with vacant uncomprehending eyes at the other dolphin there -- looking at him, then he saw another and another. They were all looking at him, listening to him, taking the measure of his soul. He grew silent, watched them as he might have watched someone in the mirror of his dreams -- and in that uneasy instant he grew silent as a crying child might when confronted with the profound, and the unknown.

He looked around -- now there were seven of them in the water beside him...each silently looking at him...their silver-watered forms seemingly aglow with electric expectation...

The seventh dolphin, a small pale creature with luminous, golden eyes drifted forward, came up to him and rested its slender snout lightly on his shoulder. He could see a red worm attached to the dolphin's eye, a weeping sore surrounded the wound. Goodwin fished in his flight suit and pulled a little metal first aid kit out and opened it. With tweezers in hand he removed the parasite; he opened a tiny silver tube of sulfa ointment and put some on his finger, then rubbed the medicine into the flesh around the eye until it disappeared into the animal's skin. He stroked its forehead tenderly; the small dolphin rose a bit and opened its mouth, and smooth sounds drifted across the waves as she proclaimed his fitness to the skies, and her group assented, dropped back into the sea, and as suddenly Goodwin was alone again.

The largest one reappeared a moment later and presented its dorsal fin again; Goodwin reached out and held on, his cool body absorbing warmth from the vast flank of pulsing muscle against his belly. They began moving toward land.

"Now I know what it feels like to be a torpedo!" he said after plowing through a couple of large waves, but soon he got into the rhythm of the animal's motion through the water and in time ducked and breathed with some measure of this new music. He saw land growing near and realized he didn't want this time to come to an end...the longer he remained on the dolphin's side the more intensely he wanted to stay with the animal, to be with this animal...to become one this animal. He sensed that the dolphin felt much the same way, only perhaps -- differently, and he felt the animal wished to be human, longed to walk among trees and flowers again and again and again...

Soon Goodwin saw a boat ahead, a man on the foredeck framed by purple clouds and an apricot sun looking on him, clearly stunned by what he saw. As they came closer, Goodwin smiled at the man and shot him the 'thumbs up': I'm real -- he wanted to say -- and I'm going to be your friend.

Now, in the cold and damp of the rocking boat Goodwin felt disoriented and alone, but worst of all he felt an immediate need to relieve himself. He had seen soldiers on the beach and on the quay and he didn't want to expose himself to scrutiny or in any way reveal his location; he knew the consequences would be disastrous for not only himself but the men who had offered him this refuge. Now he faced a stark choice; get back in the water or foul himself...

He heard -- something - thump along the hull, then again. He didn't hear any voices, but again something soft collided with the boat.

Was it the men?

Had they returned?

He froze, listened to every sound in the darkness, but soon his heartbeat was drowning out everything as a racing pulse hammered through his head. The need to relieve himself became overwhelming in the cold darkness, and with each new bump against the hull the pressure built and built. Finally he could take it no longer . . .

He gently pushed back the companionway door and slipped into the back of the boat on his belly. He crouched next to the gunwales and raised his head, slowly looked around. The village was almost dark, only a few lights flickered behind old yellow curtains; he raised himself up and slid over the side as silently as he could into the cold darkness.

Sudden light flooded his eyes, he heard voices, German voices yelling menacingly nearby, then gunshots. The water by his face exploded, bullets slammed into the wooden boat behind him and he pushed himself down into the blackness...

And there he was...waiting...for him...

The dolphin swam alongside again and Goodwin latched himself to the proffered dorsal fin and the two of them rocketed under the sea until out of the harbor, breaking back into the night air with the harbor several hundred yards behind. He smiled now, his relief immense, and he hoped the fast flowing currents had washed all the pee out of his flight suit. The joy surrounding the day's encounters returned with overwhelming intensity, this feeling of being alive, this sudden joy, yet it was all a mystery. This animal was his friend. Why? How?

And still his friend kept swimming, swimming toward a spit of land ahead and to their right. Soon he was among slippery black rocks, the water shallow enough to stand in, the harbor now so far away no one could possibly see him.

Had the dolphin been thumping the hull, trying to warn him? The thought hit him like a blow to the stomach. Not possible! Everything that had happened that afternoon was impossible, and yet -- here he was.

The large dolphin drifted lazily on the surface just a few yards away, staring, then Goodwin felt another body closer still. He turned, saw the smaller dolphin, the one with the wounded eye, and when their eyes met she came to him, placed her snout on his shoulder again and seemed to sigh. He held her close in shocked surprise for a while, then she slipped under suddenly and was gone again.

Lightning still danced across the far horizon, distant thunder rumbled through the sea. Had she seen something?

Goodwin heard footsteps on the rocky beach and flattened himself against the black stone and held his breath. They seemed like aimless footsteps, the footsteps of a wandering soul taking in the remnants of another storm-tossed day. He chanced to look, wanted to get an idea of what he was up against. He slipped upwards, his eyes lifted just above the kelp-crusted rocks, and his breath slipped away into the night...

She was taking off the last of her clothes now, standing on the rocks in her panties and tattered black stockings, looking out over a pitiless sea; soon she sat and peeled these last bits of another life from her skin and slipped first one foot, then the other into the inky black wetness. She walked out into the water not ten feet away from Goodwin, walked past him and kept moving silently as if to her death, and then it hit him.

She had come to her end. This was her night of endings. It was too cold outside for a leisurely swim, and now the water was uncomfortably cold -- with the sun's warmth so far away.

She was committing suicide!

He couldn't stand by and watch this unfold silently; he had to act, and that being his nature, he did.

He pushed himself away from the rocks, slipped through the water until he came to her and he reached out, touched her shoulder. If he had expected surprise on her face he was disappointed. The woman, perhaps his age, perhaps a little younger, reacted to his presence with barely the slightest shimmer of recognition, her eyes felt black and lifeless, her skin slack, as if she had already moved on and was now beyond redemption. She pushed his hand away, walked further into the sea. She never said a word.

The large dolphin moved to block her way and the woman stopped, moved away from the animal as if afraid, then another dolphin appeared, and another -- until soon all seven were around her, boxing her movements. The woman turned, looked at Goodwin, began speaking in Italian as her confusion rent the air; Goodwin put his fingers to his lips and she instantly understood, and in that moment of pure silence she become unimaginably beautiful, and completely full of wrathful vengeance.

They both heard the voices at the same time. More Germans, he guessed, and probably looking for him, too. Goodwin pushed himself from another rock and drifted to her side, took her arm and pulled her back into the shadows. He turned, looked where the dolphins had been and saw now only a smooth black sea.

Voices, hard angry voices, flashlights sweeping silvered water, footsteps on gravel, laughter, footsteps receding into the night, voices falling away on dying breezes.

And then . . .

The woman's cool skin on his, her teeth beginning to chatter as the cold penetrated her bones. He took her in his arms and rubbed her vigorously and she held him, put her arms around his body, her face on his shoulder and she sighed. To Goodwin the symmetry was complete, and astonishing. She grew calm as if taking energy from him, soon she pulled back from him, looked into his eyes for a long moment, a silent moment pregnant with swirling purpose, then she leaned into him again and put her face on his shoulder -- again.

Forces unseen and unseeable drifted on the surface of the water and coiled around the man and the woman, pulled them from the rocks into deeper water as if to wash the woman's wounds in this man's embrace. She held his face, now, oh now, instantly aware of unimaginable impulses gathering in the waters all around, and she leaned into him again, this time her mouth on his, breathing the breath of his breath, kissing the kiss of his mouth. Soon it was as if the water around them boiled in furious abnegation of human frailty; she unzipped his flight suit, reached down, took him in her hand and squeezed him roughly. His hands sought her downy smoothness and he kissed her roughly, his need savage now. She leaned back, pulled the flight suit from his shoulders and pushed it down his body, took him in her hands and dragged her fingernails into the stiffening skin and squeezed again, hard. He gasped as she rose in the water and lowered herself on his need, their surrender complete as other bodies in the water began spinning furiously around this new union.