Page 22 of Isle of Pain

Ensconced in my semi-silence, I wait for the ceremony to end and the people to disperse. Everyone goes to Pietro and Colomba Moretti, Lisa and Marie’s parents, and give their condolences. Their faces are grave, but they’re putting on a brave facade for this part of the ritual. I remove the earplugs and make my way there as well. I don’t speak. No words can comfort them. Instead I hold their gaze a second longer. I can’t make myself hold their hands. I’m not sure if that’s what I should do, but Colomba smiles kindly at me. It’s short and strained but I think I did the right thing.

Marie stares at the grave the diggers lowered the casket into. She doesn’t turn to the line of people who want to share her pain. I wonder if she wants to share it. Or if she’s greedy with it.

When most people have left, her mother lands a hand on her shoulder and she flinches, the bundle in her arms displeased and crying. Her cries aren’t like the sobs of the crowd crying for Lisa. They’re soft. Delicate. There is a system to them. She wants something out of Marie or maybe Colomba. Sustenance or sleep.I’m not sure what it is but it doesn’t feel like it’s a bottomless pit of grief.

Marie hands the baby to her mother who walks away with a concerned look to her daughter.

I light a cigarette and approach, standing on her right. I remain silent as we both look down at our feet. The sun shines above us with heat, yet the disturbed earth smells at incoming rain. I wouldn’t be surprised if a summer storm hit the island tomorrow.

Marie takes my right hand and links our fingers together without a glance. My eyes widen and I hold my breath as long as I can. Her skin is touching mine. Her palm is against mine. She’s squeezing like it’s the only thing helping her stay standing. When I can’t hold it anymore, I release a heavy breath and immediately pull on the cigarette, letting the nicotine fill my lungs. My eyes blink fast and my throat works against the ball lodge inside. But I’m still holding her, too. She doesn’t move. I take the time to study how it feels to touch her.

Her fingers are squeezing and touching the back of my hand. Tentatively, I do the same and press the pad of my fingers against the back of her hand, too. It makes the squeeze tighter. I feel her heart throb through our linked hands. That’s… I don’t know how to describe it. I like it. The more I let the sensation consume me, the more it spreads to my whole hand.

“You should stop smoking. It’s bad for you,” Marie whispers.

“Maybe I like what’s bad for me.”

She doesn’t look up at me and simply shrugs. “That’s okay. I do, too.”

I take another drag of the cigarette and extinguish it under my shoe, holding on to the butt with two fingers. I wouldn’t want to taint the soil of Lisa’s resting place.

Time passes. I wouldn’t know how long if it weren’t for the trajectory of the sun changing ever so slowly above us. The shadeof the chestnut trees shield us from most of its rays but the afternoon is well on its way by now.

Noises come from behind us and we both turn to see Lana and Angèle standing close by, deep in hushed discussion. They must have determined that it’s time for Marie to move on.

“I live in the middle of the forest,” I tell Marie, whose gaze is back towards the ground.

She raises her head up before slowly looking up at me. “And I live on a hill, what’s your point, Nico?”

“The only house close by is a mile away, and it’s Andrea and Giulia’s.” She’s not getting what I’m saying. I’m used to being more direct. “I don’t ask questions. Or not stupid ones, anyway,” I say.

Her lips part, her shock palpable. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

I shrug and she lets a small laugh of disbelief. It’s barely a scoff but it lights up her entire face. I can’t look away even as I see Colomba approach in the corner of my eyes. Marie bristles and her expression sobers.

“You know what? I might take you up on it. But don’t hold your breath.”

“But that’s one of my favourite things.”

Another short laugh, this one more timid. It’s music to my ears, like the melody of a soft piano. Her cheeks take a pink hue that seem to chase away the grey. It’s not much but I want to see more of it.

“I can’t leave her,” she says with a mournful look towards her sister’s grave.

“If you’re talking about the baby, she can come with you. If you’re talking about your sister, she isn’t going anywhere.”

“Nico,” she gasps. “You can’t say that, that's rude.”

I tilt my head to the side and frown. “Why? It’s the truth.”

“Yes, but… You can’t talk about the dead with such disrespect." She seems angry now and somehow, that’s even better than when she blushed. Her entire body is turned to me as if she’d tackle me. I don’t understand what she means by disrespect so I remain silent.

“Marie? You’ve been here a while,” Colomba tells her as she tiptoes toward her daughter.

Marie clenches her jaw but nods dutifully. “Coming, mamma.”

They both make to leave but before she can be too far, I clasp her wrist with the same hand that already touched her. Without meaning to, my thumb presses against her pulse point and her heart beats against the digit. It’s exhilarating. I haven’t touched anyone so willingly. Ever. My heart beats in my ears and my mouth dries but I tell her what I need to, what I’m desperate for her to hear. “Think about it.”

She swallows and leaves the cemetery.

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