Page 39 of Three Times You

Giorgio slows down and pulls over to the side of the road, near the signs for departures. “Do you have everything? Passports, identification, tickets?”

“Yes, everything we need.”

Giorgio helps us get our suitcases out of the car, gives me a hug and Gin a kiss, and then waves goodbye. “Have fun, newlyweds. I’m not going to bother you. If you need anything, just reach out.”

Chapter 30

We land in New Plymouth and catch a quick connecting flight to Fiji. After roughly nineteen hours, Gin and I finally arrive at Nadi International Airport.

Then we board what looks like a London taxicab in terms of size, though certainly not color since it’s fire-engine red. The cabbie drives fast through the streets and roads. Along our route, there’s plenty of vegetation and animals, ranging from cows in their classical color combinations to parrots in the most spectacularly fanciful hues. There are lots of people riding bicycles. Along the road, kids play next to fountains and faucets, spraying water in all directions and filling colorful balloons. They’re dressed in khaki or dark blue shorts that are unfailingly very, very loose, paired with sleeveless shirts that are almost always white. The taxi drives onto a wharf, and as it rolls along over those wooden planks, the sound that arises is a deafening melody.

“Here we are. We’ve arrived,” I say.

Out we go. Waiting for us is a large white motorboat. A very tall, hatless gentleman helps us aboard after loading our suitcases.

“So long, Mr. Noodle.” We say goodbye to the driver, who had told us that this was his nickname. Then the motorboat pulls away from the wharf, and once we’re outside the little marina, it takes off at full speed with a growling roar. I look at Gin sitting on the upholstered bench. She looks tired. And in fact, we’ve been traveling for quite some time.

“How are you doing?”

“Fine.” She does her best to smile at me.

“Sit farther inboard. That way you won’t get wet, and the wind won’t hit you as hard.” To help shelter her, I sit down beside her and wrap my jacket around her shoulders.

“There.” She really smiles at me. “Now I finally feel well and truly married.”

About two hours later, we arrive at Monuriki, where at last we receive our reward for the long and exhausting trip. We find that we are the proud possessors of a beautiful bungalow just a scant stone’s throw from the sea. The house is partly carved out of the living rock and partly built on the sand. There’s nothing but greenery all around, a small hedge dotted with sky-blue flowers—the inside of each bud is bright yellow—and it’s surrounded by a low white fence. The sand blows all the way up to the large picture window.

Inside, the house is cool and super modern. There’s a great big plasma-screen television set, high-tech speakers, and a king-sized bed. There’s a bottle of champagne to greet us, along with a bowl of strawberries, kiwis, and grapes. An elegantly attired valet shows us how to use all the equipment, including the Jacuzzi in the bathroom. The tub is set in the rock and has a view of the water through a large, round window.

In the days that follow, we walk around the island over and over, a stroll of just a few miles. We often eat in our room, with a waiter available at all hours and impeccable service. At night, we go to the island’s one restaurant where the tables are set far apart and there’s never any noise or bustle. There aren’t many people eating because there are only about ten bungalows on the island, and there are other couples on their honeymoons just like we are. Practically speaking, during the day, it’s as if each couple has their own beach, all to themselves. We have the time of our lives.

Chapter 31

Every time I come back from a trip, Rome looks so different to me.” I set the suitcase down outside the front door and rummage for my keys.

“Sure, but you’re talking about when you were just a little boy and you were gone for three months at the beach.” Gin is carrying nothing but a light backpack slung over her shoulder and a fanny pack with her most vital possessions strung around her waist.

“Yes, that’s true.”

As I find the keys and open the door, I’m reminded of Anzio, the teenage summers I spent on that long beach and the first octopus that I netted at night with my grandfather Vincenzo and cooked just minutes later in the house we rented mere yards off the water’s edge. And Mamma and Papà, who’d spend the evening sitting on lounge chairs to watch the sunset and the swallows darting and diving through the air and then just listen to the voices of the customers buying shaved ice and choosing their flavors, tamarind or sour cherry.

Those were carefree days, and my parents were cheerful and happy and never quarreled, and sometimes we’d all sing songs together. When you’re little, you’re happily and selectively blind—all you see are the good things, and if something’s off-key, you don’t even notice it because all you can hear is the music of your heart. What kind of life will I be able to give to this son of mine? Will I have another?

I carry the suitcases inside and set them down on the bench in the bedroom. “Gin, I’m going down to check the mail,” I say to escape for a few moments.

“Okay, and I’ll start unpacking the suitcases.” Then she stands in front of the mirror and turns to look at her profile. “I can start to see a bit of belly.” And she says it with a smile, happily, her face betraying some slight signs of weariness. I assume she’s just tired from the trip.

“Yes, but you’re still beautiful.”

Gin whips around and glares at me angrily.

“What’s wrong?”

“If you’re this good at telling me lies, that must mean you practice saying them, and you’re probably lying to me on a regular basis.”

“You’re so suspicious. I’ll be back up in just a minute. I’m not like those guys who say they’re going downstairs to buy a pack of cigarettes and then they vanish forever…”

“Only because you don’t even smoke.”

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