Chapter 15

I came out of the Questura later, walked to my car which they'd brought in, and drove leisurely back to Santa Margherita.

They'd asked me a lot of questions and I'd answered them, but there were a lot of questions bothering me and although I'd asked some of them, I hadn't gotten any answers.

Now that I was on my way back to the hotel I began to feel old and worn out. It was like the feeling you get after you've been trying to wave in winners all afternoon at the track, and you've been getting nothing but close seconds or bad fourths. I'd been keyed up and on edge for the last day. Now that the excitement had ended, I was aware of all the juice I'd used up.

My thoughts returned to the moment of Zora's fall and her death, and I felt the surge of sadness and depression. Most of all I had the feeling of something lacking, a big incompleteness. I still had questions about her that needed answers, and there were many things about her I either wanted verified or denied. Had she really been a Communist, a murderess, a blackmailer, and all the rest, those things that made her completely bad? Or had there been something good about her, something that might tip the scales a little in her favor? That was the nub of the entire thing. That was the reason everything seemed unfinished and incomplete.

I had to have a final and accurate accounting of Zora, and I would get that from George, and the police, and the State Department, but at the moment I wanted to think no more about it.

I parked the car at the hotel but I didn't feel like going inside. I wanted to take a long walk.

I started out, taking the road that led to Rapallo. Up ahead of me I could hear a girl with a beautiful voice singing the Ave Maria. A mandolin seemed to be her accompaniment. When she'd finished there was a bit of applause, and as I approached the spot I saw that there was a group of about a dozen people sprawled out at the water's edge. I could hear them talking in Italian, laughing softly at times; and when I was about ten yards away from them a young man began singing a lively Italian song. Every time he got to the chorus the rest of the group joined in, whistling in unison.

It was a happy song. I sat down on a rock and listened to them, and before long I was beginning to feel a lot better.

There must have been about twenty verses to that song. When it finally ended, the entire group was laughing gaily as they applauded. Then one figure detached itself from the others and walked towards me.

Even in the darkness there was no mistaking that figure.

Angelina.

I stood up slowly, and the last few steps she practically ran towards me. I put out both my hands; and she grabbed them with hers and squeezed tightly, those long nails cutting into my skin.

Happily she said, "Ciao, Cristoforo."

"Ciao."

She was smiling, her teeth shining beautifully and contrasting with the darkness of her skin. "Mama mia," she said, "I was afraid I would never see you again."

"I thought you were going to Milan?"

She shook her head. "I decided to go back tomorrow."

"That's nice," I said.

She glanced briefly back at the group. Then she said, "Come and join us." She led me by the hand.

I asked, "Are these your school chums?"

"No. I just met them tonight. I came up on them about an hour ago, just as you did now."

We stepped into the midst of the group, and I saw that there were more than a dozen of them. There were an equal number of boys and girls, some of them sitting on the rocks, some sprawled out, others leaning with their shoulders resting against each other.

Angelina spoke to them in Italian, and then she was leading me through the group, introducing me to each in turn, and I was nodding to each as I shook a hand.

I saw that the mandolin was being held by a dark handsome guy with curly hair. At the moment his free arm was around a blonde. Scattered around the group were about a dozen straw-covered bottles of wine. After I'd been introduced to everyone, we sat down in a vacant spot within the group.

The moment we were settled a half dozen hands were passing one of the bottles towards us. Angelina took it and set it down in front of us, and from somewhere she produced a squat heavy glass and poured into it from the bottle. It looked very dark in the dimness.

She handed me the full glass. "I hope you don't mind sharing the glass with me?"

"Of course not." I took a sip of it and found that it was an excellent dry red wine. I drank about half of it and handed the glass to Angelina. She finished it and refilled the glass.

They sang some more, I sang Three Blind Mice for them after some coaxing, and the applause was spontaneous and long. After that we all had more wine. While the guy noodled around on the mandolin, Angelina said, "I'm so happy that you came by."

"It was a wonderful surprise finding you here, Angelina."

She said, "I put on my best frock tonight, hoping I'd see you. Then when I didn't find you anywhere, I wondered whether you'd already left Santa Margherita."

"I was busy for a while this evening," I said.

"I understand. You were probably killing some woman with sex."

"No. I've been as celibate as a monk."

"Good."

At that moment another girl began singing, and we had more songs and more wine and finally the party broke up. Angelina and I were the only ones remaining.

I told her, "I enjoyed that very much."

"It was nice, wasn't it?" Then she asked, "Want to finish up the little wine left in our bottle?"

"It would be a shame to leave it and let it turn into vinegar."

I sat down again, letting my back rest up against the flat side of a big rock. Angelina settled down close beside me and put her head on my shoulder. We finished up the wine, passing the glass back and forth between us and not saying anything, just listening to the little busy sounds of the sea playing around the rocks.

I'd had my arm around her shoulder, and now I felt her hand move my hand downward, suggesting it go inside the front of her dress. I let my hand slide down the warm smoothness of her chest, and then it hesitated a moment because it didn't know whether it should go to the right, to the left, or in between those beauties. Then it went to the right.

My hand found her wonderful bare hot breast, and my fingers cupped it and squeezed it, so she'd really feel it.

"Mama mia," she whispered, sucking in her breath.

I knew what she was thinking #bout at that second. But, at that instant I was thinking about Zora again, remembering the night we'd spent out on the apartment terrace. That didn't seem exactly cricket-thinking about Zora while I-was squeezing Angelina. So I pulled my hand out again and let it hold her bare upper arm.

She asked. "What's the matter?"

"I'm afraid," I lied, "one more squeeze like that and you can't tell what might happen."

"For example?"

"You might get raped."

"Really, old boy?"

"Really, old girl."

"I'd like that. I'd like to get raped." She snuggled in close against me, and we were both silent again.

After several minutes Angelina said, "I'd like some coffee. Would you like some, too?"

"Where can we find a cup of coffee this time of the night?"

Angelina stood up. "Come on. I'll show you."

I got up and took her hand, and we started walking back towards Santa Margherita. When we got to the main square we walked right through the dark and deserted center of it, finally going down a narrow side street with Angelina always leading the way.

Eventually she pulled up at a small doorway, and I helped her push open the single wooden door. After I'd stepped inside with her, we closed the door silently behind us again. It was dark and I couldn't see a thing, so I let her continue to lead me by the hand.

We walked up a narrow flight of stairs, and after the third landing she led me down a narrow hallway. Again she opened a door. This time she turned on a light.

The single bulb hanging in the center of the ceiling of the tiny room was about 15-watt size. It barely illuminated the small bed standing in one corner, the one-burner hot plate on a narrow wooden table, and a few pieces of woman's clothing scattered about.

Angelina explained, "One of my school chums rents this room. It gives her a place to stay when she comes down from Milan on weekends."

"Where is she now?"

"In Milan."

Angelina was standing in the center of the room and directly under the light. It was the first time I'd seen her wearing address, and it had no fancy frills, but it fitted her nicely. She wore no jewelry, or lipstick, but she looked wonderfully fresh and alive and beautiful.

She asked, "Now would you like some coffee?"

She'd noticed the way I was looking at her I suppose, because now she tossed her head, sending her hair back over each shoulder, her movements graceful and animal-like. And exactly the way Zora had always done it.

Just thinking about Zora I felt the blood beginning to roar and pound in my ears and I could hear her again coming towards me in the hotel room after having just turned out the light, and I pushed her image aside and for an instant I saw Angelina the way she'd looked that afternoon down at the cove, but in the next moment I was seeing Zora again as she shoved me backwards down onto the bed.

"Coffee, old boy?" Angelina's voice was coming to me from what seemed a great distance.

I didn't want any coffee. That was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to forget about Zora. Now and forever. And I could do it, with Angelina helping me. She had to help me with that.

Angelina's eyes were dark and strangely piercing. "What would you like then?"

She put her hands on her hips, and then with her feet and legs apart, she watched me. Desirable. And daring me to get her.

I started for her.

She slipped out of her dress. When I put out my arms to take her, she stepped quickly to one side. The next second she'd turned out the light. I heard the faint sounds of her moving bare feet, and her voice suddenly came to me from the opposite side of the room.

"So you want me, Cristoforo?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll have to find me first."

I'd noted the one small window on one side of the room, but it apparently was shuttered because there were only very narrow bands of light visible, leaving the room almost in complete darkness. I bumped my shins against the side of the bed trying to find her, but I didn't even get close. I was at a disadvantage because she had her shoes off and I didn't. I kicked off mine. Now I was ready to get serious.

I caught her as she was trying to duck under my right arm and slip by me. My hand slid down her bare back until it felt the elastic of her panties. I gripped and I thought that would hold her.

She suddenly became a mass of writhing, twisting, scratching, and biting fury. I had a tiger by the tail, and I couldn't let go. I wanted to turn her loose, but if I did I'd have to hunt her down again, and I was getting bored with that.

With her still fighting and kicking me, I grabbed both her arms and finally pulled them around to the back of her. Then I shoved and wrestled her over to the bed, and I flopped her down, face first. I pulled the belt out of my slacks and used it to tie her wrists together behind her back.

I took my time getting out of my clothes.-Before long I noticed that her movements were coming more slowly. The longer I dawdled the more tired she became. She was motionless by the time I kicked off my slacks. I thought the fight had gone out of her then. So I took the belt off her wrists.

Then the fun really began.

Passionately and very powerfully, she overwhelmed me, clinging to me and forcing herself against me time after time in a fierce and abandoned way which sent the blood hurtling through my body and before long I was carried away by her lust and savagery, wanting now only to hurt her and remember me for a long time, and as we continued I discovered that I was no longer thinking about Zora, but I was thinking only about Angelina, remembering that afternoon in the cove, and even though we were in the dark I could see all of her outlined in front of me, feeling rapturously all those things which my eyes had seen and relished out in the sun.

And as though I were out in the sun now, the room seemed to glow in a wonderful excruciating brilliance that burned my skin and sent my heart pounding violently, becoming caught up now in her thunderous movements, coordinating each one with her with the same viciousness, and suddenly she drove upwards and caught me and brought me back down again and then dumped me into the maddening agonizing whirlpool that she'd stirred up the moment she'd turned out the light.

And never again did I think of Zora. Not the second time, nor the third time, nor the times after the sun had already come up.