Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [2]
Nunzio glowed at the base of the altar. He was tall, taller than Giovanna even, and with the sun blazing through the windows making his deep red hair a bright gold, he resembled a lit taper. Even from this distance she could feel his warmth and see beyond his eyes. His gaze lifted her up and sent them both spinning into their own little world, which was where they existed most of the time.
The village of Scilla was their pezzo di cielo caduto in terra—piece of heaven fallen to earth. They lived in the Chianalea, the oldest part of town, which housed the fishermen. Cobblestone alleys led to their stone houses, perched on the water. The crystal-clear azure sea lapped at their front doors, and their boats were docked at their doorsteps. Their backdoors and terraces led onto the narrow streets and alleys that wound up the mountain.
Scilla was situated on three levels, divided into three parts. The town jutted into the sea. At its point was the ruin of a castle that had been conquered and inhabited by countless invaders and clergy since it was built in A.D. 500. On one side of the castle was the Chianalea. On the other, the half-moon-shaped Marina Grande. There the houses were set in from the sea, and the sandy beach served to dry the fishermen’s nets. Above the Chianalea was San Giorgio, the newer part of the city, where the town square and city hall overlooked the splendor of the Calabrian coast and Sicily’s Aeolian Islands. And beyond San Giorgio were terraced lemon groves and farms that reached to the top of the mountains.
It was here that Giovanna and Nunzio grew like the vines on the village Indian fig trees, intertwined in such a way that it was impossible to know where one branch started and where the other ended. Giovanna did not know life without Nunzio. Her father and his mother were brother and sister. Their houses were two doors apart, and they were born two months apart. Although her earliest memories all had Nunzio at her side, it wasn’t until she was six years old that she realized that life did not exist without him. Nunzio was hoisting baskets of smelts onto the dock from her uncle’s fishing boat. As Nunzio turned to say hello, he slipped, sending the fish flying. Giovanna laughed. Giovanna had a throaty, hearty laugh even at that age. Instead of getting angry, Nunzio did it over and over again until Giovanna laughed so hard she had to gulp for air.
When Giovanna and Nunzio weren’t doing chores, they were in the water. They would swim out to one of the many rocks that dotted Scilla’s coastline and use it as home base to explore the sea around them. The clear water showcased a kaleidoscope of color, created by hundreds of species of fish and coral. Over the years they had developed the ability to hold their breath for long stretches and dive underwater to explore the reefs and wrecks.
Early on, Giovanna’s father and aunt had assured each other it was a childhood crush. There was a road to Scilla now; the people of Scilla were not obliged to marry cousins. With each day, though, it became more apparent that Giovanna and Nunzio were a matter of destiny, not circumstance. If someone commented, Giovanna’s father and aunt stoically repeated what their father said on the subject of marriages within the family: “It makes the blood stronger.”
When Giovanna reached puberty at fourteen, they were no longer allowed to spend hours alone together. Because they were cousins and neighbors, they saw each other many times a day, but their unchaperoned adventures came to an end.
As Giovanna made her way down the aisle, she glimpsed the faces witnessing her journey to the altar. Each face held a story about her life with Nunzio. There was Paolo Caruso, who had saved her leg. Early one spring, she and Nunzio had climbed the narrow steps out of the Chianalea, raced through the plateau