Chapter 2
Vico
My pounding heart matches the force of the waves crashing against the rocks. The blood rushes through my veins with anger and turmoil. Behind my closed eyelids, I see flickers of orange-red light, and I feel the hard stone ground beneath my feet. A hint of salt lingers on my tongue, and a cool breeze brushes against my forearms. With my head lowered, I open my eyes.
The first thing I see is my toes, gripping the rocky ground like a cat's claws. The edge of the cliff lies just ahead of me. Below, the water crashes violently against the cliffs, but it can't reach me. About twenty yards of pure emptiness exists between us.
Twenty yards of nothingness.
One more step forward, take a deep breath.
I'm about to do it.
I'm going to jump.
My heart races, and adrenaline floods my body. I can feel the energy coursing through my fingertips. The thrill fills me like nothing else in the world can. I am present, and I am ready. Everything else loses its significance.
With every muscle taut, I rise onto my tiptoes and lift my arms. This is my moment. Now or never.
In a single flowing movement, I bend my knees, pick up momentum, and push myself powerfully off the rock.
I shoot upward.
But fractions of a second later, I fall into nothingness. I tuck my legs in, spinning around my axis.
The azure blue water is my guide. I keep it in sight, controlling my position in the air, letting my muscles work.
Another tucked somersault.
Now, extend all limbs. Even the tips of my toes.
The roar of the ocean grows louder. I can feel its energy, and the first cool drops touch my heated skin.
In a straight line, I race toward the water.
One last time, I check my position. It's perfect. Everything is perfect.
With a sense of bliss, I close my eyes. I want to savor the adrenaline rush as it surges through me.
With the force of a car crash, the water breaks my fall. If I let go now, my bones might break. So I give it my all. Every fiber of my being must work, as the sea engulfs me with its might.
Bam!
Just a moment ago, I was at the mercy of gravity, but now the water catches me. I let myself sink to the bottom and open my eyes. Above me, the sunlight breaks through the restless sea, painting flickering lines on the sandy floor. Seaweed sways blissfully in the current, and a crab hides under a rock beside me.
My heartbeat calms down, and a silence settles within me. It scares me, so I forcefully push off from the bottom and break the surface. I raise my arms high and let myself float in the water. The spectators on the cliffs above applaud, but I can't hear them over the deafening roar of the waves.
I swim energetically toward the waiting inflatable boat, pull myself up, and take a seat. Before I can brush my dripping, shoulder-length hair out of my face, the driver revs up the motor and steers toward the coast. Absorbing the harsh impact of the waves, I unzip my wetsuit and look around for the person I've put all my effort into this jump for: the talent scout.
Over there, on the low rock covered with coastal grass, he stands. His thinning hair flutters in the wind, and he's jotting something down on his notepad. Thanks to his oversized sunglasses, I can barely make out any movement in his facial expressions.
Please, let it be a good evaluation.
In my mind, I go through the jump again. Were my legs perfectly parallel during the stretched twist? Did I execute the flips cleanly? I know my body was in a flawless position upon entering the water. Anything else, I would feel clearly now because the sea does not forgive the slightest mistake. Still, that alone won't be enough to finally get a sponsorship deal. Not with the competition I've already seen jumping today.
A few minutes later, as I climb the steps carved into the cliff with bare feet and pass by the scout, he nods approvingly at me but doesn't approach me. Thankfully, I have no time to dwell on what that could mean as my buddies surround me.
Matteo holds out his fist. "Awesome," he says.
I can't help but crack a relieved grin. If my coach calls the jump awesome , then it was indeed awesome.
My chance is alive.
If I perform just as well in the next two rounds, I might finally make my big dream come true—to make a living from cliff diving. I’ll need the talent scout's recommendation to secure a sponsorship deal and move to the pro league. There's nothing I want more.
In the next hour, I do everything to deliver a flawless performance. With my final jump, I realize that fate is now in control. I can only hope it remembers that it owes me some redemption.
***
As I arrive at my VW bus in the gentle light of the evening sun after the show, I can't suppress a yawn. I'm exhausted. But also incredibly happy. Letting out a contented sigh, I sink onto the driver's seat and reach for a power bar from the half-empty pack. After barely taking the first bite, my phone rings.
It's a video call from Camilla. Chewing with pleasure, I answer the call. "Hey," I say, setting the phone down to grab my hoodie from the back seat.
Even though it's pleasantly warm here during the day, the approaching night still brings some colder temperatures.
"Vico? I can't see you." Her tone carries a sense of urgency. "What's wrong with this stupid thing again?"
"Just a moment." Quickly pulling the hoodie over my head, I reach for the phone and hold it up to my face. "I'm here." As soon as I utter the words, I pause. Even though Camilla's fringed short haircut hasn't changed in years and I already know her recently chubby cheeks, she seems foreign to me today.
My sister takes a deep breath and locks her gaze on me. "Where are you?" she asks.
"At the Amalfi Coast. Why?" I take another bite of my power bar and study her more closely. Her usually cheerful face is frozen in an expression of concern.
"I see," she replies without answering my question.
An uneasy feeling creeps up inside me. "Are you okay? You look a bit pale."
She remains silent, nervously fumbling with her ear. Her wedding ring glistens in gold. Something is not right with her. I can sense it.
I shouldn't let myself be affected by this restlessness. However, it happens anyway.
I put the half-eaten bar aside. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she whispers. "I'm just a little tired."
It may be true, but that can't be all. An uncomfortable silence settles between us. I could let it go, not ask any further. Yet I know I can't do that.
"Do you need me?" I ask. "Should I come back home?"
My God, what am I saying?
I can't go back there. The mere thought makes my stomach twist into knots. Cold sweat forms on my forehead. Besides, my next competition is this weekend.
Camilla shakes her head silently, but her eyes scream loudly, "Yes."
What now?
Should I pretend that everything is okay?
My throat feels constricted. The sky behind the windshield darkens rapidly. I wish I could freeze time, but that wouldn't help. No matter how many shivers run down my spine at the thought of returning to my hometown, I won't abandon my sister. Not after what she has done for me.
To relieve the tightness in my throat, I clear it loudly. "I'll leave early tomorrow morning."
My attempt to sound carefree has failed miserably. The forced croak probably gave me away. Hopefully, she won't notice that my smile is nothing but forced.
She nods, blinking noticeably often. Then she struggles to force her lips into a smile as well. "Thank you," she whispers and ends the call abruptly.
Whether I like it or not, in my imagination, the video continues, showing my little sister burying her face in her hands and sobbing loudly.
I bite my tongue until I taste the metallic tang of blood and start the engine. I have one evening and one night left—about fourteen hours when I'd better not dwell on what awaits me in the peaceful village where I grew up.
***
Despite all efforts to keep my thoughts anchored in the present, the night was restless. Fragments of memories crowded into my dreams. My father's face furrowed with worry. My mother's radiant smile as she tied my shoelaces. Camilla and I sitting silently in her bungalow's living room. Alessia's wide-eyed expression, and Aurora's incredulous stammering. The whole family gathered around the long wooden table in the living kitchen, drinking wine and laughing wholeheartedly.
All of it was there. And it felt all too real.
Consequently, I'm tired as I drive my camper along the country road. Hip-hop music blares so loudly from the radio that I can't hear the roar of the old engine anymore. I only feel the vibrations of the uneven road. I try to avoid the bumps caused by the powerful roots of pine trees that have torn through the asphalt over the years as I get closer and closer to my old home. The gently sloping hills let me know that I'm already quite near.
Too near. I'm not ready yet, unsure of how to deal with being back here.
Nevertheless, the first rooftops of Collina da Sogno appear in my view behind a row of cypresses. In less than ten minutes, I'll have to face whatever awaits me at home.
Tense, I signal and turn toward my hometown. I press the gas pedal of the sluggish van, and I see a cloud of soot rise behind me in the rearview mirror.
I shouldn't postpone the van's repairs any longer. Pietro could look at it, but that would mean staying at least one night. And that's not an option.
Just as I'm about to turn up the music even louder, I see a dark red compact car parked a few yards ahead. Its rear extends into the middle of the road, while the front points toward the ditch. The hazard lights are on, but I can't see anyone around. No warning triangle is set up either. Strange.
Now I'm close enough to see the license plate. The car is from Austria. Maybe someone just got lost. To make sure that nothing has happened, I slow down, pull over to the right side of the road, and peel myself out of the worn-out seat of my van.
"Hello? Are you okay?" I ask in Italian, repeating the words in German just to be safe even though I wouldn't understand the response unless it's How are you? or What's your name?
Nothing stirs. The car appears abandoned.
After failing to detect any signs of smoke or a flat tire, it appears that the Austrian driver didn't have any car trouble. Could she have just stopped her car in the middle of the road to take a leisurely stroll through the picturesque landscape?
Perhaps she ran out of gas.
I walk around the trunk and continue toward the front of the car. All the windows are rolled down, and a large travel bag sits on the back seat.
Finally, I spot the woman on the driver's seat.
She's sleeping.
Did she simply pull over to take a nap in the middle of the road?
I'm baffled as I crouch down to peek through the window, taking off my sunglasses. A familiar fragrance of freshly cut flowers, green leaves, and roses, like the ones you find in a flower shop fills the car.
The woman sleeps contentedly, her chest rising and falling beneath the seat belt that runs across her. She wears a simple white T-shirt and dark blue jeans. No jewelry, no makeup, no nail polish. Her nails are short, and her hands bear scratches. A thick scar runs under her chin.
As questionable as this sleeping woman might be, something about her is captivating. The occasional twitch of her lips and the movement of her closed eyelids make me smile. With her unstyled hair framing her delicate cheekbones, she looks as if she stepped out of a fairy tale, waiting for someone to wake her with a kiss. What if I were that someone?
Nonsense.
"Hey," I say softly so as not to startle her. "You can't sleep here." She doesn't react. I repeat the words in English, but that doesn't get her attention either. I hesitantly touch her shoulder. "Hello." I gently shake her. "Wake up."
Still, there's no response from her, but my own emotions are stirred up. Fascination intertwines with concern.
What if she's not sleeping but is somehow sick? Maybe she had a heart attack or something.
How did first aid go again? Check for breathing and pulse? Yes, that can't be wrong. Then put her in the recovery position and call for help.
With a queasy feeling in my stomach, I open the car door and lean over her. Her breath grazes my neck. I reach for her wrist to feel for a pulse.
It's there, strong enough to almost unsettle mine.
So she doesn't need help. Yet I can't just walk away after closing the car door. I remain at a safe distance, observing her enchanting face. My heart races, and I can't stop wondering what color her eyes might be.
The deep chestnut brown of her hair? Or the vibrant azure blue of the sea along the southern Italian coast?
As I imagine what it would be like if she were to look at me, I feel that I can't leave until I know the answer. "Who are you?" I ask, surprised by my own thoughts.
The stranger's eyelids flutter. Her eyelashes rise and fall gently, like feathers in a barely perceptible breeze.
I'm captivated. I should say something.
Yes, that would be good. But what?
"Are you okay?" What a foolish question. Of course, she's okay. Besides, she might not even understand Italian. Why am I speaking such nonsense?
Suddenly, she opens her eyes and gazes directly at me.
My heart skips a beat.
The mystery of the stranger, which I was so eager to unravel, is solved.
And the answer is a breathtaking sea green.