Swimming in the Moon: A Novel Read Free Page A

on the warmest day. Damask curtains pulsed gently as if Mamma’s voice moved them. Even waves on the rocks below seemed to follow the rhythm of her song.
    I see the room now. Tiny rainbows from a crystal chandelier dance over us. Polished silver glows. Sunlight glints softly on marble busts. Nannina’s flowers bloom in painted vases. The Persian carpet we beat in the courtyard is soft as moss under my feet, richly colored as a summer garden.
    “Read to me now, Lucia,” the countess would say as the pain eased. Then I’d open a leather-bound volume of her favorite poet, Giacomo Leopardi. When I stumbled, she’d say, “Read slowly. Think of each word.” I would and she’d smile. These moments are wrapped in my heart forever. Yes, I was a servant and the count called me bastardina, but those afternoons I swam in beauty and the joy of being needed for more than the strength of my arms.
    “If we’d had a child like you,” the countess once said when we were alone, “perhaps the count would be different.” What if I had been hers, I wondered. Then hot guilt seized me for abandoning my mother, even in dreams. “Lucia Esposito,” I repeated silently. “That’s who I am. Lucia Esposito, Lucia Esposito, daughter of Teresa Esposito.”
    Laudanum lulled the count to sleep and the countess dismissed us when the headache passed. She would review accounts with Paolo and then retire. He met her in the hallway. I noticed, but put no meaning to how slowly they walked to her chambers and how close together.
    Mamma and I went to our cot, sweating in the summer night. “Woman of the street,” she muttered. “He meant whore .”
    “He also called you an angel. And we’re safe now. You just shouldn’t trouble him again.”
    “I’m not like you. I don’t read books,” she said bitterly. “All I can do is sing. You’re Countess Elisabetta’s little pet, but what about me ? Maybe she’ll find another singing servant and send me away. I’ll never be a diva. I’ll never be anything.” She turned to the wall, shoulders heaving.
    I lay rigid, shamed and helpless. In the heavy darkness, I imagined myself vanished, like a reflection in wet marble, gone when the marble dries. Would Mamma be happier then? The darkness blurred with tears. Our damp shoulders nearly touched, yet our pains were oceans apart. When the great pendulum clock tolled midnight, Mamma slipped barefoot from the room. Was she taking one of her nighttime walks? I listened with dread for the low groan of the great front door. Silence. When she finally returned, a cool hand touched mine.
    “Where did you go?” I whispered.
    “For laudanum. Do you want some?”
    “No.”
    “Of course not. You’re a child. You don’t worry about anything.” She gathered me in her arms, stroking my hair. “I’m so sorry, Lucia,” she whispered. “You know I love you. It’s like—when fog covers Vesuvius, it’s still there, but you can’t see it. Remember that with me. I’ll always love you. Always!” she said, her breath hot on my neck. “Now sleep.” I did, although in my jagged dreams a sea-monster count hounded us into a watery maze.

Chapter 2
    F EVER AND C HILLS
    Malarial fever brought Count Filippo near delirium by morning. He thrashed on his massive rosewood bed, cursing the African heat and demanding more breezes. For hours I beat the sodden air with ostrich feathers bound to a bamboo rod. Every muscle burned. If this was punishment for the octopus, it was more than enough.
    “Take me to Capri,” he demanded. “Where are you, Bettina, Rosalia, and Isabella, my ripe peach?” At each name, the countess winced.
    Paolo had asked Dr. Galuppi to bring a vial of his best Peruvian quinine, told Nannina to prepare for the doctor’s notorious sweet tooth, and relieved the countess of her sickroom duties. “Keep fanning until the fever turns to chills,” Paolo whispered to me. I pictured Roman galley slaves chained to bamboo rods.
    At last the doctor