A True Story
Out to sea. Three days. Three companions. Destination unknown. By choice.
The first destination is written on a piece of paper. The piece of paper is in a sealed envelope. Ten nautical miles out they can open the envelope. Who would know if they opened it earlier? Honor-bound, they do not. It’s sometime in the early 1950’s, they have no cell phones. They have a radio, but are to use it only for emergencies. They have some food, but are to catch their own when they can.
It’s easy motoring off the eastern coast of Italy, which during the daytime seems right out of a Sophia Loren movie. Warm winds blowing, fishing lines tugging, a small wood fire for the fish and then for the coffee. Cigarettes are lit, friendly epithets are exchanged. Then dusk falls and the destination is near, banter is replaced by concentration. The motor is quieter and so are the men, now it’s a game of cat and mouse. Sometimes the cat wins, other times the mouse gets away. Sometimes the contraband cigarettes are confiscated and the contrabbandieri arrested, other times the cargo is jettisoned and the men (always men) get away. Either way, the good guys get to go home when their three days are up. It’s the 1950’s and there are no guns involved. All players live to play another day.
This story was told to me yesterday by a 90-year old former customs officer, current terminal cancer patient, while sitting in the living room that he has not left in six months. So little life left in his body, so much life left in the rest of him. He calls me il mio angelo biondo, my blonde angel. Nearly every week he tells me a new story. He always thanks me for coming, grazie, he says it over and over. I’ve given up hushing him. Just like I’ve given up trying to convince him that I am as grateful to listen to him as he is grateful for my presence.
