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“You're afraid to ask Mom for permission.”
“I'm scared of losing what little freedom I've gained,” I say, taking a step away from the perfectly made bed after we've finished fluffing the pillows. Rafaella crosses her arms in front of her chest before answering me.
“I think you're afraid of gaining more freedom,” she says, and I look away. “Why?”
“I just don't want to break the trust I started to gain, Rafaella. Just that.”
“And it's because I know this that I'm trying to convince you to ask permission, if not, I'd be trying to convince you to just walk through the door and leave.” I bite my lip, thoughtfully.
Asking permission can't be that bad, right? Luigia has been leaving my door unlocked for two weeks, I haven't asked anything about it, and she hasn't commented either. It was a silent vote of confidence, and I understood that, as well as I honored it.
Because where would I go? After more than a month since my arrival, I already know that I am the only employee, besides Luigia herself, who sleeps in the main house. Everyone else, including Rafaella, lives in the employee annex. So, it's not like I can go anywhere.
The idea of leaving the main house alone after dark, even if it is to go to the annex to visit Rafaella, is not very attractive. Even though the other employees in the house no longer look at me with suspicion, the soldiers still seem scary to me. Mainly because I have no doubt that, unlike the employees who only have suspicions and speculations, they know exactly why I'm here.
“Fine,” I finally agree, thinking I've already thought too much.
“Fine, what?” She asks with an expectant face.
“I'll ask her.”
“You will?” she blinks, already biting a smile, and I roll my eyes.
“I will.” Rafaella lets out a shrill scream before jumping across the space between us and throwing herself at me in a hug, causing us both to fall onto the bed we just made.
I try to resist, but a real laugh escapes my throat. Loud and cheerful like I don't remember doing in a long, long time.
Later, sitting on the seat under the window in my room, I stare at the full vineyards and the sky colored by dusk, thinking, as I do every day, about the movement of the leaves and the sound of the wind. The landscape is the same as always, but somehow, it's as if it's different, there's an insistent feeling that it's staring back at me.
I bite my lip before averting my eyes to the small table on the other side of the room, the leaves on it hijacking my attention. These are the papers I use to study Italian, there are many written sheets, but there are also blank ones.
Indecision consumes me until I let out a long exhale and stand up. I walk to the desk, grab some paper, a pencil, and go back to the window. So, my hands do something I no longer thought they would be capable of: they draw.
CHAPTER 22
________
Gabriella Matos
I'm outside.
Everything that was once a distant image is now right before my eyes and I can't stop moving my head frantically from side to side, absorbing every detail. I still can't believe Luigia actually let me out. She simply allowed it.
Did she give me a curfew? Yes. Did she state very clearly that I should not get in any sort of trouble? Also, yes. But she let me out!
I inhale deeply, and the confusing mixture of the smell of fresh grapes and a multitude of other things overtakes my senses with such intensity that I stop walking and close my eyes just to enjoy it. A small smile that doesn't show teeth appears on my lips, and I hear Rafaella laughing.
I lift my eyelids, wanting to find out why the laughter and I realize it's me. I roll my eyes at my friend, and she pretends to try hard to swallow her laughter, but seconds later, she laughs again.
“It looks like you've never seen people before,” she explains.
“I've never seen these people, nor these things.”
The settlers' market is an endless expanse of wooden and white jute[66] stalls. The image is so different from anything I'veever seen that it seems straight out of the pages of a fantasy book, set in an abstract period of time where modernity and the past mix.
The town's floor, paved with cobblestones and surrounded by houses with colorful walls and arched doors and windows, is filled with people buying and selling every type of product imaginable. Breads, cakes, sweets, jams, clothes, handicrafts, musical instruments are shouted out, and I'm almost certain that we passed a stall selling goats.
Rafaella explained to me that many people come from cities and even neighboring countries to work harvests as an experience or just for extra money, but there are also many rural workers who do this annually, as part of their work schedule, which explains the exotic mix of people and objects on display at this fair.
