By: Dave Howe         

Mark Patterson stepped into the bright sunlight, leaving his classroom and secondary school for the last time. His oral examinations were in early July—the single barrier standing between him and Genoa University.

He turned left down Via Del Chiesa, past the church and on to the bakery. His Mom’s bakery. The smell of fresh bread permeated the air. “Hi Mom,” he announced. “Do you need me this afternoon?”

Shirley Patterson smiled. “Thank you, hon. There’s a box of fresh bread in the back, some olive and some rosemary. Take it to Geno’s market. It’s his usual Friday delivery. After that, you’re free. Enjoy your swim.”

Mark continued down Via Del Chiesa, delivered the bread and continued north. He turned left onto a path through the olive orchard, past the deserted house. The faded ochre house sat perched on a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean. It had been empty for as long as he could remember. The previous week, workmen had cleared away the wild rosemary and laid fresh terracotta tiles on the roof. He walked over, stood on the tile steps and looked in the window – fresh paint, but empty.

A grove of ancient olive trees guarded the way down. Past the trees, worn stone steps clung to the side of the cliff and led to the Ligurian Sea below. The cove was nestled behind twin guardians of dark rock. Inside, through the narrow gap, the water changed from the restless blue of the Sea to a basin as calm as polished glass.

Along the eastern side, an old stone quay projected into the water—its granite blocks laid by fishermen generations ago. Iron mooring rings, stained orange with rust, still held fast in the stone.

Mark walked down the steps and retrieved his dive gear, hidden behind a rosemary bush. He sat at the edge of the quay and dangled his feet in the water. His feet were too big for his fins, so he set them aside. The mask was a gift for his seventeenth birthday; it fit perfectly.

Taking a breath, he dove down fifteen feet, pinching his nose to clear the pressure. Holding on to a rock, he waited for the sea to accept his presence.

On his right, a familiar crevice hid two octopuses. Beneath the crevice was a pile of crab shells. Further around was the mouth of the cove, a sixty-foot gap. Outside, the open sea churned against the rocks. Past the opening was the wall of seaweed and kelp. Then he was back at the quay.

He swam to the middle and inspected the mooring line, a buoy floating just below the surface, suspending a chain. A block of concrete anchored the chain to the bottom.

When the ritual inspection was over, he rose to the surface and swam to the east side of the cliff where he had arranged an underwater garden.

Six species lined his garden. Neptune grass was beginning to crowd out the sea lettuce. A purple sea urchin was feasting on the lettuce. Mark removed the invasive creature and fed its meat to the dozens of silver fish that suddenly appeared. After plucking some snails from the lettuce, he rose to the surface and climbed onto the quay. “Time to head home,” he thought. After hiding his dive gear back behind the rosemary, he climbed the steps. Exiting the olive grove, he walked up the hill to his house.

Later that week, as the sun was setting, Mark watched a set of headlights round the corner, following the twisty road. The headlights were close to the ground and shot beams straight ahead through the dusk before blinking out in front of the ochre house. A light came on. An hour later the light went out.

He woke early the next morning and went to the window. The sharp Mediterranean sun caught the curve of a red fender. A Jaguar XKE sat in the gravel, its soft top folded down. Mark leaned closer to the glass, wondering if the owner knew the local gulls would poop on that leather before noon.

The house door clicked open. A man stepped out and slid behind the steering wheel without glancing up the hill. The Jaguar’s engine roared to life. As he pulled away, the tires kicked up a rooster tail of gravel.

Mark began referring to the now absent driver as Jaguar.

It was a week later when the sailboat appeared.