Chapter 3

Standard disclaimer applies

Soft humming floated about the small house, mingling with the sounds of sizzling as Marco entered the kitchen. Standing over the stove, he saw Crista scrambling eggs and frying meats. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled, looking Marco over. He was wearing a set of clothes she had given him, and she appeared to be pleased at the fitting.

"It's a good thing Fratello always buys clothes too big," she said and Marco offered a smile.

"Good thing."

"Fratello will be here soon. He said he'd come for breakfast."

As if on cue, the door at the far right of the kitchen opened to reveal a man similar to Marco in physique, though leaner. His black hair rested messily atop his head and the sun had left his skin a deep tan. As Crista had said, he was wearing a shirt that appeared to be a size or two too large for him.

"Buongiorno, Sorellina," he drawled and Crista set her spatula down to give him a hug.

"Buongiorno! Come stai?"

"Molto bene. È tu?"

"Bene. Si chiama Marco," Crista said, gesturing to the sleepy blond man. "Marco, this is Angelo."

"Piacere," Angelo greeted with a grin, extending a hand to Marco. They shook hands, though Marco was a bit unsure. He looked to Crista.

"I thought it was a dead language," he muttered and the other two laughed.

"I only said it was the ancient language, not dead. Everyone here learns the World Language in school, but a lot of people speak our native tongue at home."

"People will speak the World Language to you most of the time," Angelo added reassuringly.

"Good to know," Marco answered as Crista poured two cups of hot tea, handing one to each of them.

"You're not at work, Sorellina. You don't need to play waitress."

"Be quiet and drink your tea in the living room," Crista retorted with her usual smile. Angelo laughed and clapped a hand on Marco's shoulder, guiding him into the next room.

"How long have you known Crista?" Marco asked as they sat on the couch, trying to make pleasant conversation.

"Since she was born, twenty years ago. I was five at the time. Lei è la mia sorellina," Angelo answered.

"I take it you're very close."

"Yes and that's why I'm only going to say this once."

"Hmmm?"

"Crista ha un cuore generoso. No si rompe." Marco could detect the warning tone even through the language barrier. His thoughts were proven correct in the next statement. "If any harm befalls her, my face will be the last you'll ever see."

"You don't look like you would kill me."

"Non fidarti: l'apparenza inganna." Crista entered the living room with three plates balanced in her hands and passed them around, unknowingly bringing an abrupt end to the conversation.

"What were you talking about?" she asked as she took a seat beside Angelo.

"What a great cook you are," he answered between bites, as lighthearted as he was before. Marco eyed the man suspiciously, wondering what that final warning had meant, before eating his meal as well. Crista rolled her eyes with a laugh.

"That's a lie. Marco, what do you think?"

"It's great," the blond answered earnestly and Crista grinned.

"So, Marco, what's that tattoo from?" Angelo asked. Marco looked down at his chest and the red ink etched into it. The symbol was certainly familiar to him, but he didn't know what it meant or when he'd gotten it.

"I don't know," he answered. It was lame, but true. Angelo gave him a skeptical look.

"Nobody gets drunk enough to forget a tattoo that size."

"Angelo!" Crista hissed in a reprimanding tone. "Non ricorda niente."

"O lue mente."

"Angelo!"

"Please, don't argue on my account," Marco offered. "I understand your skepticism, Angelo. I don't think I was drunk when I got it. I just don't remember it."

"Why not?" Angelo asked and Marco could only shrug.

"Guess I hit my head too hard. I don't even know how I ended up on this island."

"Vedi?" Crista muttered, stabbing at her food with her fork. Angelo's eyes fell and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Mi dispiace, Sorellina," he murmured. "No spero che stai male."

"Va bene. Marco, would you like me to show you around town later?"

"That would be great. Thank you," he answered. Crista offered her smile again, and Marco found himself glad that he had been the one to bring it back.

"Prego."

"I'm going to pretend I know what that means." They laughed easily as Angelo checked the time. He quickly finished his breakfast and stood.

"I have to go to work. Ti vedro più tardi, Sorellina," he said, kissing her cheeks and forehead.

"Ciao, Fratello," she called after him, just before the door shut.

"You said you don't get many travelers here, right?" Marco asked as he finished eating. Crista took the plate for him before he could protest and brought it into the kitchen with her own.

"That's right."

"Then why do you have to learn the World Language?"

"The closest things we have to tourists are the men who come once a year for business. They buy our produce."

"Who are they?"

"The Marines."

Author's Note

Here are the translations to MOST of what is said in Italian.

Angelo enters:
-Good morning, little sister.
-Good morning! How are you?
-Great. You?
-Good. This is Marco
-Pleasure to meet you

When Angelo is speaking to Marco:
- (I was five at the time) She is my little sister.
...
- Crista has a generous heart. Don't break it.

The next line in Italian, I'm not going to translate because it's important to the story. If you really HAVE to know, you can look it up online.

After Angelo make the crack about the tattoo:
-Angelo! He doesn't remember anything.
-Or he's lying.
-Angelo!
...
-See?
-I'm sorry, little sister. I don't mean to upset you.
-It's alright...

Marco thanked her and she said "you're welcome"

After that, it was "I'll see you later." and "Bye".

Reviews

[Solitary Dreamer]

Great story!