SUNNY HONEYMOON
637
running along a wall of mossy stones with no masonry to hold them
together and grapevines strung out above them. On the other side
there was a sheer descent, through uninhabited stretches of grape–
vines and olive groves to the mist-covered gray sea. Only a solitary
pine tree, halfway down the mountain, with its green crest float–
ing in the air, recalled the idyllic purity of the landscape in its
better days. Simona walked very slowly, lagging farther behind at
every step. Finally she came to a halt and asked:
"Have we far to go?"
"We've only just started," Giacomo said lightly. "At least an
hour more."
"I can't bear it," she said ill-humoredly, looking at him as if
she hoped he would propose giving up the walk altogether. He went
back to her and put his arm around her waist.
"You can't bear the exertion or you can't bear me?"
"What do you mean, silly?" she countered with unexpected
feeling. "I can't bear to go on walking, of course."
"Give me a
kiss."
She administered a rapid peck on his cheek.
"It's so hot ... ," she murmured. "I wish we could go home."
"We must get to the lighthouse," Giacomo answered. "What's
the point of going back? ... We'll have a swim as soon as we ar–
rive. It's a wonderful place, and the lighthouse
is
all pink and
white. . .. Don't you want to see it?"
.
"Yes, but I'd like to fly there instead of walking."
"Let's talk," he suggested. "That way you won't notice the
distance."
"But I have nothing to say," she protested, almost with tears
in her voice.
Giacomo hesitated for a moment before replying:
"You know so much poetry by heart. Say a poem, and I'll
listen; then before you know it, we'll be there."
He could see that he had hit home, for she had a truly extra-
ordinary memory for verse.
"What shall I say?" she asked with childish vanity.
"A canto from Dante."
"Which one?"
"The third canto of the
Inferno,"
Giacomo said at random.
