Chapter Text
Summer 1966.
The summer of the economic boom, of an Italy discovering itself freer and setting off on journeys aboard small, tireless Fiat 500s.
The summer of bob haircuts and girls changing the world, while the notes of Nessuno mi può giudicare (“Nobody can judge me”) fill the air and accompany the stride of a new Italy. [1]
The summer of the World Cup: after the triumphant 2–0 against Chile, hearts are with the Italian national team - the Azzurri - holding their breath as they await tonight’s match against the USSR.
And above all… this, for Luca Paguro and Giulia Marcovaldo, is a special summer, one of a kind: the summer of their final high school exams: the Esame di Maturità. [2]
The summer of their graduation.
The term maturandi ("those about to graduate"), by which he and Giulia had been referred to throughout their final year of high school, had always made him smile.
Maturi - the same word used for fruit when it is ripe - as one says of apples or pears ready to be picked… funny how human beings believe they suddenly become mature overnight, upon receiving their diploma — a simple “piece of paper.”
The sea monster, or rather the tritone — as his kind prefer to call themselves — has never been entirely convinced by the term maturandi: because, truth be told, he doesn’t feel any different from the Luca he was a week before the exams.
Not more mature, no more grown-up.
Just… the same, only with a few more thoughts.
And even though he already has some idea of what he would like to do, of the path he might want to take “when he grows up”, many doubts remain. Especially about the real logistical and economic possibility of turning those plans into something concrete.
The “future” is no longer a distant goal on the horizon.
The “future” is here — right now. And, like so many maturandi before him, he cannot help but feel somewhat lost in the face of the unknown that lies ahead.
There's still time… he tells himself, cutting those thoughts short.
Because, after such a demanding and exhausting year, the only thing he truly wants to focus on now is some well-earned, long-awaited rest.
And his only mission, now, is to catch the train on time.
The railway station of Genova Piazza Principe is a bustling swarm of vacationers: suitcases, voices, hurried footsteps. Everyone seems to share a single urgency: to leave - even just for a weekend - toward the sea or the mountains.
And yet, on closer inspection, in Genova it is a Saturday morning like many others.
Perhaps it is the smog, perhaps the grey asphalt of the streets, but the summer heat is already oppressive from the early hours of the day. It clings to the skin, drains strength, dulls the breath.
Even the breeze that usually comes from the sea today blows with the merciless aggression of a scorching hairdryer.
And in the midst of this human bustle, perfectly blended in - tousled dark hair, the earnest air of a well-behaved boy, white linen shirt, navy chinos and his ever-present loafers - Luca Paguro is intent on consulting the departures board in search of the 09:37 regional train to the Cinque Terre, when, in an instant, the tritone’s sharp, lively dark eyes spot the platform number and he sets off decisively toward it.
Today he travels alone. Giulia will reach him in Portorosso the following Friday.
It is the first time, since they met, that he and his friend do not take the train together for their summer holidays.
This is because, a few days earlier, after taking the written exams of the Esame di Maturità, when the Commission had drawn the letter “O” to determine the order of the oral exams according to students’ surnames, Paguro had immediately gotten his oral exams out of the way, while poor Marcovaldo had ended up at the end of the group of students who will be examined next week.
Truth be told, Luca had offered to stay in Genova with his friend to help her with the final revision, but Giulia had insisted that he leave immediately, understanding his friend’s true desire to reunite with Alberto as soon as possible.
Alberto.
The thought of him is a constant in his mind. Today, at last, he will see his best friend again, after almost two years apart… and Luca can hardly contain himself — scales and all!
With him he has only a suitcase bigger than himself and a heart full of hope.
The train to the Cinque Terre is already waiting at Platform 2, engines humming, while the young tritone makes his way along the platform, awkwardly weaving through sweaty passersby to reach one of the central carriages already packed with people.
And once he has hauled himself aboard, he moves down the narrow corridor in search of a free seat, dragging behind him the absurdly large suitcase.
“Oh, excuse me! Mi scusi! Sorry!” he pants, knocking into passenger after passenger, then muttering under his breath: “Thank you, Giulia. Thank you…” cursing the moment when, the night before his departure, he had listened to her and, in a burst of misguided chivalry, had agreed to his friend’s sly request: “Luchino, please, wouldn’t it be possible for me to put a little something in your suitcase… just a couple of things! You know, so I can travel lighter…”
“Just a couple of things!” she said.
Too bad that the aforementioned “couple of things"... had then been followed by the inevitable ten pairs of shoes, clogs and sandals, for day, night and beach.
Heaven forbid that “a young lady like her” should wear the same pair of shoes twice in a row!
What can one say… the fondly remembered days when Giulia rode barefoot through Portorosso — in her shorts, her knees all scraped — are now only a distant memory.
For some years now, the “tomboy” she once was has given way to something new, and, at times, decidedly more fearsome.
In a skirt.
And shoes.
A lot of shoes.
And indeed, everything had culminated at one in the morning of that very night — with Luca half asleep and Giulia still bustling about like a busy bee — when the tritone had tried in vain to close the suitcase and had immediately been scolded by his friend’s outraged voice: “Luca, ma sei pazzo?! Are you crazy?! You’re already closing MY suitcase?! I still have to put in the matching handbags!”
For never was there a more unforgivable offense than that, in the Marcovaldo household!
And of course now it’s “her” suitcase.
“Next time! Oh, next time I’ll just mind my own business for once!” mutters Luca, attracting the puzzled looks of those who hear him grumbling to himself without pause.
It takes a while… but in the end Luca finds a compartment with several empty seats and, with one last titanic effort, manages to wedge the suitcase onto the overhead racks above the seats.
“Moving house, son?” an elderly man quips, eyeing him over the top of his newspaper.
“Well, you know how it is… I have a sister…” Luca doesn’t even need to finish the sentence before the man nods at once, in solidarity: “Ah, women! I understand, I understand… good luck, my friend!” the old man concludes sympathetically, before returning to his reading.
Paguro shrugs with an amused half-smile and, finally, sits down by the window with a sigh of relief, pausing for a moment to admire the lush bougainvillea cascading, like a magenta waterfall, down the wall that marks the inner boundary of the station. And at last he closes his eyes, to relax for a moment and catch his breath.
“Young man, excuse me… could you give me a hand with the suitcase?” chirps a female voice all of a sudden, making him snap his eyes open with a start, his heart jolting into a sudden, frantic beat, as he realizes - unfortunately - that he is the only “young man” in the compartment.
“Ah!” the old man bursts out, in a hoarse, amused sound, remaining well hidden behind his newspaper.
“Of course, ma’am. Here, let me take it,” Luca replies, springing immediately to attention, as polite as ever, to help the woman — a mother with three children in tow — so that now their compartment, too, is officially full.
And just as everyone has settled into their seats, the stationmaster’s whistle announces the departure of the train which, with a hearty jolt, immediately sets into motion, soon leaving behind the historic station of Genova Piazza Principe.
As they move farther away from the city centre, they pick up speed and, before long, after exchanging a few polite words with the other passengers, Luca lets himself drift into his thoughts, lulled by the rhythmic swaying of the carriage and by the shifting landscape rushing past outside the window.
And so he finds himself once again retracing in his mind the events of the past two years of separation, which had so deeply marked his friendship with Alberto.
In fact, he and Scorfano have not seen each other in person, face to face, since the end of the Summer of ’64, when Luca and Giulia had returned to Genova for the beginning of the new school year.
And so their second-to-last year at the “Liceo Classico Andrea D’Oria” had thus begun, as always, without any particular surprises… with the exception of dear Professor Pezzini - teacher of their core subjects: Latin and Ancient Greek - who, on the first day of school, after appearing in the classroom with a very noticeable baby bump, had informed them that she would soon be going on maternity leave, but not to worry… the headmaster had already found a suitable substitute to replace her. [3]
All the students had welcomed the news with enthusiasm, happy for the joyful occasion, and had even organized a collection to buy a nice gift for their beloved teacher.
That enthusiasm, however, had significantly faded when they had the (dis)pleasure of meeting, for the first time, their merciless substitute teacher: the infamous Professor Fabrizio D. Caradonna.
Suffice it to say, to give a sense of the man, that within the span of a single week he had already earned the “affection” of all his students, who had coined for him the colorful nickname of Professor “Figlio D. Buonadonna.” [4]
Buonadonna belonged, in fact, to that well-known breed of teachers who - in that particular historical period, in Italy - instead of adhering to their institutional role, believed it appropriate to turn their classes into full-fledged political rallies, subjecting their students to hours upon hours of tirades in which the pupils were expected only to “listen smiling and nod in silence.”
Luca would always regret the fateful day when - quite unwisely, in response to yet another of Buonadonna’s political ramblings during one of the first lessons he had held in their class - he had dared to timidly raise his hand to tell the professor that: “No, in my opinion, things are not exactly like that…”
Accustomed to the principles of democracy of the underwater communities, and deeply educated in free thought by the humanistic and philosophical studies of that very school, Paguro had naively believed that it might be possible to establish, even with this new teacher, a healthy space for debate, an exchange of opinions - and instead… all hell broke loose!!!
After his ill-advised intervention, the temperature in the classroom had instantly dropped several degrees below zero, while the substitute teacher’s icy eyes had fixed themselves on him, pinning him to his desk like a particularly unwelcome insect.
“Remind me of your name…” the professor had said in a glacial tone, blatantly ignoring Luca’s words.
“Paguro, sir. Luca Paguro,” the boy had replied, standing up, with a growing sense of unease as he felt the way his classmates had all held their breath as one.
“Paguro,” Buonadonna had repeated, spitting it out with distaste from his thin lips.
And the professor had made sure never to forget Paguro’s name… ever again.
From that day on, it was impossible for Paguro to answer a question without being interrupted, corrected - often for no good reason - or cut short.
He was publicly targeted and made a laughingstock, again and again, for no real reason. Needless to say, a more fragile student might not have withstood it - might have broken down under the strain, ground down by a persecution that seemed endless.
Indeed, the whole class saw a drop in their average grades in the subjects taught by the substitute teacher.
But those students who - like Luca - had the misfortune of falling into Buonadonna’s disfavor were not only openly singled out and put through the wringer with the most vicious surprise interrogations, but were also graded far more harshly in written tests.
And so Luca’s average in Latin and Greek had plummeted alarmingly.
Not even Giulia had escaped this academic slaughter because, as soon as the professor had picked up on her friendship with Paguro - and above all when, on one occasion, Giulia had rashly jumped to her feet, offering to be called on in her “cousin”’s place ("because it wasn’t fair that Paguro should be tested on the same day in both Greek and Latin!") - she too had ended up in the substitute teacher’s Libro Nero - his blacklist.
So let’s just say that, for the two friends, the months of their second-to-last year of high school became a constant race, marked by unrelenting anxiety, in a vain attempt to recover their usual academic standing.
Quite a blow for two model students like them who, in the past, had never caused any trouble, always bringing home more than satisfactory report cards.
Moreover, in this climate of terror, the other subjects had suffered as well, perhaps also - and above all - because of the malicious gossip that Buonadonna himself had spread in the staff room, casting Luca and Giulia in a bad light with the other teachers too.
For Luca, one of the few outlets in that difficult period remained the letters and the twice-weekly phone calls with Alberto, in which he could completely switch off from Genova, from the academic worries of the human world, and laugh and joke in the company of his lifelong friend.
Come to think of it, his only mistake, in those weeks, had been not to update Alberto on the latest school events and on the very real “persecution” that he and Giulia were enduring. The idea had been not to worry Scorfano, but perhaps, in retrospect, if he had let him in… things between the two of them might have gone differently.
In those unhappy months, Luca found himself more and more often counting the days on the calendar - like a prisoner awaiting release, carving the days into the wall - in desperate anticipation of the longed-for Christmas holidays when, at last, he and Giulia would be able to switch off, return to Portorosso, and see Alberto and their other loved ones again.
Except that, unfortunately, one evening at the end of November, Alberto had called his friend to tell him that he had received - through some acquaintances - an unexpected job offer for the entire winter season in Sestriere, in Piedmont.
This news had fallen on Paguro like a cold shower.
“I haven’t accepted yet… I wanted to talk to you about it first, Luca. You know… that extra money would come in handy at home, but then it means we won’t see each other at Christmas or New Year’s… what do you think? Should I go?” Alberto had asked him.
And Luca, though saddened at the thought of not spending the Christmas holidays with him, had so deeply appreciated the fact that Alberto always put their friendship first that he gave him, without hesitation, his unconditional support because… because it was the right thing to do.
“I think it’s a great job opportunity, and I really think you should take it. Don’t worry, Berto, we’ll make up for it this summer!”
We’ll make up for it this summer: famous last words.
Because then, like the pieces of a domino set beginning to fall one after the other, gaining speed until they become unstoppable, like an avalanche… the situation had deteriorated and spiraled inexorably downward.
The painful months that followed had slipped by with exasperating slowness and, unfortunately - despite all their efforts - Luca and Giulia had not managed to win over Professor Caradonna.
And so they had reached the final stretch of that disastrous school year…
At the halfway point of May 1965, when Giovanna - Giulia’s mother - had gone to the parent–teacher meeting to make a case for Luca and Giulia, in the hope of securing them one last chance to make up for their failing grades with a final oral exam, she had returned home defeated and in a towering rage.
First of all, Professor Caradonna had refused to listen to reason: not only was he determined to fail both Paguro and Marcovaldo in Latin and Greek, but he would not even schedule any further exam for them before the end of the school year.
Secondly, there had been yet another unpleasant “last-minute surprise,” this time concerning Luca alone: the Physics teacher had informed Giovanna that he would be keeping Paguro’s failing mark - despite his most recent written test having gone very well - because, in any case, the boy’s overall average was still below passing.
“Believe me, my dear lady…” Caradonna had added, in support of the Physics teacher, “…we are doing this for their own good! Your daughter and your nephew must take their studies more seriously if they wish to complete their studies here! Let us hope this lesson will serve them both well in the future… There’s a reason the Liceo Classico is considered one of the most demanding academic tracks. Perhaps you ought to consider that not everyone has what it takes!" The professor had concluded, dismissing her with a brisk handshake that left no room for reply - nor, perhaps, did he deserve one from Giovanna.
And so Giulia's mother - now thoroughly up in arms - had pronounced her harsh sentence: for this year, Giulia and Luca could forget about their summer in Portorosso. They would remain in Genova to study for the entire summer, following an intensive program of private tutoring, with no distractions.
The news had been met with two identical expressions of horror, though neither the daughter nor the tritone had dared utter a word.
Under Giovanna’s rule, failure and being held back were simply not an option!
Well, it can’t get any worse than this… Luca had told himself, forcing a smile; without knowing that there exists that universal law by which, if things go wrong, they can always get worse.
And indeed, later that day, after dinner, when he had called Alberto to tell him everything - finally unburdening himself of all the misfortunes of the past school year, seeking the comfort of a friendly voice - the situation had taken a turn for the worse.
“…and that’s why Giovanna wants us to stay here in Genova and study all summer. We’ll only be able to come visit you there on a few weekends,” Luca had concluded, updating his friend on the latest unwelcome developments.
Only, whereas at first Alberto’s prolonged silence had seemed like a sign of sympathetic attention - so much so that Luca had gone on at length, pleased to have someone listening - for the past couple of minutes Paguro had begun to feel the unpleasant sensation of speaking into the void.
No answer. Not even a breath on the other end of the line.
Only a silence so loud it rang in his ears.
So in the end he had asked, puzzled: “Berto? Are you there? Are you listening to me?”
“You said you’d only come here on a few weekends…” his friend repeated flatly.
He had heard him. He had heard him perfectly.
A few tense moments followed, as though a sudden electric current had surged through the telephone line... then came a thunderous outburst:
“…WHAT THE FUCK, LUCA?!”
Paguro had nearly dropped the receiver in shock, flinching violently, instinctively shrinking into himself under the blow.
Those were certainly not the words of comfort and solidarity he had expected…!
“You had one job! Just one: study! Couldn’t you have tried harder?!” Scorfano pressed on.
A tactless remark, born of the Alberto’s pent-up frustration.
A remark that could have ended there, in a moment’s outburst.
All Luca had to do was stay silent.
All he had to do was let it go…
But after that first stunned moment, Paguro found himself with his heart in his throat, his temples pounding, his pride wounded.
Alberto’s outburst was the final straw: yet another humiliation in that miserable school year, in which too many things in his life - his choices, his abilities - had already been called into question.
Too tired.
Too stressed.
Too unhappy to pretend nothing had happened and keep quiet.
Too exasperated to show any empathy in return... unable to grasp the real pain of his friend, who in distant Portorosso had been counting the days until summer, until they could finally be reunited.
The only thing Luca understood in that moment was that he was being attacked unfairly, without reason - by the very person who should have understood him.
Especially those last words - “Couldn’t you have tried harder?!” - kept echoing in his mind, making his blood boil.
He felt humiliated. Betrayed.
If even Alberto doubted his effort and his abilities… it was simply too much.
Luca Paguro had had enough.
“Then fuck you, Alberto!” he snapped, his voice sharp, almost unrecognizable even to himself.
The calm, composed Paguro… had finally let go.
And the fuse of his frustration finally blew.
“No! Fuck YOU, Luca!” Scorfano shot back immediately, unleashing his own frustration with explosive force. “You never even show up anymore! You and that damn Liceo Classico of yours! What the hell were you thinking?! Why didn’t you study harder?! Studying is your only duty, your only job—and you end up failing three subjects before your final year?! For fuck’s sake! Now you even risk being held back—so instead of five years, you’ll spend six in that shitty excuse for a school!”
Now that the dam had broken on both sides, the outburst flowed with the fury of a flood.
“Scorfano! Weren’t you listening before?! That bastard of a teacher had it in for us! Giulia failed too! It wasn’t my—!”
Alberto didn’t even let him finish.
“I’m not talking about Giulia! She can deal with her own parents! I’m talking about you, Paguro! Take some responsibility!” and practically growled - a low, unmistakable rumble in his throat - as if daring Luca to contradict him.
Scorfano had always been far too direct and blunt in expressing his feelings… and ever since his Alpha Presentation, he had also acquired that heightened aggression typical of his dominant secondary gender.
So it wasn’t the first time Luca had heard that animal growl rise from his friend’s throat - but it was the first time it had ever been directed at him.
And it shook him deeply.
Luca flushed with anger and indignation, a tight grip seizing his diaphragm as though he had been physically struck.
Because Alberto had not the faintest idea of what he had gone through: at the mercy of a teacher who, instead of being impartial, had acted as a persecutor for months, turning his life into a living hell: humiliated, belittled, and made to question his own abilities.
And his pride burned, because... whatever Scorfano might think, shut away in the sheltered provincial reality of Portorosso, Paguro had always been a good student. He had always passed.
He had always done his best.
Only sometimes… life is simply unfair.
So, like a wounded animal that lashes out under the brutal law of “kill or be killed,” Paguro struck back, determined to wound in turn.
Because nothing makes people as cruel as unhappiness.
“What do you know about studying? About actually applying yourself?! That’s rich, coming from you... you barely even scraped through middle school!” he snapped, hitting a raw nerve.
And though he bit his tongue immediately afterward, regretting those cruel words the instant they left his mouth… it was too late.
Alberto fell silent for a long, endless moment before replying in a cold voice, enunciating each word:
“Funny thing… It's this ignorant jerk, with nothing but a middle school education, who’s been working all this time to keep you in the city and let you study at the best high school in Genova.”
Luca had always suspected it, though he had never had the courage to look deeper.
Now the truth hit him like a punch.
It had always been that way between them - ever since that first train ticket Alberto had paid for him with the money from his Vespa… an act of boundless generosity in which his friend had set aside his own dream to grow up too soon, giving Luca the chance to pursue his.
Alberto had taken care of him like the older brother Luca had never had.
Generous to the core.
Never asking for anything in return.
Never making him feel it, quietly, almost anonymously (at least until now).
Alberto - the orphan - who, more than anyone, should have had someone to take care of him… instead of being the one who had to take care of others.
His best friend.
Always watching over him, even from afar.
Because it was only thanks to Scorfano’s generosity that Luca had been able to leave, to be welcomed without issue in Genova, at Giulia’s mother’s house.
Because, if one thought about it, Massimo - with his modest earnings as a provincial fisherman - could never have supported two “adopted sons” on his own, one of them living in Genova, the expensive regional capital, when he already struggled to provide for Giulia and to pay alimony to his ex-wife.
Nor could Luca’s biological parents do much to help: though they had supported his decision to leave, they simply did not have the means. Money was a purely human necessity, utterly foreign to traditionalist seafolks like them, bound only to the customs of their underwater village.
And so it had been Alberto who had rolled up his sleeves from the very beginning, determined to become a support rather than a burden for Massimo, ensuring that their beautiful “extended family” could exist without financial strain.
Faced with this revelation, Paguro felt deeply ashamed of himself for the insult he had hurled at his friend… but by then, there was little he could do to fix it.
“I… I never asked you to do that. I never asked you to pay for my studies,” he muttered weakly, only making things worse.
A cruel laugh answered him - harsh, rasping, almost like a bark.
“You’re right, Paguro: I’ve been a complete idiot. I got everything wrong between us. Don’t bother looking for me when you come down here. I don’t want to see your face again.”
And he slammed the phone down.
Luca was left staring into nothingness.
Only the dead line humming in his ear.
***
Days had passed.
Days had turned into weeks.
And the school year had finally come to an end.
Luca’s anger had always been like a short-lived sea storm, something he - by nature - knew how to weather on his own: it left no trace behind, and once it had passed, both sea and sky returned to their former calm.
Alberto’s anger, on the other hand, was like an unending fire, one that consumed everything… especially when left to burn unchecked, with no one to smother its raging flames.
Surely, if Alberto had been able to see Luca in person right away - to confront him, to talk things through - if he had been able to smother that anger in the comfort of being together… things might have turned out differently.
And one of the things that tormented Luca the most - making him feel ungrateful - was that, despite everything, Alberto had continued to support him financially even after their argument, when all communication between them had abruptly and definitively ceased.
Caput.
Radio silence.
That summer, in fact, there had never been any shortage of extra money for the costly tutoring sessions - nor, for that matter, for the short trips to Portorosso.
After talking it over with Giulia, Luca had decided that, to ease his guilt, the least he could do was find himself a summer job and help cover the expenses… but unfortunately, his plan had run straight into Giovanna’s firm refusal. In her view, it was unthinkable that, with three subjects to make up (not to mention the rest of his holiday assignments!), Luca should waste time on anything else. It was his duty - his priority - to focus solely and entirely on his studies.
And so he and Giulia had spent the summer practically under lockdown - “under house arrest” - studying, with the sole exception of three weekends in three months that they had been granted to go to Portorosso and visit their families.
During the first of those precious weekends, in June, Paguro had taken it for granted that he and Scorfano would finally meet again and clear things up. Except that, when Massimo came to pick up Giulia and Luca at Monterosso station, he informed them that Alberto wasn’t there: he had taken a few “days off,” and sent his regards to everyone.
Next time will be better… Luca had told himself dejectedly, slipping into the waters of Portorosso to spend the weekend at his parents’ home.
Unfortunately, during the two visits that followed, the situation had been much the same: Alberto had made himself scarce, easy enough for him, with plenty of friends always ready to put him up for the night… And since everyone in Portorosso knew each other, and over the years - summer after summer - Alberto’s friends and acquaintances had naturally become Luca’s (and Giulia’s) as well… everyone was curious to know what had happened between the two of them - once so inseparable - but no one dared to ask.
It had been painful for Paguro to discover just how far Scorfano’s resentment could go, resigning himself to not seeing him at all.
At times, he thought he could sense his friend’s presence - the faint trace of his scent, that familiar hint of lavender that always made him flinch with a pang of longing - but as he wandered the streets of Portorosso, he never managed to meet him face to face, only catching glimpses of him from afar. And in those moments, Paguro found himself wishing he were not just a Beta - that he had a keener sense of smell to track the Alpha down and catch him off guard: Scorfano always seemed to be one step ahead.
Luca finally lost patience during their third and last summer weekend in Portorosso, in early August, when Massimo told him: “Alberto’s not here. He’s gone to visit Lando in Corniglia, he’ll be staying there for the weekend.” And that had been his last chance to see him, for who knew how long…
“Ah,” Luca had replied, with telling restraint, before slipping away to brood on his own: Yeah, right! At Lando’s! With a family of five brothers all crammed into a tiny flat? Please.
Maybe Alberto could fool Massimo, but Luca - who knew Lando’s family well - hadn’t believed it for a single second. And so, brooding over it, he had grabbed Giulia’s bicycle and set off with no real destination, just to burn off his frustration. Yet, as he wandered, as if guided by some invisible pull, he followed a fleeting intuition and sped up toward the hill of Torre Antica, where, on the outskirts, stood the house of the widowed Lanzi: the beautiful “Donna Rachele."
Because Luca had known that secret since the summer of ’62, when he had figured out exactly why Alberto insisted on delivering fish to that particular customer on his own, always, coincidentally, taking longer than necessary. She hadn’t been the only one over the years, but she had certainly been one of Scorfano’s longest-standing affairs. Luca had never known for sure whether it was just a physical relationship or something more… and, frankly, he didn’t really want to know.
This time, however, he had been right. And there it was: Alberto’s Vespa, parked just outside, behind the woodshed beside the Lanzi house, tucked away for discretion.
And so Paguro had his answer: while he was suffering, Scorfano was off enjoying himself with his “merry widow."
He slammed on his brakes, skidding to a halt beside the scooter and, seized by a sudden destructive urge, grabbed the Vespa’s handlebars, ready to shove it to the ground - to smash it, wreck it, destroy it. Because then, finally, he would flush Alberto out, and he would come rushing out of that damned house…!
And then…!!!
And then.
And then Paguro’s hands fell limply to his sides, and he rode away, head bowed, utterly defeated.
***
At last, by the end of September 1965, the day of reckoning had arrived: Luca and Giulia had to report to school for their resit exams.
Fortunately, those exams included students from other classes as well, so they were assessed not only by the wretched Buonadonna, but by teachers from every section - allowing them to pass with excellent - and, above all, fair—results.
All their painstaking work over the summer had finally paid off.
It had been a major victory, but Luca and Giulia knew better than to relax. The road to the final exams was still an uphill climb, and as long as Buonadonna remained in their way… nothing was certain.
And so, in early October, their final year of school began.
And even though, during the day, Luca stayed focused in class and diligent with his study hours at home, there were nights when sleep was impossible… and he would lie awake, staring out the window, wondering whether Alberto might be looking at that same moon, at that same sea.
***
That had been an unusually mild autumn in Genova, the great Ligurian port city.
As the weeks chased one another, September and October slipped by on a breath of Scirocco winds, while November drew steadily closer, bringing with it Alberto’s birthday.
And Luca grew increasingly restless as that fateful November 8th approached.
Until the very last moment, Paguro agonized over whether or not to call his friend to wish him a happy twentieth birthday, but in the end, he gave up.
Too many times over the past few months Scorfano had refused to come to the phone, and truly, he didn’t think he could bear being turned away again, least of all on that particular day.
He tried to ignore the fact that it would be the first birthday in seven years of friendship when he wouldn’t be able to call the Marcovaldo house to be the very first to wish his best friend a happy birthday at the stroke of midnight...
And the thought that, come February 21st - his own birthday - there would be no traditional call from Alberto either, breaking their ritual for good… twisted his stomach into something almost painful.
He had to force himself to stop dwelling on it, and in that particularly bleak time, Giulia’s closeness and friendship - her constant attempts to distract and comfort him - had been his only solace, as the days dragged slowly by.
In a melancholy monotony, that wretched month was drawing to a close… until one fortunate afternoon, passing by the little record shop near his house, Paguro noticed that a new album by Adriano Celentano had just been released: Non mi dir ("Don’t tell me").
On impulse, he bought it without a second thought, because it felt like a sign of Fate that - of all times - it had come out in November.
That could be the perfect Christmas gift for Scorfano!
Celentano was one of Alberto’s favorite singers, and Luca was certain the other tritone wouldn’t be able to avoid him during the Christmas holidays. It was one thing to stay with friends — or go off enjoying himself with his “merry widow” — for a couple of days in the summer… quite another to plant oneself in someone else’s house for over a week, at a time of year that was meant to be spent with family.
Nothing could possibly go wrong.
He and Giulia had even made sure, with Massimo, that they would all celebrate Christmas Eve together, inviting Luca’s father, mother, and grandmother up to the surface as well: it was the perfect ambush.
After all, they knew that Alberto - though he had returned to Piedmont to work the winter season - had still taken a few days off to spend Christmas with his family in Portorosso.
So this time, Scorfano wouldn’t be able to avoid seeing his friend again… no way.
***
And yet, Christmas 1965 did not fulfill Paguro’s greatest wish.
“No, Luca, I’m sorry. Berto called earlier... he’s not coming home. Yesterday they offered him an unexpected raise, and he decided to stay in Sestriere…” Massimo explained, regretful but composed. After all, how could one not be proud of such a hardworking son?
Still, in the fisherman’s uncertain smile, there seemed to be something more. An uncomfortable, unspoken truth.
“His loss! More panettone for us, right Luca?” Giulia chimed in, trying to lighten the mood, slipping an arm around her friend’s shoulders in an affectionate squeeze that said more than a thousand words.
Luca nodded, forcing a polite smile despite the painful knot tightening in his stomach at the news.
Because no matter how hard he tried to think otherwise, he couldn’t shake the thought that it might be his fault, that Alberto had changed his mind at the last minute and chosen to spend Christmas alone in the mountains, working, rather than with his family. It tormented him.
Christmas Eve dinner came and went like the frames of a silent film, Luca lost in his thoughts, oblivious to sounds and flavors as he ate mechanically, finding no pleasure in the food or the company, interacting like an automaton in conversations he would forget moments later.
The joy of the occasion didn’t matter, nor that almost all of his “extended family” - both aquatic and terrestrial - had gathered merrily around the Marcovaldo table. His gaze kept drifting back to that one empty chair... impossible to ignore.
The entire holiday passed in that same state of numb detachment, whether Luca was in the sea with his relatives or on land visiting the Marcovaldos.
He lived in a constant state of anxious anticipation every time the phone rang in Massimo’s house and without fail, whenever it was Scorfano calling, the receiver was passed only between the fisherman and his daughter, never to Paguro.
The worst part was pretending not to notice the uneasy glances father and daughter exchanged, and Massimo’s hushed words as he tried to persuade Alberto over the phone - sometimes gently, sometimes more firmly - to finally “set aside his pride and at least say hello to poor Luca.”
All of Massimo’s attempts at peacemaking fell on deaf ears. Scorfano could be so stubborn, at times…
Even Giulia, after initially trying to convince her adoptive brother to forgive Luca, had eventually given up. More and more often, “that bonehead Alberto” accused her of playing favorites with Paguro. And so she stepped back, unwilling to stir up further, pointless family tension.
And yet, in Massimo’s house, he found a strange kind of consolation: traces of Alberto’s scent still lingered there — faint now, slowly fading, but enough to stir something deep in his chest, edged with a faint, uneasy undercurrent.
Perhaps Paguro should have simply learned to hate him, to put a definitive end to their friendship… but at night, lying awake in bed, counting over and over on his fingers the months that had passed since their quarrel, it was only melancholy that gnawed at him from within—because, deep down, he knew that if Alberto was acting this way, it was because he had hurt him.
***
January 6th, 1966: L'Epifania, che tutte le feste porta via ("Epiphany takes all the holidays away"). [5]
Time for Giulia and Luca to return to Genova, full of good intentions and plans for the new year.
On the morning of their departure, Luca finally made up his mind and, with some hesitation, pulled from his bag the gift he had bought for Alberto at the record shop.
Before handing it to Massimo, he scribbled a note at the bottom of the card attached to the package... another olive branch, a token of peace he hoped might somehow reach his friend.
We missed you this Christmas, he wrote.
The unspoken “I” missed you lingered between the lines. He hoped Alberto would feel it, even if he hadn’t been brave enough to write it outright.
And so he left the record - and his hopes - with Massimo, asking him to give it to Alberto when he returned home from Sestriere.
Back in Genova, life for him and Giulia slipped once more into its usual frantic routine: classes, oral exams, endless hours of study… all of it in a relentless loop.
***
On the night of February 20th, Luca tossed and turned in bed without rest until, at last, he kicked the covers off and sat up abruptly, glaring at the alarm clock on his bedside table.
Even in the dark, his tritone eyes could see it clearly.
23:51! For God’s sake, Luca… go back to sleep—you’ve got a test tomorrow. He pressed his fists against his forehead, frustrated. But despite his better judgment, he eventually gave in and got up.
He left his room and padded barefoot down the hallway to the living room, and - feeling like a complete idiot - sat down beside the telephone.
Alone. In the dark. Waiting.
Midnight struck, and with it came the new day.
February 21st. His birthday.
Eighteen. I’m turning eighteen today. He repeated it in his mind like a mantra, as if the words might grant his deepest wish.
And he kept vigil, heart pounding, because despite everything - despite everyone - he couldn’t help but hope… hope… and hope again.
The clock in the living room seemed to mock him, with its quiet, measured certainty.
“Happy birthday to me,” he murmured at last.
Only silence answered.
***
Certainly, the new year had not begun in the best of ways… but by March, Fortune finally seemed to turn: to the general jubilation of all the students who had had the misfortune of crossing paths with Professor Buonadonna, Professor Pezzini had at last returned from maternity leave, to guide them through those final difficult months leading up to the fateful Esame di Maturità.
***
“Marzo pazzerello, Aprile con l’ombrello,” as the well-known rhyme goes ("March is fickle, April brings the umbrella").
And yet, in April, Easter Monday brought an unexpected day of sunshine and renewal, after weeks of torrential rain. Luca and Giulia managed to carve out a moment of leisure in the open air, wandering through the neighborhood market in the city center, nibbling on the typical Genoese quaresimali, little almond-flavored Lenten sweets.
They were laughing, chatting, and eating - forgetting everything for once - when Luca, passing by a particular stall, suddenly came to a halt.
There, on a display rack, was a colorful assortment of postcards reproducing many famous advertisements.
And among Coca-Cola bottles, bright red Ferraris, and Calimero comics with the slogan “Ava come lava!”, [6] Luca saw it: the unforgettable Vespa advertisement.
A postcard bearing a miniature of the poster that Alberto had hung on the wall of the tower years before, on the Isola del Mare, with the slogan “VESPA è libertà”—Vespa is freedom.
At the sight of it, a sudden, overwhelming lump rose in Luca’s throat.
Giulia, who had immediately understood his mood, rested a gentle hand on his shoulder and murmured, “You know… I think Berto would really like it…”
Although he bought the postcard on impulse, it took the tritone many days to find the strength to write his brief, heartfelt message before finally sending it.
You are, and always will be, my best friend, he wrote.
And the ink blurred where a tear had slipped from his sad eyes.
***
Several weeks had passed since the postcard, wrapped in the most deafening silence, and Luca had by then all but lost hope of mending the broken pieces of their friendship.
Alberto’s indifference hurt even more than his anger: his was the hardest lesson Luca had ever learned, over those long, wearing months of waiting. Especially after he felt he had laid bare - perhaps in vain - his own vulnerability with that last attempt at reconciliation.
Then, out of nowhere, one Saturday evening - the first week of May - while Luca, Giulia, and Giovanna were settled in the living room in their usual, comfortable routine, watching Carosello together after dinner… the house phone rang. [6]
“Ah, I’m not getting up…” Giovanna declared at once from her armchair, like a queen, with a knowing little smile - so much like her daughter’s - as she held up her nails, still drying.
“…me neither! It’s for you anyway, Giulia,” Luca added, sitting cross-legged on the sofa beside his friend, his eyes glued to the TV, which was airing the new coffee commercial with the adventures of “Carmencita e Caballero.”
“But I just sat down!” the redhead protested, kicking her feet against the couch in a childish attempt to win his sympathy. And since Paguro pretended not to hear her at all, she resorted to stronger measures: “I already got up before! Now it’s your turn!” she said, digging her heels into his side to shove him off without ceremony.
“You two, come on! I can’t hear!” Giulia’s mother scolded, turning up the volume to sing along with the TV the iconic: “Dov’è, dov’è…? Dov’è la donna?” (Where is she, where is she…? Where’s the lady?) while the phone kept ringing relentlessly.
The boy huffed, lowering his voice anyway. “Fine, I’ll go…” he said, rolling his eyes as he added to his friend, hopping off the couch: “You’re such a tomboy!”
To which Giulia replied with an exaggerated raspberry and one last kick, urging him to hurry up: “You love me anyway!”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” the tritone muttered, and as he kept turning back toward the TV - too distracted by the Caballero’s gunshots to watch where he was going - he even bumped into the doorframe while making his way, half blindly, to the bakelite phone on a small table in the hallway.
“Hello?” he finally answered distractedly, his voice bright and lively, already on the verge of laughter as he anticipated the commercial’s punchline.
No answer came from the receiver.
Only a silence heavy with tension, like someone suddenly holding their breath before diving into a stormy sea.
Luca started, frowning in confusion. “Hello? Who is this…?” he repeated, more firmly this time, covering his free ear to block out the ringing voices of Giulia and Giovanna, now reciting in chorus with Carmencita: “Pazzo! L’uomo che amo è un uomo molto in vista: è forte, bruno… e ha il baffo che conquista!” (Crazy! The man I love is quite the catch: strong, dark… and with a mustache that wins hearts!)
Then, a sigh on the other end of the line… and finally: “Ciao, Luca.”
Paguro’s eyes widened as he instantly recognized the most unexpected of voices. “ALBERTO…?!” he burst out, incredulous, a sudden lump rising in his throat. At the sound of that name, both mother and daughter turned sharply toward the phone.
“Should I get Giulia or Giovanna?” he added at once, hesitant, assuming he wouldn’t be welcome.
“Maybe later… it’s you I wanted to talk to,” the Alpha replied instead, unexpectedly. “I wanted to, you know… thank you… thank you for the record and the postcard.”
And though Scorfano’s baritone voice sounded far steadier than his own, Paguro could still sense the tension underneath.
In his mind’s eye, Luca could almost picture Alberto scratching the back of his neck - that familiar gesture of his whenever he was nervous or embarrassed - and a sudden wave of nostalgia washed over him.
Paguro gripped the receiver tightly, anchoring himself to that moment, meeting the gaze of Giulia and Giovanna, who were gesturing toward him, trying to understand if everything was all right and if the call was going well.
Luca answered them with a silent nod and a small, nervous smile, then - seeking a bit of privacy - he turned his back to the living room, switching the receiver to his other ear. He had to take a deep breath before he could speak again, his voice steady, feigning a casual tone: “So… did you like the gift?”
“Of course, you know I love Celentano… I was actually missing this record!”
“I’m glad.”
It was a surreal conversation, and yet no less welcome for it.
In that small talk, the echo of unspoken words reverberated between them, until at last Alberto gathered the courage and, with a voice thick with genuine emotion, asked the question that truly weighed on his chest: “So… how are you doing, Luca?”
Luca smiled at that, at the step Alberto had finally taken toward him.
“Now…? I’m doing great now,” he admitted, before adding, just as earnestly: “What about you…?”
And so that evening they talked about a little of everything and a little of nothing, keeping things light and carefully avoiding painful topics, until it was finally time to go to bed and say goodnight.
At that point, Scorfano’s voice grew deeper, more serious.
“This is the last time we talk about it, but I have to say... you really hurt me, Luca.”
“You did too.”
A second passed.
“I missed you, Berto.”
“Me too.”
They hung up.
And truly, there was never any need to return to that subject again.
***
That Saturday evening in May, he and Alberto hadn’t talked for very long - still too rusty and awkward after nearly a year since their falling out - but even in the unspoken words, the quiet happiness of a rekindled friendship had come through.
In the weeks that followed, they had spoken a few times, without pressure, just naturally, nurturing that new beginning like the most fragile of sprouts.
Now that Alberto had stopped avoiding him, they had even started - hesitantly, timidly - to make plans again, like they used to, for the summer they would all spend together in Portorosso.
And now Luca - his thoughts returning to the present, to the landscape rushing past outside the train window - can’t help but hope, with all his heart, that things might finally go back to the way they once were.
In a way, he’s even glad Giulia stayed in Genova a few extra days; this way, he and Alberto will have time to be alone, to rebuild their dynamic slowly, before becoming “a trio” again.
Seeing each other in person, they’ll finally understand whether it’s possible to tear down that last wall of unease between them and go back to being the friends they used to be.
And Paguro tries to push down the tight, restless anticipation that has been gnawing at him for days.
Just then, the train jolts more sharply than before, as if to shake him, to rouse him, like a firm, friendly clap on the shoulder, urging him on.
Whatever happens.
He tells himself this, straightening his back in a show of renewed confidence and abruptly stopping the nervous drumming of his fingers against the armrest, clenching them into a determined fist just as - almost on cue - the train plunges into yet another tunnel and the monotone voice of the speaker finally announces:
“Next stop: Monterosso Station – Cinque Terre. The train is running 25 minutes late. Ferrovie dello Stato apologizes for the inconvenience.”
To be fair, delays on this railway line - in Italy, especially in summer - are the norm. Regular passengers don’t even notice anymore. If anything, on the rare occasions when the train runs on time, everyone finds it suspicious.
And a few years ago, it used to be even worse!
Luca still remembers the unforgettable summer of ’61. He and Giulia had been stuck inside a tunnel - in the dark - for over half an hour, without air conditioning, and one of the claustrophobic passengers in their compartment had nearly had a panic attack.
At least now that the station has been expanded, increasing the number of tracks between Monterosso and Corniglia, things have improved a little, and delays are more contained.
After the announcement, Luca quickly retrieves his suitcase from the overhead rack and, after saying goodbye to the other passengers in the compartment, hurries down the corridor along with the other eager, sweaty vacationers.
The train announces its arrival with a loud whistle, emerging from the final tunnel - as if by magic - directly into the station. The brakes screech stubbornly, the carriage gives one last jolting shudder, and finally comes to a stop at the platform.
Monterosso station is a low, flat late-19th-century building, wedged between two hills dotted with maritime pines and bougainvillea. Around it, the town of Monterosso al Mare clings along the coastline, with small houses and terraced buildings like Babylonian hanging gardens in soft pastel tones.
The so-called Cinque Terre, of which Monterosso is the most striking, are like pearls set into a diadem: small pockets of human artifice scattered along the Ligurian coast.
No one has come to pick Luca up at the station today.
His parents and grandmother had to go to Tuscany for the annual “Hydro-Agricultural Fair” held in the waters of the Gulf of Baratti. As every year, his father Giacomo had sworn that this would be the year: the year he’d finally win best “Exhibition Crab”!
Massimo and Alberto, meanwhile, were swamped with work at the fish shop due to the high season. So Luca had reassured them not to bother picking him up, he could easily reach them on his own by bus.
That’s why Paguro hurries off the train, dashing out of the station toward the bus stop, just in time to see the Portorosso bus pulling away down the road.
Running after it and waving is useless; the driver, already taking the bend, wouldn’t notice him anyway.
“Thanks, Ferrovie dello Stato,” he mutters sarcastically to himself, rolling his eyes and shrugging theatrically, as millions of Italians before him have done, victims of similar daily inconveniences.
Now he’ll have to wait another two hours under the blazing midday sun.
Luca glances toward the beach below, teeming with colorful umbrellas and tourists, and at the blue sea with its irresistible pull. He takes a deep breath of the salty air, a shiver of pleasure crackling under his skin, and his bad mood is already gone.
Over the years in Genova, he has learned to keep his instincts in check, letting his seafolk nature lie dormant. And now that he’s finally home, he aches to awaken it again.
Unfortunately, he’ll have to wait until he’s safely in Portorosso - among people who share his secret - before he can dive freely into the sea. There are far too many tourists here; revealing his transformation to strangers would be too risky.
He still remembers with horror that one time in Genova, when he transformed, it was his first winter in the city, and Giulia, noticing he seemed down and “too dry,” had taken him swimming in the lagoon at sunset, where he’d nearly been caught by fishermen.
For a moment, Luca considers slipping away into the nearby pine grove to find a hidden cove, but abandons the idea. With his suitcase and travel clothes, it would be too difficult, and he doesn’t want to risk missing the next bus.
So he heads toward one of the benches at the bus stop when, suddenly, someone calls his name from behind, and he startles.
“Luca! Hey, Luca!”
He would recognize that voice anywhere.
The most welcome and unexpected surprise.
“Alberto…?!” he exclaims, lighting up, then freezes when he turns.
It takes him a moment to realize that the boy - no, the young man - calling to him really is his friend.
All at once, those two years of distance crash down on him.
There’s no trace left of the lanky, awkward boy Alberto used to be. Every angle of his body has found its place, settling into a solid, harmonious build: broad shoulders, narrow hips, sun-warmed limbs, their amber-toned skin set in warm contrast against the white of his T-shirt.
His best friend now has the strong, vigorous body of someone used to working at sea.
Blond highlights catch the light in his sun-bleached curls, slicked back with brilliantine, in keeping with the fashion of the time.
Alberto sits sideways on the Vespa’s leather seat, in a languid, “tough-guy” pose that comes entirely natural to him.
Unlike many of his peers - who imitate that attitude with varying degrees of success - Alberto wears that “Marlon Brando” air without the slightest hint of affectation: the ever-present Ray-Ban Clubmasters perched on his nose, a cigarette between his lips, one hand hooked into his belt loop, one foot planted on the ground and the other resting against the scooter’s side.
“You took your time getting here, Paguro…!” he says in greeting, sizing him up over the top of his dark lenses.
And when he gives him that sly smile, in that way that’s uniquely his, Luca’s heart gives a sudden lurch.
It’s been two long, damn years.
“Did you come to pick me up?” Luca asks, immediately biting his tongue at the stupidity of the question as he walks toward him, awkwardly dragging his large suitcase.
A playful glint flashes in the other’s smile as he raises an eyebrow. “No, actually… I came to pick up your grandma.”
Luca’s lips curl as he pretends to look around for someone. “Oh really? Don’t tell me… she’s here too?!”
They exchange a knowing, teasing smile, slipping into a script that has long since become theirs.
Over the years, they’ve learned to navigate that pattern of “human boy” banter - so typically Italian - whereas the Luca of the past would have taken the joke literally… actually believing his grandmother was somewhere nearby.
Only a few steps separate them now.
Alberto takes one last drag of his cigarette and flicks it away before standing and walking toward him with an easy, athletic stride.
And now Luca notices just how tall he’s become. Incredibly tall.
He must be taller than Giulia’s dad by now, Luca realizes... and, suddenly feeling awkward, small, and out of place in his own skin, he straightens his shoulders, faintly self-conscious.
Paguro takes after his parents, and even if he hopes to gain a few more centimeters, he’ll likely never grow much past around one seventy. [7]
An average height in the human world, but a bit lacking in the marine one… though he’s never really cared before.
In general, Luca has always paid little attention to his physical appearance, far more interested in cultivating his mind.
But Scorfano’s presence now makes him acutely aware of every perceived flaw, and his smile falters.
A strange, unfamiliar tension spreads deep within him.
As Luca steps into the other’s orbit, he slows down unconsciously, as if a switch has suddenly flipped inside him.
All his senses are on high alert now, urging him to move carefully.
Wary.
That’s strange… he thinks, unable to make sense of himself.
It takes him a moment to realize that it’s Alberto’s scent that triggered this reaction.
Now, at this distance, he can feel it.
A scent that is - and at the same time isn’t - the one he remembers.
Where it once lingered faintly against Alberto’s skin, now it radiates from him with the force of a warning.
The soft lavender notes that had always been there, even when they first met, are now richer, fuller - like flowers in full bloom - intertwined with a warm, woody trace of sage.
Scents of earth, sun, sea.
Mediterranean.
Male.
And above all… Alpha.
With the sudden, conscious awakening of his hindbrain, that certainty crashes through his mind like an electric shock.
It’s the first time in his life he’s ever felt anything like this.
It’s as if he’s been thrown into an entirely new world, one made of a complex, unfamiliar form of nonverbal communication.
And he never imagined that, as a Beta was supposed to be — with a sense of smell typically far more limited than other designations — he could be so overwhelmed by such a dense flow of olfactory information, speaking directly to his hindbrain, urging caution.
Respect.
Whatever stands before him could be dangerous.
Better not provoke it.
Luca’s understanding of Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics has always been limited, mostly theoretical.
In Portica, the small underwater village he comes from, everyone is a Beta. The only exception is Signora Lampuga, an elderly Alpha who, after losing her Omega at a young age, has lived quietly on the fringes of the community ever since.
Luca has rarely seen her over the years. Most of what he remembers dates back to when he was just a tritoncino - a pup, too young to fully grasp the complexity of her scent - and yet it stayed with him: that sharp, citrusy hint of orange blossom, and the way her mere presence had been enough to keep every child perfectly in line.
But facing an adult male Alpha now, after puberty… is an entirely different matter.
Something unfamiliar begins to stir inside Luca... an instinct buried deep in his subconscious, written into his DNA, a relic of a time when their species lived within a complex, primal, and brutal hierarchy.
Luca has known Alberto’s designation for years, but knowing something and feeling it are two very different things.
The last summer they spent together, before the fight, he had never sensed anything like this.
Clearly, the past two years have completed the transformation: they are both adults now, fully developed, capable of emitting and perceiving complex pheromones.
And now that Luca is acutely aware of the supposed gap between a simple Beta and an Alpha, he struggles to process it.
Too many inputs in too little time.
Paguro short-circuits.
He stops dead just a few steps away, suddenly at a loss for words and breath, his sharp hazel eyes fixed on Scorfano, startled, like a deer caught in headlights. And seeing his own reflection in Alberto’s mirrored lenses, rather than finding the familiar green of his eyes, only makes it worse.
At that, even the Alpha stops, tilting his head slightly, his smile fading.
His nostrils flare instinctively, trying to read Luca’s strange behavior through scent, and a flicker of understanding crosses his face.
Betas were usually harder to read — quieter, less layered — but Alberto knew him well enough to catch it: that subtle shift beneath Luca’s usual clean, sun-washed scent, now tinged with something sharper, almost acrid with unease.
“What’s wrong, Luca? Not even going to say hi?” he asks gently, instinctively removing his Ray-Bans and hooking them onto his belt, meeting his gaze without barriers.
Alberto’s eyes - those clear, kind eyes - are the same as always.
Luca relaxes a little at the sight of them, filled with the affection he remembers - and it almost feels as if the intensity of the Alpha's scent softens, becoming lighter, like a touch.
Finally, Luca steadies himself, clearing his throat.
“Ciao, Alberto,” he murmurs, straightening his shoulders and, unsure what else to do, he extends his right hand for a firm, adult handshake.
“Yeah… a handshake, huh?” the other says, raising an eyebrow, but immediately takes his hand, sparing him any further embarrassment. “Welcome back,” he adds warmly, giving it an energetic shake, his usual contagious smile returning.
And when Luca, still a little hesitant but genuine, finally gives him one of his dimpled smiles, Alberto rolls his eyes, suddenly feeling lighter.
“Ah, screw it! You idiot shrimp!” he blurts out, as if he can’t hold it in any longer, and instead of letting go of Paguro’s hand, he gives it a sharp tug, pulling him into a sudden, spontaneous hug.
“A-Alberto...!” Luca yelps, completely caught off guard, his suitcase slipping from his hand as he’s yanked forward, practically crashing into him.
“What the hell are you doing?! Shaking my hand like I’m a stranger now?” the Alpha laughs, tightening his grip into a proper bear hug, thumping his back hard as he keeps him pinned there. “What are those... 'Genoese arms'?! Too short for hugs now? What’s next... gonna call me Mr. Scorfano and use formal speech?!” [8]
Luca’s face ends up pressed against Alberto’s T-shirt, drowning in the scent of his sun-warmed skin, the sound of laughter rumbling in his chest vibrating through him.
They’ve always been physical like this. This is just one of countless hugs over the years.
And yet, for the first time, Luca flushes all the way to his ears.
But despite everything... he’s happy.
Ridiculously happy.
He laughs too, clinging to him as he stammers, breathless:
“Sorry about before—it’s just… it’s been two years, and things are a little different… I think I just need some time to get used to it… to get used to…”
You.
The unspoken word hangs between them.
Even as Luca starts to relax - realizing that Alberto is still his Alberto, not a threat - that overwhelming Alpha presence, this close, is still almost dizzying.
Alberto stops patting his back, now holding him more steadily, an arm draped over his shoulders, his expression calm, understanding.
“Hey, it’s okay. I figured. It’s happened with other seafolk back home… the Shaman thinks I might even be a ‘Dominant’ Alpha. Some Betas - especially the more sensitive ones - can get overwhelmed. Apparently Omegas react even worse. Not that I’ve ever met one. Except my mom, but I was too young for that to count…” he said thoughtfully, before adding, “Anyway… do you trust me?”
Luca leans his head back to meet his friend’s gaze, an incredulous look on his face.
“There’s no need to even ask,” he replies, serious.
In spite of everything, that is an inescapable truth, one he doesn’t need to think about for even a second.
He feels like a fool, a complete idiot, because of the irrational, uncontrollable reactions stirred up by his own hindbrain.
“Then I’d like to try something… something I think might help,” Scorfano says, glancing briefly around, wary of prying eyes.
No one nearby. The road is nearly empty in the midday heat.
And this time, when Alberto pulls him close, he does so with careful gentleness, in an embrace entirely different from the previous one.
One hand rests at Luca’s side and the other between his shoulder blades, as he guides his head against his chest, before beginning to stroke his back and arms in a slow, soothing motion.
As he does, he brushes his wrists — where his scent glands are — against Luca’s clothes and skin, breathing in and out deeply in a steady, lulling rhythm.
“W-what are you doing?” Paguro mutters, stiffening, vaguely perplexed and increasingly embarrassed, his arms held rigid at his sides.
“I’m ‘marking’ you. You should feel better afterwards. It helps you get used to my presence and my scent more quickly,” Alberto explains, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as possible, while gently brushing his shoulders and neck as well.
His baritone voice reverberates in Luca’s ears, and little by little he relaxes, lulled by that deep breathing and by the strong, steady beat of his friend’s heart.
Without even realizing it, he lets himself lean into the Alpha, finding himself breathing more deeply and calmly, his own heartbeat slowing in turn, as he loses himself in Scorfano’s warm, Mediterranean scent.
And so they remain like that for what feels like endless moments of quiet and shared peace, until — after a while — Alberto clears his throat.
“Is that better now?” he asks gently, and Luca has to blink several times to fully emerge from that pleasant haze.
“Mm-hmm,” he replies, not very eloquently, with a faintly dreamy look, as he tilts his head back to meet the other’s eyes.
He blinks, still vaguely dazed, catching up with himself, and realizes he really does feel better.
He hadn’t even noticed when he started hugging the Alpha back, or how tightly he was holding on.
For a moment, Alberto studies him closely — something unreadable in his expression — then a flicker of confusion crosses his face, gone just as quickly, before he pulls away, gently but firmly.
“What…? How…? How did you do that?” Luca asks, still a little out of it, as Alberto eases out of the embrace, finishing with a firm, reassuring pat on his shoulder.
“Just Alpha nonsense!” Alberto grins. “Kidding. My parents used to do it when I was little. I didn’t know if it worked on Betas… but I guess you’re just sensitive.”
Luca nods, fascinated.
A whole world he hadn’t even known existed, and the little nerd in him sparks to life at once.
He would have liked to follow up with a barrage of questions, but the other, who clearly knows him far too well and catches that dangerously focused glint in his eyes, cuts him off before he can overwhelm him.
“Come on, now!” Alberto urges, glancing at his wristwatch: “Let’s go. It’s lunchtime… papà Massimo’s waiting for us!”
Without further hesitation, Scorfano bends down to pick up Paguro’s suitcase, tossing it unceremoniously onto the Vespa’s rear rack before fastening it tightly with the leather straps.
Then, slipping his Ray-Bans back on, he swings into the seat and starts the scooter, kicking it off the stand with a firm push.
“Well, Paguro… are you getting on or what?! I’ll leave you here, you know!” he urges, revving impatiently, the engine roaring to life beneath him.
Luca doesn’t need to be told twice. With a nimble leap - as if he had finally found that old lightheartedness again - he hops onto the seat behind him, raising a fist into the air.
“To Portorosso!” he exclaims, like a commander rallying his troops to battle.
“To Portorosso!” Alberto echoes, and with a sudden burst of throttle and a sharp lift of the front wheel, the Vespa shoots forward, tires screeching as it speeds down the road that will finally take them home.
End Notes
[1] Caterina Caselli and the “golden helmet”:
When Nessuno mi può giudicare was released in 1966, Caterina Caselli became a symbol of a new generation of Italian youth. Her iconic blonde, geometric haircut — nicknamed “casco d’oro” (“golden helmet”) — broke away from traditional female ideals, representing a more independent and modern image of young women.
The song itself was just as groundbreaking: for the first time, a female voice in Italian pop openly claimed the freedom to choose and even change partners without shame — something that felt bold and controversial at the time. After its debut at the Sanremo Music Festival 1966, it became a massive hit, turning into an inescapable anthem for months.
For those unfamiliar with the song, here’s the song with subtitles.
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[2] Esame di maturità (1960s):
In the 1960s, the Italian final high school exam took place in July and was significantly more demanding than today. At a Liceo Classico, students had to complete multiple written exams (including Latin and Ancient Greek translations), a physical education test, and two extensive oral exams covering the last three years of study. The order of oral exams was determined randomly, much like today.
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[3] Liceo Classico:
One of the most prestigious and academically demanding types of Italian high school, with a strong focus on humanities, especially Latin, Ancient Greek, philosophy, and literature. It is traditionally associated with rigorous training and elite education.
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[4] Caradonna / Buonadonna (name pun):
The students deliberately twist his name: in Italian, “Caradonna” means “dear woman,” and the initial “D.” is read as “di” (“of”), making it sound like “Fabrizio di Caradonna.” The structure lends itself to a simple shift of adjective, turning it into “figlio di Buonadonna” (“son of a good woman”), which in Italian works as a fairly obvious euphemism for “son of a bitch.” Quite fitting for the teacher, wouldn’t you say?
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[5] Epiphany (January 6th):
In Italy, Epiphany traditionally marks the end of the Christmas season, as summed up by the saying “L’Epifania tutte le feste porta via” (“Epiphany takes all the holidays away”). It is also associated with La Befana, a folkloric figure who brings sweets or small gifts to children during the night.
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[6] Carosello:
A famous Italian television advertising program that aired from 1957 to 1977. Unlike modern commercials, it featured short narrative sketches or mini-stories, often with recurring characters, followed by a brief product advertisement. Watching Carosello, after dinner, was a nightly ritual for many Italian families.
Among the most famous recurring characters were Carmencita and Caballero, created for a coffee brand, whose sketches were built around playful rhymes and the catchphrase “Dov’è, dov’è…?”, and Calimero, the little black chick featured in the slogan “Ava come lava!” — a pun in which lava means both “lava” and “washes,” highlighting the detergent’s effectiveness.
For those unfamiliar, here are the original commercials: Carmencita and Caballero and Calimero (with English subtitles).
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[7] One meter seventy:
is approximately equivalent to 5 feet 7 inches (5'7").
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[8] “Genoese arms”:
In Italian, “braccine corte” (“short arms”) is a playful expression tied to the stereotype of Genoese stinginess - as if one’s arms were too short to reach their wallet. Alberto uses it jokingly: is way of teasing Luca for being ‘stingy with hugs’ after living in Genova.
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