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Tufts of scorched shrubs
Dot the rolling amber hills,
Goats frolic and graze
-#171, In Blue Solitudes, S. Wilson-Osaki
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Cracking off a strand of filo from his sfogliatella late the next afternoon, Seb relaxed into the relative tranquility of the Piazza Duomo. The liquorice-striped, mostly Romanesque church was like a giant gingerbread house with breadcrumbs leading away from, not to, its limited pleasures. Seb admired the artistry and history of the building, which did little to inspire religious fervor. The espresso sold by the humble cafés gathered around the square, however...
He dug out an orange-and-cinnamon-laced dollop of warm ricotta, smeared it on his tongue. Closing his eyes as he savored the unctuous filling, he forced himself to ignore the pesky voice of Old Seb nattering in his ear, scolding him for not heading down to the marina to catch the ferry to Capri that morning.
Not that he didn’t want to go to Capri. But New Seb, dedicated to nothing more than enjoying his snack, hesitated over following any plan that hewed too close to the notebook. New Seb wanted to let the day unfold, led by only his curiosity and desires. New Seb had spent more time getting reacquainted with his dick than writing in his journal once the ladies had turned in the night before. New Seb suspected if he sat still long enough, he just might get his groove back.
Something tickled at his ankle, curled around his calf. A pair of jewel-green eyes blinked lazily up between the folds of his sarong. (New Seb flouted traditional gender roles and wore what he felt most comfortable in.)
“Piccolo Andrea!” The cat gave his pastry-scented hand a sniff, then rubbed its fuzzy head against his knuckles. He scooped the little gray tabby up into his arms, petting and cooing until feline Andrea was a puddle of purr. If only the man himself were this easy to please.
A car horn trumpeted. Claws bit deep. With a wriggle and a yowl, Little Andrea shot off up the road. Seb considered following him—because why not?—until a familiar voice sung out from the window of the SUV suddenly stopped in front of his table.
“Sebastiano!”
As wide and alluring as ever, human Andrea’s smile prompted Seb to abandon half his sfogliatella for that face in the window. Not impressed with how bashful he felt, New Seb performed his best car lean, letting his loose V-neck T-shirt fall open to reveal his tanned, if slender, chest. He almost stumbled over his own feet when he got a glimpse of Andrea, shower-fresh in a crisp black shirt and tight jeans, with nary a team jersey or soccer short in sight. The man rocked the ‘Roman businessman on holiday’ look better than his clients. Of which, curiously, there were none.
New Seb, fighting through his shyness, wolf-whistled.
“Where are you off to, looking...” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say any of the words that came to mind out loud.
Andrea opened his mouth but seemed to mentally cross out several answers before he asked, “Would you like to come?”
Seb didn’t hold back a single inch of the grin that stretched his mouth.
“I would, yeah.” He grabbed his backpack, espresso, and pastry, then paused. “Are we going far? Do we need refreshments? Have you eaten?”
“I did. And we need to hurry. But they’ll have everything we need there.”
Seb almost bounced into the front seat. “And you’re not going to tell me where that is, are you?”
Andrea laughed. “Maybe in a little while.”
“Once we’re out of the city? No turning back?”
“You make it sound sinister.” The light changed, and they were off. “Maybe I just want you to myself for a little while.”
The back of Andrea’s hand grazed Seb’s as he reached for the stick, mirroring the caress of his tiny namesake.
“I’ve got no problem with that,” New Seb declared and settled in for the ride.
They followed the coastal road farther east than Seb had ever been, past the inland turn for Ravello and smaller towns like Maori and Cetara until they reached the outskirts of Salerno. Typically spellbound by the scenery, Seb fell into a kind of trance despite the hairpin swerves and steep turns. Andrea gave him free rein over his iPod, so Seb spent a good twenty minutes investigating his taste in music—indie rock, eighties electronica, classic film soundtracks, and twenties jazz standards. He approved. He teased Andrea by putting on Ennio Morricone’s greatest hits, specifically the theme to The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, but settled on the latest Radiohead. Somehow the alien sounds provided the perfect counterpoint to the sun-baked splendor of the view.
They chatted a bit at stoplights, but something about the road lulled them into a cozy, companionable silence. Though his list of questions about Andrea had only gotten longer since getting in the SUV, they evaporated from Seb’s mind whenever he turned to contemplate Andrea himself, a study in alert relaxation in the driver’s seat. His posture differed from that first drive from the airport, more casual, and yet... Something buzzed around him, a force field of tension that intrigued Seb even as it warned him off. Andrea expected, perhaps, that Seb would voice his questions, dig into his secrets now that they were down the rabbit hole together—and Old Seb, he had to admit, would have pulled out all his carrots by now.
But patience often yielded, and so as they sped onto the A3 highway toward the Cilento National Park, or so Seb guessed, he let the mood, music, and magnificence feed his poet’s soul. The craggy peaks of the Amalfi coast gave way to rolling, shrub-speckled hills ringed with orchards. Farmhouses poked through the foliage, two-storey white or yellow buildings with sandpaper roofs and fieldstone staircases, tinder-stick gables sheltering the paths to and from the barn. The occasional pool winked at him, aquamarine eyes amidst amber soil and umber dust.
“Agriturismo,” Seb remarked. “I almost did one of these.”
“For your whole trip?” Andrea made a noise in the back of his throat.
“No, only a few days. Just to see another side of Italy. And the quiet was appealing.”
“Quiet Amalfi is not.”
Seb chuckled. “No. Especially when you’re dancing in the street till two a.m.”
He caught a glimpse of Andrea’s smirk, but then that handsome face sobered into an expression more befitting the bust of an ancient philosopher. The force field had almost become palpable, waves of tension emanating off him like a scorched stretch of desert highway.
“I haven’t...” Andrea cursed as someone cut him off. “You need to know, before we...” He opened and shut his hands a few times, but even that inbred orchestration failed him.
“Whatever it is, it’s okay.” When this was met with silence, Seb added, “Maybe I’m not the only one who isn’t ready.”
A bitter laugh escaped Andrea’s throat. “You’re not wrong.”
“Okay. So where do we go from here?”
Andrea sighed. “That depends. I’ve avoided sharing something with you. I... I’m not even sure why.”
“Omission as opposed to commission?”
“Something like that.” He still wouldn’t meet Seb’s eyes. “I’m making too much of it. You’re probably gonna laugh. At least I hope you’re gonna laugh.”
“God, what the hell is it? Now you have to tell me.”
“Right. I know. Fuck.” Finally their gazes locked. “I’m a veterinarian.”
The words hung in the air for heartbeat after heartbeat until Seb did, indeed, burst out laughing.
“That’s it? Your big secret? All applicants must love dogs?”
“I... What?” Thankfully Andrea coughed out a few chuckles of his own. “What are you talking about?”
“I was beginning to wonder, is all. Not about you, but... well. Impromptu trip to a remote location with a charming guy I got to know very quickly, who gets more and more tense the closer we get to God knows where... Don’t tell me you’ve never read an airport thriller.”
“Oh, Sebastiano...” Andrea doubled over, cackling. He grabbed Seb’s hand and kissed deep into his palm, the tension flooding out of him in waves that rivaled the Tyrrhenian sea. “Your imagination is a thing of beauty.”
“Gets me into more trouble than it keeps me out of.” He let Andrea twine their fingers, but not off the hook. “So. University. That’s one mystery solved.”
“Yes.”
“You graduated?”
“Yes.”
Seb watched him, wondering how hard to push. Wanting to push very hard indeed, his curiosity turned the butterflies in his stomach into wasps. “Should I ask the obvious question, or should I just let it be?”
Andrea’s look just then, of gratitude, of admiration, of fondness, was answer enough.
“I was in the second year of my residence when my papa got sick. He came to the city to get treatment. I juggled both, so I was able to finish while I helped him. But when it got to the point where... Well, he wanted to be home, and it was easier for my mamma and my sister. So I took a... I’m not sure what you call it. I left for a while. And while I was here, I worked for him. He didn’t want all his work to be for nothing. And once he was gone... My mamma, I couldn’t leave her. So I stayed. And she got better.”
“And still you stayed.”
He nodded. “There aren’t that many clinics in Amalfi. Family businesses that don’t have money for anyone else. But sometimes people don’t have money for the clinics, especially out here, on the farms, so they call me. Not enough to live on, but...”
“Keeps you in the game.” Seb gave his hand a squeeze. “So who’s the patient?”
“Little Federica. Today you will see something I promise you have never seen before.”
“I’m a city boy. That’s not a tall order.”
“Si. But even those who’ve lived in the country their whole lives have never seen a horse give birth to twins.”
Andrea did his best Mario Andretti impersonation the rest of the way to Agriturismo Biologico Barone Flavio Vitale, a humble buttercup-yellow house nested in a grove of palm trees. A tween girl with a wispy topknot raced up to the SUV before Andrea could shift into park. Before long they were racing down a pebbled path, arms full of medical supplies, to an eerily quiet stable yard. A menagerie of animals—donkeys, rabbits, goats, chickens, even a couple fawns—hunkered down in their pens as if cowering from a gathering storm. An intense pair of border collies patrolled the area before the stable door, growling when Seb approached. A whistle from Andrea stood them down; they returned to their posts, ever vigilant.
A whinnying wail erupted from inside the small stable, triggering a chorus of upset from the animals. The girl held the door as they moved into the dark of the stable, its stalls empty except for the light of one half-shuttered lantern at the center of the aisle. A squat, round-faced woman with cheek-pinching hands welcomed Andrea. They whispered so softly as they hugged that Seb didn’t catch her name despite introductions. A stricken teenaged boy nodded in Andrea’s direction without taking his eyes off the mare in the main stall, who acknowledged them with another bellowing whinny. Andrea looked in on her, then reassured them in words that needed no translation: all was well.
The girl, Chiara, motioned them over to a small staging area that already contained blankets, gloves, aprons, a hand-washing station, sterile clamps, iodine, and... lube. Seb tried not to stare as Andrea set up his instruments and supplies, smiling awkwardly at his young hostess while Andrea chatted sotto voce with the owner, Renia. A steady stream of groans and huffs continued to echo out from the stall where the boy, the latest in a long line of Flavios, stood guard over his horse.
Just as he was starting to feel like a fifth wheel, Andrea pulled him aside and pushed an apron against his chest.
“Put this on,” he whispered. “Looks more official. I told them you were doing your residence in Canada and just wanted to observe. Don’t worry, I won’t need your help. Federica is Flavio’s horse. As you can see, he’s very worried.”
“Is she in danger?”
“Not right now, but... Twins in horses, it’s very rare. One-in-ten-thousand chance. For both to be healthy, that is one in fifty thousand. More risk for the mare. Usually one of the foals spontaneously aborts and the pregnancy is lost. So this situation...”
“You’ve never done this before.”
Andrea sighed. “No. And the vet who has been following Federica had an emergency, so I am the understudy in this little drama. But he took some scans a few weeks ago, and I have his notes... I think it will be okay.”
Seb met his cautious smile with one of his own, clapped him on the back.
“I know it will.”
“I am glad you are here.”
“Me too.”
“I hope it doesn’t bother you that things might not go well...”
Seb clicked his tongue. “But they will, right? No negative talk.”
“Si. Very wise, Sebastiano.” Andrea watched him for a few pregnant moments, checking for signs of doubt but also... admiring. Seb resisted the urge to snatch a kiss, felt his cheeks bloom. “Twins can be unpredictable, but otherwise she will only give birth under cover of night. So you might be in for a bit of a wait. If you ever want to go—”
“And miss catching lightning in a bottle? No way. Besides, the hay looks comfy.”
“Bene. Just one thing to remember: we must stay very, very quiet. Federica must concentrate, and we don’t want to bother her. It will seem like I’m not doing anything for a long time, but that is how it is. We wait, we watch until we are sure something is wrong.”
“Got it. And so do you.”
With a wink, Andrea directed him over to a spot at the far side of the stall door, away from the family but with a clear view of the action. Seb wasted no time looking in.
Federica, a magnificent chestnut mare, lay on a bed of glistening straw. Her protuberant belly was nearly the same length width-wise as she was from snout to hocks, as if she’d swallowed a wagon wheel. Seb wondered if she understood what exactly was about to occur. Andrea, who had changed into a surgical smock, sterilized and lubed up his arm. He felt along the side of her abdomen, then inserted his arm up the birth canal. When he nodded, young Flavio almost managed to smile.
The countdown had begun.
Four hours and a hearty pasta dinner later, they returned to the barn to find Federica’s back legs and belly slick with amniotic fluid. Two little hooves poked out of the birth canal, covered in a translucent sac. Seb held his breath as the mare wriggled and groaned, waiting for he knew not what. After a grueling few minutes, a head popped out, followed swiftly by chest and rump. Chiara started to cheer, but her mother shushed her with a hiss.
All of Federica’s energy seemed to drain out of her as she lay panting with her newborn foal. Andrea darted in to break the sac, clearing the foal’s airway so he could draw in his first breaths. After thirty endless minutes, Seb scanned the faces of his companions, wondering why no one intervened to pull the second pair of little hooves out. Andrea glanced at the clock a few times, but not a wrinkle creased his brow. Young Flavio white-knuckled the top edge of the stall door, a racer waiting for the gunshot. Renia kept a weather eye on her son. Chiara had retreated to the hayloft for a better view. Swallowing his questions, Seb turned back to the primal scene.
Federica staggered to her feet. After a few shaky steps, the foal’s hind legs slipped out, and the umbilical cord tore off.
Andrea held up a warning hand to hold them back as he snuck into the stall. After calming Federica, Andrea settled the newborn in a clean patch of hay. While Federica nuzzled her foal, he examined her, helping her expel the first placenta. Andrea reinserted his arm into the birth canal to check on the second twin. He schooled his face, but Seb knew Andrea well enough by now to note the tension in his mouth as he fought off a frown. Once he’d extricated his arm, he made a move toward Renia.
“No!” Flavio bleated, clamping his mouth shut before either adult could censure him. A piercing look from his mother popped the head of steam he’d been working on. Eyes wet, gnawing his bottom lip bloody, Flavio stayed put.
Andrea whispered his findings to Renia. He made a swishing gesture with two fingers that even Seb could read: the second foal was inverted. His experience showed in what happened next: he gave Flavio a series of instructions to keep his mind occupied, sent Renia off for some supplies, and asked Chiara to go supervise the other animals to spare her the sight of the worst-case scenario. Seb wasn’t even sure if he was ready to bear witness to a stillbirth or other horrors. Both his money and his prayers were on Federica.
In the stall, Federica slumped back onto her side, wriggling and whinnying with shocking force. Seb didn’t blame her; if he’d just given birth, he wouldn’t be signing up for round two anytime soon, let alone less than an hour later.
Then she started kicking herself in the stomach.
Flavio wailed, but Andrea caught him before he could vault into the stall. He shooed Flavio out of the barn with some stern words, but had only gentle coos for Federica. Andrea guided her around and around the stall so that, Seb guessed, the second foal might realign itself. Federica whined throughout, her breaths whistling out her snout so sharply Seb was surprised they didn’t emit steam.
By the time Renia returned, Federica was sluggish with exhaustion. Andrea waved her into the stall, instructing her to brace Federica against a wall while he attempted to realign the foal. Rapt, Seb held his breath as Andrea once again reached arm-deep into the birth canal.
Minutes flew by like seconds. Seb leaned over the door’s top edge, willing Andrea to succeed, the little foal to fight harder, the mare to endure. He was engrossed by the heavyweight bout between life and death, by Andrea wrestling with such primitive forces. A pointed look between Andrea and Renia had him biting his cheek to keep from crying out and getting exiled to the barnyard.
Seb’s heart pounded as Andrea pulled out his surgical knife. He stared in disbelief as Andrea slashed open the sac inside Federica, tied a length of rope around the foal’s hind legs, and, with a signal to Renia, yanked it out. The newborn foal landed in the hay beside her hour-old twin, unmoving. Andrea hurried to clear her airway. No response. With a feather-light touch in wild contrast with the violence of her birth, Andrea tickled her snout. This bit of veterinarian magic sparked her breathing, and she let out a soft snuffle.
Seb was shocked afterward to discover eight hours had passed since their arrival. By this time, both foals—a boy and a girl, names TBD—had taken their first steps and their first suckle, and Federica, unsurprisingly, slept. After sending a reluctant Flavio off to bed, Andrea gave both foals a quick but meticulous examination. Despite the language barrier, even Seb could tell he detailed care instructions to Renia.
Seb stayed silent throughout. The reverence of the moment suffused his head and his heart with a sense of calm. The barn had become a temple, and him a witness to a tradition as old as time itself yet as foreign as an ancient civilization. That afternoon he’d been sipping his espresso and planning a typical vacation day. Hours later he’d watched while two bright spirits entered the world. Three years ago he’d been doing something mundane—the shock of what came after had kicked the memory right out of his skull—when the police knocked on his door, changing him forever. Life didn’t wait on your permission, your readiness. It threw you in the deep end to either sink or swim.
“You can come in,” Andrea said once Renia had rushed off to fulfill some request of his. “Put on your apron and sterilize your hands. They are very fragile.”
Seb hesitated a moment, not sure whether he should intrude on the little family, but eventually he did as suggested. He wouldn’t get a second chance.
“Are they all right?”
“A bit small, but that’s normal. Horses are really not made for carrying two foals.” He gestured for Seb to greet Federica before attempting to pet the newborns. “To be honest, I didn’t expect them both to survive. You brought us good luck.”
Embarrassed, Seb quipped, “Ancient Japanese horse-saving technique.”
“I thought you were Canadian.”
“When convenient. Are they in any danger?”
“The next two weeks will be important. It’s really up to Federica. She needs to make enough milk to feed both of them. There are things we can do if she doesn’t, but it’s risky. They are already small. If one of them doesn’t get enough to eat...” He patted the colt’s rump. “But Renia has dealt with all kinds of problems before. She will do what’s best for them. If she weren’t so experienced, her regular vet would have recommended termination. But instead, per grazia di Dio, here we are.”
“And what an amazing place it is.” Seb reached out a tentative hand, stroked across the filly’s flank. Downy soft, if a bit sticky, he fell hard for the little miracle. “Thank you for bringing me here. I can’t put into words how much it means to me.”
Beaming, Andrea leaned in, and brushed a promise of a kiss over his lips.