Scotch by night

Maria walks out onto the street from the dark stairwell and is struck by heat, light and smell from her city. It is an autumn afternoon and it is still hot. She is wearing a worn dress that extends below her knees, and she is hungry. Turning right she heads down the hill towards the harbour. Familiar doorways glide past on either side of the cobbled, narrow street. The smells of garbage and food mix and partly obscure her hunger. Her steps are short but measured, she does not run. Her dark hair is collected at the back and she can feel the worn bra chafe against her young breasts. The buckle on her left shoe has been mended but the metal digs into the top of her foot.

She starts walking along the waterfront. The harbour is full of grey warships flying the Union Jack, and sloops of different sizes are criss-crossing the choppy waters as they ferry crews between the shore and the moored destroyers and cruisers. She knows some of their shapes and names.

The sun really is hot today. Sweat is collecting on her forehead and under her arms. Now she has arrived at one of the landing points and stops to survey the scene. A group of sailors has just landed and are making their way down a street towards a line of taverns. Hawkers and prostitutes display their wares in more and sometimes less discreet fashion as they walk by. Fortunately, they pay no attention to Maria.

She walks closer to the landing and spots a new sloop heading for shore. A mass of sailors fill it, moving up and down and jerking from side to side with the movement of the boat. This has to be it. Fear and hunger give way to determination.

The sloop settles its bow gently against a rubber tire and rotates until it lies alongside. As one the sailors climb ashore. Maria scans them. Young, younger, older, tall, short, dark-eyed; one stares at her intently and she looks away. Her eyes fall on a man with a slightly different uniform. He’s a tiny bit older, not very tall. He has a mild air about him. Almost like a father. Yes, more a father than a soldier. The markings on his uniform are also different, but she does not know their meaning.

She strides forcefully across the cobbled surface towards him, and thankfully he is standing on his own between groups of other sailors talking in excited voices. She stops in front of him, and she can feel the eyes of the rest on both of them as she fixes his eyes under his cap. He meets her gaze. “Pane”, she says, her voice suddenly quaking. “Bread”. He doesn’t blink, shows no reaction. Neither approval nor rejection. She repeats her plea. “Pane. Abbiamo fame. Brother. Mother. No papa”.
Her mother has taught her a few words in English. The man in front of her seems to understand. Up close she can judge his age, he looks to be about 30. A man, not a boy. This reassures her. She made a good choice. He will be gentle with her.

Finally he speaks. “OK”, he says. He lifts his wrist and points to his watch. “Six o’clock” he says. And then he points to the ground to make her understand where they shall meet, and all she can see are her shoes.

“Grazie” she mutters and turns to go, followed by the usual whistles and calls. But maybe they are fewer than normal.

The image of his hand remains. The fine watch. The starched shirt of his summer uniform. A wedding ring.

At six o’clock she is there and so is he, standing close to a building in the shadows. She does not see him at first and feels an intense disappointment which gives way to relief and then disappointment when she cannot see any bag of food. As she gets close she sees with relief that he has a strange-looking sack on his back. She turns around before she reaches him and motions him to follow her.

Walking back is dream-like, even for these dream-like times. There seems to be eyes everywhere, and she knows these eyes, they are also her own eyes as she has herself watched and judged the silent actors in this pantomime. The familiar black door is on her left now and yields to her push. The three flights of stairs are heavy. He is right behind her. Is he looking at her slender legs and the way she hardly fills her dress? Before the war she was a girl, and they called her ciccia, chubby. Now she is a woman and skinny. And feels like a girl.
On the landing she stops and looks at him in the semi-darkness, to make sure he is there, that there is food, that he is real. The thought of what lies ahead explodes into her mind. Her stomach rebels again, against the background of hunger.

Then they are in the kitchen with her little brother and her mother. The sailor puts down the sack which seems heavy and filled with promise. But its contents are not given up for free. The sailor breaks the terrible silence of the room. “Buonasera. Mi chiamo Andrew”. After a brief pause he adds “Andy. Mi chiamo Andy”. A shadow of a smile on the lips of Maria’s mother. “Silvia”, she says. She nods towards Maria´s brother. “Paolo”.

Then Silvia has pushed the two of them into the living room which is also the bedroom and closed the door behind them. The sofa bed is open with a white sheet on it which shines like a ghost. It is the only bright object in the entire room. Maria and Tom are standing close to each other. She can smell his perfume and his sweat. She can feel herself trembling. He lifts his right hand slowly, it takes ages to travel towards her body and then it lands on her left cheek. He says something she cannot understand, and suddenly they are in the kitchen again, in the light, with the familiar faces of mother and brother, and the familiar cupboards and the sink.

Andrew sits down unbidden and takes out food from the sack, which looks like something from the previous war. But the food is nothing like that. The black market is a treasure chest if you have the right key. There is bread, cheese, oil, margarine, a bottle of wine and then a whole raw chicken. “Ma è freschissimo!” her mother exclaims, unable to control herself. Even Maria can see that. It has been dead for an hour at the most, and is still covered in feathers.

Silvia is a beautiful widow. Once famed for her figure she still has a grace in her movements which catches the eye. With a light touch of Andrew’s hand she motions him to his feet and then they are gone behind the closed doors to the living room. Maria and Paolo look at each other.

Maria puts the chicken on the table and plucks a few feathers from it and shows Paolo that she wants him to complete the job. She moves to the wall and looks through a big crack in the plaster. There is little light, but her eyes gradually adjust.

The sailor is lying on his back with Silvia sitting next to him. Maria holds her breath. The sailor’s trousers are unfastened and pulled down, and then his sex appears in Silvia’s hand. The hand moves rhythmically and determinedly. There is no hesitation. Silvia lies down and unbuttons her shirt, unclasps her bra, frees her breasts, which are hidden from Maria’s view. But she sees Andrew touch them, then he must be kissing them, and suddenly they are kissing face to face. Silvia’s hand is moving steadily. Andrew’s body tenses and Maria can see him open his mouth. She can’t hear anything except the steady sound of a chicken being plucked. Then there is a shower from Silvia’s hands. Maria half knew about this but it is still a shock. Stranger things happen when Andrew slides his hand under Silvia’s skirt and Maria can see the hand moving and now it’s her mother’s turn to tense her body. Andrew and Silvia’s heads are close together, there is whispering. Now Andrew turns over and reaches for something and when he brings it to his sex Maria understands and she is not surprised when the sailor rolls on top of his mother. They start to fuck. And this time there is sound. It’s the sound of her mother enjoying sex. Maria has heard this through open windows and sometimes in dark alleys and she recognizes it. Silvia reaches a climax which is loud and Maria looks around but there is only Paolo and the chicken which is almost naked.

Andrew has rolled off and is lying on his back, and Silvia is playing with him and kissing him. Now she pulls away the condom and swings on top of him and rides him. Maria cannot see anything under the skirt but there can be no doubt. After a little while she jumps to the side and grabs Andrew’s sex and there is another, shorter shower. Maria thinks she can hear her mother’s laughter, the laughter of a young, carefree person.

Silvia and Maria prepare the meal and they break the bread and divide that and the wine between the four of them. The chicken, too. Andrew makes it back before curfew by the tiniest of margins and is spared dishonour.

Paolo, Maria and Silvia go to bed, and soon Maria can hear her family sleep. Her hand slips between her legs and between the bristly hair on her vulva she finds a sensitive spot. She rubs it, and an exquisite feeling joins the pleasure of a full belly. A void opens between her legs. Maria explores the void. Her fingers come away moist and she smells herself and without shame she brings out her very first orgasm with the image of Andrew’s sex before her closed eyes.