Page 59 of In the Garden of Monsters

“Oh please, Jack. She can manage. It’s just a bit of water and stone. She’s not crossing the River Styx.”

Jack, to his credit, ignored her. He took off his shoes, rolled up his pants, then stepped out into the water. Once he was sure he had solid footing, he reached out to me. I let him take me up into his arms.

Gala called out, “Careful. You wouldn’t want to drop her. Though I’m sure she’d make a lovely water nymph—drenched and desperate.”

“Very lovely,” Jack whispered in a voice only I would hear. “But it would be you making everyone else desperate,” he said as he turned to place me in the mouth of the whale.

“Now get out of there,” Gala said, not giving Jack another second with me. He let Paolo help pull him back onto land. “Off with the clothes,” she called to me.“Tout de suite.”She clapped her hands at me and stood at the brook’s edge, expecting to relieve me of my garments.

I felt like I was on a stage, one where I was completely trapped, surrounded by stone and water. Reluctantly, I removed my clothes, wrapped them in a ball, and relinquished them to Gala’s waiting arms. I let her bark posing instructions at me until she was satisfied, my limp body arranged as though I was a prize that had just been snatched up by the whale. I found myself wishing that Orpheus hadn’t wandered off after lunch. Having his little warm body against mine would have been a comfort, one I think Dalí might have tolerated.

Everyone stood on the other side of the brook, watching, and I was relieved when Dalí began painting and they grew bored and wandered off once again. I attempted conversation with him, but he was all business and only grunted out short replies. He didn’t need to say so, but that afternoon, I was clearly only the muse.

Dalí was so engrossed in his painting that he didn’t notice—or care—that my eyelids were growing heavy. The sun was warm on my skin, and the sound of the bubbling brook had a lulling effect. Before I knew it, I had drifted off to sleep, perched precariously in the whale’s gaping maw.

In my slumber, I found myself wandering the Sacro Bosco in a different time, the garden vibrant and teeming with life, a tableau from the Renaissance unfurling around me. The air was filled with the sound of lutes and flutes, their melodies intertwining with peals of laughter. Men and women in elaborate Renaissance attire mingled around me, their clothes rich with brocades and velvets, the women’s gowns flowing and the men’s doublets ornately embroidered.

I was drawn toward a grand feast set under a canopy of lush vines. Tables were laden with sumptuous dishes, reflective of the era’s lavish banquets, and around them, people were engaged in spirited conversations, their gestures animated and lively. There, in the midst of it all, was Ignazio. He stood out even in this opulent setting, clad in a finely tailored doublet, his presence commanding yet enigmatic. Our eyes met across the crowd, a moment transcending time. His gaze was intense and familiar. I began to walk toward him when I was jolted awake by a gentle, hot touch on my shoulder.

Blinking against the sunlight, I looked up to see Ignazio standing in the brook. His eyes met mine, and it set my heart to racing. I sat up and wrapped my arms around my knees, both for warmth and to cover up some part of my nakedness. How long had Ignazio been standing there? I looked beyond him and saw Dalí’s easel had been packed up and my companions were nowhere to be seen.

“Sleeping on the job, are we?”

A flush of embarrassment surged through me. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Where is everyone?”

“Lillian and Paolo returned to the palazzo earlier this afternoon. I imagine they intended to come fetch you, but, well...” His mischievous smile said what his words did not. While I loved Lillian and thought it sweet that they had probably shacked up, I was frustrated that they’d left me in this predicament.

“Jack helped Dalí pack up, and Gala asked me to bring you back to the truck. They’re waiting for us there.” Ignazio leaned over to the other bank, picked up my bundle of clothes, and handed them to me.

After putting them on, I reluctantly sat on the edge of the mossy whale mouth and let him pick me up. I couldn’t help but gasp when his heat enveloped me. I was warmed, instantly. As he set me on the opposite bank, I thought I saw steam rising from the water around his legs, but before I could say anything, he had stepped up beside me, taking up a towel Jack had left behind.

I was grateful for his help, but also a bit wary. “Thank you, Ignazio. But where have you been? You missed lunch.”

“I had some matters to attend to. I hope my absence didn’t cause too much distress.”

I couldn’t help but think of the pomegranate seeds and the tension that had been building since my arrival. “Your absence was...noticed,” I said cautiously.

“Obligations,” he said simply, turning to lead the way back to the truck.

We walked in silence for a few moments, the tension palpable but unspoken. I was still unnerved by the Fury lifting her wings. Finally, I ventured, “It’s been an unusual day.”

“Unusual is a matter of perspective,” he said. “Especially in Bomarzo.”

He got that right. I didn’t know what to respond to that, so said nothing.

After walking for a few moments, he spoke. “I have been impatient with you, Julia. And for that I’m sorry.”

I drew in a breath. “Impatient?”

He gave me that enigmatic smile that made him even more alluring.

“Yes, impatient. It was unfair. You deserve better.”

I wanted to ask him what he meant but he continued, “I heard Dalí telling Gala about your conversation on art. It seems you have a passion for painting.”

I couldn’t help but let loose a heavy sigh. “I imagine he was disparaging.”

He gave me a sympathetic smile. “Dalí thinks of himself as a supreme being, but I assure you, he’s often wrong about many things.”

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