The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
*****
I was sitting outside Marco's uncle's café in Naples late on a balmy summer evening.
Marco and I had a standing joke. As usual he asked me:
"Roger, are you still wearing long socks?"
"Of course. You know why."
"They'll get you into trouble one day."
That exchange happened every time Marco and I met. So far my long socks had kept out of trouble.
I hadn't expected to be in Naples again so soon. I had stayed with Marco over the New Year, and he had visited me in England at Easter. We had thought, now that we had completed our advanced specialist training that we would not see each other again soon. But my father had pulled some strings. He had been sent to Aden for a few weeks on business and had arranged for my mother and I to meet him in Cairo, with a free flight on an RAF transport plane.
He had found 1st class cabins for us on a Dutch liner returning from Indonesia. We had joined the liner at Port Said and Naples was the next port.
The ship, or at least the 1st class part of it, was under occupied. I had spent most of my time on board in and around the swimming pool. The only people near my age were the stewards and stewardesses who had plenty of free time with so few passengers. I had enjoyed their company and had improved my few words of Dutch into some proper conversations, even if they preferred to practise their English.
My parents had arranged to visit Pompeii and Herculaneum before going on to another of Marco's relations for a sumptuous meal in Amalfi. I had seen too many Roman remains on my several visits to Italy over the years we had known Marco's family.
On the other side of the square there was a commotion. I heard a woman swearing loudly in Dutch and obviously upset. I stood up to see a tall young blonde woman being teased by some local men. One would pinch her bottom and when she turned around, another would pinch again. It might have been harmless fun between friends, but her distress seemed genuine.
If she had been local I would have ignored her predicament. But a Dutch woman must be from the ship. I crossed the square, not noticing that Marco was close behind. As I reached her, I could see that she was crying.
I shouted, in Italian, at the men, telling them to leave her alone. One of them turned to challenge an obvious foreigner interfering with an Italian male pursuit. What he might have said or done stuck in his throat. I was angry, and my size can be intimidating. I am tall and muscular.
Marco added a few words, quietly in the local dialect. He knew the man and addressed him by name. I understood Marco to say that the joke had gone too far and his English friend was not someone to challenge. I had brushed the men aside and put my arm around the woman's shoulder, telling her, in Dutch, that she was OK now, she was with friends.
As I started to speak Dutch she relaxed. When she recognised me as a passenger she threw herself into my arms and cried on my shoulder. I half-carried her across the square back to our table. Marco said a few more calming words to the men before following us.
I recognised the woman as the baby of the stewardesses, probably about nineteen or maybe twenty years old. At twenty-eight I felt ancient holding her. She wouldn't let me go and I sat down with her on my lap. Her words were very slurred, so indistinct that I had some difficulty understanding her.
Marco ordered some black coffee. I had to hold the cup while she sipped it. Gradually she calmed down. Apparently she had been with a group of stewards, including her brother. This had been her first voyage and she had never been to Naples. The stewards had been to several bars and had bought her several drinks before they decided to go to a night club. They were told that it was for men only. She didn't want to spoil their evening so she thought she could get a taxi in the square. But the men had started pinching her and wouldn't stop...
I explained to Marco in Italian.
"Stupid brother!" Marco said. "This is Naples. A woman out this late, on her own, is considered fair game. He should have known better. What are you going to do with her, Roger?"
"Try to sober her up. I think she has had more than a few drinks and possibly stronger than she expected. Then? A taxi?"
"No taxi. They charge the earth at this time of evening. I'll run you two back to the ship - as long as she isn't sick in my car. Do you think more coffee would help?"
"I don't know."
The woman whispered in my ear.
"Marco," I said, "She needs a toilet. Is your sister around?"
"No. She's with our parents. And my uncle doesn't have any women staff working evenings. Can you get her to the back of the restaurant? There's a staff toilet that would be more discreet than the customers' one."
"I can try. At worst, I could carry her."
"It looks as if you might have to, Roger."
I tried standing her up. Her legs were like jelly. I lifted her in my arms and followed Marco. As we passed, Marco's uncle shook his head pityingly. Marco opened the toilet door. I carried her in and shut the door behind me.
I had to sit her on the toilet, lift her dress, take her panties off, and hold her in place. I stuffed the panties in my jacket pocket. When she had finished I dried her, washed my hands, and carried her back outside. Marco was waiting.
"I think you should get her back to the ship now, before she is totally out of it."
"Too late," I replied. "She's too far gone. Can you get your car?"
"It's there, Roger," Marco said, pointing across the square. "Let's go. We'll see each other again soon. I'm coming back to England next month for yet another training course."
"You've got a posting? That's good."
"Might have a posting in the UK, if I complete the training course, but my English has to be better. My parents want me to stay with you. The course venue is only a few miles away."
"Great. I'm sure my parents will agree, and..."
"I want to practise my English with your sister, Roger. Is that OK?"
"My sister! That's up to her, not me. I know she likes you, but she is her own woman. I wouldn't dare tell her what to do. She'd thump me. Watch out that she doesn't thump you. She has a mean fist."
"I'm sure she wouldn't..."
"I admire your confidence, Marco, but be careful. She has got a worse temper than I have."
"But I have Italian charm."
"Maybe. But don't try pinching her bottom. Helen's reaction would be violent."
"I won't. What do you think of me as a prospective brother-in-law?"
"You're serious, Marco, aren't you?"
"Yes, Roger, I wouldn't have said that if I wasn't."
"I'd be delighted. If Helen wants you, I would congratulate you both."
"I've asked her twice. She hasn't said no..."
"Nor yes?"
"Not yet. She suggested that the answer could be maybe and that maybe could change if I can get a good posting and prospects."
"Best of luck. But we should get this sleeping beauty back to the ship, and forget we ever saw her."
"OK, Roger. I'll forget."
"Promise? This is important."
"It is? OK. I promise. I didn't see her and nothing happened, but you had better sit in the back holding her. She is just a limp heap."
Marco drove us to the port. We had to argue at the dock gate. Taxis were allowed in, not private cars. But the guard knew Marco's parents and relented. Marco drove us close to the gangplank. I had to ease the woman out of the car and sling her across my shoulder in a fireman's lift.
At the top of the gangplank the Assistant Purser was standing watching me struggle up the steep slope. He should have asked me for my boarding pass. He didn't.
"What have you got there, Roger?" he asked.
