That opened up the floodgates of her discovery. By the time she got around to the pull chain that produced such gushing magic of its own, her husband was laughing. A little at her but mostly just laughter without a hint of ridicule, so she didn’t mind at all. When he began to explain in the minutest detail the intricacies of something called “plumbing,” later becoming rhapsodic when describing the engineering marvels of the Paris sewers, Giovanna listened, completely enthralled. The hours flew. He taught—she learned.
Giovanni was beginning to enjoy her. Once or twice, he had felt it only proper to inquire if she was alright, was their arduous journey beginning to take its toll, and each time she had turned to him, eyes aglow in a tired face, assuring him that no aching bones, no yearning for a bath, a hot meal—absolutely nothing could spoil the wonders she was seeing of a world so unknown to her before. It came to him that maybe he had not made such a bad choice after all, but, ever cautious, knowing what still lay ahead, he reserved his final opinion of her until they had crossed the sea and arrived safely in Detroit. That Giovanna was adaptable, he was beginning to learn. Just how adaptable, he would still wait and see. It did puzzle him that she seemed so completely oblivious of her new state of wifehood, her attitude so devoid of any bridal coyness or feminine sham. Not one flirtatious look, no inviting gesture had been directed his way. What he was so used to from women, he now found completely lacking in the one he had taken to wife. He assured himself this was actually a relief … still, it piqued his vanity that she had not even given him the opportunity to rebuff her. Of course, this could still change once they found themselves in proper lodgings, in a private room with a bed. Still, it irritated him that this lanky girl, with her plain face, seemed so unaware of him as a male. Or was she pretending? Could there be a passionate woman hidden beneath the excellent traveling companion not given to feminine frailties? Somehow, he doubted it. No, a sensible housekeeper he had come for, and a sensible housekeeper he had acquired. A real woman to moan under him he could find anywhere. Giovanni checked his pocket watch against the big wooden clock on the waiting room wall and, putting on his coat and hat, motioned Giovanna to pick up their bags and follow him out the door. Another swaying carriage—this one so long one couldn’t see the faces of one’s fellow passengers sitting at the far end of it, with real linen curtains, their edges stitched, and padded armrests covered in pebbly leather. Everything was so elegant; there was even a private place to relieve oneself, and the slats of the benches were placed so close together, they actually touched. Thoroughly impressed, Giovanna settled into her corner, a little sad she was leaving. Oh, the dames had certainly been a marvel, the tip of Monsieur Eiffel’s Tower too, to say nothing of the trolley car ride—yet there had to be more of such marvels in Paris, and she wished she had been given the chance to see those too.
The train hurried towards the night’s horizon as though anxious to reach the sea. Giovanna yearned to see what it would look like, yet wondered if by its very vastness it might make her fear to journey upon its ominous surface, and that would never do. When taking her marriage vows, she had silently made one of her own: never to show fear, thereby embarrass, hinder, become a burden to the man who, by making her his wife, was taking her to the land of opportunity and freedom. Though a vow did not carry any religious obligation for Giovanna, her gratitude to Giovanni did, and for him she intended to keep it, no matter what the future might demand of her.
Too dark now to watch the moving images, she turned from the window, observing her husband as he read the English-language newspaper he had bought for himself from the station kiosk. Of course, she had assumed that he could read. Having such important employment would require it. Still, it was reassuring to actually witness him doing so. Quite unexpectedly she caught herself wondering if this man sitting across from her might be considered by others to be handsome. Antonia had certainly thought so. But then, without meaning to be unkind, Antonia found men in general interesting, so her opinion didn’t really count. Actually, his face was rather nice, maybe his mouth the best part of it, especially when he smiled. He didn’t do that often, but when he did, it felt worth waiting for. There was that contradiction about him that had always intrigued her, even when they were growing up. A difference from all the other boys—subtle, yet obvious. Like his strangely beautiful hands that showed none of the strength she knew they possessed, that belonged more to a sensitive artist or a fine gentleman than to a common man of the people. She had always liked that about him—his lack of coarseness, this unschooled elegance that seemed to be such an unself-conscious part of him. The distant lights of an approaching city attracted her eyes away from him, yet her thoughts held in place. In Torino, when he had helped her down off the train; in Paris, when he’d lifted her off the sidewalk, her body had remembered his touch as though it had had need of it. The confusion this had caused her had been so newly uncomfortable that she had immediately decided to forget it, and now, suddenly, she found that she had not. Whatever was the matter with her? Just tiredness! So stop it! she admonished herself and turned her full attention to the night passing by the window.
Giovanni folded his paper, placed it with his hat on the rack above, took his coat, and, leaning forward, draped it across Giovanna’s chest. Assuming her slight recoil to be involuntary, he settled himself for the long night. Eyes closed, Giovanna pretended sleep, hopeful that whatever was wrong with her would be cured and gone by morning.
By the time they finally arrived at their port of embarkation, her body had acquired a tiredness quite beyond its capacity of youth. It swayed regardless of where it stood, as if it now possessed a new rhythm for her to exist by. She was so afraid she might fall that she closed her eyes, hoping to regain her balance, but only for a second, for losing Giovanni in the surging crowd of travelers was even more frightening. Taking a deep breath, she stumbled after him, eyes riveted on his dodging derby headed towards the docks.
The echo cry of gulls, the acrid smell of creosote and iodine. The sea! For the first time, Giovanna smelled its distinctive odor, felt its salt sting as wind whipped her face.
“The Atlantic Ocean!” she gasped, completely overcome.