Free The House in Amalfi by Elizabeth Adler

that I repeated after him, intrigued that anything could have two names.
    We walked through the pines, along the path to the back of the Castello Pirata, where the maids tut-tutted over the story of me being left all alone by my father, locked out of my house and wearing only a wet bathing suit. Garmentswere found to wrap me in—a too-large sweater, a pair of shorts—and hot chocolate was made specially for me.
    Thrilled with my big adventure, I thanked them and said good-bye; then I followed Mifune back through the beautiful gardens that I now saw with wide new eyes.
    When we got home, the front door was open and Jon-Boy was there, searching anxiously for me.
    “Oh my God, there you are!” He hoisted me off my feet, hugging me to his chest. “You scared me, Lamour. I saw your bathing suit was gone and there was no sign of you in the sea. Jesus!” He crushed me to him again and I felt his heart pounding. He then suddenly noticed we were not alone.
    “Signore,”
Mifune said, bowing.
    “Signore.”
Jon-Boy also bowed.
    “I am Mifune, the gardener at the Castello. Your daughter was alone. She could not get into the house. She was cold and wet.”
    Jon-Boy heard the reproof in Mifune’s voice. “I apologize to Lamour, and to you, Mifune,” he said politely. “It was unavoidable but also inexcusable.”
    “Mifune took me to the Castello,” I interrupted, still excited by my important adventure. “They gave me hot chocolate and these clothes.”
    “Then we must thank Mifune for helping you.” The two men assessed each other. “I’m thanking you from the bottom of my heart,” Jon-Boy added. “Lamour’s my girl; she means everything to me.”
    Mifune nodded. “She is a fine
piccolina
even though she talks too much,” he said, and Jon-Boy laughed. “I would be happy if you would take tea with me, at my cottage in the Castello’s grounds, tomorrow, at four o’clock,” he added, and Jon-Boy said we’d be delighted.
    Mifune bowed and said good-bye, walking away with thatsoundless loping walk. Jon-Boy said his invitation sounded like a royal command and we’d better go, so the following afternoon, dressed in my best, which wasn’t much, a T-shirt and shorts, but at least was better than the old red bathing suit, and carrying a gift of some Amaretto cookies wrapped in pink tissue paper, I walked together with Jon-Boy through the pine trees to take tea at Mifune’s house.
    I’d never seen anything like it. It looked like a Japanese temple. Two columns supported a pedimented roof that rose to a peak, then swooped in a gentle curve to deep overhanging eaves. Three low steps led up to the porch, where a small brass gong awaited by the front door. The shoji-screened windows had, of necessity, been flanked by Italian wooden shutters against winter storms, but for the rest Mifune’s home looked completely Japanese.
    Feeling as though I were in storybook land, I struck the gong softly, announcing our arrival.
    Mifune came to the door. “
Signore, signorina,
please enter,” he said with that curious little bow.
    I looked at the shiny bamboo floor, at the shoji screens dividing the single room, and at the tatami mats around the low table in its center. The only other piece of furniture was a long narrow table that Jon-Boy told me later was an antique elm-wood altar table. It held a small shrine where a candle was lit to honor the ancestors Mifune had never known.
    The old man busied himself preparing tea, presenting the three thin porcelain bowls on a black enamel tray. He poured strong green tea from a pot with a bamboo handle and he and Jon-Boy talked while I stared around me, taking everything in.
    I’d never seen a home like this, never met anyone like Mifune. And I was willing to bet he’d never met anyone like me, either. I looked at him and smiled. I knew we were going to be friends.
    From that day on, Mifune kept watch over me. He always seemed to know where I was and when I was alone. He began to teach