Chapter 4

Standard disclaimer applies

Marco often spent his days on Lacrime walking around the village Crista called home. Sacro was a small, mostly residential town with a few stores and restaurants located in the center. Crista, as Marco had learned, worked as a waitress at a restaurant simply known as Carmella's. Crista had told him the full name once, but it was in her native language and he'd quickly forgotten it.

"Buongiorno, Marco!" someone called and he turned to see a late middle-aged man not far behind him. The man's dark hair was only beginning to grey and he walked with a slight limp from arthritis in his knees. Like everyone on the island, he seemed to have a perpetual, contagious grin that compelled Marco to stop and wave.

"Buongiorno, Signor Catelli," he responded. It was one of the extremely few phrases Marco had picked up in his two weeks on the island.

"Going to visit Crista?" Marco glanced around and realized he was only a few buildings away from Carmella's. He chuckled to himself.

"I guess so." Signore Catelli laughed along with him, patting Marco's shoulder.

"Why not get a job there? I'm sure Angelo would appreciate some help in delivering supplies." Marco resisted the urge to frown at the suggestion. While he was, for the most part, accepted by the citizens of Sacro, there were still a few people unwilling to trust him. Angelo was among those few.

"Maybe," Marco offered to appease the other man.

"Sì, sì. Forse. But I'm keeping you from Signorina Salvi. Tell her hello for me."

"I will." 

Signor Catelli turned away, heading in the other direction while Marco continued his walk. As he neared the tiny restaurant, he saw Crista stumble through the front doors and fall onto the dirt road. She was wearing a black attire, as was her uniform, and had an apron tied around her waist. Marco laughed at her clumsiness and offered a hand to help her stand.

"Grazie, Marco. What're you doing here?"

"Taking a walk, until you came running out like that. Signor Catelli wanted me to tell you he says hello." Crista laughed and pulled her hair out of its high ponytail, putting the elastic band on her wrist.

"He just wants a reason for me to come by and visit him soon. Lui è un uomo gentile." The two began walking together back to Crista's house, where Marco still resided in the extra room.

"You know I don't understand half of what you say," he retorted with a chuckle.

"Maybe you should learn," Crista answered. "That is, unless you plan to leave us soon." Her voice took on an almost sad tone, as though she didn't want Marco to leave. He had to admit, in these past two weeks, he had become quite used to having Crista around. Her sweetness often took his mind off of the memories he still had yet to recover.

"I don't know yet." They were silent for a few minutes, before Crista spoke again.

"Your name comes from our language, you know. It means 'war-like'. Do you think it's fitting?" Marco shrugged again; he seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"Who knows? Maybe I am, or was. Can't be sure with a lousy memory like mine."

"At least you're able to make new memories. There are some who would be in your situation and unable to do that, so I've heard." 

They entered Crista's home and she left Marco in the living room to change out of her work attire. While she was doing that, Marco walked out the kitchen door and into the garden Crista kept. There were flowers budding all around the stone walkway leading from the door. After about ten feet, the path diverged, one direction leading to the front of the house, and the other direction to the back. Marco turned the corner to go behind Crista's house and found that it was no longer surrounded by flowers, but fruits. They were of varying shapes, sizes and colors, but bore a striking resemblance to the Devil Fruit he had eaten as a child.

"Couldn't be," he mumbled as he continued to walk down the path.

"There you are!" Crista called from behind and he turned to greet her. "How do you like my garden?"

"It's nice. What are all these fruits for?"

"This is the produce the Marines buy once a year. Anyone who eats one gains a great power, but he forfeits his ability to swim. Everyone on the island grows them. When someone turns twenty-five, we have a grand ceremony in which the person eats a fruit he or she has grown."

"You grow Devil Fruits?!" Marco asked incredulously. He'd heard they were rare, but he was now standing in a garden full of them.

"Il Diavolo? No, no! Sono Le Frutte di Dio. They are God's Fruits."

Well, Marco thought, that was a different take on them.

Author's Note

Marco's basically figured out how to greet someone in the 'ancient language', but that's about the full extent of his knowledge.

What Crista says about Signor Catelli is "He is a sweet/kind man."

The last bit, she translated herself for Marco.

And "Il Diavolo" is the Devil.

Reviews

[Solitary Dreamer]

Awesome!