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Massimo Marcovaldo was a man of few words. Even so, he often felt at a loss for any of them when it came to Alberto Scorfano, but that was usually because he was busy parsing through the unexpected feelings the boy raised in him. Namely, confusion; but also, amusement, fondness, admiration, and with increasing frequency, exasperation and frustration. There was no doubt that Alberto was the single most chaotic being that Massimo had ever met. At the moment, however, Massimo was able to easily identify his emotions: fear and anger.
Alberto Scorfano was also experiencing fear as he staggered to the shore. He honestly had not known that fire would leak or that it ate boats! Dropping Machiavelli, who streaked down the beach in soggy feline indignation, Alberto turned towards Massimo, who was staring at the boat in horror with his hand pressed to his forehead.
“Massimo,” Alberto started, but the large man turned and glared at him in a way that froze the words in his mouth. Swallowing hard, Alberto turned away. He didn’t even bother to ask if he was fired. There was no way that the older man would want to keep him around now. He was officially the worst employee of all time. He had literally burned the boat - the very tool by which they made their living - to a crisp. Tears threatened and Alberto fled to his room - his former room now, he guessed - and grabbed what clothes he could and shoved them into the suitcase Massimo had given him when he had once worried that he was unprepared if Luca might need him unexpectedly. He felt guilty taking the gifts Massimo had given him, but without any choice, Alberto packed and told himself that once he found a job somewhere else, Alberto would send him money - and maybe an apology letter.
On his way through the kitchen to the front door, Alberto glanced out the window and saw that Massimo had dragged the boat towards the shore and was standing next to it in knee high water. It was no longer burning, but smoke still drifted up from the charred wooden frame. Massimo was still dumping buckets of water on the smoldering portions and Alberto let his eyes linger on him for a moment, tears prickling in his own, a few escaping and tracking down his face. Massimo finally set the bucket down and limped onto the beach and Alberto stepped back hastily, quickly taking his leave and going out the front door. He rubbed his face quickly, dashing away the tears, and let his feet take the lead.
After running to the end of the street, Alberto paused. He had no idea where he was going. He supposed he could go back to Isola del Mare, but the thought of going back to the island alone was more than he could bear. After a minute, he decided to walk towards the train tracks. Maybe he could follow them to Genova, where he could hopefully find Luca and Giulia.
Shame burned in his chest at the thought of telling his friends what had happened, but Alberto had nowhere else to go. He started up the hill that would lead to the train station. If he were lucky, it wouldn’t rain.
As for Massimo, the minute the fire was out and the boat was secured enough to not float away or sink, he went looking for Alberto. He had seen enough of the teenaged sea monster - and the cat, and why was Alberto always taking Machiavelli out in the boat? - to know that he wasn’t seriously injured when he’d first run down the stairs and out to the beach. Now, he wanted to find him and make sure that he wasn’t injured at all. He also wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled and make him understand that taking the boat out alone was dangerous, even when it didn’t catch on fire, even for a sea monster. He had just scolded Alberto for that very thing; or rather, he had caught Alberto in the boat and Alberto had rushed to say that he knew it was against the rules. Massimo had let it go earlier, trying as always to walk that fine line between being Alberto’s … whatever he was and…
That thought gave him pause. What was he? For all that Alberto kept referring to himself as Massimo’s employee, that had never truly been their relationship. Massimo stood in the kitchen, hand on the door towards the stairs which would lead to Alberto’s room, noting for the first time that he was shaking. Blowing out a slow breath, Massimo tried to center himself. He wasn’t shaking because he was angry, he was shaking because he was scared. Of what, he asked himself. The answer came to him immediately. He was scared of losing Alberto.
Turning, Massimo pulled out a chair at the table and took a heavy seat. He needed to understand his own thoughts before he went to Alberto and while he didn’t want to leave the boy alone too long, he also didn’t want to go to him unprepared. Taking another breath, Massimo drummed his fingers on the table. He was scared. He was also angry. He was angry that Alberto continually ignored the rules - rules that were made to prevent precisely the type of situation where Alberto might be hurt, or might do severe damage to himself, others, or property.
Pondering that for a moment, Massimo also admitted to himself that he was angry that Alberto had set their boat on fire. They depended on that boat for their livelihood and money didn’t grow in gardens next to basil plants. Thankfully, Massimo had already seen that the boat was fixable, but that didn’t mean that the loss of several days' catch was going to be easily absorbable on their already tight budget. It was particularly upsetting because Massimo knew that Alberto knew it was against the rules for him to be on the boat. Let alone at night. And God help them all, what in the hell had Alberto been doing on the boat at night by himself (with the damn cat!)?
His thoughts now going in a circle that only succeeded in stirring up the very feelings he had just calmed, Massimo stood up. He would go upstairs and talk to Alberto, figure out what in the oceans the boy had been thinking, and go from there. He didn’t want to delay any longer. Luca had once let it slip that Alberto had spent over a year by himself waiting for his padre stronzo and Massimo had made it a point to never keep himself away from Alberto for long if Alberto was upset.
Of course, that did no good if Alberto wasn't where he should be. Massimo opened the door to Alberto’s room, after his knock had gone unanswered, and looked around. At some point, he would have to address the fact that Alberto’s coping mechanism whenever there was conflict was to run away,but at the moment, he just wanted to know he was safe. Clothes were strewn all over the bed and floor and Massimo barely paused before he was back downstairs. He didn’t even pause long enough to grab his hat.
Instinctively, Massimo turned towards the train. He knew Alberto would have considered going back to Isle de Mare, but he also knew that he wouldn’t have gone back there. It was not a place of happy memories for Alberto. Massimo went towards town, his large stride eating the distance. After about 10 minutes, he rounded a corner and saw Alberto halfway up the big hill that led into the heart of town. His heart constricted painfully in relief.
“What are you doing?” Massimo’s voice came out gruffer than he’d intended, but Alberto stopped and turned around with a scowl that almost immediately melted into a look of guilt and shame.
“I quit.” Alberto said, eyes dropping to the ground. His hands spasmed on the handle of the case. “I can’t do it. I’m not good at this. I’m not good at being your… employee.”
Alberto half turned away, trying to hide his embarrassment and shame. Massimo reached for the case, “No,” he began, but Alberto’s thin line of self-control snapped, and he yanked the case back under his arm.
“Why do you even care?” Alberto shouted, turning away and taking several steps. “You don’t even like me. You don’t even talk to me.”
Massimo let his hand fall to his waist, trying to figure out how to respond. “Alberto!” he half-shouted. Alberto didn’t even pause. If anything, he sped up and Massimo gave chance. “Ma, Alberto!” he tried again, reaching out and grabbing Alberto’s shoulder. Alberto whirled on him.
“Just let me go, Dad!” Alberto shouted. Then his eyes went wide and for a long slow breath, man and boy stared at each other. Then Alberto’s face crumpled, and Massimo caught a glimpse of unfathomable grief mixed with vulnerability and a desperate fear of rejection. Alberto’s hand went limp, and he dropped the case. Immediately, he knelt to pick it up and Massimo dropped his hand on it, pushing it gently back to the ground. He opened his mouth to speak, for once uncertain what might come out, but desperate to erase the pain he could see in Alberto’s eyes.
“I once made my father so angry, he punched a hole in a brick wall,” Massimo said.
Alberto blinked at him owlishly, glancing down at the case and then back up to Massimo’s face. “Really?” he asked. Massimo nodded gravely and Alberto leaned forward, eyes locked on Massimo’s. “Then what happened?”
Massimo hesitated for a heartbeat. “Well,” he said slowly, “we fixed it.” He took a breath, lifting his hand part way up and searching his mind for anything he could say to help make sure Alberto felt fully at ease, but before he could think of anything, Alberto threw himself at Massimo and wrapped his arms around the bigger man’s neck. Expression softening, Massimo wrapped his arm around Alberto and hugged him until he felt Alberto fully relax. Tilting his head to rest it on Alberto’s for a moment, Massimo breathed out.
After a moment, Alberto pulled away self-consciously and picked up his case. He picked up his case as Massimo climbed to his feet. “Now what?” Alberto asked.
Massimo gently took Alberto’s free hand in his own. “Now, we go home,” he said.
“Home,” Alberto breathed, and he glanced at Massimo. “Are you… still mad at me?”
Massimo considered his words carefully. “I am not happy. You broke the rules, again,” he said. "You could have been hurt. You burned our boat. He fixed the boy with a stern look and watched as Alberto immediately dropped his gaze to the road.
They walked the streets in silence until they were almost home. Right before the turn towards the house, Alberto stopped. “Did your dad… leave you… before, you know, you fixed the wall?”
“What?” Massimo stopped too. “No.” Massimo tightened his hand where it had been resting on Alberto’s shoulder and turned the boy so that their eyes met. “And I will not leave you, Alberto. You have a home with me as long as you want it.”
“But I broke the rules,” Alberto whispered, eyes filling with tears. “I burned up the boat! Maybe you would be better off without me.”
“No, Alberto, I will never be better without you.” Massimo tugged Alberto back into a tight hug. “All boys break rules. It is the father’s job to help you learn from your mistakes.”
Alberto considered this and absently scuffed his toes on the cobblestones. “You’ve helped me learn things,” he said slowly. “You taught me about human fishing and how to eat pasta with a fork and how to mail letters.”
“Sì,” Massimo said slowly. “And my father taught me those things as well.” Gently, he guided them the remainder of the way home and up the stairs.
“What did you do that made your father so angry?” Alberto asked, once they were inside the house. Massimo took the case away from Alberto and set it by the stairs that led up to the bedrooms.
“I stole some money from him,” Massimo admitted. “I was about your age, and I wanted to buy a record player. He said no.”
“You did?” Alberto’s eyes were huge, and Massimo led them both over to the sofa. He eased himself down and reached out to pull an unresisting Alberto into his lap. “I did,” Massimo admitted. “He was so angry when he realized what I’d done - and how I’d done it - that he punched a hole in the wall.”
“Wow.” Alberto did not seem self-conscious at all about being in Massimo’s lap and Massimo leaned back and tucked Alberto against him. “Did you get to keep the record player?”
“Yes,” Massimo admitted. “But he took it away until I'd repaid him all the money I stole as part of my punishment.”
Alberto turned slightly, eyes searching Massimo’s face carefully. He didn’t know how to ask the question he wanted to ask. Massimo watched him for a moment, then smiled slightly. “No, Alberto, he did not leave me. He stuck my nose in a corner until he calmed down. Then he spanked me. We fixed the wall the next day.”
“Spanked?” Alberto’s eyebrows knit together in confusion and Massimo chuckled.
“Sì. It means he swatted his hand against my sedere, my bottom, until he was certain I would not make the same mistakes again, or at least, until he was certain I wouldn't do it again without considering whether it was worth another spanking.”
Alberto looked outraged. “That would hurt!’
“Sì,” Massimo chuckled again. “That was the point.”
“He hurt you on purpose?” Alberto now sounded aghast, and Massimo squeezed him for a moment.
“It is not the kind of hurt that stays. It is the kind of hurt that makes bad feelings go away.” Massimo reached up to rub his neck at the memory. “Papà was… very disappointed with me. I felt guilty. Once the spanking was over, the bad feelings left. I did not feel guilty. He was not angry.”
Alberto looked skeptical but fascinated. "Do all humans do this?"
"It's usually a punishment between parents and their children." Massimo hedged.
“Sea monsters don’t do that,” Alberto said.
Massimo shrugged. “Hard to do underwater. And with tails.”
Alberto pondered that for a moment. “I don’t have a tail on land,” he said, hesitantly. “Are you going to spank me?”
The question caught Massimo off guard, and he gazed at the boy in his lap thoughtfully. Honestly, the thought had crossed his mind, but. Alberto’s mischief was not designed to be challenging of authority. It was a mixture of ignorance and a desperate desire to please. Still, the boy had known that the boat was off limits, and he knew why, yet he had still insisted on disobeying the rule several times in a short span. Plus, the way that Alberto was looking at him, questioningly, almost challengingly, made Massimo hesitate. It was clear that Alberto was pressing for reassurance, and Massimo had inadvertently given him something to use as a measurement. "Alberto, spankings hurt."
Alberto frowned at him. " You said it was the kind of hurt that made bad feelings go away.”
“Sì,” Massimo agreed.
“I feel bad,” Alberto whispered, looking away from Massimo. “I feel bad all the time. I feel bad that I don’t know things and I feel bad that I break the rules and I feel bad that I fight you about the rules being stupid, even when they are, and I make everything hard. I feel bad that I ran away. I feel bad that I didn’t leave sooner and save you the trouble. Maybe I am bad.”
“Alberto, stop.” Massimo ordered firmly, taking the boy’s chin in his fingers and gently tipping his head up to meet his eyes. “We all have to learn sometime. We all make mistakes. As long as you do your best to undo any harm that comes from them, then you are not bad.”
Alberto nodded, tears swimming in his eyes, but he hunched in on himself and Massimo sighed, heart aching. “Non scappare più da me, figlio mio. I will help you with the bad feelings.” Alberto swallowed hard, eyes huge. “Before we do this, know that it will sting your bottom. You will not enjoy it. When it is over, it is over. No more bad feelings from you. No more anger from me.”
“Ok.” Now that Massimo agreed, Alberto looked nervous. “Will it hurt forever?”
“A day or two,” Massimo reassured.
“Ok,” Alberto agreed, pressing a hand to his stomach. “My stomach is flipping.”
“You do not have to be scared. I will be with you the whole time.”
That was the right thing to say, and Alberto twisted to fling his arms around Massimo again. “What do we do next?”
Massimo squeezed Alberto, then eased him to his feet. He gestured to a corner. “Stand there, and put your nose in the corner. I will finish cleaning up.”
“I can help,” Alberto started but Massimo shook his head.
“I will clean up. You will think about why you are about to get a spanking.”
“Ok,” Alberto said hesitantly, and Massimo squeezed his shoulder and walked him to the corner. Turning him gently, Massimo made sure he was in the right position and then stepped back. “Massimo?” Alberto's vice was shaking.
“I’m not leaving,” Massimo said softly. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” Massimo didn’t rush, but he didn’t dawdle either. It wasn’t his first time giving a spanking, but it was his first-time spanking Alberto, and Massimo wanted to make sure that he did right by the boy. He finished the last of the dishes, wiping down the stove and counter as he worked. Then he fed Machiavelli and finished wiping off the table. By this time, he could hear sniffles coming from the living room.
With all the pressing chores done, Massimo had the rest of the evening to care for Alberto. He walked into the living room and cleared his throat. Alberto jumped, but he didn’t turn around. “Come here,” Massimo called softly, and Alberto turned. His eyes were red, and he was clearly crying, breaking Massimo’s heart. He steeled himself, though, knowing that Alberto needed his help. Alberto walked slowly to where Massimo was once again sitting on the sofa.
“I don’t know what to do,” Alberto confessed, wringing his hands together.
“Stand here,” Massimo pointed to a spot between his legs and Alberto moved into position. “Now, lower your shorts.”
Embarrassed, Alberto fumbled with the rope belt he still insisted on wearing, finally freeing it. His shorts slid down his thin legs and Massimo reached out to gently guide him over one large knee. Alberto started crying harder.
“I’m sorry,” Alberto said. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“It’s okay, Alberto.” Massimo said softly, then not wanting to leave Alberto struggling in the unknown any longer, he patted the boy’s upturned bottom over his briefs. His hand easily covered both cheeks. Taking a breath, Massimo brought his hand down in a sharp smack. Alberto sucked in a lungful of air, and turned to gaze up at Massimo with stunned amazement. Massimo did not hesitate further and brought the second swat down with equal force.
Alberto turned around again, hands holding onto Massimo’s leg tightly. After several more swats landed, Alberto’s tears turned into soft sobs. Massimo knew that he was not crying from the pain in his behind, although he suspected that it was starting to smart. Instead, Alberto was crying because Massimo cared enough to stay, even when Alberto managed to do something particularly troublesome. He cared enough to discipline him. In sum, Alberto cried because Massimo cared about him.
A series of sharp swats led to Alberto kicking his legs a bit and Massimo paused enough to tip Alberto further forward, exposing the tender spots where bottom met legs, and then shut his own legs over Alberto’s to stop future kicks. He swatted slightly harder now, wanting to bring this to an end. Alberto yelped loudly, then slumped forward with a wail.
“Daaaad, I’m sorry! I won’t go out in the boat alone again!” For the second time, hearing Alberto call him dad surprised Massimo. Delivering a few final swats, he stopped as asked, realizing that his point had been well and truly received. Flipping his hand over, he could feel heat coming through the fabric of Alberto’s briefs. Moving his hand to Alberto’s lower back, he rubbed small circles until Alberto pushed up. Helping the boy stand, Massimo was prepared this time when Alberto flung himself onto Massimo’s chest. Holding him tightly, Massimo leaned back against the wall and slowly stroked Alberto’s back until the boy stopped crying.
After a long silence, Alberto spoke again. “Dad?”
“Sì?”
“You were right. I don’t feel so bad anymore. But I’m still sorry.”
“It’s all right, Alberto. I’m not angry anymore and we will fix the boat.”
“Together?” Alberto asked and Massimo smiled, tilting to press a soft kiss to Alberto’s head.
“Sì. Together.” Content, Massimo sat on the sofa until Alberto fell asleep, listening to the boy’s deep and even breathing. He wasn’t sure what all he had gotten himself into, but anything that came from being this boy’s father was something he would welcome.