But she was afraid. That was the truth. And to feel fear was specially hateful to her, because she abhorred cowardice, and was inclined to despise all timidity as springing from weakness of character.
She dreaded reaching Mergellina. She dreaded seeing this woman, Ruffo’s mother. And Ruffo? Did she dread seeing him?
She fought against her fear. Whatever might befall her she would remain herself, essentially separate from all other beings and from events, secure of the tremendous solitude that is the property of every human being on earth.
“Pain, misery, horror, come from within, not from without.” She said that to herself steadily. “I am free so long as I choose, so long as I have the courage to choose, to be free.”
And saying that, and never once allowing her mind to state frankly any fear, she came down to the harbor of Mergellina.
The harbor and its environs looked immensely gay in the brilliant sunshine. Life was at play here, even at its busiest. The very workers sang as if their work were play. Boats went in and out on the water. Children paddled in the shallow sea, pushing hand-nets along the sand. From the rocks boys were bathing. Their shouts travelled to the road where the fishermen were talking with intensity, as they leaned against the wall hot with the splendid sun.
Hermione looked for Ruffo’s face among all these sun-browned faces, for his bright eyes among all the sparkling eyes of these children of the sea.
But she could not see him. She walked along the wall slowly.
“Ruffo—Ruffo—Ruffo!”
She was summoning him with her mind.