Ines was eleven, and she had never seen the sea. Her grandfather Matteo, seventy-three, had promised: "When you are eleven, I will show you." They lived in the hills, three hundred kilometers from the coast, so they set off on his old tandem, a bicycle with two seats. Matteo talked about the sea like a book: "It is big, it is blue, it breathes."
It rained, and a tire went flat. On the third day, on the big pass, Matteo's knee hurt, and he said they should go back. "No," said Ines, and she pedaled for both of them.
On the sixth day Matteo had to sit down at the last ridge. Ines ran ahead and, before she saw anything, heard a long soft sound, like a great breath. "Grandpa, listen!" They climbed up together, and there it was, shining to the edge of the sky.
"I must tell you something," Matteo said quietly. "I have never seen it either. I only knew it from a book." Ines laughed. "Then we are seeing it for the first time together." He took off his boots and walked into the water, shouting like a boy.
