Before we had children we went to Sicily for vacation. We left the coastal road between Milazzo and Cefalù, and took a road into the interior, that climbed the hills. It ended, or we left it, at a small town closed up for the midday, with nothing to see. We were here for the restaurant, which the guidebook had mentioned. It was behind swinging beads. Inside sat the entire town.

I only remember the end of the meal. They brought us a very big bowl of cherries, and, even though we were past the limits of what we could eat, we started eating them. I think we were supposed to take a few and stop, sated, but we weren’t like that. I remember the spiral staircase to the basement, and I remember remounting, still uncomfortably full. We paid and went out to the piazza, to see if I could feel better there. We sat on a bench and stared into the dusty valley. We got in the car and drove the switchbacks back down to the coast, and then the winding, crowded coast road to our next hotel, where I was quarantined by my fullness to our room. I was so full I was sick with fullness. I was too full to do anything except be full.

The next day I felt better, but my eye hurt and we went to a doctor. Everyone in the waiting room wanted to know if we were there because I was pregnant. Now I see the answer was, We were there precisely because I was not.