“What on earth are you doing?” Antonietta blurted in horrified amazement.
“Hang on,” he replied. He squatted down and carefully thrust his arms around one corner of the sculpture. He slowly pushed upwards with all of his strength. Then he stopped and said, “Just as I thought. Give me the Hell map, Contessa.”
“What? What in heaven’s name are you doing, Paulo?” she queried in stupefaction.
“Do you have a better idea? We can’t risk having any of the documents with us when we get to Roma, and we certainly can’t put them in a bank. A museum is as safe a place as anywhere I can think of.”
Antonietta frowned doubtfully at him for a moment, but then her features changed markedly, and she complied with resignation, “I suppose you’re right. See if you can lift up one corner, and I will slide the map underneath it if possible.”
Paul squatted down again, subsequently thrusting upward with all his strength. Antonietta quickly slid the sheet of parchment under the edge, and it was all over in little more than an instant.
Paul subsequently stood up, slapped his hands together as if dusting them off, and said, “Voila! Safe as a bug in a rug.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means,” Antonietta replied. “It should be as safe here as anywhere else that I can think of, Professore.”
Paul stood pondering the sculpture a moment longer, then turned to her and said, “I always knew there was something about that sculpture.”
Ignoring the innuendo, she continued, “At any rate, I agree with you about Bulgatti. He – gives me the creeps – as you Americans say.”
“Right, well, we’d better do something about him and his invisible buddies, don’t you think, Antonietta?”
“Like what, Professore?” she replied inquisitively.
“Well, first off, we should get the original of the poem to a safe place.”
“Oh, that,” she replied matter-of-factly, “I’ve already taken care of that.”
Appearing hurt, he expounded, “What?”
“Oh, don’t be a big baby,” she smiled back at him, “I probably should have told you, but it didn’t seem important at the time. Now, of course, I’m glad that I did take precautions.”
“So exactly where is it, Contessa?”
“Giovanni has it. You remember, Giovanni Bazzocchi, in Ravenna,” she answered.
“Well, that’s a relief! At least, I think it is. You’re sure that it’s safe there, Antonietta?”
“Oh, yes, I’m quite certain. The Palazzo has a vault in a well-concealed cellar.”
“That’s good,” Paul scratched his chin in thought, “What did you tell Giovanni?”
“I had it in a sealed envelope. I told him it was my will, to be opened only in the event of my passing.”
“Oh, excellent! Now I have another motive to do away with you,” and his eyes crinkled into a wry smile.
Antonietta returned his smile but queried, “Another motive? What, are we keeping score? What is your first motive?”
“It’s a secret,” he replied with contrived humor.
She grabbed his sides and said perhaps a bit too loudly, “You tell me, Professore, or I will punch you in!”
“Out,” he corrected.
“What?”
“The correct euphemism is punch you out.”
“In, out…either way, you can bet it will hurt!”
“No! I told you, it’s a secret!” he responded, laughing, “You royalty are all alike. You think you can command, and we peasants must bow unto your will,” at which he covered himself as if to block the anticipated punch.
At that moment a museum employee poked his head into the room and said imperiously, “Silenzio! Shhhhh….”
Both Paul and Antonietta immediately straightened, ceased smiling, and Paul said, “So sorry. Scusi Signore,” and the pair departed the museum as quickly as they could, appearing all the while as if they were guilty of a major crime.
Once out on the street, Antonietta immediately doubled over in laughter. “Ha! You smart ass! One of these days your little boy tricks will get you into serious trouble, Professore!”
Paul was laughing too, but he managed to blurt out, “Too late for that, Contessa. Much too late,” and at that both realized the significance of his last statement, causing both of their smiles to slowly drain away. Each peered up and down the alleyway, searching for the imagined pursuers in every possible direction. But the alleyway was thankfully devoid of all passersby.
Antonietta abruptly commenced walking toward the Campo and, tugging Paul’s arm, she queried, “So, you tried to dodge my question, Professore.”
“What question,” Paul replied with feigned confusion.
“Don’t play with me, you little stronzo! The first reason - I command you – tell me the first reason!”
“Oh, that,” he responded, still attempting to maintain an air of innocence. “I dare say, any man would want to run away with you, Contessa.”
“Run away? Run away? We were not speaking of run. You said DO away. There is a small but important difference, Professore.”
“You must have misunderstood me. I never said do away! Why that is a horrible thought,” he replied with feigned horror. “I much prefer the word run. Yes, I think that has a rather nice ring to it – run away with you. Yes, I like that,” and he was grinning that smug smile of his yet again.
“Right, whatever,” she smiled in frustration, “I can see that this is going nowhere.”
At Paul’s insistence, Paul and Antonietta dined that night at the Gallo Nero. Antonietta obviously viewed it as a tourist restaurant, but the two of them had to admit that the peasant style fare was interesting, and the boisterous crowd made for a festive evening that seemed to fit with the revelations they had discovered earlier in the day.
Toying with her dessert, Antonietta queried, “What other precautions do you think that we should take, Professore? Regarding the last of the documents, I mean?”
“Yes, I’ve been thinking about that ever since the visit by our ‘guardian’ Professore Bulgatti,” he responded. “I’ve had perhaps one too many glasses of wine this evening, but hopefully this will make sense nonetheless.”
He halted a moment to flash her a sheepish grin, but then proffered, “So we really have several different documents. We have the poem, of course. But we also have the drawing of The Leaning Tower. And let’s not forget the little strip of paper that was with the poem. These are the most important documents, but we also have the English translation of the poem, and we have several other copies of various items related to the originals. It seems to me that all of these should be stored in safe places, and not only that - all of them should be stored in separate places. And I’m not talking about separate places in your villa. I think that they should be stored in separate cities, possibly even separate countries.”
Pondering a moment, she replied, “Yes, I see what you mean.”
Paul continued, “The thing is, there is no telling how many people now know that we have something written by Galileo, but we are the only people who know that it is a poem, and that the solution to the puzzle hidden within the poem may be something significant. Furthermore, without the poem, no one else could know that there are two other documents. And it seems to me that without those two documents, it is impossible to solve the puzzle. So I suggest that we separate all of them.”
“Yes, I agree. What do you have in mind, Professore?”
“Let’s send all of the copies to my office in Cleveland. They are of no use to anyone without the originals, but they are quite essential to us. Besides, I have them fairly well memorized by now. But they may be of use later, so why don’t we do that?”
“Yes, that sounds good to me,” Antonietta replied. “We have all of them with us in the car. Let’s do that tomorrow,” at which she added, “What about The Leaning Tower drawing?”
“That is a very good question, Contessa. I’m afraid that I need to rely on your good jud
gment. I presume that, based on what you have previously told me, there is no ‘safe’ safe deposit box in the entire country of Italia.”
“That would be correct,” she replied grimly. “So what we need is a place that is safer. And I don’t think that we should mail it using the Italian postal service, as it is quite unreliable.”
“Do you have any other friends as reliable as Giovanni?” Paul queried.
“Well, there is Marco.”
“No, I’m afraid that is out of the question, Contessa,” he replied.
“Why?” she asked, looking hurt.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make it appear that he is not trustworthy. Let’s just say that I’ve seen too many American movies. The bad guys more often than not do something like kidnap a family member to try and blackmail the person that they are after. It’s regrettable that Marco knows anything at all, but we must shield him from any further involvement for his own safety.”
Paling at this revelation, she expounded fearfully, “Surely not, Paulo. Surely his own father wouldn’t use him against me!”
“Stranger things have been known to happen. I’m not saying that he will, but better safe than sorry. So think of a safe place to put the other document, and let’s take care of that as soon as possible.”
Chapter 8
Roma
Rise thou up a little higher, if thou canst, my soul, as thou observest the great splendor of the sun, the beauty of the moon, the number and variety of the other luminaries, the wonderful harmony of the heavens and the delightful movement of the stars, consider this: what it will be to see God above the heavens, as it were a sun, swelling in the light which no man can approach!
Roberto Bellarmino (1542-1621), also quoting Timothy 6:14-16
Siena - 1997
Appearing refreshed, Paul sauntered into the hotel breakfast room.
Seeing him, Antonietta offered, "You must have slept well, Professore. You look much improved.”
“Yes, for the first time since my arrival, I am finally adjusted to the time change. As many times as I have made the crossing, I have never found it to grow easier. It always takes me a full week to adjust."
"My, it has been a week already, hasn't it," she responded pensively. "Will you be missed at your university?"
"Oh, that. Well, I've taken care of it for the time being. Suffice it to say that our quest is far more important at the moment. I'm sure that everything will work out back home."
"I see. Have some coffee, Paulo. Tis a glorious day. Look outside in the garden. Can you see? There is a glorious view of the Tuscan countryside."
Paul stepped outside for a moment, gazed out beyond the garden wall, entranced by nothing more than the pleasure of sipping his coffee. After a few moments he returned, saying, "This may have become my most favorite place on Earth. I just love it here, Antonietta. I keep wanting to pinch myself over and over again!"
"It is quite a view, isn't it," she replied.
"Ha, what an understatement," he replied appreciatively. "So, we are off to Roma today. Since we are on the subject of Tuscan scenery, dare I hope that we might avoid the autostrada. Would that be acceptable to you?"
"What exactly did you have in mind, Paulo?"
"I thought we could go via Montepulciano and Orvietto. The drive is gorgeous, you know."
"Yes, I know it well. Shall we?"
"By all means. I'll meet you in the parking lot in fifteen minutes."
Before leaving Siena they mailed all of the copies to Cleveland. Accordingly, there remained but one document in their possession – the map of The Leaning Tower.
Montepulciano - 1611
Galileo gazed from the side window of the coach at the site of the approaching basilica. The coach drew to a stop adjacent to the Chapel and Galileo slowly descended. His legs ached, his back terribly sore from the jostling of the carriage over the sodden and bumpy roads, but he was desperate to see inside the chapel. He had stopped here once before, years ago, but at the time he had not properly appreciated its importance. Well aware that Brunelleschi had contributed to its design, he wanted to view the inside of the San Biagio once more in order to learn whatever there was to gain from it. Once inside, he gazed skyward, impressed by the lofty cupola. It was indeed quite soaring for such a modest chapel, and the harmony within the chapel was serene and breathtaking. Within these walls he felt truly close to God.
He began to walk forward and, gazing upwards as he did so, he suddenly stumbled and pitched forward to his knees. Gasping in pain, he discovered that he had torn his tights, bloodying his knee in the process. He sat for a moment and then brushed the dust off, slowly rising to his feet. There before him was a stone with a single corner raised ever so slightly. That had been all it had taken to cause his fall. Limping out into the cool morning air, he mumbled to himself, “I must take care, I am not a young man anymore.”
Departing Siena - 1997
Paul took the wheel of the Alfa for the drive to Montepulciano. Arriving there sometime later, they drove up the steep backside of the hill to just behind the main square and hiked the remaining distance to the pinnacle of the city, where they lunched on the main square. Afterwards Paul drove down the hillside to the San Biagio Chapel.
They parked and strode to the entrance, at which he whispered to Antonietta, "Have you been here before?"
"Yes, of course, once when I was young. It is lovely, non?"
As they stepped inside, he whispered, "I would say rather more than lovely.”
"In what way, Professore?"
"Well, there are some interesting ties to our pilgrimage thus far.”
"There are? Like what?"
"Well, first of all, it was designed from a plan by Brunelleschi. The Brunelleschi dome in Firenze is much older of course. This was built when Galileo was a boy; it was completed in 1580. Now, if you wouldn't mind, could we step out the side door here? I would like to walk around a bit."
She followed him silently as he walked outside and set off for a light post near the trees. At this point he turned away from her and, suddenly standing quite still, he stared at the ground.
"What is it, Paulo? Is something wrong?"
"No, no, it's nothing. I'm sorry, I didn't know that I would react this way, but there it is - I always do. I'm sorry, we shouldn't have stopped here..."
"What IS it?" she queried emphatically.
"I suppose I cannot hide anything from you. This is where my mother and sister lie. My family scattered their ashes here six years ago."
"Oh! My goodness, that IS something. That is quite something indeed, Paulo!" She slowly put her arm about his waist, offering, "I am so sorry, Paulo. Please accept my condolences."
Wiping away a telltale teardrop, he responded, "Thank you. I always think I'm over it, but I suppose I never will be."
"What happened to them?"
"My mother passed away, and my sister died of cancer within a few weeks of my mother's death. We scattered their ashes here." He gazed about at the serenity of the setting, subsequently adding one final thing, "Someday I will be here, too."
At this admission Antonietta peered about yet again, this time with heightened interest. Momentarily, she replied, "I can think of no better place on Earth, my dear Professore."
They stood silently a few more moments, and then Paul suddenly regained his composure. Turning towards the car, he suggested, "Come on, Contessa. Roma beckons!"
As the pair strode away, he opined, "I have always thought that Galileo must have stopped here on his journeys to and from Roma."
"Really? Why?" she asked with sudden interest.
"Easy, he was a scientist, and the San Biagio was a famous engineering achievement, not to mention the religious significance of it. Furthermore, we know that the trips to Roma were very difficult for Galileo. The historical record indicates that his trips required him to take long periods of complete bed rest at their completion. So it seems reasonable that Galileo would have made frequent stops alon
g the way to and from Roma, and Montepulciano is right on the old highway from Siena to Roma."
"I see," Antonietta replied in contemplation.
Since the shortest way back to the car was through the chapel, they now stepped back inside, in the process crossing to the opposite door.
Suddenly, Antonietta stumbled. “Oh!” she called out, Paul catching her before she fell to the ground. They stood silently for a moment in an embarrassed embrace. Then she said, drawing back from him, “Thank you, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m so clumsy.”
“Are you alright?” he asked in evident concern.
“Yes,” she replied, peering down at the floor. “Look, Professore, it was that stone there. One corner is slightly raised. See?”
Paul leaned over and, examining the stone carefully, he observed, “Yes, I see…I’m going to fix it.”
“What! You can’t do that, it’s desecration of historical property!” she exclaimed.
“Once an engineer, always an engineer,” he replied contentedly, and glancing about, he added, “Besides, there’s no one around.” He then pulled a knife from his pocket and carefully scraped away the sand and soil between the edges of the stone and its neighbors. He subsequently pried the stone up, and laid it gingerly aside. Beneath it was a firm layer of packed sand. He got down on his knees and began to adjust the base material when he suddenly stopped.
“Wait a minute!” he blurted, “Contessa, do you have The Leaning Tower map?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied in bewilderment.
“Let me see it,” he replied.
At this she rummaged in her bag and found it and, handing it over, she announced, “Here it is.”
“Do we have something impermeable to wrap it in?”
Galileo's Lost Message Page 16
