The Museum of Things Left Behind

by Seni Glaister

  ‘And at what time would that be?’

  ‘I have a meeting scheduled with him at two.’

  Carlo flipped slowly backwards through the pages, feigning disinterest at this latest development. ‘Well, it is a great shame. I have absolutely no time in my diary to meet with you. Most inconvenient, most inconvenient. Except, I suppose, I could squeeze you in in thirty minutes’ time. I see I have a cancellation then.’

  Lizzie looked at her watch. Thirty minutes’ time. Half past eleven. ‘Lovely, so I’ll be back in thirty minutes to see you about scheduling an appointment with Signor Rolando Posti.’

  ‘That is my understanding of your agenda. But I think it is an excellent precaution to be specific about your intentions as no one likes to be surprised, Miss Holmesworth.’

  ‘Quite. Would you mind if I wait here until the meeting begins?’

  Carlo looked alarmed. ‘Wait here? In my office? That surely would constitute an unscheduled appointment within the confines of the government buildings and as such would be in breach of countless regulations. No, absolutely not – and, besides, I have an enormous workload to prepare for our meeting. I must insist that you leave now, but I will look forward to welcoming you back here in …’ he glanced at the clock on the wall ‘… twenty-eight minutes’ time.’

  Lizzie backed out of the room, thanking him. Rather than wander around outside in the heat she chose to wait on a wooden chair just outside his office. She heard the harsh grating of his chair as he pushed it back, and before she had even seated herself comfortably, he had put his head around the door.

  ‘Miss Holmesworth, I thought we had a clear understanding. You must leave now, and I must ensure you leave the building or I will have to make a call to security.’

  She rolled her eyes, pushed herself upright and walked along the few metres of corridor. She opened the door and stepped out, closing it firmly behind her. She paused for a moment, giving Carlo time to take his seat once more, then opened the door and walked back down the corridor with deliberately certain footsteps.

  She knocked on Carlo’s open door and he looked up from his desk impatiently.

  ‘Good morning, Signor Carlo. I’m early for our eleven-thirty meeting. Shall I take a seat in Reception?’

  ‘Of course, take a seat outside. I admire punctuality and particularly admire early arrival to meetings. It allows everyone to be better prepared. Excellent.’

  Lizzie sat on the wooden chair she had just vacated and listened contentedly to a few papers being shuffled around a desk for twenty-six minutes. Every now and then the near silence would be broken with a perfunctory staple.

  Her second meeting with Carlo passed with relative ease, in that it was an exact repetition of the earlier performance. This time, however, she had to provide information for a form that was to be completed in triplicate.

  ‘Reason for meeting?’

  ‘Er, to discuss matters of the state?’

  ‘I need to be more specific, Miss Holmesworth. It is my job to prepare my boss and he does not like to be surprised.’

  ‘How about to discuss matters of the interior of the state?’

  ‘Good, good. Interiors, yes. Very relevant to Signor Rolando Posti. His speciality, one might say.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  The honing of the finer detail involved plenty more audible perplexity and the turning of many more diary pages. More minutes ticked by as Carlo hesitated, then continued to flick slowly forward. Eventually they settled on ten past three that afternoon. Carlo made it clear that the meeting was to last for no longer than ten minutes. If she needed to extend it, for any reason at all, he would need at least three weeks’ notice. ‘In writing.’

  ‘I’m sure ten minutes will be fine. Thank you.’ Lizzie left with a big grin on her face and an inordinate feeling of satisfaction that she had managed this simple task. She had official government business planned for that afternoon. Now she just had to think carefully about her tactics.

  CHAPTER 23

  In Which the Purpose of Education Is Questioned

  The ministers were meeting once more and there was a dark mood in the air. Sergio was impatient, Angelo was clearly fuming, and there was an almost tangible tension between the two men, who were usually so at ease with each other. The assembled senior ministers shifted uncomfortably in their seats as the president rushed through the preliminary proceedings, barely able to contain his frustration as tea was strained and served.

  ‘I would like, if I may, to begin with an update from our minister for employment, Signor Lubicic.’

  Vlad Lubicic jumped. He had not been expecting to make a contribution that afternoon as, during the run-up to the election, there tended to be more pressing matters at hand. He glanced nervously around the room for clues from his colleagues and leaped impetuously to the conclusion that the bad feeling emanating from the president and his aide was a direct consequence of something he had done or had failed to do. ‘Mr President?’

  ‘An update, please.’

  ‘On employment matters?’

  ‘Clearly. When I ask you to speak on matters that don’t concern you, I shall give you ample warning.’

  Lubicic cleared his throat. Sergio governed the country with a lightness that was a direct result of his ease with his advisers. His gentle touch had made the very act of governing a pleasure, a marked contrast to the more didactic approach that Sergio Senior had taken. Today, though, even the president’s perspiration was dripping with sarcasm and he wasn’t sure how to react.

  ‘The numbers remain static, Mr President. We have zero unemployment. Or one unemployed, if you consider Franco, but he has not taken up any of the offers that have so far been presented to him.’

  ‘And of the sixteen thousand eight hundred adult men or so that we have in this country, how many are actually gainfully employed?’

  ‘I don’t quite follow you, sir. As I just stated, all of them.’

  ‘Clearly not all of them, Signor Lubicic. I think you’ll find that at least half of those men are in full-time education.’

  ‘But, sir, those men do not qualify for employment. Of those that qualify for employment, all of them are actively employed, sir.’

  ‘And how many men of over twenty-four are in full-time education and as such are not qualified to work?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, sir. That would be a question for Professore Scota. With respect, sir.’

  Giuseppe Scota made a noise to indicate that he was about to speak, but Sergio silenced him with a raised hand and continued to look at his minister for employment.

  ‘But you should know the answer to that, surely. Aren’t these men prospective employees for the country? Aren’t they the workforce of the future? And they’ll need jobs, at some future point, so are you making plans to accommodate them?’

  Lubicic was now visibly uncomfortable. ‘But, sir, the men are released from full-time education when they are required for work. In the meantime they continue to increase their skills and their relevance to the workforce. We have some of the most educated men in the world here, and that is the result of the brilliant policy you yourself made several years ago.’

  ‘But what are the prospects for these men? It is all very well making this fine education available to everyone, but what are they going to do with it when they’ve finished?’

  ‘Finished what, sir?’

  ‘Their education.’

  ‘But you yourself said, sir, an education is a process of evolution that begins the day you are born and ends, if you are lucky, on the day you die.’

  There was silence in the room.

  ‘I did?’ Sergio looked uncharacteristically baffled. Not only did he appear to have no recollection of this groundbreaking policy he had apparently masterminded, he had the countenance of a man who couldn’t remember what he was doing in the room. He looked startled now and stared beseechingly at Lubicic for further illumination.

  ‘Yes, and when we implemented the policy of e
xtended education for all, it was met with great enthusiasm by the whole country. That was a landslide year. We received half a dozen spoiled ballots at most. You predicted it, remember? You told us that education was always a crowdpleaser.’

  ‘I did, did I?’

  Sergio’s uncharacteristic vagueness was as perplexing to Lubicic as it was to the other senior ministers.

  Angelo was still quietly fuming in the corner, his foot tapping nervously, his arms folded firmly across his chest. He was so busy assuming this stance that he was barely picking up on Sergio’s gentle slide from righteous leader to the befuddled led.

  ‘Yes, you did,’ soothed Lubicic, sensing that the worst of the storm had passed and understanding finally that this attack wasn’t personal, and if it had been to begin with, it probably wasn’t any more. ‘Yes, you predicted it and, of course, you were absolutely right.’

  ‘And do we have anything else on the agenda?’ Sergio was somewhat contrite. He couldn’t sit and be accused of undermining his own policy, a policy everyone had admired only recently. While not entirely satisfied with the answers before him, he made a mental note to park the problem somewhere else and examine it afresh later, in private.

  Now he looked expectantly at Lubicic, who in turn looked around the room, seeking with narrowed eyes and pursed lips some help from his colleagues. The professor, feeling that he was the beneficiary of an extremely narrow escape and that he, somehow, had Lubicic to thank for it, stepped in.

  ‘Sir? There is no agenda today. You called the meeting.’

  ‘I did? Yes, I did.’ Sergio shrugged, somehow suggesting in that slight movement that a bunch of idiots was assembled before him. ‘That will be all. You’re dismissed,’ he barked, then leaned back in his chair to drink his tea quietly.

  The men filed out, baffled and uneasy, walking in monk-like silence. If they were to risk speculation, it would be within the stone walls of their own homes. To analyse today’s proceedings without pointing a finger at the mental stability of their president was challenging but, even as they left the building, the memory of his aggression as the meeting had started was softening, and that of his conviction at the end had strengthened until barely a trace of the uncertainty they might have detected remained. By the time they had walked through their front doors, hung up their hats and gone in search of food, they were already rewriting the meeting as an unqualified success.

  CHAPTER 24

  In Which Lizzie Beats the System

  Lizzie waited patiently outside the offices of the minister for the interior. When her allotted time came, she was led through the offices of the minister for the exterior, who was buried behind a huge pile of paperwork. Mario Lucaccia barely raised his head to acknowledge her, but as soon as she had settled into Rolando Posti’s domain, he chose to busy himself in the filing cupboard immediately outside Posti’s office. From this position he could easily hear the conversation as it unfolded.

  ‘So, how are you enjoying your visit so far, Your Royal Honourableness?’ the minister began, with the intention of allowing his esteemed visitor to feel relaxed in his company.

  ‘Oh, please, I’m much more comfortable with Miss Holmesworth,’ Lizzie implored.

  ‘As you like.’ He nodded, giving her permission to continue.

  Lizzie smiled at the old man, warming immediately to his twinkling eyes, which smiled despite his frowning eyebrows. ‘I like your country very much. People here are very kind.’

  Immediately his eyebrows frowned a notch more. ‘And you expected something else, perhaps? That our people might be unkind or inhospitable? Barbarians, even?’

  Unsure whether this was a gentle tease or something more sinister, Lizzie stiffened a little, cautioning herself to tread carefully. ‘Heavens, nothing of the sort. I had no preconceptions. I knew very little of your country, which perhaps is why it is even more surprising to find such a perfect place.’

  ‘Aha, that is not my job!’ Posti exclaimed, slapping his palm on his desk.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Lizzie was alarmed at the sudden shift in the minister’s manner.

  ‘It is not my job to make a good outward impression on potential visitors. We have two men whose job that is. If you would like to make a complaint about the lack of information about our country, I suggest you raise it with—’

  There was a loud cough from outside the room.

  ‘Settimio Mosconi. He is minister for tourism and if he were doing his job in completeness you would have been given much more information on which to base some preconceptions and then you would not have had to be surprised. No one likes surprises, Miss Holmesworth.’

  ‘Well, no one likes bad surprises, like no one likes bad news. This was a good surprise – I mean I was pleasantly surprised. Sometimes it’s rather wonderful to discover something entirely by yourself. I’ve got student friends who have been travelling in Asia only to find they bump into friends from school or their neighbours.’

  ‘Amazing. That would indeed be a good surprise,’ agreed the minister, relaxing once again.

  ‘Well, sort of. But it’s more because they’re all following the same guide books, you know, Rough Guide to this or that. They all end up taking exactly the same route, meeting the same people, and I’m not sure they will have set out to do that.’

  ‘But the importance of a journey is to discover things that you didn’t set out to do, as you quite rightly stated yourself not a moment ago.’

  ‘Yes, well.’ Lizzie faltered. She could battle this one out but she had been allocated only ten minutes, several of which must already have been used up. She glanced uncomfortably at her watch.

  Posti was immediately admonished. ‘Yes, indeed, we must move on, I understand you are a very busy woman and I apologize most profusely for allowing the conversation to drift from the one stated on your paperwork.’ Here he glanced at a purple-hued copy of the form she had watched Carlo complete just hours before.

  ‘I see you would like to talk about matters of the interior. And here are we discussing matters of the exterior! For that conversation you would probably have been better off making an appointment with my esteemed colleague, Mario Lucaccia.’

  Another loud cough from outside the room.

  ‘And I don’t believe he is available this afternoon for consultation. So perhaps, if you don’t mind, we could stick to the prepared subject? That will save an awful lot of paperwork and will make our lives much, much easier. Shall we continue?’

  Lizzie swallowed noisily and steeled herself to be clear. ‘Er, yes, indeed. I wanted to talk to you about how the government works here. I mean, what I really want to know is, if I wanted to make something happen, make a difference to something, how would I set about doing so?’

  ‘Well, that is a very intelligent question and one that deserves a full and honest answer. And clarity, yes. It deserves a clear and straightforward answer that foreigners, unused to our ways and our culture, can follow clearly.’ He paused until he was certain that Lizzie had felt the weight of his hesitation. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you.’

  ‘You can’t?’

  ‘Well, the machinations of our government, like any other, are varied and complex. I can’t possibly give you the answer you deserve. I would have to understand exactly what you want to achieve. If, for example, you wanted to return home and wage war on us, then that would require an interview with the person most able to advise you. In this case, Commandant Alixandria Heliopolis Visparelli.’

  ‘Well, of course I don’t want to wage war on you!’ Lizzie squeaked.

  ‘Ssh,’ Posti warned. ‘It is inadvisable to talk loudly about war in this building. It is liable to make people a little nervous.’

  ‘But that’s not what I want to talk about.’ Lizzie’s frustration was mounting: she was unable to grasp this conversation and send it in any sort of direction.

  ‘Well, you must be clearer. If you want a full and honest answer, a clear and straightforward answer, you must honour me with a full
and honest question.’

  Lizzie inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. ‘OK. I would like to talk to you specifically about the town clock.’

  ‘Oh, so it’s like that,’ Posti growled, his frown so deep in his forehead that the twinkling eyes were no longer visible beneath his brows.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You visit our country and, despite the warmth and hospitality of our fine people and our beautiful and splendid scenery, you have decided to focus on the negative.’

  ‘Well, not really. I just was interested – I certainly didn’t mean to cause any offence.’

  ‘Of course not. They never do, do they?’

  Lizzie floundered, still rattled by the suggestion she might want to wage war on Vallerosa. ‘I’m just interested in a country that seems to have such a clear grip on its infrastructure—’

  ‘Seems to! You imply that what we present here is a façade? A sham? That we are not what we say we are?’ Posti now folded his arms across his chest in a stance that suggested a barrier of insurmountable heft.

  ‘No, no, no. I mean, there is so little wrong I wondered why you would allow the clock to remain broken for so long.’

  Posti sighed and echoed the phrase: ‘That we allow it to remain broken. Interesting choice of words, Miss Holmesworth. You imply that we are somehow complicit. Are you suggesting that this is my conspiracy or one that is enacted by the entire government?’

  ‘I’m suggesting no such thing. I’m merely asking why you don’t fix it.’

  ‘Aha, now we get to the very crux of the matter. The clear and straightforward question I was seeking in the first place. If you had come in here and asked, as you sat down, “Your Excellency, why don’t you fix the clock?” I would have been able to answer you immediately. Instead, after all the game playing we’ve been trying to pick through for the last ten minutes, you’re out of time.’

  Lizzie slumped in her seat. Despair washed over her and she looked at her watch.