A Foreign Affair
Page 23
“Issy” (pronounced IZZZZY) Gennaro shouted excited by the buzz of the street theatre around them. “This eez my city and it eez the most beautiful city in the world non? But the people can sometimes be shits,” he laughed.
“Sorry” said Issy as her thoughts were transported back from Oxford to the world of pigeon English and general mania. “What did you say?”
“I say…” said Gennaro. “This eez my city and it ezz the most beautiful city in the world but the people eez shits sometimes.”
“Why are they are so bad?” Issy asked.
Gennaro’s eyes widened amazed that Issy didn’t know the answer.
“Because they are robbers non?” he replied taking both his hands off the steering wheel for a moment, and gesticulating with his fingers to communicate that they liked to steal things from under people’s noses. “There eez a story which says when God stand on top of Vesuvius he looked down and cry at how bad they are. We ‘ave a wine Christ’s tears called in this way because – the water fall on the ground making a fertile soil and a good wine.”
“God is it really that bad?” asked Issy kind of getting the gist of what Gennaro was saying. “I had no idea Naples had this kind of problem. I normally know everything about a place before I land but I left England somewhat abruptly and it was the only place I could find a teaching job.”
“Ah. But why you leave England in a hurry?” he winked before hurtling into a tunnel which scarily didn‘t cause him to slow down and if anything sped him up.
“Because I….,” shrieked Issy as everything went black. “……you’re going very fast. Can you slow down please? I don’t feel safe.”
Gennaro laughed out loud. “It is better to do the fast driving,” he said as he swerved out of the way of each car that looked like it was about to have a serious impact before shouting various profanities at the other drivers, irrespective of whether it was their fault or not. His favourites were “go to hell” and “pieces of crap.”
Despite the fear, Issy had to admit Gennaro was really good at avoiding high speed pile-ups and she consoled herself with the thought that, after losing her father and without Jeremy, life might be better anyway if it just ended now.
As they torpedoed out of the other end of the tunnel Issy’s anxiety levels started to subside as they finally started to slow down. Not because Gennaro had hit the brakes, but because of a huge traffic jam to get into the city centre.
After remaining stationary for a few minutes, Gennaro jumped up and down in his seat and hit the horn with his fist whilst spewing out a litany of rude words as if being crude and blasphemous in a continuum would speed things up.
As Issy caught her breath and looked skywards she marvelled at the crumbling palazzo blocks that stood regally against the slightly fading sunlight.
The colours of the buildings were amazing. Eggshell yellow and Wedgewood blue. As Gennaro continued forwards, even grander looking buildings painted blood red with green wooden shutters tightly clamped against the afternoon sun disclosed themselves as the deli van wove through ancient streets filled with locals, food, debris and noise.
But, despite the wonderful sense of antiquity and slightly aristocratic feel to some of the architecture, Issy became fascinated by the total lack of regard for civic order and refuse collection.
“Does the rubbish not get collected round here at all?” Issy asked in amazement as they remained stationary by a huge pile of rotting garbage.
“Yes but….,” Gennaro said putting the deli van jerkily into second gear, “it eez complicated to explain Issy.”
Surprised at why the collection of rubbish was so complicated, Issy decided to ask the obvious next question. “WHY on earth is it this difficult, is it the traffic?”
Gennaro’s answer to her second question was a HUGE shrug of the shoulders. A first clue to understanding some of the story that would unfold over the coming weeks – but on that first hot day in Naples she was too busy looking at the chaos to follow her inquisitive instincts.
And, anyway, new sights had sprung into view. In the midst of dusty old cars and scooters – which were parked in what looked like highly illegal places – Issy caught sight of wonderful pineapple shaped trees which lined the streets and fabulous cascading bougainvillea and geranium in shades of cherry, purple, deep pink and red tumbling in profusion over hundreds of ancient palazzo balconies.
With time on his hands, and hoarse from swearing at the traffic, Gennaro returned to the impertinence of his first question. “Who you running away from Issy”?
“God,” Issy thought. “Gennaro is bloody persistent. He’s like a pig looking for a rare truffle. He may only be driving a deli van, but he knows he’s onto something.”
Issy looked directly at him and decided to get the explanation over with. “I left England because….” Issy replied screwing her face up against the kaleidoscope of colour that streamed into the window on the crest of a sunbeam “….my heart was broken by a married man.”
“Why he leave you? He is the crazy man,” shouted Gennaro as he jumped up and down in the seat next to her.
“It doesn’t matter why he left me,” Issy said with a long sigh. “He just did. I really don’t know why. It’s a very long and complicated story and I doubt I will ever find out the truth of what really happened.”
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Extract from The Italian Affair by Helen Crossfield