The Manuscript I the Secret

by Blanca Miosi

  The monk was perched at the edge of the cliff when he reached out to hand over the chest. For just a flash, it looked like a trap. The monk tightened his grip ever so slightly in the moment just before letting go, as if having second thoughts. His body was trembling so violently the convulsions could be felt from feet away. Then the monk made a decisive gesture, released the chest, and plunged backward into the deep. He made no cry. A moment later there was a dry thump and a crunching noise muffled by the distance.

  Horrified, the one left standing peered over the edge of the precipice. Despite the growing dark, he could make out a shapeless form on one of the silvery rocks below. He was overcome by a wave of pity, a mixture of compassion, infinite grief, and gratitude. He held in his hands the very thing he had come to find. Through the thick weave of the backpack he could feel the metal strips holding the wood together. He turned and strode away: the deed was done, and there was nothing he could do about it. The cold wind whipped his face, and he realized that, though no rain had yet fallen, his cheeks were damp. Nestling the bundle beneath his leather jacket, he swallowed back a sob and walked as quickly as possible the long way back to the piazza. The fluorescent hands of his watch showed he had just enough time to make it to the dock and board the last ferry.

  That is when Nicholas realized the first page of the manuscript had just taken place.

  Manhattan, New York

  November 22, 1999

  The accumulated physical and moral weariness I carried vanished the moment I walked through the door. Nelson and Quentin stood next to each other waiting for me, making quite the bizarre couple. The anxiety on their faces screamed for me to ask what was going on.

  “Signore Dante, everything has been taken care of.”

  “Really? What do you mean by ‘everything’?”

  “Everything, signore. Mr. Nicholas will soon be back at Villa Contini with the chest, and the manuscript seems to be revealing its secrets again.”

  “Hold on, back up. Let’s take it slowly. What’s been going on with you, Nelson?”

  “I went after the man from the taxi but didn’t get much of anywhere. According to the driver, the man who came out of the Rodríguez house didn’t say a word the entire ride. What I do know is that the driver dropped him off at the airport. So I went to talk with some contacts where I used to work and we agreed to tap the Rodríguez widow’s phones. It was easier than bugging her house. She called Irene and told her you’d come to visit and so had the FBI. She said her brother had come to say goodbye because he was heading back to Venezuela. She said, ‘The hard drive to Jorge’s computer was gone, which was a total surprise to me, but I thought something up and told them a man had come by on behalf of Claudio Contini and had taken it. Now I’m not sure if I did the right thing. I even gave them a card my husband had in his desk.’ Irene asked, ‘Why did you have to make something up?’ She answered, ‘I’m afraid, Irene. I know that Jorge was murdered. I think he was wrapped up in some dirty business. He had been handling huge sums of money in the weeks before he died. I’m thinking about moving to Venezuela. I’ve got a few connections there with people in government, and, you know, if you’ve got money you can do whatever you want in that country.’ ‘You probably shouldn’t talk about your plans over the phone, Teresa,’ Ms. Irene said, and they agreed to meet up later.”

  “Which means,” I mused aloud, “the widow doesn’t actually know anything, and the hard drive was taken by someone interested in its contents but which might have absolutely nothing to do with me.”

  “Precisely my conclusions,” Nelson agreed.

  “May I speak, signore Dante?”

  “Of course, Quentin.”

  “Young Nicholas went to meet with Francesco Martucci on the Isle of Capri. He said he had to be the one to do it, because that’s how it was written in the manuscript. He went to retrieve the chest and said he would be taking it to Villa Contini and that you should meet him there because he feared he would not be able to get through customs with it due to the radioactive contents. He should be in Capri by now.”

  Nicholas never ceased to amaze me.

  “You said it was written in the manuscript?”

  “I myself saw it with these very eyes. The problem is that the manuscript was not totally finished. That is, young Nicholas said it only mentioned that he was the one who retrieved the chest.”

  “Quentin, I’ll leave for Rome today.”

  “Right away, signore.”

  My body nearly groaned at the thought of another trip, but I could not put it off. Besides, I was eaten alive with curiosity to see the manuscript. I could sleep on the plane.

  “You’ll come with me, Nelson. I imagine that the Jorge Rodríguez business isn’t going to get us anywhere. Make a reservation for two in first class.”

  It was the least I could do given Nelson’s bulk. He might get cramped up in coach, and I needed him to be in good shape. And I desperately needed to sleep. All throughout the flight back from Illinois I had been spooked thinking about everything the blessed Jews might be planning. I would have to deal with them later. Right then, getting the chest was the most important thing.

  I could relax on the plane thanks to Nelson’s comforting presence. Is this what my father’s life had been like? Only thirteen days had passed since I went to seen Irene to borrow money to get back to Rome, yet it felt like months. Power brought with it too much responsibility, too many enemies...

  Sitting in my office at Villa Contini, I studied Merreck’s note with the names of the Jews and their addresses. Why did they want to pit their tribal hatreds against science? Of course Mengele had been a monster, but something good could still come out of all that he had done. When writing out their contact information, Merreck had commented he thought they would no longer be any cause for concern. Still, I could not let the matter rest. While we waited for Nicholas to arrive, I decided to call them. I had all the numbers, and it made no difference if I were in New York or Rome.

  “Mr. Edward Moses, please?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “A friend from Italy. I’ll be traveling to the United States and would like to see him...”

  “I’m sorry, sir. My husband, Mr. Moses, passed away two days ago.”

  “I’m so very sorry, my condolences, ma’am. Forgive me.”

  I hung up. What a strange coincidence. I dialed the other number.

  “May I speak with Mr. John Singer?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “A friend from Italy. I’ll be traveling to the United States and would like to see him...”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Dante Contini-Massera.”

  “You can find Mr. Singer in the cemetery in Albany. He died two days ago.”

  “I’m so sorry. Forgive my impudence, but may I ask how he died?”

  “He was deep sea fishing with a friend. Apparently there was a problem with the motor. It exploded and there was no time for them to get to safety.”

  “Who was the other person?”

  “Edward Moses.”

  I hung up without saying goodbye. I was devastated. Would Merreck have gone to such lengths just to secure the success of the formula now that it seemed to be within reach? I thought of Caperotti. Of Martucci. There was too much money at stake, not to mention the possibility of living nearly forever. Empires had crumbled for less. The sound of Nicholas’ voice called me out of my reverie.

  “Here it is!” he announced triumphantly, setting the bundle carefully on my desk.

  I got up and came around to the front without taking my eyes off of it.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, knowing that Nicholas would not have opened the chest.

  “Don’t even think about opening it. It’s wrapped in some special anti-radiation case. The capsule with the mixture and the isotope are both inside. Martucci said so. He’s dead.”

  I have no idea what my face looked like at that moment, but after what I had just heard on the phone, I
imagine it was pure terror.

  “It wasn’t me!” Nicholas swore with his hand over his heart. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  As Nicholas spoke, I reworked all the pieces in the puzzle and realized Martucci had been behind the whole Rodríguez mess. I will never understand human nature. At least my mother was not wrapped up in it all, which had actually occurred to me. I am not sure why I would suspect her; after all, I was her son, but after what Quentin had witnessed in that restaurant, I detected conspiracies at every hand.

  “And my manuscript is back, Dante. I mean, the manuscript,” he corrected himself with his customary chuckle.

  “Can I see it?”

  “No. I’d prefer you read it after I finish writing it,” he explained, flipping the pages quickly with his thumb so I could get a glance. It was true; there was writing on the pages. “There are certain things that didn’t quite happen like they’re written. See, not everything is exactly the same. For example, at the beginning Nelson wasn’t in the book, or the entry gate...”

  For some reason I had the sensation that Nicholas wanted to overwhelm me with a string of explanations I cared nothing about. I only tuned in at the end.

  “So, like I’ve been saying, Dante, you have to write the ending, because it isn’t finished.”

  “I have to what?” I asked, taken aback.

  “Yep. Now, if you want, I could come up with the ending.”

  “No, let me. You’re right. It’s something I ought to do. Did you make a copy?”

  “I don’t need to anymore. I know it by heart. It doesn’t matter if it gets erased again.”

  He let out another of his little chuckles, rummaged feverishly through his pockets for a cigarette, and went out to the garden with the manuscript tucked under one arm.

  The Last Chapter

  As soon as I had the chest in my possession, I knew I could never hand it over. I was sure that my father, Claudio Contini-Massera, would not have wanted me to. Once more I opened the little piece of paper where Psalm 40 was written:

  ...Sacrifice and offering thou didst not desire:

  (for mine ears hast thou prepared)

  burnt offering and sin offering hast thou not required.

  Then said I, Lo, I come:

  for in the roll of the book

  it is written of me.

  I desired to do thy good will, O my God:

  yea, thy Law is within mine heart.

  Now it was all clear to me. Do the right thing. That was all. None of the rest of it mattered. It was staring me in the face the whole time but my ambition had blinded me. I called Merreck and told him there would be no deal. I got ready to leave Villa Contini. Why wait a whole year? I would start acting like the man my father would have wanted to see. If I had to start from the bottom, that is what I would do. I was grieved for all the people who worked at the Business and who would now be unemployed with no way to pay the rent. I went to talk with Caperotti.

  “Buongiorno, signore Caperotti.”

  “Buongiorno, cavaliere Contini-Massera.”

  “Thank you for your assistance.”

  “I was only doing my duty, cavaliere.” His cavernous voice no longer filled me with fear. Something had changed between us.

  I did not beat around the bush.

  “I’m not going to make the deadline.”

  “Do you need more time?”

  “Time is not the problem. If I wanted to, I could save the Business right this minute, but it would mean going against my principles. If I have to live off the little I can earn, that’s what I’ll do. I’m moving out of Villa Contini today. There’s no point in waiting an entire year.”

  “And do you have a job?”

  “No, but I’ll find one.”

  “There is no need to go looking, cavaliere. This is your job.”

  I studied his face carefully but could detect no jest. He looked straight at me while reaching for his pipe and making to light it.

  “Your uncle left instructions that I have followed to the letter, cavaliere. The Business is thriving, as always. He talked about nearly everything with me and, from what I gather, neglected to mention that he was involved withMerreck & Stallen Pharmaceutical Group. It came as a surprise when my men told me you were in...Roseville, if I’m not mistaken?”

  “I thought my uncle kept nothing secret from you.”

  “Cavaliere, no man in his right mind shows all his cards. That is the first lesson you must learn. Don Claudio was one of the few people of my acquaintance who actually knew how to keep a secret. I knew he had something important up his sleeve, and for a time he was obsessed with it, but in the last few months we had plenty of time to talk. And one of the things he told me was, ‘If Dante gets this right, he’s a chip off the old block.’”

  “And what might ‘getting it right’ be?” I asked.

  “Coming here and facing the ordeal of the Business’ bankruptcy was the first big step. That’s what a real fighter would do. You didn’t say how you were going to do it, but you had a plan. You have no idea how like Claudio Contini-Massera you are.... And I’m sure you have a very important reason for not going ahead with it.”

  Caperotti was studying me. Of that much I am sure. How much more did he know? I decided not to confide my secrets to him. I started putting the first lesson into practice right then and there.

  “I have my reasons, and, in a way, I’m fulfilling my uncle’s posthumous wish.”

  “I won’t ask what it was. But I can guess. You have behaved just like your uncle hoped you would. Let me tell you everything.”

  And then I learned the whole story. Caperotti and my father had concocted the bankruptcy ploy to teach me a lesson, and I had come through unscathed. Today I can say that I have earned my position on my own merits, and my father was right: working can be fun. Nelson travels with me more as a friend than as a bodyguard, and my dear Quentin remains by my side, like the grandfather I never had. Age is of no concern to me, at least for the time being. And if Merreck were mistaken and, in fact, the longevity gene were already stabilized in my body, it would be a great joke played by Mengele from the grave. I cemented the chest in a thick block of concrete and sank it in the middle of the Tyrrhenian Sea. I hope it stays there for the more than thirty billion years it will take the mysterious artificial isotope to die, should planet Earth survive that long.

  My mother seemed more affected by the disappearance of Francesco Martucci than she would have preferred to admit. Her face started to show the signs of suffering, and there is no grief like one that cannot be shared. Wherever he might be, I hope he repents of having believed so firmly that she was incapable of loving.

  My good friend Nicholas now enjoys a comfortable situation thanks to the manuscript which was finally published, which is the story you are reading now. However, he told me he had to change several details about the ending that did not seem quite right to him. I suppose he knows what he is talking about; he is the writer, after all. The Business has its tentacles in all sorts of industries, including publishing. I hope Nicholas’ novel soon becomes a best seller. I owe him that favor and will gladly lend a hand, though he does not actually need much help.

  I am starting to live like my father would have wanted. I address each of the servants at Villa Contini by name, and they like to wait for me at the front door as they did for my father, Uncle Claudio. And I am finally getting used to the fact that the members of the Business’ board of directors take their leave by kissing the back of my hand. Caperotti insists on keeping up these deeply-rooted Italian customs.

  I am relieved to know that Merreck would not dare harm me. Caperotti has made sure of that. He says I am indispensable for the survival of Cosa Nostra, which we all call “the Business.” I have learned that the real power lies in the trustworthy people surrounding me, in those dedicated to finding out what is really going on and what will be happening in the world. That is why I have a research and statistics department at my disposal. Fortunately, my
ordeal was just one simple brush with fate within the complicated turning of the world. Every now and then extraordinary things really do happen.

  I like Caperotti. A quiet man, he always seems to know everything. He was my father’s constant and faithful ally.

  “I hope I’m as wise as you some day,” I said to him recently.

  “You will be, and more,” he answered with that deep, rasping voice. “You’ve got a lot of time ahead of you. A lot.”

  And if you have reached the end and none of the pages have been erased, it means you have been lucky. Who can say if this story will still exist next time you open the book.