He looks up to meet Elettra’s eyes. She’s still standing stockstill on the other side of the door. “Could you come here and read what it says?”
The girl shakes her head slowly. “No … I don’t feel up to it.”
“You were the one who insisted we come all the way here,” Harvey pleads. “And this is a sheet of the professor’s graph paper. Just take a look! We’ll try to figure out if we need it, and then we’ll get out of here.”
“It might be another clue,” adds Sheng.
“I feel like I did yesterday,” Elettra explains, holding up her hands. “I feel … hot.”
“That must mean we’re on the right track!” exclaims Mistral, kneeling down to pick up a few handfuls of the ripped papers from the floor.
Drawn on each of them are hundreds of circles.
Elettra takes a deep breath and walks into the room. Sheng steps aside with a theatrical flourish, making way for her to get to the table. “If you feel like you did yesterday, don’t touch me, okay?” he says with a friendly smirk.
Elettra forces a smile, then takes the sheet of graph paper Harvey’s holding out to her. The professor’s handwriting is sharper than usual, but it looks like he was the person who wrote it, although quickly and hastily.
Slowly, Elettra reads: “ ‘Once they have discovered fire, men will rip the plants up by their roots and examine the quality of their fluids. They will observe the nature of stones and dissect the bodies of their fellow men, yearning to see how they are made. They will reach the very limits of the Earth. They will rise up to the stars. They will be consumed by the desire to realize their designs, and when they fail they will be overcome by pain and sadness.’”
“That’s it?” Harvey asks when she’s finished.
“Yeah. That’s all there is.”
“Cheerful stuff, huh?” Sheng says in a low voice.
“And down there … those words that are crossed out?” Harvey insists, pointing at the last two lines.
Elettra holds the sheet up to the light and slowly reads, “ ‘Prometheus should never have stolen the secret of fire. It was a mistake that unleashed the wrath of the gods. And now the gods cry out for vengeance.’”
“Who is it that stole what?” Sheng asks, baffled.
“It’s a story from ancient mythology,” explains Harvey. “Prometheus was a Titan who stole fire from the gods and gave it to mankind.”
“And then?” the Chinese boy insists.
“From that moment on, men felt free because they could use fire, but the gods were furious. They chained Prometheus to a cliff, where an eagle would devour his liver day after day for the rest of his life.”
Sheng makes a disgusted grimace. “Bleah!”
“Hey! I found something!” Mistral cries out just then, making the others start. “At least, I think so,” she adds when they turn to look at her.
In her hands is a black notebook held shut by a rubber band. “You think this might be his journal?”
Mistral doesn’t even get the chance to open it. Coming from outside the room are footsteps and the voices of two people talking.
“They’re in there,” the librarian is whispering. “They told me they were his nieces and nephews, but I’m not so sure. …”
“Well, we’re about to find out,” a man’s voice replies.
“Oh, no!” cries Harvey, alarmed. “We can’t let that happen!” He spins Sheng around and grabs his backpack, tossing in the leather-bound book, the piece of paper with the translation, the journal Mistral found and a few handfuls of papers the girl had picked up from the floor.
“Let’s move!” he orders the others, turning to head for the door.
“Harvey!” shouts Elettra.
A threatening figure appears in the doorway. It’s a man wearing a black uniform, mirrored sunglasses and a little cap with the word SECURITY written on it.
“Where are you running off to, son?” he says, reaching out his arm, trying to grab Harvey.
“Hey!” Sheng hollers. “Leave my friend alone!”
Standing behind the security guard, the librarian calls out, “Let’s all stay calm, please! Everything’s all right. Gianni just wants to ask you a few questions.”
The security guard stretches his arm out, barring the door. “Would you let me see your backpack, please?” he asks Harvey.
The American boy takes a step back. “Um, why?”
“Because I want to see what you’ve put in there. May I?”
“Forget it!” replies Harvey. “Besides, it’s not even mine.”
“It’s mine,” Sheng points out.
The guard casts a long look around the room. “What did you come here for?”
“Nothing!” Mistral protests. “Why all the questions?”
“Please, kids…,” the woman breaks in. “It’s nothing serious. We just want to understand what happened in here.”
“Are you one of them?” Mistral asks the guard.
The man lets out a dry laugh. “One of who, young lady?”
“We’re getting out of here,” Elettra says curtly. “My uncle’s journal isn’t here anyway.”
“Let me see that backpack.”
“No way,” retorts Harvey, adjusting it firmly on his shoulders. “You aren’t getting it from me.”
“Is that so?” The man presses his fingers against the earpiece he’s wearing under his left temple and orders, “Security? Send Mauro up, too. Top floor.”
“What are you doing?” the librarian asks him.
The guard motions for her to step back. “I’ll take care of these little brats, ma’am.” Then he walks toward Harvey, adjusting his mirrored sunglasses on his nose. “So you want to be a wise guy, do you?” The man takes another step forward. Harvey takes one step back.
“Please, let us go …,” groans Mistral.
“Let me see what you’ve stolen.”
“I didn’t steal anything!” replies Harvey.
It was a mistake to steal fire away from the gods …, thinks Elettra.
The guard bolts and Harvey tosses the backpack into the air, shouting, “Sheng, catch!”
The Chinese boy grabs it in midair and would have quickly run out of the room if the security guard didn’t grab Harvey by the shirt.
“Now you’ve really made me angry!” he says.
Prometheus unleashed the wrath of the gods, thinks Elettra.
“Let him go!” shouts Sheng. “The backpack’s here. Come and get it!”
Harvey tries uselessly to break free, kicking into the air.
“Now I’ll take care of the both of you!” Gianni barks, dragging Harvey across the room.
And now the gods cry out for vengeance.
Elettra shakes her head. There’s something not right about what’s going on. … The security guard has no reason to be so furious. It’s not their fault the room is in the condition it is. And even if they used deception to get in there, they didn’t mean any harm. Like Prometheus, who used deception to steal fire away from the gods. Deception isn’t always used to do harm. Sometimes it’s the only possible path to follow.
What difference does it make which road you follow as you seek the truth? the note read. Such a great secret is not to be reached by a single path.
Elettra suddenly snaps out of her thoughts. Her hands start burning again.
Harvey bites the guard’s wrist, and the man responds by lifting him up as if he were as light as a feather and pinning him against the wall. “Damned kid!”
“Don’t hurt him!” squeals the librarian from the doorway.
Sheng backs up toward the window. Mistral is in the shadows in one corner of the room.
Elettra walks up to Gianni, raising her hand.
“Excuse me …,” she says.
“What do you want, kid?” the man with the mirrored sunglasses growls.
Elettra’s hand moves up to the device he has lodged in his ear.
“I want to show you something …,” the girl says in
a low voice, touching the earpiece.
The guard’s eyes open wide. His mouth does the same. Then he shouts as the unexpected heat released from Elettra’s fingertips instantly melts the device into his eardrum. He lets go of Harvey and raises both hands to his head, stunned by the pain.
Sheng walks right around him, grabs Elettra by the hand and pulls her toward the door. Harvey gets to his feet, makes sure his head is still attached to his neck and shouts out to Mistral, “Run!”
The librarian instinctively jumps to the side to let them pass by.
“Sorry about this!” Sheng laughs nervously. “But we’re really in a hurry!”
“This way!” decides Harvey, randomly choosing a direction.
Behind them, the security guard is still screaming in pain.
The four run at breakneck speed down the stairs, cross through the frescoed rooms, dive into the atrium of the house of monsters and fly out the front door, which is wide open.
And at last, they’re outside.
At the Domus Quintilia, the morning flies by.
Linda’s whistling an old song by Renato Zero, inspecting all the rooms in the hotel armed with rags and feather dusters in various sizes. She enjoys the sunlight streaming in through the windows and reflecting off the snow, as well as the invigorating December air.
Having cleaned the dining room and the stairs, she goes to the bedroom she’s temporarily sharing with her sister. Irene is reading beside her rosebush, in the light pouring in through the French doors. A blanket is draped over her knees.
“Books, books, books!” Linda exclaims the moment she sees her. “Don’t you ever stop reading?”
Irene lowers her book with a smile. “Hello, Linda.”
“Enough with all those words! They give me a headache! Can’t you find anything better to do? There’s a very nice program on television right now.”
“I prefer Lucretius.”
“Oh, how boring!”
“Have you ever read him?”
Linda gives up, wagging the colorful rags with which she’s determined to defeat the very last speck of dust hiding in the room. “Don’t you try it! I don’t even want to know what it is he talks about! Do you mind if I turn on the radio? You could use a bit of music, sis. A little cheeriness is what you need! Not all that boring old drivel by Lucretius and who knows who else!”
Irene points down at her paralyzed legs and says, “Music? Oh, why not? That way, maybe we could dance together for a while. …”
“You’re such a kidder, Irene,” Linda scolds. She gives her a sideways hug, and for a few long moments, they stay there, clasped in their embrace, without saying a word.
“Have you seen Elettra?” Irene then asks, gently freeing herself from the hug.
“She’s out showing the other children the city.”
“How did they seem to you?”
“They seemed pleased. Although … the Chinese boy …”
“Linda …”
“If you’d seen how filthy his shoes were! Two big gym shoes completely covered with mud.”
“They’re kids.”
“The French one, on the other hand,” continued Linda, “is absolutely adorable. Pretty, perfumed and perfect. So graceful. So feminine. If only she’d teach a thing or two to our Elettra, we’d have a niece who’s a little more bearable.”
“Elettra’s just like her mother,” says Irene. “Pure energy.”
“And all that hair,” adds Linda. “I spend more time picking her hair off the sofas than I do cleaning all the guests’ rooms. It’s like a tangle of poisonous snakes.”
Irene leans back in her wheelchair, pleased and uneasy at the same time. “But they aren’t snakes. Besides, even poisonous snakes are important, in their own special way. Have you ever noticed that the symbol for pharmacies is a staff with two snakes entwined around it?”
“And no wonder! With what medication costs these days, it’d be better to die by being poisoned for free!”
Irene cackles. “That’s not the reason behind the symbol. It’s because in antiquity they would use snake venom as an ingredient in their medicine.”
“Fortunately they invented antibiotics,” remarks Linda Melodia, throwing open the room’s French doors to let in some fresh air.
Later on, the tireless lady of the house goes downstairs to the window to check the courtyard. The hotel is silent and tidy. All the guests have gone out, leaving behind only their horrible footprints in the snow. The tire tracks left by Fernando’s minibus are two long, dirty furrows. One detail, however, catches Linda Melodia’s probing eye: a number of muddy shoeprints heading toward the basement door, and others, now dry, that from there make their way over to Elettra’s room. The direction of the heels leaves no doubt. Whoever made them was coming from the courtyard.
The cheerful woman trots outside to check. When Fernando’s minibus passed by, it left behind a web of tire tracks here and there in the courtyard, but Linda manages to understand that four pairs of footprints leave the hotel, head outside … and then return.
There’s only one possible explanation. Last night, Elettra and the other kids sneaked out of the hotel. To have a snowball fight, probably. “Which would explain why they were so tired this morning …,” giggles Linda, passing a rag over the muddy footprints that trail from the hallway up to Elettra’s room.
“What a mess …,” she grumbles when she opens the door to the bedroom. Suitcases and clothes are scattered everywhere. “It looks like there are thirty of them, not four!” Walking around a couple of undershirts, she tries to reach the window so she can let in some fresh air. Meanwhile, she spots other clues of their little escapade last night: a sopping-wet jacket, the American boy’s jeans dampened with snow up to the knee, Elettra’s sweater left draped over the radiator to dry.
But then she sees something strange. Scattered on the floor are shards of glass. Others are in the wastepaper basket in the bathroom.
“My lamp!” moans Linda Melodia, looking around in search of the dandelion lamp. “What the devil have they been up to?”
It doesn’t take her long to find the pieces. Linda collects the shards of glass from the floor as well as what remains of the lamp’s base. Then she carries the trash bag out of the room. “That little devil’s going to get an earful from me!” she thunders, walking outside, toward the curb.
There’s still a lot of snow on the ground. Linda Melodia stomps up to the garbage cans, keeping the trash bag held high, as if she were worried someone would snatch it out of her hands. “My lamp!” she exclaims again, making the pieces of glass clink together. She walks around a young woman with dark brown hair, who says good morning to her.
“Good, you say? Good morning?” huffs Linda. “Look at this mess! My lamp! And that’s not all! Last night they went out without even asking for permission!”
The young woman smiles at her. “Can I help you with that?” she asks when she realizes Linda’s fumbling with the lid.
“Yes, thank you. Hold this! Or better yet, open that up! A pest! That’s what she is … a pest!” Linda calms down only when the bag with what remains of her lamp has disappeared into the garbage can. “There! Done …,” she says to the young woman, who looks at her with her big, beautiful, dark eyes. “Thanks for your help. I don’t know what’s more difficult, running a hotel or looking after a twelve-year-old girl!”
“Are you the owner of the Domus Quintilia?”
Linda Melodia heaves a sigh and answers, “In a certain sense, yes.”
“What luck! Could I ask you a few questions, then?” The woman holds out her hand. “My name is Beatrice.”
12
THE JOURNAL
“HAO! HOW’D YOU DO THAT?!” SHENG CRIES EXCITEDLY. “I’VE never seen anything like it! You were like … like a cartoon superhero!” He raises his right index finger and yells, “Now I’m gonna show you something!”
Mistral elbows him to make him cut it out. Elettra looks far from happy. She walks along, h
er head hanging low, her eyes half-closed. Her long black hair looks like dry, thorny twigs.
“How are you doing?” Harvey asks her.
“I feel tired,” she answers. “And really confused.”
“You’re not the only one. Strange things are happening. And quite frankly …” Harvey thumbs through the professor’s journal. “I think this is going to make us understand even less than we did before.”
“We’re all shaken,” adds Mistral. “We were really in a tough spot with that guy. …”
“What, are you kidding?” Sheng snorts, gesturing. “It was fantastic! We ran off like four daredevil robbers and then the stairs … whoosh! And the front door … bam! And finally … on the street! Incredible!”
“Maybe we should stop somewhere to rest,” suggests Mistral.
“Yeah,” Elettra agrees.
Harvey shakes his head. “I think the best thing for us to do right now is to put some distance between us and the library.”
“I could use something to eat,” suggests Sheng, looking around. “What time is it? Can’t we grab a burger somewhere?”
“Why don’t we go back to the Caffè Greco?”
“Burgers!” Sheng insists. “I want a giant hamburger … a What’s-Your-Beef-Evil-Security-Dude-Gianni Burger!”
Mistral yanks on his backpack. “Would you cut it out with the stupid jokes?”
“You know what we call a stupid joke like that in Rome?” Elettra interjects, a little smile on her face. “A pasquinata.”
“A pasqui-what?”
“Pasquinata.”
“Which would be …?”
“Pasquino is the name they gave to a statue the Romans would hang comical messages on, to make fun of the people in power.”
Harvey holds up the professor’s journal. “Then let’s go there! We could hang this on it.”
Elettra’s head shoots up. “That’s not a bad idea …,” she thinks aloud.
“Um, what isn’t?”
“The Pasquino isn’t far from here,” explains Elettra, pointing down a cobblestone street.
“So what?”
“Right next to the Pasquino,” continues Elettra, “is a quiet little place where they serve what’s called the coppetta incredibile. It’s a dessert made with whipped cream, pistachios, strawberries, meringue and custard. What do you say?”
Ring of Fire Page 9
