Ring of Fire

by Pierdomenico Baccalario

  “Approved!” declares Sheng, instantly giving up his plans for a hamburger.

  The afternoon light begins to fade, but not the kids’ curiosity. Sitting around a little table outside the Cul de Sac restaurant, four empty dishes of coppetta incredibile in front of them, the kids listen carefully to what Elettra is reading from the professor’s journal. The first pages aren’t particularly interesting. They sound like notes from a university lecture about Nero, who, it seems, was his favorite topic.

  “He liked crazy people,” remarks Harvey.

  Elettra turns page after page. “Sure looks that way. Nero as emperor, Nero in battle, Nero’s childhood … It seems he was tutored by a very important philosopher called Seneca, one of the great minds of antiquity. The greatest tutors often ended up with crazy pupils. Aristotle taught Alexander the Great, Seneca taught Nero …,” she summarizes.

  “So who was your great tutor?” Sheng asks Harvey, getting elbowed in reply.

  “Seneca taught Nero the secrets of the natural world. He told him about Earth, the planets, the moon and the sun. He described the four elements that every other thing is made of: water, air, earth and fire. Nero was particularly fascinated by fire, an element of both life and destruction.” Elettra struggles to translate the following pages. “Seneca maintained that mankind was allowed to make advances in discovering some of the secrets of the cosmos, but that there was a limit. There were secrets that were never to be revealed.”

  “That’s just like what was written on the note in the briefcase!” Mistral points out.

  “Here the professor added a footnote: ‘That’s what I’m looking for. And one of these secrets is hidden in Rome.’”

  Sheng slaps his hand down on the table. “What did I tell you? Keep going! Keep going!”

  “There’s another footnote …,” says Elettra, turning the journal upside down. “ ‘Study the tops and the wooden map. Find out how it’s used. Ermete.’”

  “What does ‘Ermete’ mean?” asks Mistral, resting her pencil beside her sketchbook, in which she’s been jotting down the things that seem to be the most important.

  “It’s a name, actually,” Elettra explains. “But I don’t know who that could be.”

  “So the professor calls the thing a ‘wooden map’…,” Harvey points out. “What else?”

  Elettra thumbs through a few blank pages and others on which drawings have been sketched. “I’d say he wasn’t as good as you, Mistral. What do you think these are supposed to be?”

  The girl studies the sketches in the journal and remarks, “It looks like he was trying to copy down the drawings we saw on the tops.”

  Elettra nods and turns the page. “Here he goes back to talking about Nero again.”

  “How boring!” grumbles Sheng. “I want to know what the secret is!”

  “It looks like Nero wanted to know that, too …,” Elettra comments. “When Seneca spoke to him for the first time about a secret that mankind was forbidden to seek out, Nero was furious. He demanded to know what the secret was, and Seneca replied, ‘It is the greatest of secrets, but the time has not yet come for it to be revealed.’”

  “Typical answer from a teacher,” remarks Mistral.

  “And Nero?” asks Harvey.

  “I bet he was angry,” Sheng throws in.

  Elettra giggles. “I’d say so, too. He abandoned the teachings of Seneca and started to learn from tutors from the Orient, who convinced him to worship fire and the sun god.”

  “Zeus?” Sheng guessed.

  “No. His name was … Mithra,” says Elettra, reading aloud.

  “Never heard of him.”

  “I have,” Sheng remarks, amazing everyone. “I think they still worship him in India. Or something like that …”

  “The professor writes that Mithra was the sun god. A god who came back to life after death, just like the sun sets and then rises again in the morning. And … this is weird … in ancient Rome he was celebrated on December twenty-fifth!”

  “On Christmas?” asks Mistral.

  “They didn’t have Christmas back then, you know,” Harvey reminds her.

  “So when did they get all their presents?”

  “Nero started to believe he was a god himself,” Elettra continues, reading. “And that he was the actual personification of the sun. Basically, he went crazy. ‘Foolish mortal, you have gone further than was allowed. You have sought to learn secrets that you should not have sought out. You have discovered answers to questions that you should not have asked.’ That’s Seneca again, I guess.”

  “What did Nero say to that?” asks Harvey.

  “He ordered the construction of what’s called the Colossus Neronis, the largest bronze statue ever forged. In it, he was depicted as the sun god, surrounded by fiery flames.”

  “He totally lost it. …”

  “Yeah. In fact, later on he set fire to the city. As though he were a god, he destroyed the very thing that gave him power. And to do that he used …” Elettra struggles to translate the words that follow. “… The Ring of Fire.”

  “What’s that?”

  The girl shakes her head. She shows them the journal, in which the professor has drawn a ring surrounded by flames. The following pages are brutally torn. Drawn on the remaining scraps are flaming circles and spirals.

  When she sees them, Mistral rummages through the backpack and pulls out the sheets of paper she picked up from the library floor. There, too, are circles and spirals copied over and over again, obsessively.

  “To be honest, I doodle stuff like that when I need to kill time …,” says Sheng. “Maybe the professor talked on the phone a lot.”

  “I say he was insane,” insists Harvey.

  “Actually …,” Elettra says softly, leafing through the last remaining pages in the journal, “from here on in, nothing else is legible. Except for … well, this, maybe. ‘The Ring of Fire is Seneca’s secret. It’s hidden below and hidden above. Search below and you shall find it above. To find the way, use the map.’”

  “What does that mean?” asks Sheng.

  “Nothing,” blurts out Harvey. “Just like everything else we’ve read so far. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “But if it says you need to use a map to find the way there … Well, he did leave us a map,” Mistral points out.

  “But what kind of a map is it, anyway? It’s just a hunk of wood,” says Harvey.

  “Isn’t there anything else in the journal?”

  Elettra shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Except for … let’s see … These look like phone numbers, partially crossed out … ‘Ilda, news, 06543804. Orsenigo, dentist, 18671903.’ ” Saying this, she hands the journal to Sheng. “That’s all, I guess.”

  “Can I use one of your pencils?” Sheng asks Mistral. He copies the phone numbers down onto a napkin and looks carefully at the last pages of the journal.

  “So what do we do now?” Mistral asks.

  Elettra and Harvey exchange glances. “It’ll be getting dark soon …,” the American boy points out. “And we’ve been gone since this morning. Maybe we should go back to the hotel.”

  “Are you tired?” Elettra asks him.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but I’m really curious, too. …”

  Just then, a little melody comes from Mistral’s purse. Her cell phone’s ringtone is playing the refrain from “You’re Beautiful,” a song by James Blunt.

  “Bleah!” grimaces Sheng, rubbing the pencil across the inside cover of the journal.

  Mistral fishes the cell phone out of her purse and answers it. “Hi, Mom!” The conversation soon turns into a monologue of “Yes, of course, I understand, no, no, that’s fine, don’t worry about it,” and quickly comes to an end. The phone plops back into her purse and a look of disappointment clouds the girl’s face.

  “Bad news?” Elettra asks her.

  “Well …,” replies Mistral. “My mom needs to leave Rome on business and she won’t be back bef
ore tomorrow night. She’s leaving me her room. Although … if you don’t mind, I’d rather stay in your room.”

  “Sure, no problem,” says Elettra.

  “Do you have to go back to the hotel to say goodbye to her?” Harvey asks.

  Mistral drums her ice cream spoon against the saucer. “I’m not sure …,” she answers. “But I don’t think so.”

  “Then we can stay out a little while longer,” suggests Elettra. “I know a great place to get pizza.”

  “I’ll need to let my parents know,” says Harvey.

  “What about you, Sheng?”

  “What?” The Chinese boy is still busy rubbing the tip of the pencil across the last page of the journal. “That’s fine with me. … I just need to talk to my dad.”

  Mistral picks up her cell phone and hands it to Elettra. “You want to make the call?”

  The girl punches in the number of the Domus Quintilia, but before hitting the send button, she says, “Actually …” She takes a look at Sheng’s napkin and punches in a second phone number. After a few rings, a woman’s voice answers.

  “Is this Ilda? Yes, hello there!” Elettra booms out boldly.

  Harvey jumps up from his seat. Sheng’s mouth falls open. Mistral smiles.

  Elettra goes on, unperturbed. “This is the professor’s niece. Yes, Uncle … Alfred. Oh, you didn’t know? Well, he does. Actually, he’s got two nieces and two nephews in all. That’s right.

  Of course we … What? He’s … he’s doing just fine. … But … well … I can imagine. Yes … yes, he told us that. We know it’s been a long time since he’s stopped by. For … for news. Sure. So you do have some, right? News, I mean. …”

  Harvey runs his fingers through his hair nervously and starts walking around the table.

  “You set it aside for him,” repeats Elettra, “as always? Well … great. We could stop by to pick it up. That way … that way we can surprise Uncle Alfred. What’s that? It’s heavy? Oh, it doesn’t matter. …” Elettra motions to Sheng to jot down an address. “The newsstand in Largo Argentina. Fine. In fifteen minutes. Perfect!” And with this, she hangs up.

  “Are you out of your mind?!” Harvey blurts out. “Why did you call that number?”

  “Why not?” she responds, handing him the cell phone. “What was your plan of action?”

  “I don’t know!” Harvey grunts. “But anyway … darn it! We should all decide what to do together, shouldn’t we?”

  “Well?” asks Mistral.

  “That was the owner of the newsstand in Largo Argentina. She said she’s set a lot of stuff aside for ‘Uncle Alfred,’ ” Elettra answers. “And we’re going over there to pick it up.”

  “Perfect! While we’re at it, why don’t we call the dentist and schedule an appointment?” Harvey sputters. “In fact, maybe the tooth we found in the briefcase belongs to him!”

  “Why are you getting so angry?” snaps Mistral, who’s starting to get annoyed by Harvey’s attitude.

  “Hao!” cries Sheng just then.

  “What is it?”

  The Chinese boy shows them the inside cover of the journal, which he’s completely blackened in with the pencil.

  “Take a look! I’ve seen them do this on TV. It shows you the impression of what was written on the page before, so you can read it,” he explains. “And it works!” On the blackened page, in a sort of carbon copy, is a large circle inside of which they see the professor’s tiny, angular handwriting, which reads:

  I have made a discovery

  and I have been discovered

  the Ring of Fire

  they’re right behind me

  they walk and dig

  they watch

  they murmur

  they creep

  they kill

  I hear their

  words words words words WORDS

  it’s begun

  what was hidden is about to be revealed

  no one can

  HIDE FOREVER

  It’s already evening when the phone rings at the hotel. Fernando Melodia folds up his copy of La Gazzetta dello Sport with a rustling of paper, grabs the receiver and replies, “Domus Quintilia. Oh … hi, Elettra.”

  “Who is it, Fernando?” a shrill voice immediately asks. Aunt Linda peeks in from the doorway and the man motions for her to be quiet.

  “No, that’s fine, of course you can …,” he says in the meantime. “I think your taking them to the Montecarlo for pizza is a great idea!”

  “Is that Elettra?” Linda interrupts, her voice rising in intensity. “If that’s Elettra, let me talk to her immediately.”

  Fernando turns his back on her, letting the telephone cord wrap around him. “Of course, I’ll let them all know. … Sheng’s father hasn’t come back yet, and Harvey’s parents … What’s that?”

  Aunt Linda angrily sits down on the sofa and demands that he let her speak to her niece.

  “Elettra, your aunt wants to—” Fernando manages to say before the phone is ripped out of his hand.

  “Elettra!” Linda Melodia shouts out furiously. “Just tell me one thing! What did you kids get up to last night? I saw your footprints!”

  Fernando plops down on the couch and grumbles, “Oh, she said they were out buying magazines in Largo Argentina. And that they wouldn’t be back for dinner.” He smiles sheepishly at a dark-eyed young woman, who’s now glaring at him from the sitting room. He escapes into the comfort of his sports paper.

  “Tell me what you did last night!” the aunt barks out again.

  A long moment of silence follows.

  “Elettra!” Linda Melodia thunders out, shocked. “What on earth has gotten into you?!” she exclaims. And with this, she hangs up.

  “So what did they do last night?” Fernando asks with amusement, without looking up from his paper.

  “Your daughter reads too many books!” Aunt Linda sighs. “Do you know what she just had the nerve to tell me? That last night on Ponte Quattro Capi, they met a man whose throat was slit shortly afterward!”

  “Oh, my!” exclaims Fernando, without managing to hide a hint of admiration for his daughter’s outlandish excuse.

  “She also said that it was on the front page of all the newspapers,” Linda continues, returning to speak with their guest. “It’s unbelievable! Kids these days come up with the most frightful stories. …”

  His curiosity piqued, Fernando folds up La Gazzetta and takes a look at the front page of Il Messaggero. “Actually, they say they really did find a man’s body beside the Tiber. …”

  “Fernando! Don’t you get started now, too!”

  The man shrugs his shoulders, withdrawing into a dignified silence.

  A few minutes later, Beatrice walks out of the Domus Quintilia, overjoyed.

  She quickly dials a phone number.

  “Little Linch? I think I found something,” she says into her cell phone. “Meet me in Largo Argentina. At the newsstand.”

  13

  THE NEWS

  NAPPING AMONG THE REMAINS OF THE TEMPLES IN LARGO Argentina are dozens of stray cats. Not minding the snow or the traffic around them, others stroll around peacefully, like local gods. Not far from them or the crowded bus stops is a little pre-fabricated newsstand, which looks like it’s been attacked by an army of advertising posters. The owner’s wrinkled face can barely be seen peeking out from behind the stacks and stacks of magazines. When the kids appear before her, the woman can barely keep herself from running out to hug them.

  “I was so worried!” she cries. She points at the first page of Il Messaggero and says, “When I saw that photo this morning, I almost fainted! That looks just like your uncle’s raincoat. …”

  Elettra, Sheng, Mistral and Harvey try to avoid the subject.

  “I’m so relieved! I’m so relieved!” Ilda says, sighing. “I haven’t seen him for days now, and if you hadn’t called me, I’d have stopped by to take a look in his house tonight.”

  “It’s a good thing we called you,
then …,” Elettra says softly.

  Ilda disappears into the depths of the newsstand and starts to rummage around in the plastic containers full of magazines. She doesn’t stop talking for a second. “He’s seemed so anxious lately! I’ve even asked him if he’s been eating, because he looks so pale, and he’s a lot thinner than normal. I don’t think he even weighs sixty kilos! Literally! You read too much, I tell him! And you’re always so worried about … well, about something!”

  The news vendor slips out of a little side door. She’s a tiny woman, much shorter than the kids, although she has massive shoulders and arms. With no apparent strain, she holds up four plastic bags stuffed full of newspapers.

  “This is all of it,” she explains. “In the first one I put all the main daily papers: Le Figaro, Le Monde, the New York Times, the Bombay Post. All that’s missing is Pravda, which they keep delivering late. In this other one I put all the magazines from African missionaries as well as Argentinean and Bolivian weeklies. Polish and Finnish monthlies are here in the third bag. I mean, they’re all from up north, aren’t they? When I couldn’t understand where something came from because I didn’t recognize the language, I put it in the fourth bag.”

  “I’ll take that one!” Sheng offers, peeking into the bag, hoping to find a Chinese newspaper.

  Ilda stares at him rather curiously, amazed that the professor has a nephew with Asian features. But then, as if she’s understood everything, she remarks, “He certainly is a man of the world.”

  Each of the other kids grabs a bag.

  “I’m sorry, but …,” Elettra hazards, turning to the woman. “You said that if we hadn’t called, you would’ve stopped by our uncle’s place in person. … Does that mean you’ve got a copy of his house keys?”

  “Of course! Do you need them?” exclaims Ilda, disappearing back into the newsstand. She reappears moments later next to the culinary magazines, handing a set of keys to the kids. “This is the copy the professor left with me. He’s always forgetting them at home, and he comes here for the spare set whenever he’s locked out.” On the key ring is a little tag with an address written in ink. Elettra has never heard of the street name before, but she decides not to ask any more questions.