Raga Six (A Doctor Orient Occult Novel) (31 page)

Orient repeated the number to himself. It was probably a reference to the Abjad notation system, the scientific code of Arabic and Hebrew magic in which every letter had a numerical value. But there were many possible combinations to the sum two seven seven. Ahmehmet had given him a weapon he couldn’t use.
 

He heard the helicopter coming, then saw its rotors glinting in the red-streaked sky. As it approached, Orient recalled something about the city of Naples. Virgil had constructed two gates to the city. One gave a traveler good fortune, the other bad. He wondered which way his taxi had turned when it took him to the helicopter platform.
 

When the helicopter rose slowly from the dock, Orient could see how Naples was able to inspire divine fables. It spread lazily and gracefully over the rugged coastline. He saw baroque palazzas next to green trees, small suburban houses, and the Arabic spires of mosques left behind by invading Moors and now capped with Christian crosses in the crumbling maze of the slums behind the docks. The sea around the city was brown instead of blue, its high-rise, cliffside apartments were grayed with smoke from festering clumps of factories, but the city still conveyed the repressed vitality of the volcano across the bay.
 

As the helicopter leaned away from the city and skimmed a high current of air above the dark sea, Orient wondered if Sordi had received the telegram he had sent from Casablanca.
 

Sordi had been waiting for Orient since four that morning when the first helicopter had arrived from Naples. He had watched five flights come in without his friend. He looked at his watch and wondered if
 

he should drive to the port and check to see if the doctor had come in by ferryboat.
 

Instead, he adjusted the silk scarf around his neck, settled back in his chair, and looked out across the blue water. Everything had changed on the island during the time he’d been away, but at least they hadn’t ruined the water. Yet. Give the idiots time and they’d manage even that, Sordi decided.
 

He wasn’t pleased with the place he’d come home to. The traffic had jammed, the thick green forests and fertile farms were being plastered with asphalt, and the people had become money-crazy. Most of Sordi’s old family friends were now tourist moguls with no thought of preserving their unique environment.
 

His memories of a placid island in the sea, an extinct volcano where everything grew ripe and sweet, a haven where he could be close to the earth among simple, honest people—it was all gone. Sordi sighed. At least the sun was unspoiled.
 

He peered anxiously into the brightening sky, then looked down and flicked a speck of dust from his cashmere sweater. He speculated on what had made the doctor decide to visit Ischia. Whatever the reason, he was happy about it. Maybe the doctor wanted to set up his lab again and needed his services. It would be good to see him again. Especially now with Francesca so sick.
 

Sordi shook his head. His cousin Nino and his wife were really scared about their daughter. But they were stubborn. Maybe Doctor Orient could talk some sense into them.
 

When he heard the low whirring coming from across the water, he jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth on the small platform, his thin frame erect with a mixture of nervousness and enthusiasm.
 

As the helicopter descended, Sordi elbowed his way to the head of the line of cab drivers and departing passengers who were waiting at the gate.
 

He craned his neck as the craft unloaded but could only see the regular assortment of German, English, and American tourists. He had another fleeting thought of getting into his car and driving down to meet the ferry before the taxis glutted the narrow road to the port. The thought disintegrated as the sight of the familiar, gaunt face and white-streaked black hair let loose his pent-up emotions and he yelled out.
 

But as the tall figure approached, Sordi’s joy turned to concern. Doctor Orient’s wide shoulders were stooped and his face was gray with fatigue under his tanned skin. But he did look better than the last time he’d seen him. Then the doctor had seemed frail and unhealthy. But even though he looked tired now, he still looked alert. And his smile when he heard Sordi’s voice was real and strong.
 

He took the doctor’s outstretched hand and pumped it vigorously; shouting at him until he realized that he’d asked the doctor three questions without waiting for an answer. He dropped Orient’s hand and picked up his bag. "Maybe I better give you a chance to get rested and eat something before I start the questions," he grinned. None of it made any difference. The doctor was here.
 

"How’ve you been?" Orient said, grinning back at Sordi.
 

"Great," Sordi lied. "Best thing in the world."
 

"That’s good to hear, I need a vacation," Orient stopped when he saw where Sordi was heading with his bag. "So you took this monstrosity with you after all," he said in mock surprise.
 

"Of course." Sordi gazed at the gleaming 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible. "You don’t think I was going to leave it behind?" He opened the door. "Never needs a day’s repair. Besides," he said as he walked around the car to the driver’s side, "I like the way she looks."
 

As Sordi drove along the winding road through the town of Lacco Ameno toward the far side of the island, he kept glancing at Orient. The doctor was talking in his slow, quiet way as usual, but there was something different about him. He was sitting back relaxed in the front seat, but his green eyes were glistening with some kind of inner excitement.
 

"Where’ve you been?" Sordi asked. "I got worried when two letters I sent to New York came back. Nothing important, but you should let somebody know where you are."
 

Orient smiled, "I decided to do some traveling suddenly. To Morocco."
 

"Morocco?" Sordi said. "Where’s that, Africa?"
 

Orient nodded.
 

Sordi shook his head. "I’ll bet you haven’t eaten a decent meal since I left."
 

"That’s right. And I think that’s exactly what I need right now."
 

Orient looked at Sordi. "Are you still the best-dressed chef in town or did somebody swipe that title?"
 

Sordi grunted. "Nobody swipes no cooking titles from me." He swung the car around a small uphill curve, narrowly but deftly avoiding an oncoming Mercedes.
 

"This car is too big for these country roads," Orient remarked drily. "What you need is a Topolino Fiat."
 

"That car you used to have was twice as big as this," Sordi reminded him. "But it didn’t have styling." He slowed the car down as the road passed a small cove of blue water between two overhanging cliffs. A number of yachts, sailboats and motorboats were floating calmly off the sandy beach.
 

"That’s very nice," Orient said, looking back.
 

Sordi wasn’t impressed. "The water’s full of gasoline from the boats and beach is too crowded. I’ll show you a nice beach. How long are you going to stay, Doctor?"
 

Orient continued to admire the scenery. "Don’t know yet. But I want to find an apartment or studio for a few weeks at least. Someplace private."
 

Sordi smiled. "That’s perfect. My house is right on a beach and there’s only two other houses around."
 

Orient hesitated. Sordi wondered if he was uncomfortable about accepting his hospitality. "I’m not there most of the time," he added. "I spend a lot of time with my cousin and his family. Plus I have another place farther up on the mountain."
 

Orient grinned. "Thanks, Sordi. That sounds fine."
 

"Wait till you see it. You won’t want to go back to Morocco so fast. My land gets the best tomatoes on the island. And they know how to grow tomatoes here."
 

The road curved away from the shore, through a cobblestoned old village and past a few medieval stone towers. "This is Forio," Sordi announced. "My place is a few miles up the coast." The car rolled through the little town and then followed the road seaward again.
 

"Ischia’s a big island," Orient said.
 

"Not big enough. Citarra, the place where I live, is the only part where the tourists aren’t overrunning the sand. And even there they have a big health spa that takes up part of the beach."
 

"Health spa?"
 

"Yeah. You know, mineral baths and radioactive mud treatments. Ischia’s on top of an old volcano so the place is naturally radioactive. My place is on the side of an old crater. And the beach and water in front have hot springs."
 

"What have you been doing with yourself?"
 

The question caught Sordi off guard. He had an impulse to blurt out the truth, that since he’d left the doctor’s service he’d been at loose ends. That he couldn’t decide what to do. That he wasn’t happy in Italy, because he missed being useful, being needed for something. That he’d gotten used to New York and that, as terrible as the city was, at least a man could enjoy himself.
 

He suppressed the impulse. "I’ve just been taking it easy for a while, Doctor. Lots of swimming and cooking."
 

"La dolce vita on a Mediterranean paradise."
 

"Sure." Sordi glanced at Orient. "But I might take a little trip back to New York. In the fall. Just to look around."
 

The car pulled around a bend and Sordi slowed down so that Orient could get a good look as they reached a rise. A hundred feet below them was the crystal-blue water of a large natural harbor dug out of a bowl of flinty rock. The steep boulders around the long sandy beach were green and thick with vegetation, lushly colored in contrast to the limpid tints of the water.
 

"It’s beautiful!" Orient said.
 

Sordi noted his exclamation with satisfaction. "This is it," he said casually. "Citarra, where you live now."
 

When Sordi parked the car, Orient got out and took his bag from the back seat, swinging it easily over the door. Sordi was glad to see that the doctor had retained his athletic grace. And he thought he detected a new authority in Orient’s walk. A sort of confidence. But later, as he watched Orient pick at his herb and cheese salad, he changed his mind about his friend’s state.
 

There was something eating at him. He couldn’t seem to unwind. He was calm and soft-spoken as always, but the light in his eyes was unnaturally bright. While they were talking, Sordi got the feeling that his attention was on something else, deep inside.
 

Even after dinner, as they sat in the big leather chairs in front of the picture window overlooking the sea, the feeling that the doctor was tense and overtired persisted.
 

"Maybe you’d like to take a shower and get some rest," Sordi suggested. "You’ve had a long trip."
 

"The shower sounds great, but I don’t know if I want to go to bed just yet. There’s somebody on the island I want to look up." Orient looked at his hands. "A doctor."
 

Sordi nodded. "Where?" Orient shook his head and stared out the window. "I don’t know exactly."

 
"That might take some time. There are eight districts on the island. And people coming and going all the time."
 

Orient didn’t answer.
 

"Tell you what," Sordi said finally. "I’ve got to go see my cousin now. You take your shower and I’ll be back in a while and we can drive around and see if we can locate your friend."
 

Orient smiled. "You don’t have to go to all this trouble..."
 

"No trouble, Doctor," Sordi interrupted. "My cousin lives just above here. On the mountain. Next to my other house. They don’t have much room at their place with other kids so my niece is staying at my place." He stood up. "She’s sick."
 

Orient looked at him.
 

"My cousin is a nice guy but he’s stubborn," Sordi muttered. His temper flared as he thought of Nino. "He makes a good living but he don’t want to send his kids to school. And he don’t want Francesca to go to the hospital."
 

"You mean your niece?" Orient asked.
 

Sordi nodded. "He’s just stubborn. He’s got one way of doing things, the old way. You can’t tell him anything else. He’s even got some old
strega
woman with Francesca instead of a nurse." Sordi grit his teeth. "I almost punched him in the nose the other day." He looked at Orient. "Maybe you could talk to Nino. Tomorrow. He might listen to you."
 

"Sure, if you think it will help. What’s wrong with Francesca?"
 

"I don’t know. Some kind of sleeping sickness. The doctor wants to take her to the hospital in Naples. At least to the hospital here at the port. But Nino won’t let him."
 

Orient stood up. "What do you mean, sleeping sickness?" he asked softly.
 

Sordi was disturbed by the intense expression in the doctor’s face. His slanting green eyes glittered with the strain that lined his high forehead and hollow cheeks. "She just sleeps. She’s very weak. The doctor said that if my cousin don’t change his mind, he’s going to call the police. Francesca can’t even eat."
 

"How long has she been like that?"
 

Sordi shrugged. "Three, maybe four days."
 

Orient frowned. "Give me some time to have a fast shower and change clothes. Then I’ll go with you to your house. I’d like to look at Francesca."
 

As Sordi sat waiting for Orient, he felt apprehensive. If the doctor thought it was serious, Francesca might be sicker than everyone thought. He decided to tell Nino’s wife that Francesca would have to go to the hospital right away. He looked around the room. And there was something troubling Orient. He hadn’t even noticed the way the house looked. Sordi was disappointed. He had designed the interior himself. Had the walls taken down and the windows enlarged.