The Italian Affair (29 page)

“Wow,” Dan replied. “Ok, well we don’t have a Vespa anymore so we’ll have to either get a train or a bus or a…..”

“Cab,” Issy said quickly. “We’ll definitely get a cab. I can’t wait for Italian trains and buses today I just need to get to Pompeii as soon as possible. Hopefully if we leave now we’ll arrive as he is putting his stall up and arranging his pants.”

“Ok,” Dan said laughing. “I’ll let you be the tour guide today. Let’s just hope we find him I couldn’t bear it if after all this he didn’t sell underpants there anymore.”

“Oh he will,” Issy said. “I read you the letter. If he is not there he is either sick or dead. And I tend to agree with what you said. If we are meant to be together he will be there today.”

Pompeii – 8.00am 5th November 2000

There were no stallholders to be seen anywhere when they got to Pompeii bang on 8 o’clock so Issy and Dan decided to take an unescorted tour of the ancient city before the rush of tourists and to kill time waiting for Bruno to get to work.

Walking arm in arm down narrow cobbled streets gauged by chariot wheels they stood in front of amphitheatres, ancient stone columns and stared in awe at the mighty dormant Vesuvius towering high above the ruins looking much darker and ominous close up.

The sun ricocheted off the lava coated stone-work illuminating murals and ancient words carved into the walls of both simple and more luxurious looking residences painting a thousand words of the lives and desires of those that lived within their walls.

“This is the most beautiful sacred place,” Issy said as she closed her eyes imagining the lives of those long gone.

“Yes,” agreed Dan softly not wanting to disturb the silence “If you listen carefully you can even hear them speak. The dead are still walking around here Issy. It is extraordinary I can almost see their ghosts flitting in and out of houses they’ve never really left.”

“I know,” Issy enthused “it is much more atmospheric than I ever imagined it to be and it’s nice to have the place all to ourselves. Look at these inscriptions I wonder what all these words say that are carved into the walls?”

“Well, you’re the Classics scholar Issy you tell me. Can’t you make anything out?” Dan asked.

Issy peered at the walls more closely. “Not exactly it looks like most of the words are a derivative of Latin,” she said “but as most of pictures are extremely phallic I dread to think what the translations might be.”

“Oh,” Dan laughed. “We must be in a public building of some sort then. Surely they didn’t carve out penis shaped pictures on their walls at home?”

Issy laughed. “It looks like they might have done. There are loads of pictures of curvaceous beautiful women for added titillation as well. Maybe Pasquale’s ancestors lived here and moved to Ischia after the eruption.”

As they continued to amble, a few more tourists started to arrive and it felt like the right time to be making a move. As they walked towards the exit, they stumbled upon what looked like an open air morgue with bodies frozen in time and solidified by volcanic ash.

Issy grabbed Dan for support as she put one hand over her mouth. “This is unreal,” Issy said as she stood and stared at the silent screams on the faces of mummified bodies contorted by death some of them crawling across the floor.

“I’d heard all about the remains of those who’d had died here and how they’d been preserved by the hot lava. But just seeing them here like this makes everything that happened suddenly seem much more real” Dan replied as he followed her out of the morgue.

“And much more tragic,” Issy said squinting against the pale yellow morning sunshine.

“Are you alright Issy?” Dan said as he watched her grab onto a stone wall for support.

“I’m fine. It’s just that one of those men in here – the one with his mouth wide open and his body coiled in pain is exactly how my dad looked when he hit the floor. I just wish he hadn’t died like that. I wish I didn’t have that as my last memory of him. The truth is my dad died in pain screaming except no sound came out of his mouth. I sat with his body for over an hour until my mum came home. I spent all that time trying to wake him up trying to talk to him, trying to make him laugh. When he didn’t respond I all could do was look at his bloody Extra Large bright yellow Marigold washing up gloves trying to figure out what the hell had happened. I’ll never be able to get that image out of my head for as long as I live and that man’s face in there looked exactly like his.”

Dan put his arms around Issy as they walked quickly towards the exit and said. “Why did he wear those gloves? That is the one memory that always seems to haunt you and which I never really understood.”

“Did I never explain?” Issy said slowly.

“No, I’m not sure you did. It puzzled me and I meant to ask but didn’t want to upset you by poking my nose in too much.” Dan replied.

“It’s nothing sinister. But I suppose it’s just one of those odd quirky things in life. Mum explained it to me when I got older,” Issy said. “Dad suffered from acute anxiety. Basically the sort that paralyses you when you walk into a room full of other people which, as he was a teacher, made each and every day very stressful for him. He never went to the doctor or sought help and so in the end it killed him. My dad was so kind and good. A brilliant teacher and a loving father and that’s why I have never been really able to accept that if there was a God why someone like that could just be snatched away in the blink of an eyelid. I guess somewhere among these ruins lie the souls of hundreds of people who suffered the same fate.”

“Yes but that doesn’t explain why he wore Marigold washing up gloves,” Dan said as gently as possible.

“Because he had psoriasis which was a symptom of anxiety” Issy said matter of factly as she walked out into the sunshine to find her fate.

Pompeii – 8.30am 5th November 2000

In the half an hour it had taken them to walk around the market area immediately nearest the archeological site of Pompeii, it had suddenly filled up with tourists and stall holders selling everything from cold drinks and packets of cigarettes to slices of water melon in big plastic coloured buckets.

Issy’s heart raced as she stared around to see if she could spot Bruno before saying. “Standing here like this suddenly feels like a completely crazy thing to have done. I mean it’s four years since I spoke to him and I knew him for a matter of days. What the HELL am I doing here? He’s probably happily married with a house full of kids.”

Dan sighed as he looked at Issy. “Don’t be so pessimistic. I’m not going to just give up now we’ve come all this way to find him and certainly not now we’ve got the letter to prove that he is honourable. I’m not going anywhere until we’ve done what we set out to do which is to find him, talk to him and to finally find out – after all the conversations we’ve had about Bruno in London ever since we left here – if you still have any residual feelings for each. That is the agreement we had when we decided to come if I remember rightly,” Dan continued “and to simply have a good holiday if nothing happens is what we will do next. But I have kind of given up on a good holiday already.”

Issy squeezed Dan’s hand. “Thanks for being so focused Dan and for being here. It means so much especially after everything we’ve been through. What on earth do we do next though? Should we just wander around the stalls again hoping to see him?”

“Yes, I guess” Dan said “I’m not an expert in these situations but I’ve no other good ideas about how else we’re going to find him.”

As they fought their way through crowds of multi-cultural coach loads of tourists they ducked and dived trying to avoid appearing in Japanese family photos and politely declining the offer of contraband cigarettes and small plastic lighters.

“The only other thing is I can’t see any stalls just selling underpants,” Issy said as they weaved in and out of even heavier crowds. “I have to say the more I look around the less likely it seems that he works here anymore – I mean maybe something got lost in translation and it was a euphemism for something else. It’s not like you come to Pompeii and top of your shopping list is a pair of Y-fronts.”

“Oh, I don’t know Issy,” Dan said laughing. “He may do an interesting line in historic ones although I’m not sure the men and women of Pompeii wore any. I wouldn’t be too hasty in coming to any conclusions yet. Bruno has proved that he is a master of the understatement and intrigue. I’m sure he is here somewhere it’s just a question of finding him. Maybe he serenades his customers and plays Tchaikovsky at the same time as selling pants.”

“Dan,” Issy laughed. “That’s outrageous but I agree there are still a number of fascinating contradictions about him that I want to find out about.”

“Well,” Dan replied. “The good news is we still have plenty of time left to look for him and I for one have no intention of giving up so easily. I mean just the drama of it alone is worth us continuing our search.”

And then as Issy turned her head around to move onto the next stall, there right behind her was Bruno with a bright sheath of sunshine shining directly onto his bronzed face which remained totally unaltered from the image she’d carried around with her since the last time they’d met.

As Issy stood frozen to the ground she looked disbelievingly into his eyes searching for a sign that he felt the same. “Time had not changed anything for her but what about him?” she thought as she watched his beautiful face respond in slow motion to meeting her again. But she needn’t have worried.

Bruno’s eyes danced and his smile sang. It was the response she had prayed for. He reached out his arms and folded her into them stroking her long blond curly hair and whispering into her ear. It was the touch of a father, a lover, a friend and a soulmate. After all these years she had finally found the missing piece of her jigsaw.

“Issy Mead,” Bruno said over and over again. “My Issy Mead, I knew you would come for me it was only a question of time and now finally you are here. What took you so long?”

PART III – Dolce

Oxfordshire
– 8.30am 5th November 2012

Issy switched off her computer with a flourish. She’d finally finished what she needed to write.

Pleased with herself, she made her way into the kitchen. A large Italian macchinetta sat on top of the cooker with coffee and water in it ready to be percolated. On the old oak dining room table sat fresh pastries neatly displayed in a small wicker basket. Tilly and Toby, a pair of British shorthaired cats, lay on their backs with their paws pointing heavenwards warming their full bellies in front of the log burning stove.

Contentedly, Issy picked up the Sunday newspaper and browsed at the front page waiting patiently by the stove. When the spurts of black coffee had subsided, she poured the boiling milk and the coffee into a large cappuccino cup and went to sit outside on a wrought iron bench by the edge of a crystal clear stream that hurried along down one side of the cottage.

The air though cold felt invigorating on her face as she re-read the headlines squinting as a lemony sun which had slowly appeared from behind a wispy cloud as she’d sat down. Sheaths of light shone brightly through it illuminating the limes, the greens, the reds and the browns – perfect autumnal hues reflecting back at her from the woodland beyond.

As Issy started to do the crossword, Rufus ran towards her nuzzling into her crotch looking more pleased than usual to see her with Bruno following on a few steps behind. “Ciao bella,” he said as he kissed his wife lightly on the head before going inside to collect his cappuccino.

“Come out quickly and enjoy the sunshine with me,” Issy shouted lazily. “Dan rang and said he’d be at the station at about 11am so we’ve only got a few minutes before one of us has to set off again.”

“Ah yes,” Bruno said with a big smile on his face. “I’m looking forward to seeing him I’ll go and collect him on the Vespa.”

“Um, if you don’t mind and then I can laze in the garden and play with Rufus, did you enjoy the walk this morning?” Issy asked him changing the subject.

“Si,” Bruno replied sitting down on the bench and putting his arm around her. “We went along the river as usual but instead of walking through the village I took Rufus up towards the church and sat on the bench at the top of the field under the big oak tree.”

“I haven’t been up there for ages,” Issy replied linking her arm through his and resting her head on Bruno’s shoulder. “Why did you take that route today? Did you fancy a change?”

“A bit of both,” Bruno replied. “The view is so beautiful and clear on a day like this and so I sat overlooking the churchyard, thinking how peaceful it must be to be buried there. I then had this really random thought. When we die we should have the words ‘The Italian Affair” written in Italian on the gravestone you know as our epitaph.”

“That is extraordinary,” Issy said “especially from a man who never ever thinks about the future or plans for it either.”

“Well,” Bruno said. “We have a story to tell, and we have no children and I thought…. well I thought it would be nice for us and maybe one day someone would find that gravestone and wonder what it was all about. I like living in the moment but I also like to retain some mystery. It is very important Issy to have some intrigue. It makes life more interesting, don’t you agree?”