Although the registro degli indagati, in which the name and details of every suspect is filed, by now numbered many pages, Ghedina’s investigation no longer had a single plausible suspect. Leo smiled in spite of himself: the Baron was indeed a sly fox. As for Orsina’s kidnapping, Leo was the chief suspect! The irony of the notion sickened him, but he read on.
During the last week, the papers had much to say about the “repentant desecrators.” It turned out that they had many things in common. All were young Caucasian men, most of them from a working class background, and all leaning to a vaguely traditional ultra-right wing. They all stated that they had not realized that a simple act of vandalism could produce the results it had, when multiplied by many similar acts happening all over Europe. But even as they were desecrating the holy site of their choice, they did not necessarily do so of their own volition, but as if they were possessed. They recollected acting as if under the influence, not of alcohol or drugs, but an inner influence guiding them and their acts. Now that it had faded, they had begun to think clearly, and to put things in perspective.
It seemed a specious argument, possibly invented to reduce their sentence. Europe was on the brink of civil war, indeed the war could have escalated and become a full-blown clash of civilizations, involving two or more continents with millions of casualties. The young men realized that they had been the catalysts of events far greater than they could have envisioned. Now that they could think clearly once more, they had felt an urge to go to the local authorities and confess. As soon as Felipe had confessed the most serious crime, the bombing of Santiago Cathedral, they had mustered the courage to do as much, their acts being not terrorism but merely sacrilege.
****
It was time for Vespers again. Leo thought it wise to join the monks, but even as he sang, and then ate alone in his cell, his mind could not stop worrying.
What had the Baron made of Angela? How long had he been abusing her? Why had she allowed it? Leo had no answer to these questions, but did remember from his vaticination, and vividly, her entrance into the Baron’s studio: she looked like a zombie. Did Emanuele have some hypnotic power over her, possibly the “power over women” that Cesare was too much of a gentleman to reveal? And then, what was he doing with this magic? Was he trying to attain a state of mystical exaltation? Trying to make himself a god? When he was lecturing those young men about transcendence, he was obviously hinting at some strange practices.
“Those young men …” Leo wondered, “wasn’t there a zombified look about them, too? There’d have to be, for them to sit for hours listening to the Baron’s sermons!”
Discouraged by his lack of progress, frustrated, angry even at himself, and feeling that he might have not done justice to the hints furnished by his divination a few days before, Leo returned to the forbidden book. Since logical deduction had yielded no results, he still had nothing better to pin his hopes on for finding Orsina.
Opening the book he searched for a certain passage. Here it was: the one on how “the Hero, at need, will find a secure and secret place,” with its cryptogram about “inaccessible shades.” Who needed to find a secure and secret place? The Baron? Orsina? Himself? All three? This was too close to ignore. He looked at the ends of the other chapters which Cesare concluded with Latin tags. There was one that Orsina herself had mentioned, the very first time they had discussed the cryptograms, in Villa Riviera’s garden: Pulsa cineres, elige lacunam. “Pulsa” had many meanings, too: strike, beat, urge, disturb, and so on. What did one do to ashes? One swept them away. Then what? “Choose the hole/pit”—to put them in? All Cesare said before offering this ambiguous advice was:
Aeneas in his great need descended to the Underworld through the Cave of the Sibyl. The Hero, however, needs no Sibylline guidance, but only this: Pulsa cineres, elige lacunam.
“My God,” Leo suddenly exclaimed, “what sort of joke is this?” Failing to elicit any Latin or Italian word from the motto, from Pulsa cineres, elige lacunam he had hit on the name PULCINELLA. And what had the last one been? COLUMBINA. They were both characters in the Commedia dell’arte, the popular street theater of Italy, and the originals of the Venetian carnival masks. Before long, he had found two more such passages. In one of them, the commentary concluded as follows:
Should the Hero be pursued by all the Furies, he shall vanish from their sight if he only knows this: Arcanorum lectio chimæra nostra.
The Latin tag had the highly appropriate meaning: “Reading secret things is our chimera,” and, from Arcanorum lectio chimæra nostra, yielded the name of ARLECCHINO, Harlequin. The other passage read: “Let the Hero, beset with cares, take refuge in the hollows of trees, with satyrs and fauns for company, for Panisci talia onera,” meaning something like “Such are the burdens of Pan,” and, from Panisci talia onera, condensing to PANTALONE, Pantaloon.
What the hell was this? A comic subtext hidden in the haystack of alchemical learning? And invariably coupled with references to dire need and concealment? The incongruity was too much for Leo: he shut the book and shook with hysterical laughter.
****
A short while later, Rafael handed Leo the newspapers of the previous day. The Gazzettino had a photo of the Baron in San Michele, laying flowers on the family tomb, in memory of Angela. So the Baron was in Venice? Grieving at the cemetery and in his palazzo, the public was led to believe. Leo was so outraged that he joined the monks at prayer, to numb the feeling through repetition of familiar Latin phrases.
At night, when his mind had cleared, Leo could not stop thinking about the Baron. He reviewed mentally all that he knew about the Palazzo Riviera and its secret hiding places. Mindful of the book’s advice concerning the “true measure of the structure,” he thought of how hiding places could be concealed in such a massive building. Perhaps he should view the palazzo from the outside and sketch every window-opening; then, once inside, he would identify them. If there were incongruity, it would point to the “measure of the structure” that had been compromised or fudged, just as in the secret staircase, to form a hidden chamber or hideout. Oh, wasn’t he clever? No, he was a poor fool! What did Pulcinella & Co. have to do with anything? What on earth?
It was late, it was cold in the cell and, as ever, he was in the dark. He fell asleep, and dreamed that there was something growing on his cheeks, not beard, but lichens; mosses were growing out of his nostrils and ears. He woke up in a cold sweat. What was happening to him? By living in concealment, was he becoming a living dead?
Leo got off the bed and groped for the light switch. He saw that steam was coming out of his mouth—this time, though, because there was no heating in the monastery. Of course, that was it! Angela had looked like an automaton, a zombie. Although she was a flirt, she could not have wanted to violate all taboos with her uncle and guardian. No, no: that empty stare in her eyes spoke volumes. The Baron’s students had looked like zombies, too. Then, the young men who had turned themselves in, presumably also his students, had spoken of “acting as if under the influence, not of alcohol or drugs, but an inner influence” guiding them and their acts. But when such an influence had faded out, they had begun to think clearly. Why had it faded out? Had somebody talked them out of their convictions? No article in the papers had reported anything of the sort.
It was then that a terrible suspicion finally dawned on Leo, as through it the whole scheme seemed to make sense. Leo recalled his last conversation with Orsina: the Baron had told her that she could profit from The Magical World much more than he could. Surprised, she had asked why, and her uncle had stated: “It’s simple: you are more gifted than I am.”
Leo opened the book and looked feverishly for a passage that he vaguely remembered reading when still in Venice, in which Cesare had written a charitable word for those who were not gifted. He found it:
Some who would achieve the Fruits of the Tree of Life did not strangle serpents in their cradles, that is to say, they are not born with the powers of demigods as Hercules w
as, and will never achieve these Labors unaided. However, if they cultivate the love and friendly cooperation of a Hebe, then through suitable intercourse with her they may be led to accomplish no lesser marvels.
In an appendix, Cesare described the practices of sexual alchemy that such underprivileged aspirants could resort to. Leo found them appalling, but was forced to conclude that that was it. Emanuele, having realized that he had not “strangled serpents” in his cradle, that he was not gifted by birthright, had had to settle for another sort of strangulation. He had cultivated Angela’s “love and friendly cooperation” and used her for his weird, life-threatening rituals. Leo could hardly believe that the old man had been doing some of the more explicitly sexual things with his own niece, but at this point nothing seemed impossible.
How long had this been going on, to reduce her to that state of mindless subjugation? Leo had seen that same empty stare on the faces of the Baron’s students. They too were under his thumb. By using poor Angela as a medium, the Baron had been able to exert his influence over them, which would explain his constant lecturing over the summer. Hence the blossoming of sacrilegious acts all over Europe, all carried out, according to the papers, by young ultra-right men of similar background. But then, as if the spell had been broken, the compulsion to desecrate the holy sites had faded out, and they had come to their senses. When? Shortly after Angela had been found dead!
Of course! The Baron, as Leo had seen in the vaticination, had overdone it, and in his rapture had killed Angela. Left to his own devices, he had not been able to continue his practices, and had lost control over the disciples. That was why he—who else?—had had Orsina kidnapped: for her to take Angela’s place; to influence many more disciples to carry out sacrilegious or outright terrorist acts to blame on the Muslims; and finally achieve his goal: to unleash a war between Christian Europe and the Islamic invaders.
Was Leo losing his mind? Or had he finally grasped the grand design? The commentary said it with brutal clarity:
A kinship of blood is favorable to the practices of the weaker kind.
That was why the Baron had resorted to Angela first, and now … The Baron was in Venice. Since his failed attempt to pay off the ransom, the police must be keeping a close watch over him. Wherever he went, the paparazzi lay in ambush. If indeed he had kidnapped Orsina for his magical purposes, she must be where he had privacy, where he could be at ease with himself and her, unwatched, unguarded—only in the palazzo.
But where in the palazzo?
Leo hated himself for not having reached these conclusions earlier. Unable to sleep, he waited for dawn. Then he said goodbye to Father Teresio and the other monks, and gave them a donation, much smaller than he would have liked because he had to conserve his cash. Rafael was still sleeping, and anyway it was best to slip away without giving him a chance to ask any questions. Padre Teresio called a taxi.
Leo knew that it is difficult to buy a weapon in Italy; not even a hunting rifle is sold without a firearms license. It was all the more impossible for a fugitive, walking casually into a gun dealer’s shop. On the way to Padua, a rhyming slogan kept echoing in his tormented mind: Usag trentasei / fascista, dove sei? He had once taught a class about Italy in the Seventies, and the terrorism of the Red Brigades. “Usag trentasei” was the trade-name of an outsize monkey wrench; fascista, dove sei? meant Fascist, where are you? Kids belonging to the ultra-left back then used to buy that wrench and go hunting “fascists.”
In Padua, Leo told the taxi driver to drop him off by a hardware store. As he waited for it to open, he restlessly walked around till he found a dumpster. He threw his suitcase in it, by now useless ballast. With the forbidden book and a few other things in his backpack, he went to a bar, and drank a cappuccino, then two espressos. He walked back to the store. As soon as it opened, he entered.
TWENTY-FOUR
When Leo saw the proud mass of Palazzo Riviera and thought of Orsina imprisoned inside, his first impulse was to storm it then and there. But if he were caught and overpowered, that could be the ruin of them both. He sat down on a marble bench outside the church of San Barnaba and took several deep breaths. Then he took out a sketch pad and began to draw the visible part of the palazzo, hoping that he would pass as an artistic tourist.
He carefully recorded every window, using his pencil and thumb to measure the distances between them. When he had finished, he walked around to the passage that ran by the north side of the palace and drew the upper portion of it. Then he went to a café and waited for the afternoon light to fade. In the meantime, he tried to turn his distorted sketch of the north side into a full-face view, then reconstructed the floor plan as far as he could remember it from his previous break-in.
When it was almost dark, Leo returned to the south side, where the little canal ran by the garden wall. No one was in view, so he swung himself along the garden wall and dropped down onto the threshold of the canal door. He knew this door well, having fussed over its broken hinge to entertain the tourists, and then spent three hours sitting behind it. This time, as he tried to lever it open, the lower hinge gave way and the whole door collapsed in front of him with a metallic crash. Electrified by a massive jolt of adrenaline, Leo grasped the Usag 36 firmly and made his way down the steps.
The last time he had been here, in the vault of the tree roots, he had entered from the family shrine. This time he went on past the shrine door, still ajar as he had left it, and noticed that there were footprints facing toward him. He followed them until the dirt-floored passageway ended in a small round chamber, lined with curved walls of dirty wood. Two of the slender wall panels seemed to be flapping loose, and indeed as he pushed, they opened and he exited from the false barrel. He found himself in a series of cluttered storage rooms, then in a large disused kitchen, and this, to his relief, opened directly into the androne.
Now he was on familiar ground. He knew the main staircase, leading to the ballroom, and also the service stair up to the fourth floor. He also had a good idea of how the main floor was arranged, and that there were probably no further secrets to be discovered at that level.
****
Minutes after Leo had entered the canal door, Bhaskar returned from shopping. As he crossed the Campo San Barnaba, he noticed a black void where there had always been a door. Once in his third-floor quarters, he took off his coat and put away his purchases, then climbed to the fourth floor and knocked on the Baron’s sitting room.
“Excuse the interruption, Signor Barone, but I am worried. The canal door in the garden wall is open. I noticed it when returning from my errands. It seems to have fallen in. I thought you should be informed.”
“I will be down directly,” boomed the Baron. “Meet me in the androne, and bring a flashlight.”
“As you say, Signor Barone. I am very sorry to disturb you like this, and …” Unforgiven, Bhaskar backed away.
Leo was about to climb up the service stair when he heard footsteps coming down it. He just had time to duck behind a pillar by the entrance, noticing the presence of a wheelchair before Bhaskar emerged. The Indian was behaving oddly, holding a powerful flashlight in one hand which he shone into the darkness at the far end of the androne, and a kitchen knife in the other, with which he made sudden stabs at the air. Leo felt that if it came to the worst the monkey wrench would be the superior weapon.
After two minutes, Emanuele came down the stair, with another flashlight and, amazingly, a sword. Here Leo hoped to avoid a confrontation, being certain that superior swordsmanship would be among the Baron’s accomplishments. Run through with a long blade, he would be of very little use to Orsina. The pair headed for the door from which Leo had come. Emanuele turned back to the servant. “This door should not be open,” he said curtly. “Do you know where it leads?”
“No, Signor Barone. I’m not allowed in this part of the palace; I never go—”
“Enough; you’re going there now. Follow me.” The two of them entered, and their voices grew dim. Le
o crept into the disused kitchen, from which he could again hear the Baron’s angry voice and Bhaskar’s meek replies. When their sound had faded completely, he retraced his steps through the storage rooms, as far as the false barrel.
The trapdoor had been left flapping open. Leo carefully closed it, then, as quietly as he could, maneuvered a real barrel against it. Among the debris he found a long iron bar, probably a spit, which he wedged between the door and the wall. Within two minutes he was out of the cellars and climbing the service stair.
****
Bhaskar was following very closely behind the Baron when the latter suddenly stopped. He had noticed that the door to the shrine was gaping open. “Stop!” he snarled. “Now go in, very slowly, and switch on the light to the left of the doorway.”
Bhaskar entered the family shrine, where none but the Baron had been for the past twenty-five years, then he screamed. Two giant rats were on the altar, preening their whiskers amid a mess of shattered glass and brown slime. A nauseating smell filled the room. The pantegane took one look at the intruders and leapt off the altar, straight at them. The two men instinctively jumped back, and the rats scuttled between their feet and out through the passage. Bhaskar was gibbering with fright, but the Baron pushed him aside. He went up to the altar and opened the silver chest.
****
Leo passed the piano nobile and left the service stair at the third floor. This, like the second floor, was centered on a long hall looking onto the Grand Canal. He opened the doors, finding sparsely furnished rooms behind them. Each time he checked them against his sketch of the windows, to make sure that they were all accounted for.
The Forbidden Book: A Novel Page 24