The Museum of Things Left Behind

by Seni Glaister

  Inside, he brushed the raindrops off his jacket and started to address his men. Angelo dropped into a chair to take notes and began scribbling.

  ‘Right, men. This is an opportunity for you to shine. First, we must form a committee. It will meet once a week until our preparations are well under way, then daily, of course, for the first crucial days of June. Agreed. Now, we’ll need you, Roberto, to look after the budget for the event. Perhaps we’ll form a separate working group to deal with the finer details.’ Roberto Feraguzzi nodded. ‘And you, Enzo, I’ll need you to ensure the first-flush tea is harvested and ready for consumption.’ Enzo Civicchioni grinned enthusiastically, patting his pockets for a non-existent pen with which to take notes that he’d only later mislay. ‘And you, Alix, you have a crucial role to play – that of national security. I cannot stress heavily enough the gravity of the situation. I suggest we are on Code Red between now and our visitor’s safe departure. Agreed?’ Alixandria Heliopolis Visparelli saluted smartly. ‘Mario Lucaccia, you are, of course, essential to proceedings, as minister for the exterior. What finer opportunity than this to showcase our country to the outside world? You, likewise, Settimio. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you to realize some of your goals, touristically speaking. Giuseppe Scota, you may not think there is much of a part for an education minister to play but I see you as vital in bringing the students to the occasion. Exclude them at your peril.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Scota, already dreaming of the opportunities this might afford some of his older students.

  Sergio continued, ‘Decio, there are many aspects of your role that will come into play. I want you in from the start. We’ve got health and safety to consider, not to mention the ongoing physical health of our visitor. I want absolutely no illness lurking to sabotage proceedings. You must see to it that everyone is well, understood?’ Dottore Decio Rossini smiled and agreed.

  ‘Vlad, I want you to work with Giuseppe Scota. Education and employment go hand in hand, as always.’ He scanned the room full of expectant faces. ‘Pompili and Cellini. This is your moment. This will be the best festa in the history of Vallerosa. You understand? That is a command.’

  The two men nodded gravely.

  ‘And I’ll need you, Rolando, on board too. Detail, detail, detail. Proper planning will prevent a poor performance, yes?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course, always, sir.’

  ‘I think that group should just about cover it. Those mentioned will be required to satisfy a quorum. I apologize to those of you who cannot be part of the committee on this auspicious occasion, but I’m sure your expertise will be called upon in time. Sometimes it’s better to keep an operation a little leaner, just to ensure that we’re working as efficiently as possible. The rest of you, consider yourselves back-up of the very finest order.’ Sergio smiled at his men.

  They looked at each other, trying to find a common expression that fell neatly between congratulations and commiseration.

  ‘That will be all, then. Those of you not directly involved in the proceedings are dismissed. The rest of you, let’s gather for the first ever meeting of the Committee to Ensure the Safe Arrival, Visit and Return of our VIP. That will be the …’

  ‘CESAVROV?’ interjected Angelo from the corner.

  Sergio considered this. ‘Hmm, that’s not going to run. Work on it, will you, Angelo? Table it for the first meeting. OK, men, on with your day, please. I know it’s a disappointment but only committee members are now required.’

  ‘Sir?’ said Angelo, from the corner. ‘According to my minutes, everyone here has been appointed to the committee.’

  ‘Have they?’ The president frowned the most fleeting of frowns. ‘Of course they have. You will find that is because they are indispensable. There is not a man among them who could be spared from a visit of such national importance.’ Sergio used the moment to appraise them slowly, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group. Drawing himself tall, he dismissed them with a curt nod that interrupted any possibility of his eyes misting with tears. ‘Well, carry on, then. What are you standing around for?’ He ran a finger around his collar to loosen it a little.

  The twelve men filed out to take their places at the boardroom table and begin the serious business of planning.

  Several hours later, whoops and hollers could be heard from the assembled group and Sergio flushed with pleasure. A breathless Angelo came flying in. ‘It was tough, sir, but I do believe we’ve cracked it. The project will be named the Planning for English Guest and the Safe Undertaking of Security …’

  Sergio thought for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face, revealing itself eventually as a triumphant grin. ‘PEGASUS,’ he murmured, rolling the word around on his tongue and trying it from every angle. ‘Yes, excellent work. That, Angelo, will most certainly fly.’

  CHAPTER 6

  In Which Enough Tea Is Grown

  Shortly afterwards, in the opulent surroundings of the Upper House, the Special Furthering of Agricultural Development Committee was gathering for its monthly appraisal. Eleven of the twelve quorum were assembled around the vast cherry-wood boardroom table, six positions marked out to each side of the president. Each member sat straight-backed, awaiting the moment at which the discussion would be initiated by the president, but no deliberation could begin until the tea had been poured. In front of each committee member sat two bone china teacups, a pair of identical silver tea strainers and a small, lidded china pot. Angelo, the president’s chief of staff, the cabinet member responsible for the care of Parliament Hall but also for the day-to-day care of the president, discreetly opened the proceedings by preparing Sergio’s tea. With minimal fuss, he poured it from pot to cup, then from cup to cup, through a fine-meshed strainer. Expertly, with a trained eye and an accomplished hand, he filtered it back and forth. With each passing, the dark green liquid took on a lighter tone until, with an almost imperceptible nod, Angelo indicated that it had achieved the requisite tint of amber and, as such, was ready for drinking. Then each committee member began to strain their own tea, with less precision and a lot more haste, catching up with their leader in time to join him as he leaned forward to take his first slurp.

  Oh, the first taste of afternoon tea! It didn’t matter how many times the ritual was performed, the first sip always delivered a powerful shock to the system. Sergio slurped the liquid noisily through his teeth, allowing the bitter flavour to coat the inside of his mouth and marvelling as the aftershocks ricocheted through his upper jaw and settled somewhere beneath his eye-sockets. He grimaced and sucked in both cheeks to lessen the impact. After an involuntary shake of his head his entire upper body shuddered, allowing the effect of the tea to cascade through his frame, working its magic on every area that called for special attention, from his stiff knee and ankle joints to his cramping toes. As the president savoured the moment, the committee members joined in with the noisy ceremony, adding their own facial tics, scowls, lip smackings and flinches to the ritual.

  ‘Aaaah,’ pronounced the president. ‘That’s better. Shall we begin?’ He glanced around the room, taking a mental register of his staff, beginning on his left with Dottore Decio Rossini, minister for health (mental, physical and metaphysical). The doctor’s pallid, doughy face sported heavy brown bags under the eyes. His shirt, slightly fraying at the collar, bore the unmistakable yellowing stains of fatherhood on both shoulders – he had seven small boys. While Sergio eyed him, the weary doctor stifled a yawn and wondered where he would find the energy to keep trying to produce a daughter for his wife. The president noted his physician’s exhaustion but appreciated the reasons behind it and allowed his eyes to travel beyond him to Signor Vlad Lubicic, minister for employment and personal development. Vlad had telltale purple bags but his eyes today were dreamy, preoccupied, and he’d barely touched his tea. There had to be a significant new woman in his life, of that Sergio was certain. Excellent. The president made a mental note to find out who she was and, if appropriate, t
o hurry proceedings to their proper conclusion. It would be more efficient and a better use of ministerial time to bring the pining phase to an end as quickly as possible. And an official wedding was always good for the nation’s morale. Third on his left sat Signor Marcello Pompili, minister for recreation. Hair slicked back, rosy cheeks pumiced to a shine, keen, bright eyes glinting with vigour, Signor Pompili sat forward in his seat with a youthful ardour that radiated gusto. Yes, an excellent advertisement for the role, an outlook to be encouraged and replicated. Sergio’s appraisal continued to Signor Cellini, minister for leisure. What he observed here was far less encouraging. Where his colleague Signor Pompili shone, Cellini drooped. His shoulders slumped; his body language told of dissatisfaction or worry. His Adam’s apple leaped feverishly up and down his throat, sending out little signals of anxiety, and his eyes darted around the room, stealing glances at his colleagues and at the president but managing to avoid contact with either. Signor Cellini was brother-in-law, of course, to Signor Roberto Feraguzzi, minister of finance, seated now to Sergio’s right. Feraguzzi was a cool customer and, apart from the almost imperceptible tic that tugged occasionally at his upper left cheek, there was barely an anxious bone in his body. He chewed his inner cheek from time to time, in a subtle bid to disguise the tic, but Sergio knew that this meant nothing. His face had twitched for as long as the president had known him. Of much more concern was the remote but entirely plausible explanation that Feraguzzi had knowledge of a pending financial crisis and had chosen to share it with brother-in-law Cellini, whose face was less able to smother his emotion.

  Between Feraguzzi and Angelo there was an empty chair, the usual seat of the minister for agricultural development. That they were assembled to hear from him made his lack of punctuality doubly irritating. Sergio’s eyes rested on the empty chair and glared accusingly, prompting Angelo to speak out.

  ‘Mr President, Signor Civicchioni sends his apologies. He will be joining us a few minutes late today, but he will bring with him a special report from the American consultant, who is available to meet with the committee today, should you wish it. I understand that the report was late being prepared because the typist was late for work due to problems of a feminine nature. I understand, however, that a second typist was subsequently drafted in and the completed report will be available for inspection at any moment.’

  Sergio nodded and allowed his eyes to travel further on to Commandant Alixandria Heliopolis Visparelli, minister for defence. Alix had no interest in the Special Furthering of Agricultural Development; he cared nothing for the difference between an output and a yield, and he had not initially been invited to sit on this committee. He had, however, persuaded Sergio that he should be recruited to it, and of all members, he paid the closest attention at each of these gatherings. While he had no interest in crops or herds, he had a very grave interest in the comings and goings of the American consultant, and this assembly was an excellent one for studying a potential enemy at close quarters without allowing him to know he had been identified as a possible threat. Since these meetings had first convened, Alix had been known to throw in trick questions to flush out any ulterior motive on the part of the American consultant, but these cunning ploys were normally met with a frown from his president, who insisted, somewhat naïvely, Alix thought, on assuming everyone was a friend to their nation until proved otherwise. That Alix seemed to be uniquely suspicious made him more determined to be vigilant; he always double-checked the firing mechanism on his handgun before appearing at the committee table. Even now, as Sergio appraised his team, Alix’s eyes roamed in the other direction. He was preparing an escape route, should he have to rescue the president from an attempt on his life.

  To the right of Alix sat Signor Lucaccia, minister for the exterior. That they were seated next to each other was the unhappy accident of the very first meeting. Since then, the men had assumed the same positions. If Alix and Mario had been able to choose, they would each have sat on the same side of the table (in order not to have to look at each other) and as far apart as possible (in order not to have to sense each other). Instead, they were destined to sit shoulder to shoulder for at least an hour each month and both men visibly bristled with discomfort. Alix was doing his best to lean into some of the vacant space allowed by the missing minister for agricultural development while Mario leaned heavily to his right, rubbing thighs with his neighbour, the minister for education, Professore Giuseppe Scota. Sergio glanced sympathetically at the professor, who looked as if he resented the intrusion into his personal space by the young exterior minister, but Scota returned the kind look with an almost imperceptible shrug. Both the professor and his president understood the rift between the two men. It was said that there were only two things worth fighting about in Vallerosa, pigs and women, and the two men had fought over both. Nothing could be done to heal the rift.

  As Sergio shared his quiet moment of understanding with Scota, Civicchioni, the errant minister for agricultural development, entered, trailing a flurry of flying shirt tails and the flapping ends of a loosely knotted tie, while clutching armfuls of unstapled loose-leaf papers that drifted from him as he rushed to take his seat. Sergio nodded permission to him to join them and added a cursory study of the late arrival to his mental register. Today Civicchioni was agitated, partially undressed and harried. The big lock of curly brown hair that obscured his right eye added a moderately incompetent and slightly insane look. Sergio noted with satisfaction that this promising young man was behaving true to form.

  ‘Mr President. May I?’ As he patted and prodded his paperwork into some sort of order, he grabbed a gulp of unstrained tea, wincing while swilling it around as though it were mouthwash. With an appreciative smack of his lips, he used the palm of his hand to push the escaped lock of hair to the top of his head as he launched into the purpose of the gathering that afternoon.

  ‘You will all be fully aware that under section four, article five, sub-section twelve, particle b of last Tuesday’s emergency agricultural meeting, I have been asked by our esteemed president to meet with our American consultant, the expert who has been contracted to this government to review and enhance our agricultural policy.’

  At the mention of the visiting American, Alix allowed an audible hiss to escape from his lips. With one enemy practically sitting in his lap and another central to this discussion, he bristled with an urgent need to kill somebody. Sergio was quick to sense his defence minister’s simmering displeasure and managed to catch his eye, silently holding up four fingers in admonishment. Alix hung his head in shame, and muttered quietly to himself the mantra, ‘Restraint is a powerful weapon.’ He looked his president in the eye and half smiled an apology. The president empathized, as he himself had suffered from moments of weakness in which he occasionally struggled to live consistently within the strict teachings of their shared military guru, General Isaak von Bunyan.

  (Restraint Is a Powerful Weapon is the fourth book in von Bunyan’s six-volume military compendium; its title loosely but not absolutely translates as ‘Avoiding Military Conflict Through Ingenuity and Psychological Camouflage’, a thesis studied in depth and adhered to by both Alix and his president. This masterpiece of warfare avoidance had for some decades been widely credited with the shared success of Vallerosa and Switzerland in their unblemished records of peace. If asked to compare the success of each country, it could probably be argued that Vallerosa’s interpretation of the Eight Rules of Camouflage is perhaps even more successful than that of Switzerland: not only has it successfully blended with all its surrounding countries to avoid conflict, it has done such an effective job that half of its neighbours think of Vallerosa as a poor and undesirable province of their own state, while the other half have failed to notice it exists at all. And, while on the subject of comparing success in this area, any one of the assembled men, whether followers of General Isaak von Bunyan or not, could have pointed out that Vallerosa had never knowingly harboured a war criminal or condoned the
laundering of money.)

  Enzo Civicchioni continued with his briefing: ‘You will all remember that our American consultant was initially contracted to us for six months. His contract has subsequently been reviewed and renewed on a number of occasions, and he has now been helping us to shape our agricultural policy for, let me see …’ he glanced down at the handwritten notes scribbled in the margin of his document ‘… Yes, here we are. Our temporary contractor has now been engaged by this government for two full governmental terms.

  ‘Further to this, it is my understanding from various discussions with our esteemed president and ongoing discussions with our finance and employment ministers, that it is still our government’s belief that the American consultant is best equipped to find an export market for this great nation’s produce. Now that we have followed his advice and altered the methods by which we farm our lands, and having done everything asked of us to assist our American consultant, we are confident that we might soon be in a position whereby our very desirable produce should be paired with an appropriate overseas customer.’

  After another gulp of tea, he continued, ‘You must understand that while I had no dealings with our American consultant in the earlier years of our relationship, this being my first term of office, it is my understanding from those who have championed these discussions,’ here he nodded towards Feraguzzi, ‘particularly Signor Feraguzzi – who has been able to combine the expertise garnered in his previous role as minister for agricultural development with his current role as minister of finance – that by continuing with the policy set out under the aforementioned section four, article five, sub-section twelve, particles a, b and c, we should soon find that the many years of hardship and sacrifice endured as we implemented the changes should bear fruit. I do believe, in fact, that Signor Feraguzzi may be able to add a little flesh to that fruit, if he would elaborate a little.’