Raga Six (A Doctor Orient Occult Novel)

by Frank Lauria

  The house stood on the rim of a low cliff overlooking the beach. At the base of Epemeo Mountain. It was a fantastic spot. The mountain behind and the sea in front.

  The inside of the low farmhouse was now one large room, sectioned off by lighting and placement of furniture into different living areas. It was wood-paneled and floored, and the ceilings were beamed. He thought Orient would be impressed. But there was something else on his mind. He had hardly looked at the place.

  "You know," Sordi said as they drove up the steep road above the beach house, "you haven’t told me what you’ve been doing all these months."

  Orient hesitated. "Actually not much of anything. Some research, some studying."

  "The usual routine?" Sordi asked. "The telepathy business?" He tried to make it sound casual, but the subject of the Orient’s work held a cultist’s fascination for him. He felt sure he had the potential for it. Unfortunately, the doctor had never given him enough encouragement.

  "More or less," Orient said.

  "Any luck finding prospects?"

  "A couple of potentials, but no real success. I’ve been thinking about setting up another research lab."

  Sordi’s hopes leaped. Perhaps the doctor would need an experienced assistant.

  As Sordi drove silently the rest of the way, his hopes became plans for liquidating most of his holdings on Ischia. He’d keep the beach house, sell the other house to his cousin, and join Orient in America. It would be good to get back to work again.

  When they arrived, Sordi saw his cousin’s wife coming out of his cottage. She was holding Rino, her youngest boy, in her arms.

  Sordi snorted. "I keep telling Angelina that if Francesca has a disease she might give it to the little ones, but she’s stubborn. None of them listen."

  "Easy now," Orient smiled. "She must be worried."

  It was true. As he got out of the car and approached Angelina, Sordi could see the blue circles under her eyes and the lines around her mouth. Angdina was a strong, healthy woman with a great capacity for passionate tirades, but today she seemed subdued.

  "How is Francesca?" Sordi asked in Italian. "I don’t know." Angelina glanced at Orient. "Mafalda is with her."

  "What about the doctor?"

  "He came this morning and made some tests. But Mafalda thinks it’s very serious." She shifted the baby in her arms.

  Sordi pointed his finger at her. "Do you want two sick children on your hands?"

  Angelina tossed her head. "Mafalda says that it’s no disease."

  "And the doctor told you to put Francesca in the hospital."

  Angelina didn’t answer. Her large brown eyes looked stricken and Sordi was angry with himself for frightening her more than she already was. "This is my friend," he said gently. "Doctor Orient. He wants to look at Francesca."

  Angelina’s face suddenly softened with renewed hope. "Does he understand?" she asked quickly.

  "Yes, I do," Orient replied in Italian.

  "Doctor," Angelina took Orient’s arm, "my cousin told us about your cure of the American girl. We’ve been half crazy with worry about Francesca. She won’t wake up even to have a little to eat."

  Orient smiled. "I’d like to examine Francesca. I don’t know if I can help more than your own doctor, however. Who is Mafalda?"

  Angelina lowered her eyes.

  "Mafalda is the old woman from the next village who these stupids believe knows more than the doctor," Sordi said, his temper flaring.

  "I see," Orient said. "Well, we’ll go in and take a look. If Mafalda doesn’t mind."

  "She’d better not," Sordi muttered.

  "Mafalda knows the evil eye," Angelina glared at Sordi and crossed herself. She was still glaring at him when they entered the farmhouse.

  Sordi saw Mafalda sitting impassively by the bed. She was skinny, and her skin was brown and leathery. Like some old turkey, Sordi thought derisively. His derision turned to anxiety when he saw Francesca’s face.

  The little girl looked very still. He blessed the coincidence that brought Orient to Ischia.

  Mafalda stood up and shuffled across the room, her torn slippers flapping as she walked. Sordi shook his head at the thought that this senile old hen got more respect from Nino and his wife than any doctor.

  Orient took something from Francesca’s chest. "What’s this?" he asked.

  "It’s a poultice," Mafalda croaked reluctantly. "Garlic and herbs, picked with the rise of the moon."

  Orient nodded and set it aside. He bent over the girl as if he were listening for something and began checking different points of her body for good volume. He took her pulse, listened to her heartbeat, and examined her breathing with the rapt, faraway expression of someone who was trying to hear a conversation out of the range of his hearing. He lifted Francesca’s eyelid and Sordi saw her eye shining hot and moist.

  "Does she have a fever?" Sordi asked.

  Orient let the eyelid drop. "No," he said wearily. "No fever."

  Sordi felt relieved. It couldn’t be that serious, he decided, if she still wasn’t running any fever. Orient straightened up and carefully replaced the cotton sack on Francesca’s chest.

  Sordi looked up and any relief he felt was shattered. He saw that Orient’s eyes were glazed with something close to fear and that his wide mouth was drawn tight with distress.

  Angelina noticed something too. She went to the doctor’s side, her fingers pressed to her tips.

  "She needs rest, she’s very weak." Orient’s voice was calm enough, but Sordi caught the edge of frustration in his words.

  Mafalda shuffled toward the bed. "There’s a cloud over the girl," she rasped. "She needs to be protected from that cloud."

  Sordi waited for Orient to tell her off. But he didn’t. He just looked at her very hard for a second, then came across the room. "I need your help," he said to Sordi. "It’s very important that I locate my friend. His name is Doctor Six. Do you know where we might find him?"

  "Maybe the telephone book. Otherwise, we’ll just have to ask around." Sordi was struck by the doctor’s sudden air of urgency. "Well, let’s go to it." Orient went over to Angelina and spoke to her for a moment, telling her not to worry, and then headed for the door.

  Looking in the telephone book and calling information proved fruitless and, as Sordi drove to Forio, his concern for Francesca rose. Orient was jammed in the far corner of the seat staring straight ahead. His long body seemed tense and stiff as if his muscles were stretched too tight over his bones. His mouth was set in a straight line and he was very quiet.

  "Well, what do you think? How is she? Am I right about the hospital?" Sordi demanded finally. Orient didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then he shook his head. "I don’t know," he said softly. "Not yet anyway."

  Sordi was alarmed by Orient’s grimness. He’d been hoping that the doctor could do something right away. But, he reassured himself, if Orient didn’t insist on having Francesca taken to the hospital, then she couldn’t be seriously tick. A new thought depressed him. Maybe a hospital couldn’t do anything for his niece. He stepped on the accelerator.

  Sordi stopped at a bar in Forio and went inside to talk to Massimo, the owner. Massimo knew everything that went on around the island. He might have heard of Doctor Six.

  Massimo didn’t know, but he sent Sordi to his brother in Lacco Ameno, the next town. As Sordi drove along the single road that snaked around the island, he noticed that the doctor seemed to be staring without really seeing anything.

  "If we don’t find him today, we can try the port tomorrow and the other side of the island." Sordi said. Orient’s eyes blinked. "We have to keep trying. All day and all night if necessary."

  "Do you really think Doctor Six can do something for Francesca?"

  Orient looked away. "Maybe."

  In Lacco Ameno, Massimo’s brother suggested a bar in the next town. Sordi sped down the narrow road, his worry for Francesca making him reckless. He slid to a stop in front of the bar and went insid
e.

  He drew a blank.

  He drove back toward Lacco and stopped at a hotel owned by a friend of his. His friend sent him to the next hotel. The woman there gave him the information he wanted. An English doctor and his wife had rented a house just outside of Lacco. Up on the north face of the mountain.

  Sordi returned to the car radiant with triumph, but the news only seemed to sink Orient deeper into his silence.

  Sordi drove slowly up the unfamiliar mountain road above Lacco. The area was sparsely populated and the sun was setting, throwing long purple shadows through the woods on either side of the road.

  Then he saw a two-story terraced house set back off the road, partially obscured by a group of trees, just as the woman had described it.

  "That’s it," he said, stepping on the brake.

  "Don’t stop," Orient said suddenly. "Drive back again."

  Sordi accelerated, confused by Orient’s curt command.

  "What’s up?"

  Orient continued to look back toward the house. "I want you to go back and stay with Francesca," he said softly. "I want to see Doctor Six alone. If you don’t mind, I’ll borrow your car and then come back here."

  "Okay," Sordi said, unconvinced. The doctor was acting as though he was nervous. Almost scared.

  When they reached the mountain cottage, Orient went inside to take another look at Francesca. They found Angelina inside, standing next to the bed wringing her hands as Mafalda shuffled around the room holding a box filled with sand. She was pouring the sand against the cracks in the closed windows.

  "Hey," Sordi protested loudly, "What’s going on?"

  Angelina turned her back and said nothing. Mafalda continued to spread the sand.

  "Wait," Orient said. He nodded. "It’s all right."

  Sordi looked at him. "What’s she doing?"

  "She’s sealing off the house against entry by spirits," Orient answered, watching Mafalda intently.

  The withered old woman finished pouring sand and took three candles out of her apron pocket. She placed a candle on the floor on each side of the bed, bending her aged body with great effort. She began to mumble under her breath as she lit the candies.

  When she saw that Orient wasn’t going to interfere with her work, she began to chant louder. A language that sounded like Italian and yet was much different. Almost guttural.

  "What’s she talking?" Sordi asked. Orient didn’t take his eyes of Mafalda.

  "Etruscan. A prayer against entry by demons."

  As Mafalda took some grains of rice from her apron pocket and placing them carefully around the bed, Orient started for the door.

  Sordi moved with him. "Listen," he said jerking his head back toward the old woman, "do you know what that stuff is all about?"

  Orient stopped. "She’s putting twenty-one grains of rice around the bed. Before a spirit can enter Francesca, it will first have to eat each and every grain of rice. The Egyptians had a similar rite. Except that they used twenty-one papyrus leaves."

  "You don’t believe in that spirit stuff she’s doing, do you?" Sordi squinted at Orient.

  Orient shrugged. "Just make sure you stay here with Francesca. Don’t leave her. I should be back tonight. If I’m not, you know where to find me."

  Sordi frowned. Orient’s instructions sounded like some kind of warning.

  He watched the lights of the car disappear around a corner far down the road, then he looked at the small lights that were dotting the mountainside all the way down to the darkening sea. He felt a chill breeze and went inside.

  Angelina was still standing by the bed not saying a word.

  "He’s gone to get help," Sordi said lamely. "I’m going to stay here with Francesca. Why don’t you go feed Nino and the kids?"

  Angelina turned around and Sordi saw that she was crying. He went over to her and awkwardly took her hand. "Come on now," he said gently. "It’s going to be all right. You’ll see. My friend is a great doctor."

  Angelina shook her head and bit her lip. "She doesn’t even hear me," she said. She looked at Sordi. "Something terrible is happening to her. I can feel it. A mother knows."

  "Really it’s all right," Sordi tried to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

  Angelina took a deep breath and patted his hand. "Yes. I’m going to light a candle at the church. It’s getting late and the children have to be fed." She looked up at him. "You won’t leave her alone, will you?"

  "Of course not," he said softly. "Go home and try to get some rest."

  "I won’t sleep until Francesca’s better," Angelina said, tonelessly.

  Sordi didn’t say anything. His concern was becoming a knot in his chest that was drawing tight. All he could do was nod his head.

  After Angelina left, Mafalda walked over to the door and locked it. Then, to Sordi’s annoyance, she poured sand against the crack under the door. He sighed loudly.

  "It is to keep the evil eye from your niece." Mafalda’s scorn scraped through her skinny, lined neck. She looked up at Sordi as she shuffled past him on her way to her chair. "It will be here tonight. We must be ready."

  Sordi waved his hand. "Please. I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense." His voice sounded loud in the small room.

  For a while he paced the floor, occasionally drawing near the bed to peer closely at Francesca. She seemed to be hardly breathing. He checked his watch. It was after eight. Maybe the doctor was having dinner with his friend. He looked up and saw Mafalda sitting in her chair next to the bed, her head bent over a rosary as she counted her prayers aloud. He walked over to the table and started reading an old newspaper.

  Half an hour later the lights went out.

  The electric lamps went dead, leaving the house lit only by the three candies on the floor around the bed. Sordi went to the window. Except for a few blinking lights on the water and the regular flash from the beacon on the far cliff, the whole section was completely dark. He stared out through the glass. It was pitch black outside. He tried to make out his cousin’s house two hundred yards down the hill. Even when his eyes had become accustomed to the shadows, the house was obscured from his sight. He looked up toward the sky. No stars. He went back to his chair at the table.

  He tried to relax but the sound of the old woman’s constant mumbling kept him edgy. He looked back at Francesca. He thought he saw her move. He got up and went close to the bed. He kept staring at the sleeping girl for a long time. She was very still and unmoving in the dim, waving fight. He went back to the table, the low candies sending out long shadows ahead of him.

  He sat down and picked up the newspaper. He looked up. He thought he heard something. "Shh," he whispered. "What was that?" The old woman fell silent. Sordi listened. There was nothing. He went back to his paper.

  There was a sharp sound outside. Like a twig cracking.

  He got up quietly and went to the side of the window. It was dark and silent outside. He wondered how long it would take him to reach Nino’s house. Too long, he decided. Ten minutes at best. Maybe twenty. He didn’t even have a flashlight here. He’d just have to wait for Orient to get back. If the doctor didn’t get lost in the blackout. He heard a sound in the shadows and went over to the door.

  "Be careful," Mafalda rasped behind him. "You’ll break the seal."

  Sordi wheeled and strode back to his chair. "Nonsense," he said, glowering at the old woman. "Francesca should be on her way to the hospital."

  But as he tried to read in the soft, flickering light, his eyes kept going to the door. He felt the air becoming stale in the room and his first impulse was to throw open the windows, but he remained at the table, listening. He loosened the scarf around his neck. His chest felt burdened by an oppressive weight. He longed for fresh air. But for some reason he didn’t want to disturb those thin lines of sand.

  The oppression became a tingling alertness in all his senses. A feeling that there was someone standing just behind him. He turned slightly. Mafalda began to
drone her prayers louder.

  He tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. A brush of something against his hair caused him to duck his head. There was nothing.

  He bent his head over the newspaper in an attempt to shut out the shadows in the corners of his vision, moving with the candle flames. The feeling that there was something in the room passed over him again, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

  The electric lights came on again, erasing the shadows.

  Sordi opened the paper in front of him and looked at the headlines. But the silent return of the lights did little to help his concentration. He still felt an echoing unreasonable sensation that someone else was close by. He went over to look at Francesca. She lay quiet and still. He put his hand out to feel her forehead, then drew it back as he turned around slowly.

  There was nothing behind him.

  When he went back to the table, it seemed to him that the air was less dense there than near Francesca’s bed. Perhaps he should insist that they open the windows, or something. A person couldn’t breathe with the house shut up this way. He didn’t say anything. He sat in his chair and watched the door. He felt the air becoming heavier in his lungs with each passing moment but he was reluctant to disturb Mafalda’s prayers. He began to sweat under his cashmere sweater and his face felt wet. He pulled off his silk scarf and wiped his face and neck.

  Then the sweat froze on his body as heard a steady noise above Mafalda’s chanting drone. The measured tread of footsteps coming toward the house.

  CHAPTER 18

  As Orient cautiously drove the unwieldy car, he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. The man must not hesitate when he knows the object of his judgment, Ahmehmet had advised. The words of power to be used only when you know the object of your judgment...

  Orient peered out at the unfamiliar terrain coming toward him, exposed by the glare of the headlights. The road looked completely different at night. He took a deep breath.