by Penny Feeny
‘Maybe your dad would know,’ said Ruby. ‘Maybe we should ask him?’
‘Ask me what?’ said Mitchell, emerging.
‘Nothing,’ said Sasha. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘If you had your kid adopted,’ said Ruby, ‘like we think Gina did, you’d want to hang on to something, wouldn’t you? A memento. That’s what people do, right? Baby’s first shoe, or a lock of hair or a photograph – especially a photograph. A drawing seems kind of odd, that’s all…’
‘Sorry,’ said Mitchell. ‘You’re confusing me. You’re suggesting Gina Stanhope has recently given up a child for adoption, which is why she’s in a bit of a fragile state?’
‘Not recently,’ said Ruby. ‘Yonks ago.’
‘When?’
‘Leave it, Dad,’ said Sasha. ‘Please.’
24
It quickly became apparent that the apartment wasn’t going to work out for a middle-aged man and two teenage girls. Space was limited and privacy absent unless Mitchell kept to his cramped windowless cubbyhole. ‘I may be used to small spaces,’ he told Sasha the following morning, ‘but this takes the biscuit, sweetheart.’
‘We like it here,’ said Sasha. ‘We like being in the middle of everything.’ She was squatting in the midst of her unpacking; she and her dad were both waiting for Ruby to finish in the wet room.
‘Well, I’m going straight round to the agency. They need to find us somewhere else.’
Alarmed, she said, ‘We don’t have to come with you, do we?’
‘Not if you don’t want to. But why are you getting all your stuff out of the bag? You’d be better off packing it up again so we can move promptly.’
‘It won’t take a minute to sort it,’ said Sasha, scrabbling for a pair of socks. She was hoping he’d be the only one to move.
‘So what are your plans for this morning then?’
‘We thought we’d go to the Vatican. Ruby wants to see the Sistine Chapel.’
‘I suppose she ought to see it,’ he said, ‘but you should have organised yourselves sooner than this. By the time you get over there the queue will be a mile long and you’ll have to wait for hours to get in.’
‘We don’t mind. We like queuing. It’s social.’
‘It’s a museum, not a nightclub.’
‘We know that!’ Sasha and Ruby had already agreed that pretending to be stuck in a queue and spending an eternity traipsing the Vatican corridors would give them an alibi. Sasha’s objective was not sightseeing at St Peter’s but a visit to the crypt of the Madonna of all Mercy. ‘You’ll be all right on your own, won’t you, Dad?’ After all, she was the expert now. It must have been years since he’d done anything other than touch down at Fiumicino airport. ‘You won’t be bored?’
‘Not at all. I have some old haunts I might revisit.’
‘Are they places you used to go to with her?’
‘With who? Gina, d’you mean? I couldn’t say. That far back, it’s a bit of a blur. We’ll meet up for lunch again, shall we?’
‘Okay, I’ll text you when we’re through.’
It crossed her mind that his manner, his attitude to Gina, was deliberately vague, but she wasn’t going to let it bother her because she’d got what she wanted: another morning to track down Joe.
It was strange to be getting off the bus beyond the railway bridge in Via Ostiense and walking towards the waste ground. In fact she had to do another double take, for that’s all it was: an empty piece of land. Yet her recollection of the nylon tents and cardboard shelters, the atmosphere of desperation, was vivid and indelible. If she shut her eyes she could still see the stained mattresses set out to air, the clothing, rinsed but not very clean, draped out to dry, a limp Afghan flag, a tumult of litter.
‘It was here,’ she said.
‘What was?’ Ruby looked around, not understanding.
‘Where all the refugees lived, in a sort of camp.’
‘Right by the street, you mean?’
‘Yeah, it really freaked me the first time I saw it. But it was ’cos they didn’t have anywhere else to go. There isn’t enough housing.’
‘They were, like, gypsies?’
‘Afghani mostly. I told you before.’
‘But… you don’t mean to say…’ Ruby was wrinkling her nose in disgust. ‘This Joe of yours, you made out with, was actually a rough sleeper? Rank and smelly.’
‘It’s not a person’s fault,’ said Sasha furiously, ‘if they haven’t got sanitation.’
‘But, Sash, really, that is gross.’
‘You saw him in the photo. The only gross thing about that was Gina’s nerve in taking it: Joe was totally buff. And anyway, he wasn’t living on the street. He roomed with Sami and they had a shower and everything. He was earning a bit of dosh and applying for his documents.’
It wouldn’t have occurred to Sasha to keep any secrets from Ruby. They shared their most intimate experiences – that was what best friends did. But those three weeks last summer, Ruby hadn’t been able to share. She’d missed out and it was going to be difficult to bring her up to speed. ‘I thought the same as you,’ she said loftily, ‘when I first came across those guys. I thought I was going to be mugged or something. But I wasn’t. And nobody should have to live like that.’
She lengthened her stride and veered down the road that led to the church. Ruby stumbled after her, apologising. ‘I wasn’t disrespecting him,’ she said. ‘Or them.’
Sasha stopped so abruptly in the middle of the pavement Ruby almost crashed into her. Across the street was the dowdy bar where she and Joe had had their first halting conversation.
‘You know what, Rube, if you’d’ve come with me it would all have been so different. Everything. We’d have hung out more with the other students. We’d have gone clubbing together over in Testaccio and found ourselves some cool Italian boys who wore Dolce & Gabbana and were ace on the dance floor. We’d have gone on day trips to the beach with them, or the lakes. Or maybe we’d even have hooked up with that knob-head, Harry, and one of his mates, because they were so pissing rich. We’d have got them to buy us loads of cocktails so we could get absolutely blasted before we went back to their room and let them take our pants off. But the fact is, you weren’t here and it didn’t happen like that, none of it. Don’t ask me why.’ She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘Hey… Sash. I’m sorry.’ Ruby put one arm around her and fumbled in her pocket for a scrap of tissue. ‘Here, you can’t turn up all snotty. The way you’re talking, it sounds like you’re glad I didn’t come with you.’
Sasha sniffed and blotted her tears. ‘That’s not what I meant. It’s just that if you’re two mates you’re more likely to hang around with your own crowd. It’s because I was on my own things ended up the way they did. There it is, ahead of us. Do you want to have a look in the church first?’ The closer they drew, the more she wanted to delay. Gina had warned her off, hadn’t she? Don’t ask, she’d said and that was precisely what Sasha was planning to do.
‘Why?’
‘’Cos when my dad says what else have you seen, we can say the Madonna of all Mercy and we won’t be lying and he won’t know it’s nothing special.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Ruby, giving Sasha a little shove so that she almost tripped at the top of the spiral staircase. At the bottom, the doors of the crypt stood open.
Sasha paused on the threshold, scouring the vaulted space for the Lion King, unsure whether she would recognise him. Balding? Glasses? A dog collar would help. Instead, a plump woman with soft white hands and soft white hair bustled up to them. In her sprigged linen dress she resembled a well-padded armchair. ‘Buon giorno ragazze,’ she said in a strong American accent. ‘You’ve turned up good and early.’
‘We have?’
‘You are my volunteers?’
Sasha was trying to place the woman. She thought she remembered her from her first visit. Wasn’t she the one who’d been running the language session?
; Ruby said without hesitating, ‘Sure. What do you want us to do?’
‘Oh my Lord, you’re British.’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘Of course it ain’t. A good Catholic is a good Catholic. We have a whole heap of donations and we need to sort the bedding from the clothing and adult clothes from the kids’, and then anything saleable that might raise us some funds can go into another pile. You’ve done this before, back home?’
‘Oh yes, often,’ said Ruby as the woman led them to an anteroom where a mass of black bin bags oozed their stuffing. ‘Do you get a lot of English-speaking volunteers?’
‘It depends. Mainly for teaching in the language classes.’ For the first time she seemed to assess them thoroughly. ‘Though that requires some experience and you’re a little younger than usual, I’d say. Now, I’m Annie and you are…?’
‘Ruby. She’s Sasha.’
‘Oh.’ She frowned a moment. ‘My memory for names is like a sieve but I didn’t think… Hey, but that’s how it goes in this city. You never get what you expect!’
‘Is Father Leone here?’ said Sasha, finally finding her voice.
‘He never lets up, that priest. He’s in a meeting but he’ll be back here soon enough, sorting out the problems of all these guys. And the paperwork! Well you should see his office – it overflows. His dedication is terrific.’ She beamed. ‘And don’t worry, he won’t let you leave without a thank you for all your hard work. He’s a very gracious person.’
‘I have met him before actually. But it was when I visited last summer and I don’t know if he’ll remember.’
‘Were you over with your church group?’
‘No, I was on a course.’
‘And you’ve come back to us! My, that is impressive.’
‘I had a friend… an Afghan boy who was helping out in the crypt too. He was called Yusef. Maybe you knew him?’
‘My lord, there are hundreds of Yusefs! These Afghanis often only have the one name until they’re obliged to fill in a form and then they pick another right out of a hat. It doesn’t make identification too easy.’
‘He liked to call himself Joe.’ Annie didn’t seem any more enlightened, but Sasha persisted. ‘Do you think he still comes here?’
‘I wouldn’t know, sugar. There are boys passing through daily, moving on. If they get absorbed and settle down, well, that’s a good sign, but this country ain’t too hot at absorbing folk, you may have noticed. I stick out as much as you young things and I’ve been here too many years already. Don’t let me hold you up any longer – I talk far more than is good for me – you go right ahead.’ Cheerfully she trundled away.
‘Now we’re stuck with all this,’ said Sasha, surveying the black plastic mountain. ‘And it’ll be worse when the actual volunteers show up, it’s going to make us look proper suspicious, like impostors or something.’
Ruby slit open a bin liner with her fingernail and a hotchpotch of colours flooded out. ‘Do you really think they’re going to care that they’ve got two extra pairs of hands to do their dirty work? Well, maybe not exactly dirty work but it is effing boring. My mum does this kind of thing when she’s on one of her fundraising jags. Tries to guilt me into helping her and now I know why I don’t.’ She tugged out a shirt with a large rip in the elbow and held it at arm’s length. ‘I’m already feeling like an old bag lady. Honestly, Sash, the scenes you get us into!’
This wasn’t how Sasha had planned it. She didn’t mind doing the work; in fact it made her feel better about pursuing the information she was after. But being stuck in a little underground chamber, unable to see who was coming or going – which had been the whole point of the enterprise – was completely useless. And they weren’t making much of a dent in the mountain. Their progress was slow, pulling out items of clothing one by one, trying to decide whether they would fit an adult or a child, whether they were good enough to sell. Perhaps they shook the fabric too vigorously: fluff and dust particles flew about making them wheeze. The artificial light and lack of air was enough to give anyone a headache.
They began to think they had been forgotten – and no other mysterious volunteers arrived to challenge them – but some time later Annie returned with two mugs of weak coffee. Sasha was folding a yellow knitted blanket into quarters so you couldn’t see the moth-holes.
‘No, don’t try to hide them,’ said Annie. ‘These people have little enough cover – just a few pieces of cardboard sometimes. They’re entitled to know what they’re getting. Here, I brought you some drinks.’
‘Thanks.’ Sasha took the coffee which was so hot it burned her tongue.
‘It’s warm in here,’ said Annie. ‘Step outside if you need a break. The main body of the crypt is pleasanter. And you don’t want to spill coffee on the clothes.’
‘Is Father Leone free yet?’
‘I believe so. If you…’
Sasha charged ahead without waiting – she didn’t care to be shadowed by Annie – but she had to pull herself up, undecided. There was a man who could be Leone, but he looked as shabby and seedy as some of his homeless charges. Only his way of standing set him apart.
She approached warily. ‘Father Leone?’ she said. ‘Buon giorno.’
He turned and grasped her hand between his. ‘My young helpers!’ he said in heavily inflected English. ‘Thank you. We appreciate very much your efforts. How do you find us?’
Sasha wasn’t sure what he meant by the question, but she answered. ‘Actually I’ve been here before. I came to visit and met you last summer.’
‘Davvero?’
‘With Gina Stanhope, the photographer?’ He nodded, but he wore an expression she couldn’t altogether decipher. ‘I was also a friend of Yusef. He used to hang out here a lot because you’d helped him. You’d tried to get him into school, he said, but nobody believed his age so he wasn’t given a place. He told me he wanted to be a doctor.’
The priest was standing motionless, with his arms folded. His immobility made the girls look as though they couldn’t stop fidgeting, shuffling, scratching, twitching.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Yusef.’
‘I used to hear from him,’ Sasha went on, ‘until a couple of months ago. Since then he’s never texted me back.’
‘It is unfortunate,’ said Leone.
‘What is?’
Even with the electric lights blazing the crypt was an underworld, a no-man’s land cut off from the streets above. Holy Week was approaching with all its palm-waving and pageantry, and across the river in Piazza Risorgimento, which was where they were supposed to be, the queue of tourists would be snaking past gaudy stalls selling purses and T-shirts and snow domes and sacred hearts, and the steps of St Peter’s would be overflowing with the faithful hoping for a sighting of their Holy Father. And what possible connection could there be between all that religious pomp and these destitutes, who were mostly Muslim anyway?
‘We are trying to help him,’ he said.
‘Help him? Yusef? Why, what’s happened?’
‘It is not so uncommon. He is imprisoned.’
‘Holy shit,’ muttered Ruby.
Sasha couldn’t articulate her thoughts, though she had a million questions.
Ruby had greater presence of mind. ‘What’s he been arrested for?’
The priest indicated that they should follow him into his office, the shrine to paperwork Annie had described, so they could speak more privately. He started to explain. ‘He wanted to leave Italy. Many do. Germany, Sweden, UK, these are all better destinations. Here, you see, there is no assistance, no requirement on the state to provide housing. No access to health care without permanent address. No chance of work without raccomandazione.’
‘He was trying to get to England?’ said Sasha. ‘He never told me he’d started out!’
‘To travel without documents is always a risk,’ said Leone. ‘There was some altercation, we have heard, at the border. Yusef was crossing into France when he was mugged. He was carry
ing money, maybe too much, because when the police intercepted they didn’t believe it was his own. Also he had no permit. They hadn’t far to transport him back to Italy, but we don’t know where precisely he is being detained.’
‘They thought he’d stolen the cash?’
‘He claimed he earned it through working for our friend, Gina. Comunque, this is difficult to prove.’
Those nude pics, thought Sasha instantly. She’d said she’d give him a cut if she sold them, but probably the buyer didn’t want to get involved. Especially not with a legal case.
‘It is,’ he sighed, ‘a great shame.’
A great shame? Sasha wanted to yell. Joe locked up for something he didn’t do? That was a howling injustice!
But Leone was talking about something else. ‘We were trying to raise funds for a lawyer to assist him,’ he said. ‘We know a few who work, pro bono, but there are always expenses. Gina had something she was planning to sell – perhaps she felt responsible a little, I couldn’t say – but I have been talking to her in these moments and there has been a calamity in this regard.’
‘A calamity?’ Wasn’t it enough that Joe had lost his earnings and been incarcerated? No wonder Gina hadn’t wanted to tell her anything. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Without the money for representation, his chances are not good.’
‘What will happen to him?’
Leone was patting the piles of paper on his desk into neat rectangles, but it didn’t reduce their volume. ‘It is hard to conceive what Yusef has endured. His family in Ghazni is killed in a mortar attack. He has to travel across mountains, in terrible conditions, and then across the sea to reach us. He has the winter in Rome with nowhere to sleep, only here. He waits for a year, more, for schooling and it is denied. He begins to earn a little. He’s young and impatient, frustrated also. He thinks he will take his chances, but he lacks the preparation. I see this all the time. However, it is expensive to keep a person in detention. He may be deported.’