Everything that Signora De Ross was saying made sense. However, nothing about it explained how she came to be adopted in North Carolina rather than Italy, or why the document resembling the Voynich Manuscript was placed in the parik-til with her birth certificate. There had to be more to the mystery.
“Is there something else that worries you, Carolina?” Signora De Rossa had picked up on Carolina’s hesitation.
“No, Signora De Rossa.” She had revealed her own manuscript page to the FIGs, and, of course, to Larry, but she wasn’t ready to tell anyone else. Not yet. “You have been very helpful, and I can’t thank you enough.” Then she told the signora the purpose of her call and of her plans to travel to Frascati with three of her students. They would stay for five weeks working on a research project, she explained.
“I know just the place where you can stay. It isn’t a fancy hotel, but it is clean and comfortable. I think you will find it convenient as well. The proprietor is a good friend, a cousin actually. I will check with her at lunch to make sure the apartment is available. If it is, I will call you back to give you all of the details.”
Shopping with the FIGs took most of the day. They needed clothes other than their uniforms that would be good for traveling. They also needed luggage. Jennifer had clothes and luggage, but not at Wood Rose. Everything had been stored away for her until that time after graduating from Wood Rose she decided to return to New York. They also stopped by a local photographer’s to get passport photos made for Dara and Mackenzie. Then they drove to Chapel Hill with the photos and other information Larry had said he would need. He was in class, as Carolina knew he would be, but she left everything in his office where he would find it. By the time they got back to Wood Rose, it was time for dinner.
Larry had told Carolina that he could get the passports delivered to her by special courier late Wednesday. She called the airlines and made reservations for the four of them, leaving Raleigh-Durham International on Thursday at noon to Rome, Italy, with a short layover and change of planes at New York LaGuardia. Meanwhile, she gave each FIG a copy of the manuscript along with a copy of her own page to make it easier for them to work independently. By having all day Tuesday and Wednesday, they would be able to finish up their research paper on Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein character. There was also the matter of their notes of apology to Dr. Harcourt.
While they were out shopping, Signora De Rossa had called back and left a message. The apartment was available and her cousin was holding it for Carolina and her students. Carolina wrote down the address and phone number of the proprietor along with the flight information to give to Mrs. Ball. Then she made a copy for herself and put it with her passport and other papers she wanted to take with her. As an afterthought, she looked inside her small wooden box and took out her parik-til. It wouldn’t hurt to take it along as well. After all, it was supposed to keep her and her loved ones safe, as far as she knew. And that was what she wanted for herself and for her FIGs.
Chapter 10
Milosh watched his mother leave with Lyuba and the other women to go into the village to sell their wares. Once he was sure she was gone, he pulled the large book out of his father’s trunk. The book of curses. Most of the curses required special herbs and other ingredients. Lyuba would have what he needed.
Outside, he walked around the campsite. There were only a few travelers—the old ones—who looked after the young kids while their parents went into the village. When he was sure no one was looking, he slipped into Lyuba’s hut. Everything was neat and in order. It had a nice smell, not like the musty smell of the trailer he and his parents lived in. There were several shelves behind a curtain on one of the far walls. It was where she kept her herbs. He smiled when he found two of the ingredients he was looking for. He would use them on Bakro for being such a baby. He carefully emptied the herbs into a small paper sack he had brought with him and stuffed it under his shirt where it wouldn’t be noticed.
Next to Lyuba’s bed on a small table he noticed a photograph of a young child. It was protected in a silver frame that had a strand of red wool entwined around the outer edge. Who was this child, he wondered, picking it up to examine it more closely. The young girl didn’t look like she was from their tribe. She had light skin, and her eyes were green. With the photograph, pressed under the protective glass, was a lock of hair that had been tied with the same red wool that was on the frame. For as long as he had known Lyuba, she had been alone. She didn’t even have a husband. So why did she have a picture of this little girl? He took off the back of the frame and removed some of the hair from its red binding. Then he dropped it in his sack along with the herbs. After replacing the back of the frame, he returned the photograph to the table and, checking to make sure no one was around, he quietly slipped out the door.
* * *
Signora De Rossa wasn’t all that surprised when Carolina told her of her plans to visit Frascati with three of her students. She had expected her to come eventually. How ironic that the gypsy—Carolina’s mother—had returned now as well. She examined the parik-til that the gypsy had given her. The gypsy had told her to keep it close and she would receive many blessings. She would have to be very careful. If it were revealed that she had helped an adoptee locate her birth mother, she would lose her job. She thought back to the things she had told Carolina. It was mostly general information, but information that applied specifically to Carolina and her adoption. Also, there was the matter of the box. She had made up the story about an agreement between Carolina’s birth parents and the agency to tell the Bransons in order to give the box to Carolina. No one else in the adoption office even knew about it. It was because of her that Carolina received it on her eighteenth birthday.
The signora rubbed the back of her neck. It had been wrong for Liruso to take the child the way he did. She believed it then and she believed it now. All she wanted was what was right, and if that meant helping Carolina when she arrived, that’s what she would do. Then, whatever happened, it was out of her hands.
Signora Del Rossa gently pressed the parik-til against her face—it had the sweet scent of roses and other herbs she didn’t recognize—and then tucked it into her bra. She would be mindful of what the gypsy had told her and keep it close.
* * *
The passports were delivered to Carolina late Wednesday evening by special courier, just as Larry said they would be, under the watchful eye of Jimmy Bob Doake. After all, it was highly unusual for anything to be delivered by courier to the campus of Wood Rose, late or not. But Ms. Lovel seemed to be excited about receiving the package from the courier, so Jimmy Bob had to assume it was all right. Once Ms. Lovel signed for it, Jimmy Bob escorted the courier back to the main gate and waited until he was sure the guy wouldn’t try to slip back in.
Jimmy Bob was proud of the fact that there had never been any problems of that sort during the entire thirty years he had been on watch, at least nothing serious. There was an incident with some squirrels that time making nests in the rafters of the dormitory. It had upset Ms. Larkins and the girls tremendously, all those strange scratching noises in the middle of the night. Fortunately, though, he had a cousin who was an exterminator, and with Jimmy Bob’s assistance, the squirrels were humanely removed and everything returned to normal in a matter of days. Still, with all of the terrorists around these days, not to mention the plain old garden variety of nut jobs, he just couldn’t be too careful. He had heard that Ms. Lovel was taking her three students on a trip to Italy. Apparently it involved a special research project, and it was important that nothing disrupt her plans. At least that is what Dr. Harcourt had told him. He would certainly do his part to insure that nothing happened to prevent her and the FIGs from making the trip.
* * *
The trip itself wasn’t perfect in every way, but close—at least in the minds of the four travelers from Wood Rose. The planes both in Raleigh-Durham and New York LaGuardia were on time, which was good; the weather was comfortable, which was al
so good; and Carolina and her FIGs were eager with anticipation of things to come—which wasn’t all good. Even as a child, whenever Carolina got excited she had to go to the bathroom. Luckily she had an aisle seat, but it was a nuisance nonetheless.
The FIGs hadn’t stopped talking since leaving Wood Rose.
“What if they lose our luggage?” Dara, sitting next to the window, watched the assortment of suitcases, boxes and other containers of different sizes and shapes leave the conveyor belt and disappear into the gaping darkness of the large cargo hold of the Delta plane.
“Then we’ll buy what we need in Rome,” answered Carolina, returning from a bathroom trip.
“What kind of car are we getting?” Jennifer flipped her ponytail.
“I asked for an automatic,” said Carolina. “I’m not too good with a stick shift.” Carolina stepped back into the aisle and headed for the lavatory.
“I can cook for us,” offered Mackenzie when Carolina returned, “if there’s a kitchen where we’ll be staying.”
Carolina squeezed back into her seat and nodded. Mackenzie had learned how to cook at Wood Rose and she enjoyed it.
“I wonder what the apartment will look like,” said Dara.
And so it went.
The FIGs looked like completely different girls wearing the jeans and t-shirts they had picked out for the trip. In honor of the occasion, and much to Carolina’s relief, Jennifer had also decided to wear thong panties while away from Wood Rose—a small step up from wearing no underwear at all, but a step nonetheless. As the girls chattered, Carolina let her thoughts turn toward what she hoped they would accomplish during their five weeks abroad. For one thing, they wanted to spend some time in the library at the Villa Mondragone where the Voynich Manuscript had been discovered. It was a university now, but, nevertheless, it would at least give them a historical sense of the place.
Carolina was also looking forward to meeting Signora De Rossa. The signora was her one connection to her birth parents. Over the years, she had been a tremendous help—guiding her toward information and truth concerning her own adoption. But Carolina suspected she knew more than she had revealed. Perhaps it was out of fear of losing her job, for Carolina had researched the Italian laws regarding adoption and knew that the signora had probably revealed more to her than she should have. But it might be something else as well, and maybe by meeting her in person, she would be more open and forthcoming with what she knew.
Carolina also had to allow for the possibility that maybe they wouldn’t learn anything at all. She still wanted to at least try. And regardless of the outcome, once they returned to Raleigh she would contact the Beinecke Library at Yale University and let them know about her special paper. She had kept it a secret long enough.
Carolina reclined her seat and, listening to the giggles and continuous chatter of the FIGs in the background, fell into a peaceful sleep. Some hours later she was awakened by the need to visit the lavatory and an announcement that they were an hour outside of Rome. Breakfast was being served.
* * *
As far as the FIGs were concerned, their mission was two-pronged: Investigate the Voynich Manuscript and make their own conclusions concerning its meaning and origin; and, help Carolina find out as much as possible about her birth parents and the events leading to her adoption. After discussing it with Carolina, they had decided they needed to get a better handle on the history of ownership of the Voynich Manuscript and that would be their starting point. Dara pulled out some notes from her new shoulder bag bought specifically for this trip and this purpose. Mackenzie unfolded a map she removed from her shoulder bag that was identical to Dara’s, and Jennifer held pen and pad ready to write down anything important, taken from the shoulder bag that matched the other two.
“This is what we know,” said Dara. “The Voynich Manuscript enters recorded history when it surfaces at the court of Emperor Rudolf II of Bohemia in the mid 1500s. There is a letter written by a Prague doctor and scientist named Johannes Marci that states that Rudolf bought the manuscript for 600 ducats.”
“He also wrote that he thought Roger Bacon was the manuscript’s author,” added Jennifer.
“Right,” said Dara. “The next known owner is an alchemist named Georgius Barschius who graduated from the Jesuit University in 1603. No one knows how he got the manuscript, but when he died in 1662, he left all of his alchemical collections and library, including the Voynich Manuscript, to his good friend, Marci.
“Marci tried to get the thing translated by the Jesuit philosopher Athanasius Kircher, and apparently that is when it was added to the private library of the General of the Society of Jesus. The manuscript, along with the other valuable items in the library disappeared until they showed up at the Villa Mondragone in Frascati in the late 1800s. Then, in 1912 when the Villa was trying to raise money for restorations, they sold the manuscript along with several others to W. Voynich.
“And now it is in the Rare Book and Manuscript Library at Yale University.”
“I wonder if any of the other manuscripts that were with the Voynich had the same script?” said Jennifer.
“That’s one thing we can check out—if they let us into the library. A lot of the books that Voynich bought were sold to the Vatican. But not all of them. And, of course, he only bought a fraction of what was at the Villa Mondragone. So that will be a good place for us to explore.”
Mackenzie glanced over at Carolina to make sure she was asleep. “I have compared Carolina’s page with every page we have of the manuscript, and it doesn’t seem to belong to any of the sections.”
Dara nodded. “I know. It looks like the same script, but yet it doesn’t quite fit in with any of the Voynich sections.”
“Maybe hers is from a different manuscript altogether,” suggested Jennifer.
“Or maybe it is complete just as it is.” Dara looked at her two friends. She had spent the past several days thinking of nothing but the manuscript. She held with her original thought that it was written in more than one language—or perhaps dialects—based on counts of character pairs and words. Jennifer had pointed out that there appeared to be two or more different handwriting styles as well, at least in the Voynich. Carolina’s page was a separate style altogether, which indicated it was from a different source.
Jennifer began to write musical notes on the eight-stave paper she had brought with her. “Maybe if we are able to find out more about Carolina’s box that had everything in it, that will help us find out more about her parents. Carolina said Signora De Rossa sent it to her when she turned eighteen, so she must have gotten it from Carolina’s birth parents.”
“I also want to learn more about the gypsy language,” said Dara. “From what I have been able to determine, it has a definite connection to Sanskrit.”
Mackenzie nodded in agreement. “All we can do is try.”
Each of the FIGs sat back in her seat thinking of what was ahead of them. In a way, each of them was seeking out her own truth, and, just like Carolina, it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to them.
* * *
Once they landed and retrieved their luggage, Carolina located the car rental desk. There was a slight foul-up in that she was given a stick shift rather than the automatic she had reserved. However, they soon straightened out the mistake and left Fiumicino airport following the signs for ROMA. Twenty minutes later they were in downtown Rome and in more traffic congestion than Carolina had ever seen in her entire life.
“There’s the Coliseum,” squealed Mackenzie from the back seat, stumbling slightly over the word Coliseum.
“Look at that wall! It reminds me of Wood Rose,” said Jennifer sitting next to her.
“That’s Vatican City,” said Carolina, trying to concentrate on not getting in an accident. “Dara, are we supposed to turn anywhere?”
Dara, who was sitting in the passenger seat next to Carolina, spread out the map on her lap. “According to the directions that Signora De Rossa gave you
, we are supposed to be heading south if we want to go to Frascati.” She glanced out the window and saw the Coliseum again. “We have already been this way, Carolina.”
“I know, I think I am going in circles. We need to find a highway that takes us south out of the city.”
Dara pointed to a small spot on the map. “We are supposed to turn left at the traffic lights along Via Enrico Fermi.”
“Why is everyone honking their horns?” Carolina passed the Coliseum once again and then turned left at some traffic lights.
“After approximately 1 kilometer you will pass the traffic lights at the ENEA complex.” Dara looked out the window. “Then keep straight on for 200 meters and then turn right onto the road that runs between a FIAT dealer and the Tor Vergata train station.”
“How provincial!” said Carolina. All the FIGs watched for the train station.
“Here it is.” Carolina made the right turn, and they soon found themselves in the country. “Well, that was certainly an adventure,” Carolina said taking a deep breath. The city along with most of the traffic was now behind them, and for the next ten minutes they were able to relax and enjoy the beautiful scenery of the Italian countryside.
Jennifer was the first to spot the sign indicating that Frascati was ahead. Then, just beyond, towering on a hill in the distance, they saw it. The Villa Mondragone.
“Oh…my…gosh,” said Carolina.
After several more minutes, with additional maps and directions, they parked in front of what could only be described as a large country farm house, with impatiens, peonies, and marigolds spilling from wooden flower boxes, a substantial vegetable garden off to one side, and toward the back, a barn complete with cows. There were other out buildings as well. Chickens were scratching in a fenced-off area near the barn, and from the top of a fence post nearby a rooster crowed. Carolina looked at the address Signora De Rossa had given her. “Maybe I wrote it down wrong,” she said. “This hardly looks like an apartment.”
The Cadence of Gypsies Page 8