The Alchemist's Gift

by Martin Rua

  “May I?” I whispered, closing the door behind me.

  At the entrance there was a small table draped in a red cloth with a pentagram at its centre and a chair. I imagined that I should sit down, so I did. Behind the table was a large dark curtain which divided into two parts what appeared to be a single room, perhaps separating that picturesque entrance from the rest of the house. After a moment, the curtain moved aside and a woman appeared.

  I was paralysed, shaken by a vortex of contrasting emotions.

  I had been expecting some ugly, fat old hag with the eyes of a witch, but instead I found myself before one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.

  Excluding Àrtemis.

  In fact, the young woman, who looked to be no more than thirty, reminded me a little of my wife, with her long, black, wavy hair pulled up from her forehead by a wide band, bright, profound eyes that glittered with bewitching golden sparks, extraordinarily fleshy red lips and a perfect nose. And even though she wore loose clothes, I could sense that beneath them was a body on a par with that face. Everything one imagines at the phrase ‘Mediterranean beauty’ was concentrated in that woman.

  “H… Hello,” I said, trying to shake off my shock and getting to my feet out of politeness.

  “Stay seated,” she said in a warm, almost sing-song voice and without looking at me. It was not an invitation, it was a command.

  The woman took the chair on the opposite side of the table and without saying a word, took out a tarot deck and began to arrange the cards on the table.

  “Listen, I think…” I began, trying to stop her – but it was useless.

  “You think nothing and you know nothing,” she said, interrupting me and continuing to arrange the cards slowly, her slender hands moving as if they were embroidering. After a moment of silence she looked up, and my heart leapt – those eyes were capable of pulverising any shred of resolve I had left. Frankly, I feared that I would do whatever she asked, trembling at the thought, but also unable to resist.

  I tried in any case to regain control of myself and asked, “Y-you’re the Janara?”

  The scarlet rose she had in place of lips broke into a slight smile, revealing perfect teeth and annihilating what was left of my willpower.

  “That’s what they call me – but for you I am Sofia.”

  “All right, Sofia… look, I followed a child who brought me here and…”

  “What child?” she asked calmly, continuing to lay out the cards.

  “I don’t know, a little lad… he guided me all the way here, he said that I should come to you.”

  “Sorry, I don’t have any assistants, little lads or otherwise.”

  I sat watching her in silence for a few seconds. Was she making fun of me? I gave up trying to understand.

  “All right, never mind. The child told me that Professor Rinaldi used to consult you, that he always came to see you. Did he mean Matteo Rinaldi?”

  Upon hearing Matteo’s name, Sofia smiled again, dreamily. “‘He was a good person, Professor Rinaldi. He knew things that can’t be spoken of.”

  “Things… What things? You can tell me, I am… I was one of his dearest friends.”

  “I know. You are Lorenzo Aragona,” she said, looking up.

  I swallowed hard, unable to ask how she knew my name. It would have been pointless.

  “The professor used to talk about the people he was closest to a lot.”

  “Did he talk to you about me? What did he tell you?”

  “That one day you’d come and that I had to give you something he left with me. But first I want to read your fortune.”

  “Something for me…” I murmured, slumping down into my chair.

  “Death!” said Sofia, after a moment of silence, holding out a card. I was startled – she had certainly obtained the desired effect of capturing my attention.

  “Death is around the corner, but you can stop it, you can save the people you love. You will discover a big old building with a treasure in it. But don’t expect gold and diamonds. Search for the treasure far from sight, but watch yourself: in this story, friends will become enemies…” She was silent for a moment, then, putting the cards back into the deck, she spoke again, still without looking at me.

  “When it’s all over, come back to me. You can go now.”

  I hesitated. I hadn’t expected to be dismissed quite like that.

  Sofia stood up, walked over to a shelf, took an object from inside a clay jar and came over to me, holding it out. It was a large old blackened bronze key. The face of the Janara was now only a few inches from mine, and I could feel her breath. Her eyes bored into mine one last time, immobilising me, and a devilish smile of the age-old wisdom that had been handed down from the priestesses of Diana to the Djanares or Janares of today appeared on her sensual lips. The same lips that a moment later brushed mine and then moving slowly to my right ear, whispered, “Alma Brin has the lock…”

  I heard those words with my eyes closed, and when I opened them I found myself in the middle of the courtyard, sweating and panting. My head was spinning and I did not understand how I had got there from the Sibyl’s den. Or maybe… maybe I’d never really been there at all. The cool night air rapidly blew away the fumes of that enchantment. I turned to look at the basso, but the old wooden door with the ‘Sofia’ nameplate was gone. In its place were three rotten wooden planks, held in place by another two nailed across them in an X.

  “What does it mean…?” I murmured.

  Resigned to often being a witness to unexplained events, I stood there for a moment more staring at that cobbled together door, then turned to leave, convinced I was hallucinating. After a few steps, however, I stopped abruptly. I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket and took out the bronze key. I looked at it, completely unable to explain how it could actually be there, in my hand. Hallucinations don’t make objects materialise.

  In that moment, Sofia’s final words returned to my mind, and I smiled.

  “Alma Brin has the lock.”

  Chapter 28

  Naples, 18th of June, 09:00

  Three days to the summer solstice

  The next morning, Àrtemis, my in-laws and I rose early and went to the airport, accompanied by Alex. Mitzos wished me farewell with his usual affection before heading off towards the metal detector.

  “Take care, Lorenzaki – be careful, and feel free to call me whenever you want. We might be old, but we’re not totally useless!”

  We hadn’t told them much so as not to worry them unnecessarily, but it was obvious that the mood at home had grown gloomy since the opening night at the San Carlo.

  “S’agapò mamà, s’agapò baba!” said Àrtemis, embracing them. As usual, Mitzos was moved, and his Brezhnev-like face glistened with tears, while Hrista smiled in amusement. She had always been tougher than her husband. We watched them go through security and disappear toward the boarding area.

  “So how is your investigation going?” asked Alex, who was sitting at the wheel of my car as we headed back toward the centre. Unusually for him, there was a hint of worry in his voice.

  “We’ve made some progress, but we couldn’t get to the bottom of it in a single afternoon. Luckily I have the help of the brothers. I’m optimistic.”

  “And what about them, these supposed killers? Have they been in touch?”

  I sighed. “I spoke to their leader on the phone yesterday and tried to get him to tell me what they already know in order to save time. But he said that it was like a journey of initiation – it must be walked.”

  Alex giggled.

  “You think it’s funny?”

  “I just never thought that you would meet anyone more fanatical about certain things than yourself…”

  “This lot are bloody murderers, Alex – there’s nothing funny about it.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry, it’s just that…”

  “Never mind, never mind.”

  Àrtemis was silent, thoughtful and visibly
tense. I didn’t know what to say to re-assure her. I hadn’t even told her about the meeting with the Janara the night before. I wasn’t sure that it had actually happened, to be honest. But I wanted to discuss it with her, so I improvised a way to tell her the gist of what had happened.

  “You know, Àrtemis, last night I dreamed about Matteo.”

  “Really?” she said distractedly.

  “Yes, he was driving through the narrow streets in the centre and took me to a woman he said was a Janara.”

  “Ah.”

  “She was an old hag, as ugly as a witch, and she told me to visit Alma Brin. Weird, eh?”

  “Are you sure she was old and ugly, this Janara?”

  She had immediately identified my lie, the least important part of my story. How was she always able to see through me as if I were transparent? I would never be able to deceive her.

  Never.

  *

  After dropping Àrtemis off at university, Alex carried on playing chauffeur and took me to the San Fernando police station, in the Chiaia area, not far from the Églantine.

  “Are you free?” I asked, before getting out of the car. “Why don’t you come up and say hello to Oscar, he’d love to see you.”

  I waited for Alex to park the car and together we went up to see Oscar. From down the hallway we could already hear his angry voice, so we knocked timidly on the door of his office. Andrea Kominkova opened it.

  “Stormy weather,” she murmured.

  Alex greeted her with his usual boiled fish smile, which she, strangely, seemed to appreciate.

  “I begged you not to do anything, for fuck’s sake!” shouted Oscar into his mobile phone. “I gave you my word that I would do everything possible, everything! And you – no, wait, let me finish – you didn’t trust me… I know it’s your life that’s on the line, Enzo! And you know how much I care about you, as a colleague and as a friend. I’ve never treated you like a subordinate, but you’re making me want to… Enzo… Enzo! Fuck!”

  Oscar threw the phone down on the desk and stood watching us in silence for a few seconds. “That fucking idiot has screwed everything up.”

  “What’s happened?” I asked.

  “Oh, he only decided to use one of our drones to spy on the movements there at Palazzo Penne. Last night, with an infra-red camera he saw the changing of the guards and now he’s in Bagnoli, near the old Italsider factory, trailing a car.”

  “Who’s in the car?”

  “A guy he says he saw leaving Palazzo Penne early this morning.”

  “And now?”

  Oscar didn’t answer my question, but repeatedly ran his fingers through his hair nervously. His eyes met those of Andrea.

  The Interpol inspector put on a light jacket and headed for the door.

  “I’ll go, and if you agree I’ll take Viola with me,” she said, pre-empting the commissioner’s protests. “I run the same risks as Amato, but I can’t allow things to get out of hand. I’m still a representative of Interpol.”

  “It’s not your job to get that idiot out of trouble, Andrea.”

  “I’m glad to do it. I’m one of the people in charge of this operation.”

  Oscar sank into the chair behind his desk, and after a moment, nodded.

  “Ok. But don’t do anything stupid, and keep me informed about everything, however unimportant.”

  “Count on it.”

  Before leaving the room Andrea exchanged a look with my brother, who brushed her hand with his fingers.

  “Be careful – I haven’t had a chance to ask you out for dinner yet,” he said, attempting to appear charming, but betraying his apprehension.

  She smiled.

  “I think I’ll be free by tonight.”

  *

  “Sit down,” said Oscar, as soon as Andrea had left, while he tried to calm himself. “How are you, Alex?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “I hope you’re a bit more sensible than your brother.”

  Alex looked at me pityingly.

  “Poor thing – sometimes it’s almost as though trouble goes out of its way to find him.”

  “Yeah, yeah – keep kidding around, you two. But I’m worried about what Amato has done. They warned us.”

  Oscar sighed.

  “What can I do, Lorenzo, eh? What can I do if I have colleagues who are as pig-headed as they are smart? The best part is that it was him who got himself involved in this story in the first place.”

  “Which is precisely why he lost his head, I should think.”

  “Anyway, don’t worry. Enzo is impulsive, but he’s a good policeman. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

  I raised my hands resignedly.

  “All right, if there’s no news, I’ll get back to working on the manuscript.”

  Chapter 29

  Naples, 18th of June, 10:30

  Three days to the summer solstice

  “Do you fancy driving me to see someone?” I asked Alex, as we left the police station.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be studying the manuscript?”

  “Yes, of course, but I think this might be important.”

  “I bet it’s got something to do with that dream you were talking about in the car.”

  He smiled.

  “Don’t tell me that you wouldn’t be pleased to see her again.”

  We got to the car and Alex climbed into the driving seat of my BMW X6 and I sat down beside him. He looked at me for a moment, then smiled.

  “Alma Brin.”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, let’s go.”

  We left the Chiaia neighbourhood and headed towards the city centre.

  Not without some little difficulty caused by the heavy morning traffic, we managed to get to the area by the General Hospital. We parked and walked towards the Anticaglia road, taking the streets adjacent to what was once the decumano superiore of the Greco-Roman city.

  “So you dreamed about a Janara…?” asked Alex, taking off his sunglasses. His sly, boyish eyes peered at me as he tried to work out what was going on. Those curious eyes and his youthful face always reminded me of the child he had been and with whom I had shared my childhood games. I couldn’t bear him when he started playing the show-off, but at the moment this was not the case, fortunately, so I felt compelled to be honest. At least with him.

  “To be honest, I don’t know if I dreamed it or it was real.”

  I told him what had really happened and, instead of teasing me as usual, he said, “Would you know how to find it again, that street? This… goddess?”

  Despite the danger, something gave me the feeling that he wasn’t taking the matter seriously. As usual, when there were beautiful women involved, his reasoning became muddled.

  “When are you going to grow up?”

  He held his hands out, palms upwards.

  “Hey, just because you made the mistake of getting married, you don’t think you’re going to convince me, do you? I won’t deny that Àrtemis is an amazing woman, but finding one like her is bloody hard work.”

  “Andrea seems pretty nice.”

  I decided to test the waters.

  “Andrea, yeah… Fingers crossed.”

  I was struck by how genuinely concerned he seemed – he was usually such a blasé womaniser. In the meantime the two arches which had once supported the auditorium of the Roman theatre were now in sight. The theatre where Nero had sung. It had been practically swallowed up by other buildings, and fragments of it cropped up in cellars, courtyards and even inside homes. Scattered pieces like the body of a giant covered with tons of rock. The most visible remains were precisely those two arches whose Roman brickwork was still on display amongst the clothes hanging out to dry.

  “Here we are.”

  On the intercom of one of the buildings propped up against the Roman arches I found the name. Still the same, notwithstanding everything. I pressed the bell, hoping to be lucky. I hadn’t called – I wanted it to be a surprise
.

  “Who is it?”

  I smiled. She was at home.

  “Alma, it’s Lorenzo Aragona. I’m here with my brother Alex… Can we come up?”

  There was a moment of silence, then a comforting, “Lorenzo! Of course, of course – come up!”

  We climbed the dark, narrow stairs to the second floor, and there she was in the doorway. Exactly the same except for a few more wrinkles: her black hair, cut not too long, that vaguely ‘saracen’ profile and her amber eyes, so often sung of in the poems Matteo dedicated to her, yet lively and bright despite her age. Eyes which, at that moment, were shiny with tears.

  She embraced me – I was like a son for her – and even hugged my brother too. We stood in the doorway for a few seconds. We hadn’t seen each other for almost four years.

  “Lorenzo, how long has it been? What a rotter you are! Come on, come inside.”

  I had no excuse. I couldn’t tell her that seeing her gave me both pleasure and pain.

  Alma made us sit in the room where I had spent so many afternoons with Matteo, Carlo and the others. It was there that the Silver Shadow had been born, among discussions of alchemy and hermetic texts. I remembered that day perfectly. We had decided everything except for the lodge’s distinctive name.

  “It must be something connected to alchemical process,” said Matteo in that booming voice which was so well suited to his huge frame. He stroked his white beard and suddenly banged a hand on the table in front of him, making us jump. He put his ever present cigar in an ashtray and cried exultantly, “I’ve got it! The Lodge of the Silver Star.”